#silk velvet sofa

[cubern]

Formal in Chicago Living room - large eclectic formal and enclosed dark wood floor and brown floor living room idea with blue walls, no fireplace and no tv

[alicesbookshelf]

Living Room - Music Room

Example of a large transitional enclosed dark wood floor and brown floor living room design with a wood fireplace surround, a music area, white walls, a standard fireplace and no tv

[forever-lunasea]

Enclosed in San Francisco Large Mediterranean enclosed and formal living room idea with beige walls, no fireplace, and no television

[richtigezahnpflege]

Traditional Home Office Inspiration for a mid-sized timeless light wood floor home office library remodel with blue walls

[daddyskinkyelf]

Loft-Style Living Room in Toronto

[beomie3]

night lounge - cbg

☆ summary: the nights spent at your favorite night lounge are everything you could ever need. until one night, you stumble upon a man that makes you rethink.

☆ wc: roughly 4k

☆ content: slow burn smut, beomgyu is a gentleman in a jazz band, light bondage (he uses his tie to fasten your wrists), light drinking, cursing, unprotected, lots of kissing :p, fluffy ending, he’s dominant in this <3

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your favorite late-night lounge lies hidden in the underground of a ritzy hotel amidst the city; candlelit and cozy, black silk sofas and a bar equipped with all the drinks for a perfect night.

it'd been your nighttime getaway ever since you discovered it accidentally one night. you haven't found a place quite as unique as it.

you just can't get over the smooth jazz band that plays in it's designated corner every saturday night at sundown when you arrive. the blend is perfect to the ear; smooth saxophone, soft drums, pretty piano, and sometimes a bassist who would join in at midnight and play well into 3 a.m. which is usually when you decide you're satisfied with your night and head home. which to be frank, it's hard to decide when to leave when it's your comfort place. it simply couldn't get better.

or so you thought.

you sat at the usual velvet barstool under the star-shaped chandelier, taking in the ambiance of the dreamy lounge as always. the subtle murmur of guests and clinks of glasses filling the room, dim with dainty light fixtures and flicker of candles in small glass jars at every table.

dried flowers, fairy lights, and classical paintings adorned the walls in such a beautiful way that made you feel nostalgic. like a museum in paris had been turned into a swanky hangout.

if you could describe the place in one word it would be; classy. no, elegant. no.. dreamy. there were just so many attributes to describe your favorite place, you couldn't begin to put your finger on one.

the peace you felt here while sipping red wine or a cocktail while listening to the smooth blend of instruments from the live ensemble was unmatched to any other place ever, like your own little neverland that you escaped to at nightfall.

the bartender you knew well had just placed a tall glass of chardonnay in front of you, setting tonight's mood as you relax under the liquid's musky yet enjoyable flavor.

cozying into the velvet seat, you shifted your attention back to the band, also paying mind to the people subtly beginning to fill the lounge as the night commenced; observing different groups of friends or couples who entered in intricate outfits, most faces familiar to you. admittedly, people watching was a pastime you fairly enjoyed.

but suddenly there appeared the face of a man you had yet to see, noticing his tall figure immediately as he came down the steps with a certain presence that radiated nothing but confidence and poise.

maybe it was the all-black suit he wore or the way his feathered ebony hair parted over his eyes in such a way that made you stare, following his every step into the warm glow of the lounge.

you wondered if he'd come here all along, or if he was simply a figment of your imagination after only two sips of your glass.

he's here for the same reason as you, it seems, as he briskly makes his way over to the bar.

noticing his approach you try your best to disregard him, acting as if you hadn't just watched his entire procession into the lounge.

"anyone sitting here, miss?" a sudden deep and breathy voice calls out from beside you, a dull pang at your stomach when you turn towards the man and realize how much more handsome he is up close. the way the dim light encapsulates his face, noticing the subtle gloss over his skin.

"you." you keep your wits about you, noticing the way the corner of his lip tugs upward when he nods toward you. swiftly taking the seat.

you turn and face the jazz ensemble again, tongue in cheek as you can feel his warmth beside you, trying your best to seem unfazed by his presence. 

although your eyes are on the band, your ears are keen to his thick voice as he orders; a gin martini on the rocks and a side of lime, please. oh and put the jazz band on my tab while you're at it.

you nearly whip your head around at the sound of his request to put the jazz band on his tab. regardless, there were only four members but still...you were in shock and mostly intrigued. it isn't an act of kindness you'd usually hear at the bar.

the waiter gets to work on his drink and your eyes drift to him like a magnet drawn to metal; his mystery, you just wanted to freeze time and observe him.

once your eyes were on him you just couldn't resist the question that lingered on the tip of your tongue.

"do you know the jazz band?" you circle the rim of your glass with a finger, his chocolate eyes immediately boarding into yours along with all of his attention.

"i do. or else there wouldn't be one," his smile slowly grows as yours does, sipping his drink as it arrives. keeping his eyes on you all the while. he's only spoken two sentences to you but you swear there is something about his aura you just can't get enough of.

although he kept his response short and sweet, you put two and two together and concluded that he founded the band or something of the sort. either way, you just couldn't take your eyes off of him.

"well then today is my lucky day," you bring your glass to your lips and he lets out a deep chuckle, setting his glass down with a smirk at you. eyes still glued to his while he briefly looks away to set his glass down, you try taking him all in; the tiny freckle on his cheek, the silver ring in his earlobe, his long eyelashes. he was almost unreal.

"choi beomgyu," he holds a hand out to you, impressed with how much of a gentleman he's been in not even the five minutes you'd spoken to him. sad how low your expectations were after how many royal douchebags you'd come across at this bar.

you state your name in response, taking his warm hand and resisting the urge to smile too big when he slightly bows his head toward you, eyes never leaving yours as he gently shakes your hand.

that wasn't until he brought the back of your hand to his lips like a prince to a princess, that your heart nearly beat out of your chest; simply carried away by his charm. you’d never been greeted this way.

"i take it you enjoy my band," he slowly releases your hand. "rare to see someone just sit. listen. enjoy the music." he slightly reclines, bringing his glass back to his plump lips with those deep brown eyes on you.

"saturday nights are always my favorite." you nod, slightly reclining in your seat too, mimicking his body language.

"i know." his smile slightly grows behind the rim of his glass, wondering how the hell he knows if you'd never met him in your life.

"and how is it that you know that?" you slightly tilt your head, crossing your legs toward him and narrowing your eyes in await for a response.

"velvet chair at the end of the bar under the star-shaped chandelier. it's your seat. how could i not know where the most beautiful woman in this place sits?"

you're good at not showing how flustered you are; legs tightly crossed together, cheek caught in between your teeth, biting back the biggest damn smile.

"saturday nights are my favorite too," he looks over at the band and it isn't until he makes a bass-playing gesture with his fingers that the puzzle pieces click.

he's the bassist that comes on the stage when the lights go dark at midnight with only candles and fairy lights left to illuminate the room as people slow dance. you thought his silhouette might have looked familiar when he came down the stairs, considering that was all you ever knew of him.

he chuckles at your reaction to it finally clicking within you, truly appreciating your deep love for his performances, as no one usually cares much.

you and choi beomgyu continued chatting the night away, and he can see deep in your eyes that you're passionate about what you talk about. he loved finding out that the girl he always keeps his eye on when he's on stage secretly always admired him and his work.

when the bartender comes around with refills, beomgyu only orders water, finding it rather refreshing that a man can control himself and find satisfaction in only one drink as you usually do.

at midnight when the lights dim, beomgyu leads you hand in hand to the front row of the stage, getting to watch his performance front and center. he loves seeing you so close, usually having to deal with watching you from afar when you sat at the bar.

he performs dried flower, your favorite song preformed by the band. you watch his fingers caress the strings, long and dainty, pretty fingers. clad in expensive rings. wrist dangling with dainty charm bracelets. he has a certain class that is hard to find in men, and you feel yourself falling for him every passing second.

hes so passionate when he plays; eyebrows slightly furrowed as he instinctively plucks every note just perfectly. you’re also keen to every woman staring at him when his solo comes, whispering and giggling amongst one another. you grin.

after, he steps down and joins you in the crowd, asking for your hand and the two of you slow dance to the soft jazz, your head in his chest as he carefully steps with you. he smells of soft cashmere, and that’s the last thing you take note of before you’ve fallen completely head over heels.

the lights dim a bit more, his face barely lit by the candles but you can still see the sparkle in his eyes. his gaze is soft, yet intense and your heart stops as his face inches closer.

before you know it, your lips are touching what feels like velvet pillows; his lips. your heart races, blood rushing to your face and he pulls you closer, feeling his chest press against yours.

his sweet kiss lingers on your lips. you must have a sweet tooth, because you’re craving more.

“how about we get out of here?” his eyes are so intense on yours, realizing your fingers had interlaced into his long ago as you slow danced.

your eyes say it all; both of your body language says it all. you can practically feel your body heat radiating through your silk dress. cheeks flushed as he guides you through the crowd and out into the cool night air.

the taxi ride to his place is tense as you sit hip to hip, his fingers tracing your palm and you can’t seem to take your eyes off of one another. the taxi driver is the only thing keeping him from saying some not so appropriate things out loud, so instead he whispers them in your ear and you’re a giggling mess.

his high rise apartment is classy like him; low lighting and wooden accents, a baby grand piano in the corner under a chandelier, record player and a vinyl collection. an array of basses and guitars adorning the living room. it reminds you of the lounge, in fact; classical paintings and candles and dried flowers on the dining room table.

the tension only builds and builds, until it snaps.

he does so much as put a record on and offer you a glass of wine before your lips are on each other’s again. messy makeout, fingers intertwined in hair. his fingers precisely unbuttoning his suit before sliding under your silk dress.

the two of you stumble toward his king bed and you help him loosen his tie but he ushers your hand away, swiftly removing it from himself.

you fall backwards on his bed, feeling the silk sheets fluff up around you, cold against your boiling skin. he stands between your legs, pulling you toward the edge of the bed toward him with hands hooked underneath your thighs.

“hands above your head,” his voice is husky, eyes dark as he towers over you. dark brown hair messy and fluffed over his forehead.

his demand makes you twice as soaked and you swear a puddle has formed between your legs. you do as he says, feeling the cold air waft against the sensitive skin of your under arms and you’re pelted with goosebumps.

“good girl,” his voice is low, eyes dark. his cock twitches in his pants as you had done what he said, leaning down to hold your hands in place. your eyes widen when he uses his black tie to begin tying your hands together above your head.

“is this okay?” he focuses intensely into your eyes as he makes several concise knots, his voice tender and genuine as you bite your lip. it’s more than okay.

“mhmm,” you moan into his lips as he kisses you, pressing his hips against your clothed heat, legs spread, wrapping around his torso.

you didn’t know what to expect from this choi beomgyu guy, but you could tell he was amazing in bed since the moment you met. he’s had you on edge, turned on since the moment he spoke. he really knows how to turn you the fuck on.

you’re completely out of control now, your wrists fastened tightly together by his tie but you love the feeling more than you ever expected.

he starts slow but increasingly gets more feral. starting by kissing your neck softly, he slips your silk dress off and blood rushes straight to his dick.

you’re wearing a lace bra, extremely see through so that he can see that your nipples are hard and poking out him. but what makes him nearly salivate; you’re not wearing any underwear.

well, you were wearing underwear earlier tonight at first arriving to the lounge, but you’d taken them off somewhere along the night.

“check your pocket,” you eyed the front pocket of his suit jacket and when he stuck his hand in it to discover a pair of lacy underwear, his tongue darts to wet his lips. he fought the urge to absolutely fuck the shit out of you right here right now.

“such a sneaky girl, hm?” he cocks his head to the side, the hint of a sly grin on his lips as he slides his suit jacket off, leaving him only his white button up shirt, yet it’s unbuttoned so that you can see his bare chest and torso peeking through. he pushes the sleeves up and runs his fingers through his feathered hair to expose his forehead briefly. he’s so unbelievably sexy.

his hands are a bit rougher on you now, gripping the fat of your hips as he tongue kisses you, so messy and wet and hot. trailing his lips all over your chest, he bites your nipples softly through the lace and it feels so fucking good. he makes a mess of his spit, kissing your body until his reaches your bare pussy, already drenched for him.

“already so fucking wet and i haven’t even done anything,” he groans at the sight of your wetness dribbling out and onto his sheets. he really can’t believe his eyes at how soaked you are, can’t stop thinking of how good you’re going to feel when he fucks you.

his lips are level with your lower ones and he stares up at you through fluffed bangs over his thick brows. you anticipate what his tongue will feel like inside of you, shuddering when his hot breath wafts against you. you’re so sensitive.

he supports your thighs with his hands, setting each of your feet to rest on the tops of his shoulders. you’re spread wide open for him so that he has the best view of your entirety.

he hasn’t even fucking done anything and you moan out, a deep chuckle rumbling in his throat. just the air exuded from his nose when he breathes brushes against your clit and stimulates it.

his tongue finally traces over your bud and you whip your head back onto his memory foam mattress. you can’t do this; no, there’s far too much pleasure. you’d never been this sensitive with anyone in your life. you'd never been this turned on by anything.

when his lips attach to your clit and suck, your hands shoot into his soft hair, grabbing handfuls of it as you whimper loudly; slurping sounds and moans echoing throughout his bedroom. your sounds egg him on; cock twitching violently in his pants with every single one of your sweet sounds.

when he inserts two long fingers into you and curls them up to your g-spot, it’s over for you. it only takes about four strokes of his fingers until you’re spasming, fluttering intensely around his fingers and grinding yourself into his face. his moans vibrate against you. no one had ever made you finish this fast.

“god beomgyu you’re- so fucking good-,” you huff out of breath between words, heavy head thrown back, chest heaving. his ego is stroked yet again.

the recovery from your orgasm is fast as he is quick to kiss you, need prevalent in his veins as you feel fire in him with the way his lips devour yours.

you clench around nothing, squeezing his arms tightly as nervous shudders course through your veins. you need him.

“choi beomgyu,” you whisper against his lips and his hungry eyes board into yours, lips puffy and glossy; he’s looks way too hot right now. you lean up to whisper in his ear.

“fuck me,” your voice is quiet, desperate. hot breath seeping down his neck. he is done for. he's kept his composure this long. but there is always a point where he absolutely loses it.

he can’t wait any longer, swiftly unbuckling his belt and dropping his perfectly ironed black trousers down to his knees along with his boxers.

when his cock springs out, it slaps up against his abdomen with a heavy thud and your eyes widen. he’s got a big fucking dick. your throat bobs as you swallow down a bundle of nerves.

“holy shit,” you say under your breath but he hears you; dark smirk spreading across his lips. he looks down at himself, spreading the ooze of precum around his tip; a darkened pink shade with all of the blood flowing up to it.

since the moment you saw him walk through the door at the lounge tonight, you’ve wanted to fuck him. but the moment he saw you for the first time; oh he’s been wanting to fuck you for months.

"what was that darling?" he leans down to look into your eyes, tender touch against your cheek as he snakes a hand around your thigh and pulls it up so that your knee is up against your chest.

"hm?" his lips are inches away from yours, eyes dark and flicking down to your lips and back up into your eyes repeatedly. he throws your leg over his shoulder.

your heart strums against your ribs as you're anxious to take him, yet you can't wait.

"you can take me, right gorgeous?" he tilts his head and you can't process how beautiful he looks right now; soft, chandelier lights of his bedroom reflect from his big, brown doe-shaped eyes. your mauve lipstick smeared across his lips and chin. hair tousled back, revealing his perfect eyebrows and forehead. the sheen of sweat glimmering from his skin.

"i can take you," a small grin is on your lips as you fiddle with the end of his tie around your wrists, realizing that having your hands tied above your head has made you way more sensitive than normal.

looking down at the space in between the two of you, he rubs the tip of his cock up and down your folds, causing you to shudder. he places small kisses to your knee, as it's resting by his cheek.

you suck air through your teeth when you feel a slight stretch as he guides himself into you, going slow enough to get you adjusted to his tip. you keep your eyes locked as he slides the rest in little by little, moans growing louder as the stretch intensifies. looking down, you realize he's only half-way in and you look up at him, lip caught between his teeth.

the stretch is so intense, but not as intense as his eyes on yours, searching deep into your soul. his hands come up to fiddle with the knot of his tie around your hands, suddenly feeling it loosen and your hands are free. immediately, they fly into his hair, thumbs soft over the sides of his face. he untied them for this exact reason; to feel your intoxicating touch all over him.

suddenly, you feel his hips meet the back of your thigh, and that's when you know he's all the way in. your mouth is agape as he slowly begins moving in an out of you, crashing your lips back to his as the skin of his thighs begins to slap against yours.

his hands are busy on you; one palming your tits as the other hooked under your thigh to keep your leg situated atop his shoulder.

taking him raw feels so wrong but so right; the edge of his tip feels fantastic against your g-spot, thick veins massaging you just right. your arousal leaves a milky white ring around the base of his cock as he slams into you. he collects some, bringing it to your mouth, followed by crashing his lips to yours again so that you can both taste it together.

“you feel so fucking amazing,” he breaks the kiss to speak to you, followed by a moan as he slams as deep as he can into you. you’ve ajusted well at the is point that the pain has turned into pleasure. his soft whimpers in your ear were enough to make you even wetter, easing the process of being stretched out.

he shuts his eyes as you’re sucking him i’m so perfectly, so turned on by the squelch of your pussy every time he enters you. he fights back the urge to cum, but it’s so hard with how beautiful you look right now.

your face is contorted in pleasure, hair sprawled out all over his bed, shimmery sheen on your skin from a mixture of sweat, tits bouncing with every slam of his hips.

“god you’re taking it so well,” he groans against your neck, lifting your other thigh so that both of your legs are swung over his shoulders. he’s impressed by your flexibility as his chest is pressed against yours, realizing just how far he is leaned down against you.

his hips are rhythmic against yours, grinding himself into you, a good tactic to stimulate your clit with this pelvis. it’s like he’s a professional.

his name along with a mixture of curses leave your lips in drawn out moans as your nails dig into his back, the sound of his name nearly drives him insane and he fucks you harder.

you feel the familiar ache in your core with every thrust, and he already knows you’re close because of how much tighter you’ve become around him.

he’s a moaning mess, deep voice like honey in your ear as you suck him in even tighter now. he reaches down to thumb at your clit and you’re right there, right on the edge.

“harder beomgyu, fuck me harder!” you bite down on his shoulder, his hips slamming at a pace so fast that his bed is creaking so loud. your moans probably audible from outside his apartment at this point.

“you gonna cum for me? yeah? cum all over my cock sweetheart c’mon,” his voice is loud yet deep and husky. his eyebrows are furrowed together in pleasure, sweat dripping from his neck and onto your chest.

the slapping of skin is so loud now, and he gives you three precise thrusts before you completely combust.

your sporadic moans are not what tells him you’ve just finished, it’s the absolutely insane convulsions that he feels inside you, fluttering around him at what feels like 200 miles per hour.

it’s enough to push him right over the edge in an ínstense orgasm. he pulls out immediately, busting all over your tummy and angling it to get some on your chest and face. milky white all over you, and there’s a lot too.

he’s so god damn vocal as he cums, his head thrown back so that you can see his addams apple in full glory, bobbing up and down as he moans.

you wipe your chin of his cum and lick your fingers clean, addicted to his salty-sweet taste.

he looks so exhausted as his chest heaves, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. but he doesn’t lay down on the bed just yet; instead he walks to his bathroom, getting a towel to clean you up first like the gentleman he is.

he wipes his fluids off of you with a warm wash rag, tender eyes on your skin as he softly cleanses you. there is a soft quietness about the room, not awkward, soothing actually.

he helps you under his silk sheets once you’re all cleaned up and he snuggles under with you, propping his head up on his hand as he rubs small circles on your shoulder.

“i look forward to seeing you at every show,” his voice is soft, a tender smile on his lips. you love how calm he is, how respectful, how tranquil. almost like he’s healing something deep within you.

“always,” you smile in return. you talked about anything and everything, in love with the way his eyes were attentive to you, keen to every single thing you had to say.

finding his hand under the sheets, you fiddle with his fingers, imagining all the things the future has in store for the two of you. you just knew this was the start of something special.

you hear the record player in his living room echoing with your favorite song, dried flower.

“can i have this dance?” he squeezes your hand under the sheets, smiling. and although you’re both tired, you each slip on a robe and walk hand in hand to his candle-lit living room.

it feels like you’re meant to do this with him, like you’ve done it together before in a past life.

you thought nights at your favorite lounge were everything you could ever need. but that wasn’t true. because tonight, meeting the love of your life proved you wrong in every single way.

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note: here is a gyu fic!! tysm for continuing to support my works while i've been gone. i'm currently vising japan and i've been here for a few months :) i'm happy to announce i'm working on a tokyo part 3 for those who enjoyed tokyo and the sequel!!! i plan on releasing more fics in the mean time. i hope you enjoyed this one<3

[missydior]

prince of monaco ౨ৎ

♡: following his victory at the monaco grand prix, charles comes home late, back to you, drunk on moët champagne & love.

notes: charles leclerc/reader, established relationship, suggestive content, alcohol, humour, fluff, baths, nudity but no explicit details or sexual activity.

a/n: more cha content out of my own indulgence <3 i wrote this at 11pm & it's a little ridiculous but this is also me projecting my manifestations for him to win his home grand prix this weekend. love you all mwah ᥫ᭡

The sweet aroma of your Miss Dior: Eau de Parfum in damask rose and incense against pink peonies, clean linen sheets mussed about the inviting embrace of the bed, café au lait from a drained mug on the nightstand beside sweet-smelling lilies, and white, lace stockings abandoned and draped over the velvet loveseat.

Charles' claim of 1st at the Monaco Grand Prix was most blessing, and the perfect excuse for a long night of a plentiful of Moët & Chandon champagne, honorary chants, and celebratory reverie: announcing him the 'prince' of his beloved home, a victory he has been yearning for, since forever.

You had remained with him through the week, watching and admiring through every practice session from your usual seat, enjoying luncheon together and laughing over the usual lovey-dovey or noncommittal subjects as a means to distract him from his nerves before qualifying – the kind of thing he doesn't admit to but you know is only human – and your never-leaving gaze throughout the Grand Prix itself.

Until you got to watch from below with love hearts in your eyes when he stood on that podium, in his true and most divine stature whilst the crowds called for him and the Monégasque anthem resonated like the music of the heavens.

Now, it is quiet in the apartment you both call home, all minimalist but comfortable interior in a palette of white, créme, beige and hints of colour against the décor that define it as yours: the polished trophies before the white-varnished piano, heavy and velvet curtains stirring lazily about closed balconies of their rocaille-esque motifs, the abandoned sweater forgotten on the sofa, your rose crocheting yarn on the coffee table beside a copy of last month's Vogue.

Peaceful and content, stood before the ornate mirror in the en-suite of polished marble and quiet luxury, humming some gentle and absent tune to yourself as you comb your hair – dressed down to the comfortable, white gossamer silk of your négligée – whilst the only tune that resounds being the hushed television down the hall.

It is only a minute later that you are interrupted from your daydreaming by the sound of the mahogany front door as it draws open and closed. The familiar clink of keys set down on the oak furniture in the foyer, shuffled footfalls a little less balanced than usual, quickly silenced against the sound of a familiar voice like melting caramel on the subtle, slurring song of inebriation.

"Chérie?"

Hair comb set down on the neat counter beside the porcelain embellished basin, you absently gnaw at your lower-lip whilst silent feet wander the parquestry of the flooring through the flat in your approach to the source of your boyfriend's return, tucking a hair behind your ear, "Charles, I'm–"

The words are lost on the edge of your tongue the second you emerge from the bedroom's suite, down past the plush sitting area to be met by the sight of him where the corridor joins the rest of the homely setting.

"Bonsoir, bébé."

Even when he is slightly hair-tousled with damp, brunet strays falling about his forehead and the linen of his shirt slightly wrinkled, Charles is a handsome man, devastatingly so; the kind of beautiful that renders the air from your lungs a little even when you hold back light laughter at him now.

From his posture, an effort of an elegant curve to his physique like he is trying to be some suave, pretty flirt from those old, romance comedies you watch, where one elbow is propped against the wood arch of the threshold – the only thing evidently holding him upright – whilst his flushed cheeks strain a little on a dimpled, lazy and contagious smile.

"Hello, Charles."

"Ma belle, I missed you, I'm home," With something close to a brief pout and an attempt at a wink, the man lets his lovely eyes dance down and along your own figure in a lingering admiration and a slow, drawn-out smirk that looks both laughable and far-too-endearing, lithe fingers absently adjusting his loosened shirt collar as you come closer.

"I can see that," In response, you try not to appear amused though it is perceptible on the curve by the corner of your sweet mouth when his eyes follow the subtle shift of your hips as you draw forward until your arms fold around his midriff, breathing him in: champagne and cologne, hints of warm amber and rosewood. "You're drunk."

His arm falls around your shoulder comfortably as he sways against you, kissing the crown of your head like a useless reassurance when he murmurs a lieu of words in the thickened curl of his accent, "Non, ça va, je–"

"Charles." Your face shifts with a look, the both of you stumbling a little backwards where his weight almost has you falling on the edge of a floral rug, a hushed, noncommittal sound close to a chuckle falling from the man as he buries his face into the side of your neck with the punctuation of an open-mouth kiss.

"D'accord, d'accord."

"Stupid," You mutter affectionately, rolling your eyes fondly despite knowing all too well what has him so distracted, the warmth of his mouth and the gentle rasp of his five o'clock shadow tickling the underside of your jaw and the sensitivity there, a purr reverberating from the back of his throat as a response.

"Are you hungry– would you like anything?"

"Just you, chérie, I want to..." The Monégasque trails off momentarily like he is disputing internally with his own dialogue, lightly calloused palms feeling the curve of your waist through pale silk before pausing at your derrière absently – tracing his tongue against the edge of pearlescent teeth – as the two of you move further through the sitting room, his voice a whisper, "Je veux te baiser, mon ange."

With a blush dusting the edges of your cheekbones at the obscène words, you offer a half-apologetic smile whilst stroking back his tousled hair, "How about we get dressed down and settled first, at least?"

Initially, he seems reluctant to offer any hint of acquiescence but he eventually nods a little with a vague sound of acknowledgement, fingertips still feeling over your figure as you walk the path together before reaching the bathroom, the door falling shut gently.

Even when the reality of the presence has you accepting tonight shall be long, the man is undoubtedly his most entertaining and equally sweet as romanticised prophecies when he is intoxicated.

"Mm," It is the only indication you are given when Charles' touch falls upon the lace edges of your négligée, drawing it down the curve of your shoulder slowly as he traces the shell of your ear with his mouth, "You're wearing my favourite."

A soft laugh leaves the depth of your chest – a hushed affirmative sound in reply – before his hands come to cradle either side of your jaw tenderly whilst his thumb caresses the apple of your cheek, the kiss that follows his gentle persuasion more loving, his lips parted softly.

Just as quickly as the almost peaceful, drawn-out intimacy begins, it ends when he gives some hushed, breathless sound of sheer enjoyment whilst his hips absently meets yours until you feel the edge of the basin behind, a palm splaying over his chest just enough to encourage him from pausing.

"We can have a nice bath first and then I might consider your suggestion, monsieur," You offer gently in hushed humour, undoing the remaining buttons of his shirt whilst sealing your sentence with a chaste kiss near his chin.

"I'd much rather have you."

"So romantic," Muttering the words quietly, your nose brushes the bridge of his own fractionally where you see the slight glaze of liquor in his eyes, like gentle moss and warm oak, his mouth shifting almost proudly with momentarily met gazes.

"Only for you, mon cœur, I could write you sonnets of love, la mélodie de tes yeux–"

"Okay, Romeo Montague, how about you wash first?"

The initial hope had only been to coax him into the warmth of the bath waters amongst a touch lavender oil that threatens to lull him further into quiet and peace, wash his hair from your seat and prevent the possibility of any difficulty, though clothes are mutually forgotten on the marble floors and small, white-cotton rug when he guilts you into joining him.

"Charles," A whisper of his name though the cadence of your voice lacks the intent of reproach, bodies close together as he guides you into a comfortable situation about his lap whilst you work nimble fingers through his dampened hair slowly, hoping to distract him from anything but washing and settling down from the dizziness of too much alcohol.

"You smell nice," He mumbles indulgently against your shoulder, tracing a kiss on the jut of your collarbone in the dreamy lull of his voice as though lost in the figments of his own thoughts, "Like les fleurs..."

"And you smell like a bottle of Moët."

The man offers a lowered tune of disagreement, a palm idly stroking the curve of your thigh and down the inside of your knee beneath the warm water as you lather the product through his tresses, holding back a smile when he responds drunkenly like some smitten, hopeless lover of the poets:

"Non, c'est seulement le parfum des nuages."

It is the kind of sweet words that would usually have your cheeks warming or laughing like some conjured image of him in your mind, rifling through books of poetry because you cannot fathom him thinking of such phrases alone, though the moment his lips find the curve of your throat and the sensitive area beneath your jaw, it is harder not to succumb to the gentle temptation and let him have his way, a sigh falling from you.

"What are you doing?"

"Loving you." He says the words so easily, like it is the simplest, most natural truth he could ever admit, the warmth and wetness of his mouth trailing the lines of your throat and across the arch of your shoulders.

"You're ridiculous."

"Ridiculously in love with you," He sounds proud of himself. Then, he is guiding the two of you, bodies pressed flush against one another as you are moved back, the weight of him familiar and the pressure of his mouth meeting yours slowly, "Let me love you, s'il vous plaît, ma chérie."

There are the smallest fragments of his soul and the secrets of his heart within the way his body moves, the gentle touch and the softness, the vulnerability and the passion even in the humour of his intoxicated mannerisms; how he makes love and the manner he holds you after, and there is an undeniable and irrefutable trust you hold for him alone.

a/n: i apologise. this came straight from the recesses of my tired & dreamy mind but i wanted to share, sending love ᡣ𐭩

© missydior

[cherryl4na]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

©2024 cherryl4na. - please do not copy, repost or translate any of my works on other platforms without my permission.

[ne-videl]

𝓶𝓲𝓭𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓮𝓻 𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽'𝓼 𝓭𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓶

♡

yandere Rezef Hill x immortal fem reader

quirks of eternal life and the obsessed prince.

yandere, sfw, mentions of violence, kidnapping & imprisonment, angst??, you are immortal and reaaly bored, poor english, possibly wild image of high society bc real history suck

word count: ~3.5k

a/n: hii!!

exams be killing me

glad its over until the next year but I still have a shit ton of books to read at summer bc I'm in literature class (Tolstoy I hope ur spinning in your grave I don't want to read 3rd and 4th tome of war and peace but I have to)

anyway for this fic I re-read first chapters and?? Rezef is such a dick in the beginning?? and I forgot abt it??

also when I think about someone immortal this type of person just comes to mind (I mean ofc u don't give a damn about some angry man, you literally have been through everything) and don't worry about Cayena she's chilling in a nice place

indeed, lady [name], you are shining brighter than usual today. you've only recently returned to the capital, haven't you?" – at that warm evening, a pretty young girl was chirping in your ear, sitting with you on a luxurious sofa in the ballroom.

you listened with half an ear to a mixture of flattery and sincere admiration, looking into nowhere from under your eyelashes.

the ball was playing its climax, and the guests were harmoniously spinning in a german waltz. others, more noble and older, entertained themselves with idle conversations.

you too, thanks to your position, were little constrained by the limits of secular norms, and did not bother dancing. tonight you wanted anything other than to gallop around the stuffy hall. your eyes, devoid of the childish brilliance peculiar to your peers, looked indifferently at the guests.

the ball in honor of the beginning of summer was a great event, even the royal family usually participated in it; such celebrations instilled in their noble participants a sense of reverence for the higher-ranking present and idle anticipation of the upcoming entertainment.

but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't see anything more from the height of your velvet sofa than pretentiously dressed men and women; strangely moving, stiffly dancing and talking vague figures under the sickening light of numerous chandeliers. all this in the stuffy luxury of the hall seemed to you so fake, pretentious and unnatural that you could barely restrain yourself from haughty laughter, or from a bored sigh.

[name], beautiful [name]! daughter of the richest man in the empire, a brilliant socialite, trendsetter and muse of famous poets.

you vaguely remembered what was inside some rubbish that you read about a hundred years ago, you don't know when and you don't know where.

and although in your case, "a hundred years" might not be just a phrase, you couldn't care less. whether this the fifth life or the hundredth – what's the difference? right, there's none – you thought lazily, openly staring at the crown prince exchanging pleasantries with representatives of the capital's bohemians.

like you, who on the last night of spring were dressed up like a Christmas tree, his highness shone with the white brocade of his suit today. eyes with the color of ceylon sapphire peeked out from under his golden bangs, giving everyone present the condescending look of the royalty. little prince – as you laughingly called him to yourself – was handsome to the point that young girls blushed deeply as soon as they saw him, and married ladies sighed dreamily.

at the sight of the handsome prince, some memory cracked in your skull, however, it died as quickly as it appeared. this and a thousand other memories were simply not worth your attention, and, of course, you never scolded yourself for the forgetfulness inherent in your age. you were above it all.

Rezef easily distinguished among the crowd a lady dressed in thick silk with bare shoulders. on your neck, which he did not hesitate to stare at, there was a pair of pearl necklace with a large emerald. when you met his gaze, you smiled falsely and slightly bowed your head.

middle-aged count, whose name he could not remember, looked at the woman in the corner of the hall, and scratched his gray beard with a smile.

"gorgeous, isn't she?" – an old dog next to him grinned vulgarly – "the beauty of the empire, they say."

"what a wonder." – Rezef did not take his strangely enchanted gaze off you, and the words escaped from his lips with a gasp – "it's not a pity to fall in love with such a creature." – he said maliciously, as if he concluded for himself.

the crown prince walked towards you, ignoring the knowing look of the nameless old man beside him.

he walked confidently, with a deceptively friendly smile, and would have been incredibly ridiculous to you if he hadn't been so handsome.

"good night to you, lady [name]." – Rezef smiled warmly, and held out his hand in a snow-white glove to you, – "may I keep you company?"

he kissed your palm, and without waiting for consent, sat down next to you.

you talked about various nonsense; Rezef did not take his shining eyes off you and listened, and you chatted in a dry tone about the opera, exhibitions and the weather in the capital, hardly forcing yourself to remember the topics that the ladies had already retold a hundred times.

but the guests were invited to the cotillion, and you left the little prince as easily as you accepted him into your shining company.

with the last round of the dance, everything that was happening completely mixed up in your head into a bright, stuffy mess, accompanied by the imperial orchestra and the clatter of shoes on the lacquered parquet.

and in the end, caught by the prince's arm, you were only a little confused, but you didn't show it.

"why won't you stay the night at the palace?" – Rezef said, whose broad chest rose and fell rapidly after dancing, just like your own.

you raised your eyebrows, looking at him from under your eyelashes, and fell into thought, accompanied by the prince to one of the front balconies.

normally, you wouldn't mind spending the night with such a handsome man, but today you didn't want carnal pleasures at all. and of course, you could afford to just turn down the prince like that; just because you're not in the mood, just because you don't want to.

"thank you for the offer, your highness, however, I will refrain." – you said.

for a second, when his eye twitched, you saw something unpleasantly bitter in Rezef's soft features, a mixture of disappointment with something else. but you didn't care to the depths of your callous heart; today you're not in the mood, today you're not having any fun at all.

and what was the point of that endless journey that you called life if you weren't having fun?

Rezef fell silent, maintaining his sugary smile and standing next to you, and you leaned on the marble railing, looking up at the sky.

the pale disk of the moon is floating high on the horizon. there was music coming from the ballroom, the rustle of dresses and the clatter of shoes, irritating your ears; the little prince had been gathering his thoughts for a couple of minutes to speak; and you rested your chin on your silk-gloved hand.

"tell me, lady [name]." – your bored gaze returned to the Crown Prince, – "this night, the moon and the stars, and me, doesn't that remind you of anything?"

you raised your eyebrow. even if you tried, you wouldn't be able to remember; over the years, memories inevitably dimmed and got lost.

Rezef looked at you expectantly, with almost childish anticipation. a sick gleam flashed in his eyes.

the longer your silence dragged on, the more you disliked his face, his eyes; the childish interest in his handsome features contrasted unpleasantly with the look of a madman. as if you won't say what he wants to hear now, the earth itself will crack and split in half.

"I'm afraid not, your highness. nothing at all." – you said, lightly shaking your shoulders.

the little prince didn't say anything else. his lips trembled, and he stared into the distance, clearly terribly disappointed.

the last night of spring burned out in your cold eyes, and you sighed indifferently.

♡

Rezef remembered his childhood well. in a world where everyone hated him, for some reason, there were no pretty princesses or kind older sisters. nobody. at all.

there was only a lady dressed in silk and the moon.

you came to him in dreams; whether out of boredom or out of simple human pity, he didn't know. you came because you could and wanted to; because you said you loved doing what you wanted.

it was just the two of you in this dream world. you told him all the life you could remember; and you had a long one, longer than the biggest cat's tail.

the boy lay on your lap and listened, and sometimes cried.

in this world its eat or be eaten, but you definitely won't eat him.

"they all say that I have no place in this world. that I'd better disappear." – little prince was clutching the silk of your dress tightly in his hands and squinting. – "I hate them."

"all of them?" – you answered with a relaxed, lazy smile, running your hand through the boy's golden hair.

"you and I have a lot in common. that's the way life is, child. when you grow up, you definitely start hating someone." – you were grinning. – "and you cry and feel sad a lot."

"when I become emperor, I will definitely make you the happiest in the whole world! so that you will never cry again." – the boy squeezed your hands tightly in his palms and smiled radiantly. he hesitated slightly, and looked at you from under his golden eyelashes. "but you didn't tell me your name."

"[name]." – you breathed out laughingly.

"aren't you a fairy by any chance?" – little prince tilted his head to the side, looking at you with a radiant gaze of his blue eyes.

"perhaps." – you giggled.

prince laughed loudly. a fake moon was hanging over you two, and fake stars were shining; everything in the dream world is fake – you told him.

but he liked these strange dreams. and wanted them to become real; to have a real moon, real stars, and only him and you.

♡

every time already grown-up Rezef met the woman from his dreams, he felt his heart beating faster.

human heart, such a fragile and pathetic little thing. how many of these hearts have you got your hands on?

he would gladly have torn out each one with his own hands.

the love for you, which has passed through the years, was like bitter liquor sliding down his throat. after it, the stomach turns out, but it intoxicates so much that he can't hold himself from taking another sip.

there is no light in him to give you. all he has is the suffocating darkness of his mind, cultivated by the mores of the palace, the thirst for power and cruelty. but just as no one else besides yourself mattered to you, Rezef didn't give a damn about the nature of his feelings.

poor, pathetic little prince. no one told him that this is not the way he should love someone. like a child who has not been taught to walk, and now it's crawling.

he's still holding back, but if necessary, Rezef will gladly drag you with him into the depths of hell.

but it hurts so much. every time he sees you laughing with someone else, smiling at someone else, he wants to cry.

it should be me! – his heart screams – it should be me! – his wounded soul cries while the prince stands over the corpse of one of your suitors, whom Rezef himself turned into a bloody mess. you should have held his hand. should have been smiling at him.

when someone's neck crunched under his hands again, he thought about you. would you praise him if Rezef brought you this man's head? for your smile, he would give his own heart, still fresh, in warm blood, right out of the gaping hole in his chest.

if you knew, you'd laugh.

because you are eternal, and he is just a human being. Inevitably, there will come a day when you will live, but Rezef will not. one day he will die, will end, and you will laugh coldly and continue your endless journey.

no matter what he does, no matter how hard he tries, you will always have an escape route. you can leave him.

unfair.

Rezef was even a little mad at you for that. he loved you so much; if you had only fluttered your eyelashes once and smiled – even falsely – he would have laid the whole world at your feet!

but you're breaking him. you don't care. you're only interested as long as you're having fun.

oh, how he despised that feeling, and despised you. how much he wanted to kill all the butterflies in his stomach, tear out every shiny wing; wanted to never see your mocking smile and indifferent eyes again, one fleeting glance of which easily made Rezef forget about al struggles for the throne.

he loved you as he had never loved anyone before; and hated because he didn't want to love, because he knew that you won't ever reciprocate.

♡

he and you could't be called friends, however, in the capital's high society, almost all of its representatives were friends and enemies at the same time. in any case, it was not shameful for the crown prince to visit the daughter of the richest man in the empire for dinner.

tall pine trees lined up in orderly rows along the hectares of the estate's garden, shining with luxury no worse than the imperial palace. they bowed their gloomy heads and silently greeted the carriage that evening under the hot july sun that had not yet set.

after dinner was served and eaten, you ordered one of your maids to serve tea in the garden.

"undoubtedly, what happened to the count's daughter is a disgrace to the whole family, however, I cannot help but sympathize with her." – you talked a lot again and at the same time didn't actually say anything.

the only good thing about such conversations about nothing was the opportunity to listen to your measured, eternally bored voice, and just look at you like at a painting in a museum.

the upper world was completely fake and unnatural, and you gladly accepted this fake as a living embodiment of it. and Rezef was willing to play along, because he was the prince, because it was necessary to. and so your conversation drifted from topic to topic, from one rumor to another. the warm wind made him close his sapphire eyes.

"I've seen you in my dreams, marchioness. when I was little." – the crown prince lazily tilted his head to the side, – "I know you, yet you don't remember me. isn't that unfair?" – he said with mock, with sarcastic sadness.

"is it?" – you took a sip of flower tea from a porcelain cup – "well, life is full of injustices, your highness."

a small cabbage butterfly landed right on your finger, moving its thin paws under the cold gaze of your eyes.

"lady, do you like butterflies?" – the prince smiled warmly – "there are a lot of them in your garden."

"only poisonous ones, perhaps." – you replied, and with a smile reflecting his own, squeezed the butterfly in your hand. – "they bring death, yet die themselves if I squeeze my hand just like that. how curious."

"and what about you?" – Rezef, as if enchanted, watched the transparent wings fall on the countertop – "can't you die?"

"I can't be killed in a way that matters." – you answered with a grin, as if you were repeating these words for the thousandth time.

prince pursed his lips in a forced smile. in the end, nothing has changed; he is still just a man at the walls of the eternal city. you won't listen, won't understand, and won't love.

because eternity is beautiful by itself, eternity does not need anyone else.

Rezef likes to think he's doing the right thing.

It's your fault. you could not smile at him so beautifully, not illuminate his darkness with your cold light, not make him feel this.

he didn't want to expose the ugliness of his soul, didn't want to go that far. it's all because of you. you don't even know what an insane cocktail of love and hatred you're making him feel.

and you also don't know that your tea is poisoned.

♡

"do you like your new quarters?" – Rezef almost purred, – "I was trying to guess your preferences, but if something doesn't suit you, be sure to tell me."

huh?

"you won't feel a need for anything," – little prince smiled radiantly, – "prepare to enjoy family life. just have fun and obey me, and I will make you the happiest in the whole world."

what?

Rezef was sitting, busily folding his beautiful hands, and enjoying for the first time the confused, trembling look in your eyes.

a giant bedroom, a four-poster bed, silk sheets on which you were sitting, a translucent nightgown that barely hides anything, and a scarlet ribbon around your neck.

while you were looking around uncomprehendingly, the prince sat down on the bed next to you and smiled sickly.

you saw that abomination again in the bright blue; the look of a pure madman, love which became an illness, mixed with almost animal hatred. a ribbon around your neck.

did he just put you on a leash, like you were some lap dog? that pup, who cried on your lap? you, a being older than his entire palace? you, for whom biting off someone's head is like having breakfast?

you haven't been humiliated like this in the last half-millennium.

"child." – you said slowly and quietly, and in your dry voice there was no trace of the cheeky, fake politeness peculiar to this aristocratic disguise of yours – "I'll pull your guts out through your mouth." – your lips trembled in sheer rage.

Rezef stroked your head and sighed.

"you came into my life so easily. it didn't mean anything to you, did it?" – the corner of his eye twitched, and he laughed bitterly, – "don't think I'll let you go now. never."

hit landed right on the bridge of his nose. you turned out to be much stronger than he expected, and your face was distorted with rage like he had never seen before. Rezef felt his nose bleed.

was the devil himself looking at him through your eyes now? – he thought with a strange calmness.

you hit a couple more times, and, shaking the blood off your knuckles, tore the ribbon from your neck.

how dare he? all of them are just actors in your endless play. if you're not having fun, then none of this makes sense. if you're not having fun, then what are you living for?

you were breathing fast, and were silent. it was as if for eternity you two just looked at each other; you – with fury, he – with calmness, even affably. you were sick of that expression.

but that rage of yours quickly subsided. it wasn't that you forgave him, it was just that after a couple of days you got bored with being violent.

and a year later, you stopped paying attention to the seemingly completely insane circumstances of your new life at all. you didn't mind his sole yet imaginary control over you, just because he didn't mean that much to you.

even now, nothing has changed at all.

and with the tendons cut at your ankles, looking at him with the same bored eyes, you were still disgustingly beautiful to him in the moonlight on the last night of spring.

"tomorrow I will become emperor." – instead of greeting you, Rezef said, entering the room. his face did not express joy, rather, bewilderment, as if he himself for some reason was not completely happy with it.

"yeah." – you said, without looking up from the book, – "congratulations."

now it was difficult for you to move around by yourself, so Rezef usually carried you in his arms.

he sat down on the bed and put his head on your lap and frowned.

"tell me, [name]," – he looked up at you, and when he met your impassive face, he forced a smile, – "why do I feel like I'll never see you again?"

"because you won't. I'm bored." – you shrugged and continued, – "you know, I could hate you." – you spoke calmly and dryly – "but you're not worth it. because in the end, I go on living; I always go on, and you, child, will fall into the very depths of hell."

you stroked his golden hair and smiled calmly. Rezef hid his face on your hips.

"I don't regret anything," – little prince suddenly said softly and laughed.

the last night of spring burned out in your eyes as you disappeared.

brotha euugh

one day I'll go to therapy and stop being funny but not today

I finished playing slow damage and it's the best novel in my life (that shit destroyed me)

also good ends are for weak

I mean I write for yanderes ofc there's not gonna be anything good

it's either normal or "we're fucked" here

also I'm physically intolerable to good endings and will cry if I'd ever had to write one (I love sufferings)

[nanamis-bigtie]

nonsexual acts of intimacy ↬ head scratches

❧ inumaki toge x gn!reader | cw: aged up character, established relationship, domestic fluff ❧

It's surprising now how little is said between the two of you without any words. It's Inumaki who's bound by vows and limitations, there's nothing that forces you to adopt the same habits—and yet, you follow almost religiously. Silence has grown only natural, the sound of your voices scrunches like wet sand in your ears; not quite unpleasant but alien and unexpected. Even your own seems so out of place when you use it within your four walls. As if someone uninvited sneaked into your home and joined the conversation.

Frankly, you don't really need verbalization when everything that's needed could be read from your faces and bodies. Inumaki hasn't made a single sound but a gentle hum to announce himself when he's come back and yet, you already scoot to the side of the sofa, just enough for him to fit and enjoy some of the warmth your body left. He strays only to grab a blanket and a pack of snacks before he finally settles by your side, head in your lap.

"Rough day?" Your fingers ask, brushing strands out of his eyes. They're velvet-soft, slick and skim through your fingertips with ease, like threads of silk. It's almost unfair, for a guy who's dyed his hair since high school, if not earlier, to have it in such excellent condition. 

Inumaki's eyes smile at you through the net of little wrinkles. Out of you all, he's been touched by the passing time the least, but even his youthful appearance couldn't avoid all marks of years. Still, his weight pressed to your thighs, would suit rather a teenager than an adult man at the edge of his thirties. He's so thin…and it always worries you a little.

Again, no word or sign was exchanged, but Inumaki is smiling wider, understanding, when he opens the snack as soon as a grimace runs through your face.

"Don't worry about me," cookies crunch in his mouth. "See? I'm eating."

You indulge yourself and sink fingers deeper into his hair, shamelessly messing it. You don't have to worry about tangling it, it's too slick to tie into knots, so you reach straight for the scalp. Threading through strands, you gently scratch his skin and return his peaceful smile, blooming with appreciation for your care.

"Thank you, love," is said by a low, pleased rumble straight from his chest—the louder the closer you are to one of his favorite spots. He shamelessly presses against your hand to have them reached faster and almost pouts when you tease him and act against.

When you finally give in and curl your fingers to scratch him exactly to his liking, Inumaki visibly melts, all muscles relaxed and eyes closing in pleasure. Right now, he reminds you of a cat, arching its back for the willing hand of a favorite human. He even sounds similar—and the softness of his hair beats any feline fur you've touched so far.

"A kitty," you speak with your own voice this time, unwittingly, and far from a whisper. 

Inumaki lazily opens one eye, studies your surprised expression with a growing smirk.

"Go on," he asks through the dimples showing under the clan seal.

Or so you think at first, through the few seconds before the characteristic tingle of his cursed energy sneaks around your brain.

"You're my good kitty," you continue, embracing the soft encouragement pushing the words out of you. 

a/n: yes, I placed this drabble roughly 10 years past current manga events. dyed hair is just a silly headcanon of mine but I'd not be surprised if it was somewhat canon. don't kick me if it is, details easy escape my mind lmao

[highinmiamiii]

you can be the boss 🦢

Club owner!Joe Kessler x Stripper Reader x DBF!Billy Butcher

18+ smut mdni

(a/n): new installment to club kess! i love this au soooo much kess is such a dirtbag, he’s kinda hard for me to write so i apologize if things are not as smooth sailing as you might expect. i hope you all enjoy this more sugar daddyish oriented smut chapter i was feeling smutty…perhaps we will get more sugar daddy shenanigans in the future before butcher decides he needs kessler gone asap. i love them being jealous of eachother its so hot, anyways

(CW: in general just stay away if you’re uncomfortable by anything sexual bc this is pretty filthy. fingering, squirting, slight daddyish dynamic, arguement w butcher, idk what else)

The dim glow of Kessler’s modern penthouse was a sharp contrast to the harsh reality she faced daily. The space was a testament to excess—a grand apartment bathed in dark marble, glass and metals, where every piece of furniture looked more out of some sort of sterile futuristic hospital than the last. Black velvet drapes, rich and heavy, framed the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city skyline. The scent of expensive cologne lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of cigars and fine leather.

Tonight, she was a vision in a black silk dress that clung to her every curve, the material shimmering under the soft, ambient lighting. Her heels clicked against the polished marble floor, each step resonating with the weight of her uncertainty. The dress’s plunging neckline and thigh-high slit revealed just enough to captivate yet leave much to the imagination. Her makeup was impeccable—smoky eyes and red lips that promised allure. Her hair cascaded in glossy waves, framing her face in a way that only enhanced her beauty further.

Kessler lounged on an overstuffed leather sofa, his presence larger than life. He had a predatory grace about him, his eyes glinting with unspoken promises. “Sweetheart,” he drawled, his voice smooth as silk. “You look fuckin’ gorgeous tonight. I must say, the way that dress hugs you—” He let the compliment trail off, his gaze lingering in a manner both admiring and possessive.

She shifted uncomfortably, aware of the subtle pressure his gaze exerted. “Thank you, Mr. Kessler,” she replied, attempting to mask her discomfort with a polite smile.

Kessler’s smile widened, revealing a glint of white teeth. “Call me Joe, darling. ‘Mr. Kessler’ makes me sound like a schoolteacher. Now, let’s talk business.” He gestured toward a bottle of vintage champagne resting in an ice bucket nearby, his hand lingering just a fraction too long on her arm as he led her to sit beside him.

As she settled on the sofa, he poured the champagne with practiced elegance, his eyes never straying far from her. “You know, baby, I’ve been thinking about our last conversation. You’ve got something special, and I’d hate to see that talent go to waste.”

Her heart raced at his words. She thought back to the other day when he spoke to her in his office. The promises of stardom hanging heavy between them since them “H-how so?”

Kessler leaned in closer, his breath warm against her ear. “I’m talking about making you a star. Not just any star, but one of those dazzling lights that everyone will want to see. I could maybe even get ya in a film one day”

She forced herself to meet his gaze, trying to read his intentions. “And what’s in it for you?”

A smirk played on his lips as he handed her a thick envelope stuffed with cash. “Absolutely nothing sweetheart, just a little something to show my appreciation. Get yourself something nice to wear. Don’t worry about the details just yet. We’re going to get you out of this town, baby. It’s only a matter of time.”

The envelope felt heavy in her hands, its weight a reminder of her growing dependence on Kessler’s promises. As she hesitated, he reached out and gently stroked her cheek. “Relax, darling. You’re in good hands.”

His thick strong hands roamed their way down her waist, gently turning her over so her back is facing him. He starts to dig his fingers deep into the blades of her back, kneading the skin and helping her release every last knot “Mmm, so tense baby” He huffs and kneads rougher, causing a pleasured gasp to escape her throat “fuck..” She whispers, cracking her neck

Kessler’s hands continued their slow, deliberate work on her back, each stroke more possessive than the last. His breath was hot against her neck, close enough to send shivers down her spine. He was playing a dangerous game—one that blurred the lines between manipulation and seduction.

“Can’t have my girls all tense like this,” Kessler whispered, his lips grazing her ear, voice low and full of promise. “You’ve been carrying too much weight on those pretty shoulders.”

He pushed her hair aside and trailed soft kisses down the back of her neck, his lips lingering just enough to make her pulse quicken. She tensed, unsure how to respond. Part of her mind screamed to pull away, but her body betrayed her, leaning back into his touch, craving the attention despite the warning signs flashing in her head.

“You don’t need to worry about a thing, sweetheart,” he murmured, his fingers now tracing circles along her hips, drawing her closer into him. “I’ll take care of everything. You just let me handle it.”

His hands roamed lower, teasingly brushing against her waist as he spun her around to face him. Kessler’s dark eyes were filled with desire and power, a dangerous mix that made her heart race. He pulled her closer, into his lap so that she’s straddling his waist.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Kessler growled softly, his hand now caressing her cheek, thumb tracing her lips. “You don’t know what you do to me, do you, baby? The way you move, the way you look at me… it drives me wild.”

Her breath hitched as he leaned in, his lips crashing against hers with an intensity that made her knees weak. The kiss was hard and demanding, filled with the same possessiveness that had been building between them since the start. His hand gripped the back of her neck, holding her in place as his tongue slid against hers, coaxing her deeper into the moment.

Her mind swirled with conflicting emotions. She knew this was wrong—knew that he was manipulating her, bending her to his will. But in that moment, with his hands on her and his words washing over her, it was hard to remember the reasons why she had to resist.

He pressed her against the wall, his lips finding their way to her jaw, her throat, marking her with each kiss. “I’ll take care of you, baby,” he whispered against her skin, the promise dripping with desire and control. “You won’t need anyone else. Just me.”

Her breath quickened, and she felt his hand slide down to her thigh, lifting her leg slightly so that he could press himself harder against her. It was overwhelming, the way he commanded the situation, the way he took control without giving her time to think. Kessler pulled back just enough to speak, his voice husky with lust. “You feel that, sweetheart? That’s what you do to this ol’ man, eh? you proud of that?” He says teasingly as he breathes heavily into your ear

As his lips found hers again, she kissed him back with a desperation that surprised even her. It wasn’t just the money, or the promises—it was the way he made her feel in moments like this. Powerful, desired, and yet, completely under his thumb. A stark contrast to how Billy made her feel.

The only time she would feel any sort of reciprocation from Butcher when he was off his rockers or blackout drunk. You’d looked up to him since you were a literal little girl. Of course you had a dumb schoolgirl crush on him, but that didn’t matter right now. Not with Kessler holding you like this, making you feel so sexy, so wanted, spoiling you every last chance he got. Fuck Billy. If he didn’t want her sober then she was going to find someone world’s better for her.

Somewhere in the haze of it all, she knew the truth: the more she gave in, the more she’d lose of herself. But then again, it was a much better feeling to have someone want you without having to consume enough alcohol to kill a small animal for once.

Kessler’s hands slid up her waist again, his grip firm. “You won’t ever need to work for those tips again,” he murmured, kissing her neck. “You’re too good for that. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”

She pulled back, her breath ragged as she searched his eyes. “And what do you get out of this, Joe?…” She asked, honestly not wanting to deal with her suspicions right now and see him as the perfect man…but she had to, it seemed like a very unfair trade here.

He smirked, that devilish grin lighting up his face. “I get you, sweetheart. That’s more than enough.”

Her mind was screaming at her to step away, to leave, but instead, she stayed there, pinned between Kessler and the wall, completely unsure of where to go from here.

Kessler's gaze held hers captive, his eyes darkening with intensity. He reached out, his fingers tracing the curve of her cheek before tangling in her hair. "Why do you always have to be so unsure about everything, huh babygirl?" he murmured, his voice low and soothing.

Kessler's hands tightened around her waist, his fingers splayed possessively over her hips. "You know, when you're being difficult, it makes me want to put you over my knee and spank some sense into you." He growled, his voice low and menacing.

Her eyes widened, her face flushing a deep shade of red. "W-What?... Over your knee?... Like a- a fucking a child?" She stammered, her voice barely a whisper. “You’re sicker than I thought you were Kess” She mutters with a soft nervous chuckle. Kessler grinned wickedly, enjoying her flustered reaction. "Well, sweetheart, you're acting like a damn brat right now, ain't you? Maybe a good spanking is just what you need to learn some respect." His hands squeezed her backside, his intent clear.

She nervously stutters out “Y-you know what- it’s getting late kess—“

Kessler silenced her protests with a searing kiss, his hands gripping her thighs and hoisting her up. She automatically wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms looping around his neck. "Then perhaps," he said against her lips, "you should show me some obedience instead, young lady."

Her mind was racing, but her body betrayed her, clinging to him as he carried her to the bedroom. She buried her face in his neck, murmuring “y-yes Mr. Kessler”

He hikes her dress up past her ass, his palm smacking loudly against the plump fat, her skin rippling as she yelps in shock “Told ya not to fuckin’ call me that, didn’t I babygirl?”

She gasped as his palm connected with her bottom, the sharp smack echoing in the room. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she buried her face deeper into his neck, letting out a choked sob "Y-yes- m’sorry” she whines helplessly

Kessler's hand caressed her reddened flesh soothingly, his touch gentle despite the earlier roughness. "Good girl." He praised, his voice low and approving. "Now, let's see if you can ride my hand like one"

Kessler felt a surge of protectiveness well up within him. He could feel her body quivering against his, her breath coming in ragged, tear-choked gasps. Her vulnerability stirred something primal within him, a need to cherish and control her in equal measure. She let out a soft, shuddering breath as his hand caressed her stinging backside, her body still tensed from the sudden, humiliating punishment. The heat from his palm seeped into her skin, a stark contrast to the cool air of the room. His touch gentled, his fingers trailing along the crease of her bottom, pausing to squeeze the tender flesh possessively before slipping lower. She could feel his knuckles brushing against her thighs, parting them ever so slightly.

Kessler wrapped an arm around her waist and tossed her facedown on the mattress, her breath hitching as she bounced slightly. He climbed onto the bed, straddling her thighs and pinning her hips down with one beefy, tattooed arm wrapped around her waist. His other hand snaked beneath her, groping along her inner thighs until it reached the hem of her lace underwear. He paused, his thick fingers toying with the delicate fabric before he slowly began to drag it aside, revealing the tender flesh beneath.

As he exposed her soaked pussy, he let out a low, appreciative growl. "Fuck, look at you," he muttered, his breath hot against her ear. "Fucking soaked, just for me. dripping all over my sheets, aren't you, sweetness?" Her cheeks flamed with embarrassed heat as she buried her face in the mattress, muffling her moans. His thick fingers parted her folds, slowly sliding up and down her slick crease. “Answer me," he demanded gruffly, punctuating his words with firm pressure against her hole.

“Y-yes” she gasps out softly, wondering how the hell she got here. she had promised butcher that she wasn’t sleeping with kessler, especially not for his money…so what the hell was she doing letting him touch her like this. Her mind raced as Kessler's touch grew bolder, his fingers pumping in and out of her as his thumb swirled around her sensitive little pulsing nub, soaking up her guilty secret. "Squeezin’ me and i’ve barely got two fingers in, got the tightest pretty little pussy i’ve ever laid eyes on, baby" he growled, his breath hot against her ear.

Kessler's fingers curled inward, pressing against her g-spot as he continued to talk dirty to her. "that’s a good fuckin’ girl," he praised, his voice thick with lust. "let's see just how messy we can get’er, eh?”

She bit down on her lip to silence her cries as he slowly added a third finger, stretching her wide. His touch grew more insistent, his thumb rubbing firm circles over her swollen nub while his fingers pumped in and out of her, slowly gaining speed.

“oh yeah baby, doin’ so well..” he rasped, his tone filled with approval. “This little cunts gripping my fingers so tight, all soaked and sloppy... that old fuck that comes around the club- what’s his name sweetheart?— “

“W-wha—“ She mumbles, rolling her neck in pleasure as she arches her back slightly. “jeeesus- i- i don’t know who you’re talking about-“

“The motherfucker that picks ya up babygirl, think I don’t ask around? Butcher, was it? He bury his fingers this deep in ya like I am now?"

She tried to speak, but all that came out was a garbled moan as he hit that spot inside her again and again. Her eyes rolled back, and she squeezed her legs together, trying to keep his fingers inside her, but he just pushed them in even deeper. Her back bowed, pushing her rear higher into the air as unbridled pleasure coursed through her veins like liquid fire. Each thrust of his fingers against that magical spot sent shockwaves through her core, her inner walls clutching at him greedily, desperate to keep him inside.

"Mmm, does he make you feel like this?" Kessler growled, his breath hot against her ear. "does he make you shake and whimper like my touch does? does he make you beg for his touch, sweetheart?"

"No, Billy means nothing," she stammered, her back arching off the bed as Kessler's fingers hit that magic spot inside her. "We've never— really done anything. He's always drunk, and I've never… never even gotten close to finishing with him…I-I swear…”

Kessler's eyes widened in disbelief as she spoke, his fingers pausing inside her for a moment before he started moving again, faster and harder. "What the fuck, sweetheart? He's never even gotten you off?" "He's not my boyfriend," she gasped, her fingers clawing at the bedsheets. "He's just... around. And when he is, he's drunk or asleep. Oh god, Kess, please..." Kessler groaned softly, his mind racing with the realization that he was likely the only one who'd ever touched her like this, who'd ever brought her to the brink of release. His fingers curled inside her, his thumb rubbing her swollen nub with quick, firm circles. "You're so close, babygirl. I can feel you pulsating around my fingers. You're gonna come for me like this, ain't ya? Y’don’t need him..” She nodded frantically, her body trembling as his words washed over her. "Yes, Kess, yes, d-don’t need him! I've never... I've never even touched myself like this. Only you, only your fingers—and oh god, I'm so close!"

Her back bowed, a high-pitched cry tearing from her throat as the most intense pleasure she'd ever known exploded within her. It was like a dam breaking, her insides convulsing as waves of pure ecstasy crashed over her. Kessler's mouth dropped open as she cried out, her body convulsing as a torrent of her release gushed out, drenching his hand. "Holy fuck...made my girl fuckin’ squirt" he breathed, watching in awe as her body trembled and quaked.

He quickly moved to clean her up, his tongue delving between her folds to lap up every last drop. She whimpered and shuddered, her hands gripping the sheets tightly as he ate her out like a starving man.

Kessler's face buried between her thighs, his tongue ravaging her soaked flesh as he licked up every last trace of her release. She quivered uncontrollably, her hips bucking against his mouth, overly sensitized from the mind-shattering climax. "K-Kess... it's too much...,"

He gentled his touch, lapping at her slowly, thoroughly cleaning her up before placing soft kisses on her inner thighs and belly. He crawled up beside her, pulling her against his chest as they both caught their breath.

That next morning, sun seeping in through the floor-to-ceiling windows as his his housemaid sweeps the floor. Soft jazz played in the background, creating an atmosphere of sophistication and ease. She, in a delicate white lacy dress that contrasted starkly with the darkness of her previous attire, felt like she was stepping into a world far removed from her own struggles. This dress, with its intricate lace detailing and short little poofy skirt, was both elegant and suggestive—a perfect blend of innocence and allure.

Kessler greeted her with an almost theatrical flourish. “There she is, my starlet,” he crooned, his eyes dark with something akin to possessiveness.

Weeks later, her role at Club Kessler had evolved significantly. She had been promoted to a bottle service girl, a coveted position that allowed her to cater to the club’s high-profile clientele. The VIP area, with its plush seating and private booths, was a stark contrast to the main stage where she once performed. The exclusivity of her new role seemed like a step toward the future Kessler had promised her.

Kessler’s possessiveness, however, became more apparent with each passing night. She, now clad in a glittering silver mini-dress that showcased her toned legs and accentuated her every move, was serving a particularly influential client. As she danced for him, her movements fluid and practiced, she noticed Kessler watching from the shadows, his gaze intense and scrutinizing.

After the dance, Kessler approached her with a dangerous smile. “Baby, I need to talk to you.”

Her heart sank. She followed him to a quieter corner of the club, where the sound of the music seemed distant and hollow. “What’s wrong?”

He placed a hand on her arm, his touch possessive. “I saw what you were doing out there. It’s not what I want for you. You’re not just another girl in this club; you’re special. I don’t want you giving private dances anymore.”

She blinked, stunned. “But… how am I supposed to make money? I work off tips.”

Kessler’s smile faltered for a brief moment before returning with a more sinister edge. “Don’t worry about it. From now on, I’ll take care of everything. You’re not here to earn a living, sweetheart; you’re here to shine.”

The weight of his words settled heavily on her shoulders. Her independence was slipping away, replaced by a sense of obligation and dependency. The last shred of her dignity—the money she had earned herself—was now a distant memory.

Kessler’s manipulation became more pronounced. The cash he handed her grew in volume, and his control over her life tightened with each passing day. She felt the weight of her dependence on him—a growing burden that overshadowed the promises of fame and freedom.

The bell above the door chimed as Butcher stepped into the shop, his presence a familiar weight that made the cramped space feel even smaller. She stood behind the counter, hands smoothing over a pile of folded shirts, trying not to let her fingers tremble. The shop smelled like old leather and wood polish, mixed with the faint tang of motor oil from the garage out back. It was the kind of place that felt worn-in, like a pair of boots broken just right.

Butcher, in his usual dark coat, sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms, looked out of place here—too rough, too loud for the quiet, slow-moving world of the shop. His heavy boots echoed off the wooden floors as he strode past the racks, eyes landing on her in that way that always made her feel exposed. He had that same look tonight—like he knew something wasn’t right but wasn’t sure how to ask.

She wore a pale pink dress today, soft and frilled at the edges, the kind of thing that made her feel delicate, though she’d long forgotten how to be. It hugged her figure just enough to feel pretty without trying, but now, under Butcher’s stare, it felt like too much. Her fingers toyed with the edge of the dress, fidgeting in that way she did when she was nervous.

“Bit late, don’t ya think?” she asked, her voice light but brittle as she glanced up at him. He looked tired. The kind of tired that sunk deep into the bones, making everything heavy. He didn’t answer right away, just made his way over to the counter, resting his elbows on it as he leaned toward her, eyes scanning her face like he was trying to read something there.

“You closing up soon?” His voice was low, rough, but there was something softer beneath it, hidden beneath the layers of his gruff exterior.

“Yeah, just waiting on one last customer,” she said, nodding to the back where an old man was browsing the shelves with deliberate slowness. He didn’t seem in a rush to leave, and neither did Butcher, it seemed.

He grunted in response, shifting his weight. “Didn’t think you’d be workin’ this late.”

She shrugged, eyes dropping to the counter, fingers running over the grain of the wood, tracing the tiny nicks and scratches that had accumulated over the years. “Needed the hours,” she muttered. Butcher knew why, even if she didn’t say it outright. The debt. Kessler. Everything she’d tangled herself in.

A silence fell between them, thick and heavy like the dusk settling outside. She could feel him watching her, that familiar gaze that made her skin itch, like he could see all the things she was trying to hide. It was always like this with Butcher—he didn’t have to say much to make her feel like she was under a microscope.

“You alright?” His question was simple, but there was weight to it, like it held more than just casual concern.

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, too quickly, her voice wavering just enough to betray her. She didn’t look at him, didn’t want him to see the cracks.

Butcher tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing as if to study her closer. “Ya sure ‘bout that, Doll?”

She hated how easily that nickname slipped out of him, how it softened her resolve even when she didn’t want it to. She glanced up, meeting his eyes for just a second before looking away. He always had a way of getting under her skin, seeing through her defenses without even trying.

The old man at the back of the shop coughed, a reminder that they weren’t alone. Butcher straightened up, crossing his arms over his chest, looking like he was about to say something when the customer shuffled to the front, a stack of books in hand.

She stepped away from Butcher, her heart pounding in her chest, and rang up the sale with hands that were a little too shaky. The man didn’t seem to notice as he gathered his things and nodded politely, heading for the door. The bell chimed again as it swung shut behind him, leaving her alone with Butcher.

The air felt thicker now, the shop quieter. Butcher took a step toward her, his fingers drumming on the countertop. “Doll,” he started, but the words seemed to catch in his throat.

She looked at him finally, really looked at him. The dark circles under his eyes, the way his shoulders seemed to carry the weight of a world that wasn’t entirely his. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. His coat was rumpled, like he’d been wearing it for too long, and his shirt was half untucked, one side pulled loose where his belt cut into his waist. But there was something else too—something softer, buried deep in the lines of his face. Concern, maybe. Or guilt. She couldn’t tell anymore.

“I’m fine, Butcher,” she repeated, but this time her voice was quieter, more tired than defiant. She wiped her hands on her dress, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze. “You don’t need to keep checking in on me.”

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching into something like a half-smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah? And who’s gonna check in on ya if I don’t?”

The question hung in the air between them, heavy and unspoken for too long. She didn’t answer, didn’t know how to. Her eyes drifted to the door, then back to him, and suddenly the space between them felt too small, too intimate.

“I can take care of myself,” she muttered, more to convince herself than him. She didn’t even believe it anymore.

Butcher’s hand twitched, like he wanted to reach out but thought better of it. Instead, he leaned forward, his voice dropping low, rough around the edges. “I ain’t sayin’ you can’t handle yourself, Doll. I know you’re tough. But tough ain’t always enough.”

Her chest tightened, the words sinking deep. She could feel the weight of them pressing down on her, the way Butcher always seemed to pull her in, making her feel things she didn’t want to feel. She wanted to push him away, tell him to leave, but instead, she found herself leaning into it, letting the silence stretch between them.

“You don’t have to do this,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “You don’t have to fix everything.”

Butcher’s eyes softened, just a fraction, and he let out a breath he’d been holding. “I ain’t tryin’ to fix ya, Doll. Just don’t want ya drownin’, is all.”

There it was again—that concern, that twisted, broken care that made her chest ache. He didn’t know how to show it, not the way people were supposed to, but she felt it anyway, like a pulse between them.

“I’m not drowning.” she whispered, though the words felt like a lie. She wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince him or herself anymore. “Leave it, Butcher.”

Butcher didn’t move, didn’t push, just stood there watching her with that quiet intensity that always made her feel like she was standing on the edge of something. Something dangerous. Something she couldn’t escape from.

The bell above the door chimed again as he turned to leave, but before stepping out into the night, he glanced back at her, eyes lingering for just a second longer than necessary. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

“Make sure ya lock up, Doll,” he muttered, his voice softer now, like a command but gentler. Then he was gone, the door swinging shut behind him, leaving her standing in the dim light of the shop, the weight of his presence still hanging in the air.

[cerezzzita]

🍓 ˖ . ᵎᵎ Sugarcoating ✦ 3Dante x Fem!Reader

⌕ summary: Dante purposes that you two should kiss, and is not a big deal. After all, friends does this, too.

notes: to start the month with some goodies, let's have some smoochies! (Jesus Christ, why am I like that) hello y'all, how's it going? so, yeah, was feeling in the mood for writing a kiss/making-out scene and, well, no one better than Dante, right? right! in advance, I apologize because I tend to suck at kiss scenes and so so sooo sorry for the end being sorta turn-off. really, i was just excited to post it already after the feedback I had with the sneak peak. anyways, enjoy the reading!

♡ word count: 970

♡ tags: fem!reader, no use of pronouns (you/yours only), no description of reader's appearance, use of pet names, kissing, making-out, slightly suggestive but nothing explicit (it got hottie hottie at some point, i think), Dante tastes as strawberry and vanilla because I said so, 3Dante my beloved bf and mentions of friends with benefits.

ⓘ gif's not mine!!

"What if we kissed?"

Your irises, focused before on the vast pages of the magazine, took an interested route to the owner of the question. Usually sitting with his feet up on the shop's wooden table, Dante's heavenly eyes gazed at you, curiously, brow arched and a wolfish grin summoned to his lips.

"What?" Your voice had come up with a high pitch.

"You heard me, angelcake," now the jovial Devil Hunter propped his chin on one hand, blinking both eyes with a certain air of grace. "You're a babe, I'm a hot stuff; I only see the pros." Dante shrugged as he finished his sentence.

Your reply was a short, airy laugh. Closing the random magazine in your hands, you adjusted your body on the sofa that was in front of Dante's desk, with your legs duly intertwined and, smiling a little, imitated the chin placed in the palm.

"Until yesterday, we were just friends considering — in your words — your bad luck with the ladies."

"Bingo," he snapped his fingers, not avoiding his turn to chuckle, "However, you are one of the few ladies to have ever shot me in the forehead."

"Really? Because the way you piss me off sometimes…"

"Ouch, baby, it's part of my charm. Anyway, what if we really kissed?" This time, Dante's inquiry came with an edge of seriousness, and you engaged in debate with your train of thought and the stations through which it passed.

Okay, Dante was eye candy without a doubt. Dangerously attractive and even if inconvenient in certain situations, you had to admit that he had an undeniable charisma and a generous heart.

Maybe he was also nice to kiss.

So why not?

It wasn't like the friendship between the two of you was going to end or wither because of a mere silly kiss…

You cleared your throat and rose from the sofa, tracing steps towards Dante, who was now smirking like he was the Cheshire Cat incarnate. Gone was all shyness and hesitation from the moment you walked around the table and placed yourself on the Devil Hunter's lap and wrapped your arms around his firm neck; cheeky, he let out a low chuckle of contentment.

"Is that a yes?" Dante's hands snaked stealthily up to grip your waist, an act that sent a rush of heat and shivers through you, and he felt it all too well, so much that his fingers began to caress your skin.

"Let's see if it is," determined, you calmly moved your face closer to Dante's until you felt the subtle brush of the tips of your noses and the warm breath against yours.

Quietly, you initiate the kiss. Sparda's handsome son made a sound akin to a pleasurable growl, moving his hands to your back and then lowering them to your thighs. You sighed. Until then, the movement of your lips had been carried out slowly and without much haste.

As if it were the beginning of a tasting.

Your fingers unconsciously tangled in the pale silk strands that were Dante's hair, he seemed to enjoy the touch. His lips were like velvet, a certain strawberry and vanilla flavor that when fused with the soft texture of his mouth, made you want more.

Dante, with some efficiency, had taken a slow nibble on your lower lip. The sensation was beneficial enough that your mouth opened, accompanied by a low, surprised moan, and then his smooth tongue darted in and involved with yours. Once a simple kiss, now it became hungry and voluptuous.

The half-demon greedily squeezed your thighs, grinning as another groan came from you; Dante stiffened and shivered as the scrape of your nail tips traveled down the back of his neck. He groaned too and then led the grips down to your ass, having the audacity to even give it a silent pat there.

You gasped from the lack of air and Dante's fiery acts that made your insides crackle like you were on fire. As you gasped, your mouths peeled off.

"Dante…" your bashful sigh brought another grunt of delight from the young Devil Hunter who was now finding refuge for his fervent mouth on the skin of your neck, gifting the curve with soft nips and lazy licks. "D-Dante…"

"Aw, baby…" you heard him suck in air through his teeth before giving you another lick, Dante was so caught up in the moment as you were that he started babbling disjointedly, "... Just like I imagined, you're sweet as hell, just the way I imagined it... So sweet, so delicious..."

His voice, husky and sly, made your muscles quiver and instinctively your thighs clenched together. Dante looked up and saw your irises hidden by your lashes and your head tilted back with brows positively twitching. He laughed, his eyes now blue like hellish flames and luscious.

You looked at him with half-closed eyelids and silently, flattening your hands on Dante's firm, strong chest. Much to your glee, he gave you a satisfied 'ooh'.

"Dante…"

"Yeah?"

Again, you sighed, more calmly than a few minutes ago.

"I…" you bit your lip, feeling abruptly self-conscious at the way Dante's ice blue colored orbs roamed over your figure. Worth mentioning, the young son of Sparda's hands were still placed on your ass. "Hm…"

"Lost your tongue all of a sudden, angel?"

"Hm, maybe she's still tangled up in yours," you shrugged, putting on a petit smile.

"Naughty," Dante chuckled, "Want to see if she's really tangled up in mine?"

"Now that you mention it, I do."

On this specific time, it was the half-demon who had kissed you passionately, with you again moaning in delight as you savoured his sweet tongue inside your mouth. You both smiled over each other's lips.

If your friendship continued sugarcoated like that, so be it.

cerezzzita©, 2023 · all rights reserved ⓘ do not copy, edit, steal or claim as yours | reblogs and comments are appreciated!

[notyetneedcoffee]

Playroom

Kinktober 2023 - BDSM Absolutely NSFW, adults only. Warning: all kinds of BDSM play.

Summary: Loki is led to a playroom on Sakar.

You paused, seeing if the dark-haired Asgardian followed. Loki trailed you, careful to do so without being noticed by any of the Grandmaster’s party-goers. You led him down a hall with decorative paint of garish burnt orange and a bright citron green. He sipped his wine, seeming to enjoy the slow-motion chase. Working his way into the Grandmaster’s good graces and Sakar society proved to be tedious and most trying. This was more to his mischievous liking.

You disappeared behind a solid black door. It made him stop.

He stepped closer and it slid open. Loki’s head tilted at the sound of leather against skin and moans. They were not cries of fear. One eyebrow creeped up. He entered.

The dim room at the end of the hall was filled with comfortable sofas, benches with naked people strapped down, and a center stage where a man brutally fucked a woman who was tied and hanging from the ceiling. The corner of Loki’s mouth tipped up.

“Delightful.” Loki muttered to himself.

You paused at an alcove entrance, making sure you had Loki’s eye before slipping inside. Waiting until his tall, lithe frame filled the doorway, you pulled the stays of your robe, allowing it to fall to the ground and expose your naked flesh. You slipped onto the black leather chair with an invitation smile.

Loki tugged the heavy velvet curtain closed. You didn’t care if he left it open, but something about him wanting you all to himself made your cunt clench. He stalked over, taking your right hand in both of his. His touch was cool, gentle, but electric. He brought your palm to his mouth, kissing it. Without a word, Loki moved your hand to the restraint and locked it in place. You watched his face as he did the same with your other hand.

“This is delightful, Pet.” Loki purred, leaning forward to run his nose along the length of yours. “But I want to hear it. Are you submitting to me?”

“Yes, sir.” You breathed. It was the first words you’d spoken to the dark stranger.

He palmed your breasts, massaging and feeling their weight. “I am Loki, God of Mischief.”

His fingers pinched your nipples hard, icy cold shocked your nerves. “Oh, my god!”

“That’s better.” He chuckled darkly. Loki bent and brought your ankle to his mouth kissing it before folding your leg into your side. Suddenly, with a shimmer of green, silk rope bound your leg in the bent position, secured to your torso. He did the same on the other side, leaving you splayed open before him. “Lovely.”

Along the wall hung a myriad of tools and toys. You watched him study the options. He appeared so calm, but the tenting of his silk trousers betrayed his true state. Even hidden beneath the fabric, you could tell he was greatly endowed. You found your mouth watering at the thought of wrapping your lips around him.

Loki fingered a strap. A wicked grin crossed his face before he brought it down across the back of your thighs. You whined at the sting. He struck again, harder, across your ass. You gasped. His cool fingers slid between your folds.

“Mmm. Responsive.” He licked his finger.

He smacked you again, even harder. Loki delighted in the reddening of your skin and smell rising from your sex. He lowered his head to taste you. His tongue circled your clit, making your hips buck into his face.

Loki tsked. “Don’t get demanding.”

You saw something bring a wicked gleam to his eyes. He pulled a lever and the back of the chair gave way, leaving you on your back with your legs in the air. Loki grinned as he brought the strap down across your ass again before he pulled you lower so you were right at the edge of the chair. More ropes appeared tying you to the table.  Finally, Loki shortened the platform under you so your head hung over the edge.

“That’s better.” He purred.

You couldn’t move. You wanted to beg him to touch you. You knew he would. The waiting was torture.

Loki’s cool hands massaged your breasts. He leaned forward, taking one nipple in his mouth and sucking hard. You gasped at a sharp bite. The pain didn’t fade as he stood. You lifted your head to see a golden clamp locked tight on your hard nipple. You moaned.

“Like that?”

“Yes, sir.” You sighed. Loki slapped your cunt hard. You cried out. “Yes! Yes, my god.”

“Mmm. Better.” He took your other nipple into his mouth, leaving behind a golden clamp. Loki walked around you, admiring the view. He slid two fingers into your desperate cunt.

“Please.” You whined.

He huffed a chuckle, before his slick fingers circled the tight opening of your ass. Your groan turned to a gasp when cool liquid poured over you. The oily liquid warmed, making you want to squirm. A flash of green light had you lifting your head again. Loki held a gold plug capped with a bright green jewel. He teased your opening with the cool metal. His thumb played with your clit until you were panting.

At once, he slapped your clit and pushed in the plug. You cried out again, only to have it end in a delighted moan. The toy was thick and heavy, set deep. It felt amazing. Loki walked to your head, his long cock in his left hand. You watched as he waved his right hand. The toy thrummed with a powerful vibration.

You gasped and Loki pushed his cock into your open mouth. Your eyes rolled back as you relaxed your jaw and rubbed against him with your tongue. He growled as he pushed, seeing how deep you could take him.

He groaned. It was intoxicating. You hips strained against the ropes, tension growing low. Your mouth watered and you hummed against his cock. His hand closed around your throat, but not enough to cut off your air. “Look at you, Pet. Such a beautiful mess.”

He stepped back, leaving you gasping. “Do you think you deserve to be fucked?”

“Yes, my god, Loki.” You looked up through tearing eyes. “Please.”

“Not yet.” He turn, and in a shower of green light, his clothes disappeared. You whined. Wanting his skin against yours. Loki pulled at the clamps on your nipples, making you cry out. His fingers slid down your skin, over your stomach, and along the inside of your thighs. A sharp zap sent a jolt of pain through your leg. You gasped. Loki wiggled his sparking fingers at you, a wicked grin on his face.

His hands continued to explore, shocking your thighs, your feet, your stomach. When he zapped your labia, you screamed. Before you could take a breath, Loki spanked your ass hard. Two fingers curled into your cunt and pumped hard. It was sudden, fast, and violent. You snapped like a band, your orgasm hitting hard.

“Fuck! Loki!”” You screamed.

Just as your breath returned, he was pushing into you – stretching and filling you. The size and weight of the plug made taking his size a stretch. You could feel the thrum of the toy change pace as Loki began to pump in and out, going deeper with each stroke.

“Oh god,” you whined. Light-headed and sex drunk, you gave yourself over to the sensation.

“More?”

“Mmm’r”

The pain in your nipples increased as something pulled on them. Loki fucked into you hard. His ice cold thumb rubbed hard against your clit. Your whole body began to shake.

Loki groaned. His voice went low, dangerous. “Tell me you want more.”

“M-more.”

The back of chair snapped up, curling you towards Loki. The angle changed, his cock slamming hard into you. He took a handful of your hair in his left hand, pulling your head back hard. His teeth locked onto the junction of your neck.

You came apart, flooded over his cock, shaking uncontrollably.

Loki growled, a satisfied ‘yes’ and his hips moved even faster. Drown in sensations, you took the pounding, riding the sensations, losing yourself. At some point, you felt his body lock as he found his own release. Little else made sense.

Warmth moved over your skin. Soft and wet. You felt it on your arms, torso, sex, and leg. Something smooth followed. It was like swimming in silk.

You opened your eyes to find yourself curled on Loki’s lap. You were both in a deep sofa in a quiet corner of the club. He wrapped you in a giant dark green silk blanket. His soft lips brushed against your temple.

“Are you prepared for water or food? Maybe something else to drink? You should have something, my Pet.”

You cuddled into his embrace more. “Water, and honey tarts.”

He smiled. “Whatever you like.” Loki waved over a server and ordered water, wine and honey tarts.

You noticed how fresh he smelled, how fresh you smelled. Bringing a heavy hand up to touch your hair, you expected it to be wet, but it wasn’t.

Loki noted the frown on your face. “Are you hurting? I healed the bite and the bruises I could see.”

“What?” You realized for the first time that beyond the mental fuzziness, you did not feel any of the normal physical soreness. “No. Not sore. Did we bathe?”

“Not in water.” Loki dipped his head low and whispered in your ear, “Just a little magic.”

A tray of drinks and food was delivered. Loki held a crystal glass to your lips as you sipped.

“I did not expect you to take care of me.”

“I take care of my Pets.”

[shadowdaddies]

hi love!! can i request a professor!au with feyre where she gives reader a lesson on nude drawing?? she would enlighten her on the female anatomy… 👀

omg art professor Feyre has me in a chokehold. I'm obsessed with this, truly😅💜

The Study of Movement

professor!Feyre x f!Reader smut (modern AU)

Warnings: smut, oral f!receiving, minors dni

Rubbing your sweaty palms against the fabric of your dress, you peered through the doorway to the art classroom. You’d been failing in your class, Drawing the Human Figure, and Professor Archeron specifically requested that you come in during office hours for one-on-one discussion.

The blush that dusted your cheeks was immediate as you took in the stunning woman sitting at her desk, golden brown hair pinned back revealing her low-cut shirt as she scoured over paperwork. Shuffling forward into the room, you adjusted the strap of your art satchel, heart pounding nervously.

“Professor?” you managed to ask meekly, breath hitching in your throat as grey-blue eyes glanced up, their focus on you. It was no wonder why you were failing in this course - every time Professor Archeron looked at you, your mind emptied, unable to focus on your work.

She hit you with a disarming smile as she stood gracefully from her desk, long legs striding towards the center of the room. The space was set up as usual for class, with students’ easels in a semi-circle around the velvet couch where the reference models posed. 

“You can call me Feyre while it’s just us, sweetheart,” she spoke, prowling around the back of the sofa, her hands grazing the velvet fabric along the furniture. She sat on the arm of the couch, legs crossed as she silently assessed you. 

“You may take a seat,” she nodded towards the easel in the center of the room. “I asked you to meet me here for office hours to discuss your movement. Your drawings are stiff, they lack the fluidity of human motion. Do you understand?”

Biting your lip, you sat on the stool, sliding your satchel off your shoulder as you pulled your drawing pad out to set on the easel in front of you. “I think so. You’re saying my drawings look lifeless, more like mannequins? I try to capture movement, but I just feel like I struggle to actually see the flow of it - how muscles move, hair... I don’t know.”

Feyre gave you an approving nod, a small smile gracing her face as she studied you. “I think you need more practice with observing movement. Maybe you feel too rushed during class. Do you have time now to practice?”

You nodded, settling into your seat as you anticipated whatever she had planned for you. Or so you thought. 

A gleam shone in her blue eyes, Feyre smirking at you as she whispered a “good girl,” undoing her hair and standing up to unbutton her blouse. 

“Profess- Feyre,” you stuttered, cheeks turning red. You couldn’t bring yourself to look away, her full breasts strained against the silvery lace of her bra. Your breaths grew shallow as she continued to strip in front of you, tongue flicking out absentmindedly over your lower lip as you took in her form, bared to you save her bra and underwear.

With a smirk, Feyre laid against the sofa, back arched dramatically as her long hair splayed out beneath her. “You are here to watch and learn, pet,” she murmured, stretching out along the sofa, a soft sigh leaving her lips as her head tipped back against the cushions. 

“Watch my muscles, the way that my body moves. Tell me how my hair flows, my legs, my breasts,” she whispered, hands sliding up and down her form as she twisted around in the cushions to face you.

With a shaky exhale, you dared yourself to focus on each part of her body - the way her hair draped like silk over her shoulder, the folds of her stomach as her hips shifted, the toned muscles of her legs. Her breasts were pressed together, covered by her bra. Your gaze lingered there for a moment, mind working to understand how her flesh would move and appear if it were free from the confines of her undergarments.

A silky soft laugh left your professor’s lips, pure amusement glittering in her eyes. “You are enjoying this, aren’t you?” she teased.

Panicking, you tried to alleviate the awkwardness you felt from the situation - being so inappropriately attracted to your professor. “N-no, ma’am. I mean, yes, but not like that. I just...”

“You just...?” Feyre teased, biting her lip as she flipped onto her stomach, her perfect ass on display as she laid her head against the pillows.

“I... see the movement, of your legs, your hair. But, um- I’m stuck on your breasts. Oh my god, I mean I don’t know how to draw them! Like, how they’d fall in that position. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

You broke off mid-sentence as Feyre leaned up slightly, her eyes never leaving yours as she unclasped her bra, letting it fall to the ground. “Is that better, pet?” she purred.

Your pussy clenched around nothing as you found it impossible to hide your arousal by this point. “Yes, ma’am,” you breathed, hand shaking too much to hold your pencil properly. 

“You are still so stiff,” Feyre taunted you, her gaze roving over your tense form. “I think it would help if you loosened up as well. Come here, pet,” she cooed, crooking a finger at you. 

You couldn’t think straight, so overcome by the image of her splayed out on the couch, bare before you. Your feet led you to stand near her, hands woven in front of you as you awaited her next direction. 

“Loosen up,” she reminded you, her hands taking yours, sliding her fingers up your arms as she opened your body to her, and hers to you. “Good girl,” she praised, releasing her hold on you to lean back against the sofa, lounging like a queen before you. 

“Would you like to join me?” she whispered, eyes darkening as she gestured to the couch. “You can take off your clothes. Feel the freedom, the movement of your body. Unrestricted.”

You swallowed thickly, not allowing yourself to overthink as you pulled your dress over your head. A smug grin settled on her full lips, her tongue flicking out as she noticed your lack of bra.

“Beautiful,” she whispered. “Come, sit.”

You sat down on the couch, self conscious as you glanced to where she lay slumped, so comfortable in her own skin. “You are stiff again. What feels natural for you now? Follow your instincts,” she guided, eyes earnest as she gently nudged you.

“I- I want to touch you,” you whispered, eyes raking over her body. You craved her soft skin, her warmth, her wet mouth on you. “Please,” you practically begged, the wetness pooling in your underwear uncomfortable at this point.

Like a spider who caught you in her web, Feyre nodded, leaning flat against the velvet in invitation. “Touch me however you please, pet,” she purred.

Quickly pulling her panties down, you kneeled over her for a moment, simply allowing yourself the indulgence of seeing her laid bare underneath you. Sliding your hands up her smooth thighs, you hooked her legs over each edge of the couch, tracing lightly along her skin. You smirked at the hitch in her breath as your fingertips as you skated around her core, sliding your body along hers as you lowered yourself to her.

“You are so beautiful, I can’t focus in class because of you,” you admitted, hand brushing through her long hair, trailing down her jawline. 

Feyre gasped underneath you, rolling her hips against your own. “Then we will have to see each other outside of class more,” she breathed.

You nodded, biting your lip. “I think that might work,” you murmured, lowering your lips to where your fingers had just brushed her jaw, trailing wet kisses down her throat, in between her perfect breasts. Sitting up slightly, you cupped each of her breasts in your hands, running your thumbs over her nipples as you ground your hips against hers.

“God, I need to taste you,” you murmured, lowered your mouth to her left breast as you flicked your tongue over the peaked bud. She moaned, writhing underneath you as her hand wrapped around the back of your head.

“Take what you need, pet,” she whimpered, hand subtly pushing your head down. You chuckled against her, taking the hint as you moved to the other breast, making quick work of licking and tugging the nipple, blowing cold air over the skin as you enjoying her squirming at the sensation.

Kissing your way down the soft skin of her stomach, you paused above her pussy, pried open and dripping for you. Drawing one finger up her core, you felt your own arousal grow against your underwear as you sucked on the digit, moaning at the taste of her. 

“Please, love I-“ Feyre began to beg, but you didn’t allow her to finish before licking a broad stripe up her center, hand pinning her hips to the sofa as you thrusted your tongue inside of her. Gathering her slick, you moved to her clit, spitting on the bud before wrapping your lips around it. You sucked in a pulsating rhythm, flicking your tongue out as she moaned lewdly under you. Pushing in one finger, you swirled against her walls, stretching her out before adding the second. Curling your fingers, you found the spot that had her head tipped back, perky breasts arched, chest heaving as she came undone under your touch.

Pulling your fingers to your mouth, you grinned around them as you envisioned the drawing you could create of this moment. Catching her breath, Feyre looked up at you from where she lay, a knowing smile playing on her lips. Her hand reached out, tugging the waistband of your underwear as she pulled you up towards her.

“Hurry up and sit on my face already,” she murmured, impatiently tugging as she helped you shimmy the fabric off quickly. Hands found your hips, pulling you down where you could feel her warmth breath against your core.

A small mewl escaped you, clenching as you dripped onto her face. “Oh my god, you are perfect,” she muttered, tongue flicking out as she lapped at your pussy. Moaning loudly, you gripped the sofa as she pulled you further down, her nose pressed against your clit as her tongue thrust inside of you, back and forth.

Head thrown back in ecstasy, you felt the muscles in your body tighten as her tongue found your clit, fingers plunging into your core as she urged you to ride her face. With a shuddering breath, you moaned her name, reaching your high before collapsing next to her with shaky legs. Blue eyes locked on yours, shy laughs leaving both of you as you remembered where you were. 

“So, do you have a better understanding of movement, or would you like to come back for office hours in the future?” Feyre questioned softly, almost nervously.

You dared to reach a hand out, brushing her golden hair behind her ear. “I think that I understand movement, and that I would like to come back in the future. Maybe outside of office hours.”

Her answering smile sent butterflies through you, and you pulled her close for a lingering kiss, committing this moment to memory, for you would draw, paint, sculpt it for years to come.

[morelikeravenbore]

Lessons in Upholstery

Sebastian Sallow x f!oc (Aurélie Collins).

Content warnings: NSFW/mature rating. Sebastian Sallow is needy. Puppy!Sebastian?? No explicit language but very sexually suggestive, mentions of nudity and sexual acts. Reader discretion is advised. Post-Hogwarts 18+ grown up Sebaura.

Word count: 1.6k

Preview: There was a unique ache that existed when she was out of reach — one that started as a small hole in his chest before spreading rapidly until his entire being felt hollow, an ache that demanded they share a too-small bed so they had to sleep tangled together, or eat at a too-small kitchen table so she had to take most of her meals sitting in his lap.

🦋 Read on wattpad | ao3

Upholstered in pale blue velvet, with matching embroidered silk pillows and ornately carved legs of polished mahogany, the tiny two-seater loveseat was clearly not designed for everyday use — yet every night, Sebastian found himself crammed between the armrests with a very satisfied redhead slotted awkwardly between his long legs.

When Aurélie had found the sofa in a Muggle brocante in Toulouse, Sebastian had known immediately that there was no point in trying to talk her out of buying it. They didn't own a home to keep it in, and unless they bought a bloody chateau (which was highly improbable given that Sebastian was only a trainee Healer), it wasn't likely to suit any future home they ever lived in. But none of that mattered, because as soon as that little squeal of delight had left her lips, he knew they'd be leaving the antique market as proud owners of the most ridiculously ostentatious piece of furniture he'd ever laid eyes on.

Happily, he hadn't regretted that decision since. Even when his legs went numb with pins and needles and his back got a permanent crick in it, so long as she was tucked into him, her back pressed to his chest and her soft hair ticking the underside of his chin, Sebastian would never buy another sofa for as long as they lived. — Because there was no other way he ever wanted to sit unless it was with the small, warm weight of her in his lap.

A weight that was presently — and unbearably — absent as Aurélie busied herself in the tiny kitchen across the single-roomed cottage, humming under her breath as she chopped vegetables for their dinner. Sebastian watched her over the top of his book, his attention drawn, as it always was whenever she was near (or not near enough), away from the dry medical journal he was studying to the silky fall of her hair down her back, the soft shuffle of her bare feet over the kitchen rug, and the sheer summer dress that clung to her thighs, her waist: she'd regained some of the weight she'd lost after the stress of their seventh year, and her hair had grown several inches over the summer, lightened to the colour of golden strawberries by the French sun.

Leaving the Highlands had done wonders for her health, but Sebastian liked to think that love had done that to her. His love.

Tossing his book aside, he dropped his head back on the arm rest and let out a long, almighty groan.

There was a unique ache that existed when she was out of reach — one that started as a small hole in his chest before spreading rapidly until his entire being felt hollow, an ache that demanded they share a too-small bed so they had to sleep tangled together, or eat at a too-small kitchen table so she had to take most of her meals sitting in his lap.

Of course, he was self aware enough to know that his acute need for physical affection bordered on being a little… obsessive, and that owning too-small furniture was just a blatant way of enabling his insatiable desire to touch her — but he also knew how quickly love could be snatched away, and so he endeavoured to keep it close at all times: to see it in her eyes and hear it in her laugh, to taste it in her mouth and feel it shiver across her skin, to pour it into her until even her breath was saturated with it —

His love.

His.

Aurélie cast him an amused glance over her shoulder. ‘Hungry?’ she called, a teasing lilt in her delicious voice.

‘Staaarving,’ he whined, reaching his arms out for her.

Expecting her to argue about the virtues of patience, he was surprised when she immediately skipped across the room and climbed onto his lap, wrapping her arms and legs around him so tightly he struggled to breathe — just the way he liked it. Likely she'd heard the thinly veiled desperation in his voice, but in the short time they'd lived together, he'd come to learn that the empty awful ache of separation was a shared feeling.

‘Mm, that's better,’ he hummed, wrapping his arms around her waist. The little sofa groaned under their combined weight, threatening to fall to pieces if they kept this up, but Sebastian felt the hollow pit in his chest recede back to a manageable speck, placated for the time being until she inevitably up and left again.

He wasted no time. Dipping his head, he kissed slowly along her jawline and down her throat, breathing her summer scent deep into his lungs: sugar and cream and strawberries.

‘You were gone for ages,’ he murmured into the crook of her neck. Her pulse quickened beneath his lips, and he smiled.

‘Fifteen minutes,’ she snorted, threading her fingers through his hair. ‘It took fifteen minutes before you started whining.’

‘I don't whine.’

‘Yes you do. — And whimper. You're like a puppy,’ she added, shifting in his lap in a way that made his breath catch and his fingers dig into her hips.

Instinctively, he slid his hands beneath her dress to palm the curve of her spine, dragging the pads of his fingers across her skin so that his touch might stay imbued there long after his hands were gone. She shivered in return, pressing herself flush against him until all the aching space between them was suffocated between their bodies.

It never took long for them to unravel together; no matter how innocent their intentions were upon settling onto the sofa every night, how tired they proclaimed to be or how much study Sebastian had to get through, it was only a matter of time before he was tugging the silky slip of her dress over her hips, too busy moaning into her mouth to bother pulling it all the way over her head.

Tonight was no exception.

‘Puppies are cute,’ he said stupidly, letting his lips trail a wanton path of desire along her collarbone. ‘S'you think m'cute…’

‘I think you're out of control…’

Sebastian snickered against her skin, but she was right: his hips were already canting against her, each thrust punctuated by an undignified squeak from the sofa until the tiny cottage was filled with a creaky symphony of little thrusts and heavy breaths.

Blind to anything but the taste of her skin, he hadn't noticed the ridiculous little noises he was making until, with some difficulty, she pried his lips away from her neck. Suffering terribly, he made another stupid noise, squeaking like some kind of injured bird, but she soothed the pout off his face with a slow, deliberate roll of her hips, and he fell silent.

‘You know,’ she said, tilting his flushed face to look at her, ‘I think you could benefit from a little obedience training, no?’

Sebastian swallowed — loudly.

‘Training?’ he echoed, eagerly wetting his lips. ‘What kind of training?’

Never one to back down from a challenge, Sebastian's propensity for learning, combined with his impulsivity and mildly-obsessive tendencies, meant he was usually the one who took the lead in matters of the mind — after all, he'd taught himself all number of forbidden spells when he was only fifteen, defied every “Do not enter” and locked door he'd ever encountered, and read so many books he was practically a walking encyclopaedia. But when it came to this, he found himself all-too happy to be led.

Smiling like she didn't hold his very life in her hands, Aurélie tilted his head back by his chin as she pondered his question, exposing his throat to her thoughtful gaze. Goosebumps erupted across his skin, and he shivered like he was cold.

‘Depends,’ she whispered, leaning down to plant a warm, lingering kiss to the underside of his chin — a whimper slipped out; he didn't try to stifle it.

‘On?’ he croaked.

‘On what sort of reinforcement you need. — Positive,’ she mouthed, pressing down with her hips again, ‘or negative,’ she nipped his skin with her teeth.

‘Ah — fuck.’ Sebastian's body reacted well before his mind caught up. Holding her firmly by the waist, he bucked his hips up once, twice, three times, using the momentum to create friction where they both needed it most; because despite how in control she wanted to appear, she whimpered just as loudly as he did when he rutted against her. Beneath them, the sofa gave a loud, precarious-sounding screech, but Sebastian was beyond caring about the state of his furniture — he'd level the fucking house if it meant having her closer.

‘Sebas—,’ she yelped, but he cut her off with a kiss that left no room for speech, or breath, or thought beyond how fucking badly he needed her.

They moved against each other then, lost in a mess of limbs and lips and hands and tongues, and the volume of his moaning was rivalled only by that of the sofa's antique joints begging for mercy, which they dutifully ignored until —

Crack —

A splintering crunch and a hard lurch backwards cut their frantic canoodling short, and suddenly Sebastian found himself on the floor with a broken sofa back beneath him and a very unimpressed — albeit delightfully naked — redhead on top.

Not content to let a bit of back pain interrupt them, he grinned up at her hopefully, unabashedly flashing the best, most pathetically pleading puppy eyes he could muster — but she only frowned at him through her curtains of auburn hair, pinned his arms above his head and whispered, ‘Negative reinforcement it is, then.’

With the sofa officially out of action, the only thing begging for mercy for the rest of the night was him.

[notyetneedcoffee-posting]

Playroom

Kinktober 2023 - BDSM Absolutely NSFW, adults only. Warning: all kinds of BDSM play.

Summary: Loki is led to a playroom on Sakar.

You paused, seeing if the dark-haired Asgardian followed. Loki trailed you, careful to do so without being noticed by any of the Grandmaster’s party-goers. You led him down a hall with decorative paint of garish burnt orange and a bright citron green. He sipped his wine, seeming to enjoy the slow-motion chase. Working his way into the Grandmaster’s good graces and Sakar society proved to be tedious and most trying. This was more to his mischievous liking.

You disappeared behind a solid black door. It made him stop.

He stepped closer and it slid open. Loki’s head tilted at the sound of leather against skin and moans. They were not cries of fear. One eyebrow creeped up. He entered.

The dim room at the end of the hall was filled with comfortable sofas, benches with naked people strapped down, and a center stage where a man brutally fucked a woman who was tied and hanging from the ceiling. The corner of Loki’s mouth tipped up.

“Delightful.” Loki muttered to himself.

You paused at an alcove entrance, making sure you had Loki’s eye before slipping inside. Waiting until his tall, lithe frame filled the doorway, you pulled the stays of your robe, allowing it to fall to the ground and expose your naked flesh. You slipped onto the black leather chair with an invitation smile.

Loki tugged the heavy velvet curtain closed. You didn’t care if he left it open, but something about him wanting you all to himself made your cunt clench. He stalked over, taking your right hand in both of his. His touch was cool, gentle, but electric. He brought your palm to his mouth, kissing it. Without a word, Loki moved your hand to the restraint and locked it in place. You watched his face as he did the same with your other hand.

“This is delightful, Pet.” Loki purred, leaning forward to run his nose along the length of yours. “But I want to hear it. Are you submitting to me?”

“Yes, sir.” You breathed. It was the first words you’d spoken to the dark stranger.

He palmed your breasts, massaging and feeling their weight. “I am Loki, God of Mischief.”

His fingers pinched your nipples hard, icy cold shocked your nerves. “Oh, my god!”

“That’s better.” He chuckled darkly. Loki bent and brought your ankle to his mouth kissing it before folding your leg into your side. Suddenly, with a shimmer of green, silk rope bound your leg in the bent position, secured to your torso. He did the same on the other side, leaving you splayed open before him. “Lovely.”

Along the wall hung a myriad of tools and toys. You watched him study the options. He appeared so calm, but the tenting of his silk trousers betrayed his true state. Even hidden beneath the fabric, you could tell he was greatly endowed. You found your mouth watering at the thought of wrapping your lips around him.

Loki fingered a strap. A wicked grin crossed his face before he brought it down across the back of your thighs. You whined at the sting. He struck again, harder, across your ass. You gasped. His cool fingers slid between your folds.

“Mmm. Responsive.” He licked his finger.

He smacked you again, even harder. Loki delighted in the reddening of your skin and smell rising from your sex. He lowered his head to taste you. His tongue circled your clit, making your hips buck into his face.

Loki tsked. “Don’t get demanding.”

You saw something bring a wicked gleam to his eyes. He pulled a lever and the back of the chair gave way, leaving you on your back with your legs in the air. Loki grinned as he brought the strap down across your ass again before he pulled you lower so you were right at the edge of the chair. More ropes appeared tying you to the table.  Finally, Loki shortened the platform under you so your head hung over the edge.

“That’s better.” He purred.

You couldn’t move. You wanted to beg him to touch you. You knew he would. The waiting was torture.

Loki’s cool hands massaged your breasts. He leaned forward, taking one nipple in his mouth and sucking hard. You gasped at a sharp bite. The pain didn’t fade as he stood. You lifted your head to see a golden clamp locked tight on your hard nipple. You moaned.

“Like that?”

“Yes, sir.” You sighed. Loki slapped your cunt hard. You cried out. “Yes! Yes, my god.”

“Mmm. Better.” He took your other nipple into his mouth, leaving behind a golden clamp. Loki walked around you, admiring the view. He slid two fingers into your desperate cunt.

“Please.” You whined.

He huffed a chuckle, before his slick fingers circled the tight opening of your ass. Your groan turned to a gasp when cool liquid poured over you. The oily liquid warmed, making you want to squirm. A flash of green light had you lifting your head again. Loki held a gold plug capped with a bright green jewel. He teased your opening with the cool metal. His thumb played with your clit until you were panting.

At once, he slapped your clit and pushed in the plug. You cried out again, only to have it end in a delighted moan. The toy was thick and heavy, set deep. It felt amazing. Loki walked to your head, his long cock in his left hand. You watched as he waved his right hand. The toy thrummed with a powerful vibration.

You gasped and Loki pushed his cock into your open mouth. Your eyes rolled back as you relaxed your jaw and rubbed against him with your tongue. He growled as he pushed, seeing how deep you could take him.

He groaned. It was intoxicating. You hips strained against the ropes, tension growing low. Your mouth watered and you hummed against his cock. His hand closed around your throat, but not enough to cut off your air. “Look at you, Pet. Such a beautiful mess.”

He stepped back, leaving you gasping. “Do you think you deserve to be fucked?”

“Yes, my god, Loki.” You looked up through tearing eyes. “Please.”

“Not yet.” He turn, and in a shower of green light, his clothes disappeared. You whined. Wanting his skin against yours. Loki pulled at the clamps on your nipples, making you cry out. His fingers slid down your skin, over your stomach, and along the inside of your thighs. A sharp zap sent a jolt of pain through your leg. You gasped. Loki wiggled his sparking fingers at you, a wicked grin on his face.

His hands continued to explore, shocking your thighs, your feet, your stomach. When he zapped your labia, you screamed. Before you could take a breath, Loki spanked your ass hard. Two fingers curled into your cunt and pumped hard. It was sudden, fast, and violent. You snapped like a band, your orgasm hitting hard.

“Fuck! Loki!”” You screamed.

Just as your breath returned, he was pushing into you – stretching and filling you. The size and weight of the plug made taking his size a stretch. You could feel the thrum of the toy change pace as Loki began to pump in and out, going deeper with each stroke.

“Oh god,” you whined. Light-headed and sex drunk, you gave yourself over to the sensation.

“More?”

“Mmm’r”

The pain in your nipples increased as something pulled on them. Loki fucked into you hard. His ice cold thumb rubbed hard against your clit. Your whole body began to shake.

Loki groaned. His voice went low, dangerous. “Tell me you want more.”

“M-more.”

The back of chair snapped up, curling you towards Loki. The angle changed, his cock slamming hard into you. He took a handful of your hair in his left hand, pulling your head back hard. His teeth locked onto the junction of your neck.

You came apart, flooded over his cock, shaking uncontrollably.

Loki growled, a satisfied ‘yes’ and his hips moved even faster. Drown in sensations, you took the pounding, riding the sensations, losing yourself. At some point, you felt his body lock as he found his own release. Little else made sense.

Warmth moved over your skin. Soft and wet. You felt it on your arms, torso, sex, and leg. Something smooth followed. It was like swimming in silk.

You opened your eyes to find yourself curled on Loki’s lap. You were both in a deep sofa in a quiet corner of the club. He wrapped you in a giant dark green silk blanket. His soft lips brushed against your temple.

“Are you prepared for water or food? Maybe something else to drink? You should have something, my Pet.”

You cuddled into his embrace more. “Water, and honey tarts.”

He smiled. “Whatever you like.” Loki waved over a server and ordered water, wine and honey tarts.

You noticed how fresh he smelled, how fresh you smelled. Bringing a heavy hand up to touch your hair, you expected it to be wet, but it wasn’t.

Loki noted the frown on your face. “Are you hurting? I healed the bite and the bruises I could see.”

“What?” You realized for the first time that beyond the mental fuzziness, you did not feel any of the normal physical soreness. “No. Not sore. Did we bathe?”

“Not in water.” Loki dipped his head low and whispered in your ear, “Just a little magic.”

A tray of drinks and food was delivered. Loki held a crystal glass to your lips as you sipped.

“I did not expect you to take care of me.”

“I take care of my Pets.”