#Celebratory Attire

[zumaira]

Embroidered Chiffon Women Dresses Collection Vasl-e-Yaar 2023 By Asim Jofa

[magazinepk]

Embroidered Chiffon Women Dresses Collection Vasl-e-Yaar 2023 By Asim Jofa

[halfwayhearted]

This is based off one of ur spencer dating head cannons.. perhaps they are going to a celebratory something at rossi’s and reader wears like a really pretty short dress and its just spencer stumbling over his words in awe and its a cute little moment ^_^? Lmk.

Always Forever — Spencer Reid.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: After being invited to David Rossi’s annual get-together, courtesy of your boyfriend, you’re very excited to go. However, Spencer just seems to stand there and gawk.

Word Count: 690+

Disclaimer/s — Fluff! That’s it. Bless.

A/N: This had me seriousing up quick ‘cause are we kidding.

A get-together at the David Rossi’s house. You didn’t exactly know him that well, though you were quite familiar with everybody else. When Spencer came home and informed you of the invitation, you accepted without further thought.

You carefully readjusted the straps of your dress, turning to admire how you looked in the mirror.

It wasn’t anything too elaborate; it reached just above your knee, and the color complemented you perfectly, making you feel gorgeous. You’d probably wear the dress more often if you had the opportunity. You never did before. But now you do, and you fully intend to make the most of it.

You hear Spencer call out for you, prompting you to quickly grab your lipgloss and rush out of the bathroom, exclaiming, “I’m here! I’m ready!”

Turning the corner, you’re met with your boyfriend in his usual attire: a button-up shirt, a tie, and a cardigan thrown over his shoulders, paired with his regular pants. As you move to retrieve your clutch, you’re quick to compliment him, “Hey, you look handsome. New cardigan?”

No response. Your eyebrows furrow, “Spencer?”

Whipping around to look at him, you nearly fold at the sight of him just looking at you. But his eyes are soft, his lips are parted, and his cheeks are flushed—so, how couldn’t you?

“Spencer Reid,” you drawled, walking toward him. You lift a hand to his forehead, “Are you okay? Are you feeling sick? Warm? If so, it’s the cardigan.”

Your hands on him seemed to snap him out of whatever trance he was in. “What—oh! No, I, uh, I’m fine. Not warm at all. Are you… ready?”

Hearing him stumble over his words wasn’t new to you, but hearing him do it so much in the same sentence piqued your curiosity. “Are you ready?”

“Of course, do I not look ready?”

“I think you look ready,” a moment passes, “I’m just asking if you are ready. Are you sure you’re not feeling under the weather?”

“I think you look beautiful,” he blurts out, the tips of his ears turning a deep shade of red. You smile, and it’s so, so genuine that it erases any doubts he might’ve had about taking it back or blaming it on a slip of the tongue. It wasn’t that. Never.

If there was one thing he knew, it was that saying that was not, and never would be, an accident—

Before he can even fully register the sensation of your lips on his, a smile spreads across his face, deepening the kiss. His body leans toward you, and his hands glide tenderly from your jaw to cup your cheeks. The second you pull back, he chases after your lips, making you laugh, “Thank you.”

He doesn’t want to hear it when his lips find yours once more, your smile widening.

“Spencer, we’re—” you pull away, only to lean in for another, “You're going to—” you steal another, “make us late. Isn’t he really strict about times?”

Your boyfriend lets out a soft hum against your mouth, then finally breaks away for real this time and huffs, “Morgan and JJ are late all the time.”

“Hey, don’t sulk. They probably have a reason. Come on, I’m excited! Doesn’t he always correct you guys when you call his house a, well, house?”

He grabs the clutch from your hands. Spencer then nods and picks up his keys, opening the front door of his apartment and standing there, knowing how you like to exit first. “Claims it’s a mansion,” he says with a soft smile.

“Claims? Is it not?”

With a shrug of his shoulders, he closes the door behind him. A small chuckle escapes his lips when he notices you looking up at him, eyebrows knitted together in complete confusion, still waiting for an answer to your question.

Pressing a quick kiss to your temple, he nods. “Yes,” the brunette retorted, “It is a mansion.”

Once you reach the stairwell, you interlace your arm with his. In a playful tone, you ask, “Do you think he’d be up for giving us a house tour?”

He rolls his eyes with amusement at that, “I guess you’re just going to have to ask.”

Now it’s your turn to huff, “I guess so.”

Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated ^_^.

DT(s) — @pedrilcvr ! ౨ৎ

[noyasmashing]

Daichi getting dommed by his girlfriend?! Since he's in the police maybe his girlfriend is a detective or some form of government official that works with the police all the tine!!!

★ BAD BOY. daichi!

౨ৎ :: masterlist. reblogs are appreciated.

• warning: daichi + fem!dom reader, male penetration/fingering, mommy kink, cum eating, daichi has the “asian flush”

Daichi really wasn’t the one to drink. Actually, he shouldn’t be drinking. He lacked the enzyme that broke down alcohol once consumed. He wasn't suited for it, plain and simple. However, there were exceptions to his rule.

More often than not, he found himself holding a drink at parties, and tonight was no different. After months of tireless investigation, the combined efforts of the police officers and detectives had finally paid off, solving a particularly complex case. As a well-deserved reward, the team decided to treat themselves to a celebratory night out. They reserved a cozy private room at a highly-regarded restaurant, famous for its exceptional craft cocktails.

Their boss, in a thoughtful gesture, had arranged for everyone's drinks to be pre-ordered and paid for, ensuring that the team could relax and enjoy each other's company without worrying about the bill.

Daichi's concern about his metabolic issue flared up as he was handed a cold drink. However he disregarded it. After all, it was only natural that he felt compelled to partake, he didn’t want to seem stuck up, or rude. He started out with small sips, attempting to feign enjoyment.

No one had even noticed, he had gone almost the entirety of the party without even finishing half. Fortunately, everyones attention was diverted by a heartfelt speech from their respected superior officer, acknowledging the team's hard work and dedication.

As the party continued, Daichi's attention was divided between the celebratory speech and your persistent touch. Initially, the gentle rubbing of his thigh was a reflexive response to his coworkers' congratulations. But as the atmosphere mellowed, your hand remained, sending sparks of sensation through his body. The fleeting touches near his upper thigh were maddening, making him feel like he was losing control.

You couldn't help but notice his gaze lingering on you throughout the night, his eyes drawn to the subtle details of your attire - the short skirt, the blouse that teased just enough to hint at what lay beneath. It was clear you were deliberately drawing attention to yourself, and Daichi couldn't help but be captivated by your presence.

“Shall we take care of your issue in the bathroom?” you whispered in Daichi's ear, your voice dripping with teasing intent.

As he tried to maintain a stoic expression, you couldn't help but giggle at his failed attempt to hide his emotions. His temples flexed in frustration as he remained silent, his grip on your hand tightening under the table.

“You know we can’t do that.” He reasoned, tuning to meet your gaze, just for a moment.

You purred out, “Suit yourself,” in response, your eyes never leaving his face. Before smoothly turning to another detective and launching into a conversation about a different case you were working on together.

Daichi turned to look at his own friends, but struggled to process any of their words, his mind consumed by a maelstrom of inappropriate thoughts. In a desperate attempt to shake off the tormenting sensations and clear his mind, Daichi turned his attention to his drink, downing the remaining contents of his glass with a swift motion. The sudden rush of liquid warmth doing little to calm his racing thoughts.

As he struggled to clear the unpleasant aftertaste of his previous drink, Daichi's eyes fluttered open to find the group surrounding him, refilling their glasses.

Before he could process the situation, the room erupted into a chorus of cheers and toasts, and someone was pressing another glass into his hand. With a sense of obligation, Daichi reluctantly accepted the offering, not wanting to be rude or spoil the celebratory atmosphere. As he added the new drink to his already-lively mix, Daichi couldn't help but lament the fact that he had now consumed two cocktails.

As the surprise toast came to a close, the room began to empty out, with many people saying their goodbyes and departing the restaurant. Daichi noticed your growing impatience, and he felt his own unease mounting. He tried to sound nonchalant as he suggested, "Uh, m-maybe we should get going?" His words were laced with a subtle sense of desperation.

Your hand had been resting on his knee for a moment, but then it drifted away, your gaze flicking to your watch as if checking the time.

You nodded curtly, responding with a, "About time," and turning your attention back to him. "Do you have the keys?" you asked, your tone tinged with a hint of concern as you took in his flushed appearance. Without argument, Daichi handed over the keys, preparing to bid farewell to his coworkers and make a hasty exit.

As you both rose from your seats, Daichi's hand instinctively reached out and grasped the back of your jacket, his fingers digging in slightly as he struggled to steady himself. The sudden movement left him feeling lightheaded, and his face flushed with embarrassment as he realized his mistake. You, however, merely raised an eyebrow and tried to stifle a chuckle, indulging in a discreet caress of his backside as you did so.

You were well aware that Daichi was one of those people who didn't handle his liquor well, and the signs were all too clear. "It was nice seeing you, Chief," you said with a charming smile, shaking his hand firmly as you bid him farewell. Daichi nodded mutely, his eyes fixed on yours with a mixture of fear and distraction as your wandering hand continued its gentle exploration of his body. He was too intimidated to say anything, too preoccupied with the sensation of your touch to speak up.

Once you two were out of the restaurant the cool night air hit Daichi like a train. His breathing came in short, ragged gasps, and he stumbled slightly as he walked to the car. “Why did I park so far away.” He groaned, facepalming when he remembered his decision from earlier that day.

“What’s up with you?” you asked, your voice low and concerned as you raised an eyebrow in inquiry. The crunch of gravel beneath your feet was the only sound breaking the silence as Daichi hesitated.

“Wh-what do you mean?” Daichi stammered, finally turning to face you with a flush rising up his cheeks.

You shot him a concerned glance. "Did you drink too much or something, Sawa? You're breathing heavier than normal," you remarked, wrapping your arm around his waist to steady him as you walked towards the car in the dimly lit parking lot.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, his voice barely audible. "I felt rude not drinking, and then...of course, there was you..." He trailed off, his words hanging in the air as you approached the car, the silence between you thickening like fog.

But before he could break free and make his way to the passenger seat, you pinned him against the sleek, freshly washed car you had purchased together. The new sedan's gleaming surface reflected the dim parking lot lights, creating a sense of intimacy as you leaned in, your breath warm against his ear.

"What about me?" you whispered, your voice husky with desire. "Don't tell me you were turned on in front of your coworkers." you cooed, your knee gliding up to nestle against his groin, the movement deliberate and sensual.

His breath hitched, and he found himself grasping onto your jacket with an anxious intensity. "So-so what if I was?" he questioned, his voice trembling as he felt his heart pounding in his ears, his body burning with a sudden, intense heat.

His eyes widened as you made the bold move of pulling open the second-row door, revealing the dark interior of the car. "I can't wait till we get home," you whispered, your voice low and seductive, "and I don't think you can either." With that, you guided him into the back seat, the motion smooth and deliberate.

The effects of the alcohol were plain to see on him once you sat down beside him. You could almost hear his racing heart, his face a deep crimson, and the most captivating sight of all was his ragged breathing, as if he'd run a mile.

It was the most intoxicatingly vulnerable you had ever seen him, and by God, it was incredibly attractive. Once you closed the door behind you both, your lips crashed together in a sloppy, frenzied kiss. One that was full of fervor and desperation on his part.

Without hesitation, you started to undo the buttons of his shirt. "I think you're going to need a little discipline for overindulging, don't you?" you whispered into his ear, taking a gentle moment to nip at the lobe.

He let out a soft moan, his head nodding in agreement as you spoke. His apologies tumbled out in a slurred, endearing manner. Daichi was typically contrite and apologetic for his mistakes, so it was unusual for him to receive punishment like this, it made him excited.

"Actually," you said, pulling back to gaze at him with a playful smile. His eyes, still glassy from the drink, met yours, and he stared at you with a dazed expression. "You know what? You're adorable when you're tipsy. Kinda like when I finish fucking your brains out.”

He felt his body flare with heat at your words. The only thing his mushy brain could get out was a “please!” His whole body starting to tremble with anticipation as the desire burned within him. Your words conjured vivid images in his mind, leaving him breathless and unsure of himself. He felt like he was drowning in a sea of emotions, his mind racing with conflicting thoughts: plead, sob, or surrender. Your gentle teasing was torturous, leaving him helpless and at your mercy.

"Please? What do you want, sawamura?" you asked, your tone softening as you reached out to gently push him down onto his forearms.

He looked up at you with half-lidded eyes and wet lips. "F-fuck... fuck me.” he forced out, his breath catching in his throat as your hands ran gently along his chest, tracing the curve of his nipples.

“I don’t have my strap with me, darling.” You sighed, your hands tracing a gentle path along his torso. His abs contracted and relaxed, shifting beneath your touch. As you spoke, he let out a disappointed sob, his head tilting back in surrender.

“Don’t be greedy, my fingers will do just fine.” And with that, he was suddenly being flipped on all fours, his perky ass presented to you, the fabric of his clothes now inches from your face.

“Y-yes.. yes ma’am, sorry ma’am.” He relented, arching his back in attempts to appease you. You released a contented hum, then unfastened his belt and slowly slid down the zipper of his dress pants.

As soon as his undergarments were removed, his throbbing cock sprang free, glistening with precum that dripped down onto his dress shirt, a rather unfortunate turn of events.

Not to mention his hole, which clenched in eager anticipation of whatever you had in store. Your initial move was to spit on it, which was fortunate, as you would have needed lubricant anyway. He let out a soft "Ahh" of pleasure, sinking deeper into position as he did so.

You leaned forward, your body pressed against his, as you guided two fingers into his mouth from behind. "Open," you commanded, and he complied.

He struggled to resist the urge to suck on your fingers as you roughly explored his tongue, making him gag. A muffled string of moans escaped his lips, accompanied by a gasp as you withdrew your fingers.

"I'm supposed to be punishing you," you scoffed, "but you're responding like this is some kind of reward." you added, scoldingly. You then proceeded to line your now-wet fingers with his tight hole.

"Relax," you instructed as your fingers slid into him. Ordinarily, you would have taken your time to ease him into it, inserting just one finger to begin with. But the circumstances didn't allow for that level of finesse. Instead, you established a rough and demanding pace, one that had him groaning and whimpering into his palm.

"Slow down!" he pleaded, his words slurred with a mixture of protest and pleasure. Despite his plea, his hips continued to move in tandem with your pace, practically fucking himself on your fingers.

You couldn't help but laugh at the drunken scene unfolding before you, one hand rising to make a harsh, stinging contact with his exposed ass. His skin was hot to the touch, and his entire body seemed to vibrate with excitement.

His light pants were now a canvas of moans, his cries of pleasure and pain mingling in a chorus of ecstasy. The stifling air in the car grew thick and heavy, the windows fogging up.

"I wonder how the team would react to seeing you like this," you sneered, your voice dripping with disdain. "Knowing that I fucked you in the back of your car, and you took it like a good slut."

You dug your fingers deeper, searching for his most sensitive spot, and he winced in response. "Stoppp," he drunkenly begged, his voice muffled by his hand. You couldn't help but snort in derision at his demand.

"If you want me to stop, then why are you dripping allll over the seat?" You taunted, your gaze flicking down to the damp fabric. "Somebody's going to have to clean this up, you know."

He paused, his mind processing your words as a wave of tension washed over him. Though you couldn't see his physical response, you sensed it with certainty - his cock was twitching at your rather harsh degradation.

"I'm gonna cum, mommy." he whimpered alas, his voice trembling and nasal, in a tone that was foreign to you. He rarely addressed you with such endearments, so you knew that the alcohol must have loosened his inhibitions. "I'm gonna cum b-because your being so mean to me." he stammered, his words punctuated by sniffles.

"Hmmm," you murmured, slowing your movements deliberately. You couldn't help but appreciate the way his ass looked, supple and inviting as it yielded to your fingers. You didn't want this moment to end too soon. "Perhaps I should make you wait until we get home," You suggested, your voice low and sadistic with a hint of amusement.

He let out a despairing "Hmph" and a muffled string of "no"s as he struggled to force your fingers deeper inside him. To his frustration, you took a firm hold of his hips, preventing him from generating any friction through his own movements.

"You tell me, sawa, how bad do you want to come?" you asked in a calm, measured tone, tracing small circles on his hips and barely pumping him with your fingers.

As you gazed at him, you could see his Adam's apple bob up and down, his ear that angled towards you flushed a deep red, while his face remained mostly hidden behind his arm. The tremble in his voice was palpable as he hesitantly spoke up. "I... I want to so badly. I need to. My head feels all fuzzy, I can't take it! Please. P-please. Please, Mommy. Let me have this."

It was an understatement to say you were surprised. You had rarely witnessed Daichi so beset by neediness. Maybe his “Asian flush”, a hallmark of his vulnerability, only added to his desperation. You were certain you wouldn't be treated to this sight again anytime soon, so you intended to savor every moment of it.

"Lay on your back f’me. I wanna see your face." You urged in a gentle tone. He almost let out a sob when you detached from him, but your words steadied him. He shakily flipped onto his back, propping himself up on his forearms to gaze up at you. The agonizing seconds it took to reposition yourself felt like an eternity to him. As you finally resumed the motion, he let out a guttural moan, as if begging you to accelerate the pace. Unbeknownst to him, you added a third finger to the mix. Your gaze was transfixed on his face, drinking in the sight of his features twisted in a mix of pleasure and strain.

His labored breathing morphed into soft moans, his nose wrinkling as a single bead of sweat slid down his forehead, tracing the messy contours of his hair. The sight was almost mesmerizing, and you couldn't help but notice that your gaze was heightening his arousal. "You're so pretty, sawa, go ahead and come for me," you coaxed, abandoning any notion of this being a punishment.

But how could you be cruel to your lover when his throbbing cock quivered against his abs, as if begging for release? It was a pitiful yet endearing sight, one that tugged at your heartstrings. Just as your other hand reached out to claim his cock, he burst forth with a ragged cry, his semen coating his torso and the open expanse of his shirt.

A soft, whispered "Thank you, mommy" escaped his trembling lips, as his eyelids remained tightly closed, his gaze shut off from the world.

It took him a moment to collect himself, his breathing still ragged as you withdrew your hand from his under side. He anticipated a trip to the baby wipes, so his tiny whimper of surprise was all the more adorable when your warm tongue made contact with his skin instead. His eyes flew open, taking in the sight of you lapping up his semen.

His initial reaction was a gasp, which turned into a stunned silence as you pulled him in for a kiss mere seconds later, the taste of his own come mingling with yours on his tongue.

He eagerly swallowed everything you gave him, determined to prove he could handle it, just like he handled three of your fingers.

You pulled back, leaving a trail of saliva connecting the two of you, your mischievous glint hinting at the tease that was to come. "I should make you lick the seat clean," you said, your tone playful and unrepentant. Though he winced at the humiliation of the task, he couldn't deny the desire to submit to your whims.

[zhongrin]

bound matriarch

© zhongrin | 2024 ✼  [✘] no repost・translations・plagiarism of any kind・ai data mining. [✓] rebloggers get a free cup of tea ♡

✼ characters ┈ zhongli

✼ tags ┈ yandere, fem!pronouns ('wife', 'matriarch', 'goddess' used), zhongli as morax/rex lapis, set right after archon war

✼ a/n ┈ i have to be out all day today so i'm not sure if i'll be at home when this goes out but let me just say FINALLY I CAN RELEASE THIS. THIS HAS BEEN ON MY DRAFTS FOR SO LONG (i'd also like to silently thank jessamine bc their comments on my posts were the main catalyst for me to finish this little blurb sobsob)

ᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴜʟʟ ᴍᴇɴᴜ (ᴍᴀꜱ��ᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ)  ✼ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱʜɪᴘ (ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ)

oh, what a dream it is to be the spouse of the strongest archon in teyvat, whom he wed right after archon war ended. some might see the celebratory wedding as something uncouth; an utter disrespect to the lives lost at war and the bereaved families, but the lord of geo disagrees. what could be a better reassurance to ensure the people of liyue would start believing in and striving for a brighter future, than the joyous union of the new geo archon who defended them throughout the arduously long war and the prosperity goddess who has the power to bless the land and its people?

you're draped in gold and red as you sign the oath in blood; sealing your matrimony amidst the cheers of the mortals and immortals alike. the ruby reds on your lips are plush and soft against their god's own, the gossamer thread of embroidered gold of your clothing matching your now-husband's attire. even the bright blue sky seemed to celebrate such a joyous occasion, casting its warm rays upon the now-peaceful land of liyue to offer you its blessing.

they do not know that one certain party was most ardently unwilling to take the vow under one of the most sacred contracts of all.

they need not know that the marriage was a desperate attempt to shackle you to him and erase your individual worth as a goddess; to ensure you are remembered as rex lapis' beloved wife, the matriarch of liyue. they need not know, for just as no one questioned why the god of freedom was not invited into the banquet, no one questioned why a sheer veil covered the lower part of your unsmiling face, or the fact that countless shackles cor petrae accessories heavily rested against your neck and limbs.

what they do know is that this is your prison home ー he is your captor home and you will never belong anywhere else.

and perhaps given a few eons, you shall learn it too. worry not, your husband is a patient god. but you best remember that a god's patience, too, has its limits.

✼ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱʜɪᴘ (ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ) ┈

@abyssmal-skies ! @hamdehlesmis ! @sunnshineflxwer ! @queen-belial ! @silentmoths

@dustofthedailylife ! @marina-and-the-memes ! @mixed-kester ! @lordbugs ! @anonymousficreader

@irethepotato ! @sassy-cat-in-town ! @syrenkitsune ! @smokipoki ! @cakeboxie

@crystalflygeo ! @ciexuvia ! @illaasya ! @celestewritestoomuch ! @pams-comfortzone

@spidermanluvr444 ! @ourstrawberryclouds ! @ryuryuryuyurboat ! @hrts4hanniehae ! @fiannee

@frosts-intuition ! @florapocalypses ! @genshin-impacts-me ! @scarasmood ! @hellcatinnc

@beloved-brynn ! @malachitemischief101 ! @average-yandere-enjoyer

[nayziiz]

Forever | CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader (she her)

Author's note: Very short, but very soft.

Masterlist

The sun began to set, casting a warm golden tint over the sprawling vineyard that stretched out like a lush, green ocean. The air was filled with the sweet fragrance of blooming roses and lavender, mingling with the rich aroma of oak barrels from the nearby winery. Fairy lights twinkled overhead, strung between the towering olive trees, creating a canopy of stars that shimmered against the dusky sky. 

Guests mingled and laughed, their voices a pleasant hum that blended with the gentle strumming of a guitar from the live band positioned near the rustic, wooden dance floor. The band, dressed in casual, bohemian attire, played a melodic tune that invited everyone to sway and move to its rhythm, including the bridal pair, Pierre and Kika. Elegant tables draped in crisp white linens were scattered around, each adorned with delicate floral centrepieces and flickering candles. A long, beautifully decorated table stood at the heart of the venue, laden with an array of gourmet dishes and fine wines, reflecting the celebratory spirit of the occasion.

Charles stood at the edge of the dance floor, a glass of champagne in hand, his eyes fixed on the centre of the activity. There, illuminated by the soft, warm glow of the lights, was his partner, dancing with carefree abandon. The music seemed to flow through her, her movements fluid and graceful, her laughter a bright, contagious melody that added to the joy of the evening. She wore a flowing, navy dress with a slight glitter to it that caught the light with every twirl, the fabric rippling like water. Her hair, adorned with a wreath of wildflowers, cascaded down her back in loose waves. There was a radiance about her, a pure, unfiltered joy that made her stand out to him among the other guests. Her smile, wide and genuine, was the kind that made anyone who saw it smile too, spreading happiness like ripples in a pond.

Charles watched her, his heart swelling with love and pride. She moved effortlessly from dance partner to dance partner, drawing everyone into her orbit, making them feel like they were the only person in the world at that moment. Her energy was infectious, her spirit indomitable. It was moments like these that reminded him why he had fallen in love with her – her ability to find joy in the simplest of things and to share that joy with everyone around her, even at their friends’ wedding.

He took a sip of his champagne, savouring the crisp, bubbly liquid as he continued to observe her. She caught his eye and her face lit up even more, if that was possible. She beckoned him with a playful wave, her eyes sparkling with mischief and love. Charles couldn’t help but grin back, feeling the warmth of her gaze wash over him. He set down his glass and made his way towards her, weaving through the clusters of guests. As he reached her, she took his hand and pulled him into the dance, her laughter ringing out like music to his ears. He spun her around, the world narrowing to just the two of them amidst the joyful chaos of the wedding celebration.

They moved together, in perfect harmony, their steps synchronised like a practised dance. Charles held her close, feeling the beat of her heart against his chest, matching his own. The world faded away, and for a moment, it was just the two of them under the canopy of stars and fairy lights.

“How long is forever?” he wondered aloud, his voice a soft murmur against the backdrop of laughter and music.

“Huh?” she asked, tilting her head slightly, her brows knitting together in confusion. She had been so lost in the moment, twirling in his arms, that his sudden question caught her off guard.

“How long do you think forever is?” he repeated, his gaze drifting towards a newlywed couple dancing nearby. “They promised to love each other forever, so how long is forever?” 

His eyes, filled with curiosity and a hint of vulnerability, returned to hers. She chuckled softly, shaking her head as she studied his face.

“Are you having some existential crisis, baby?” she teased. There was a playful glint in her eyes, but she could see that his question was genuine, not just a passing thought.

“I'm just curious,” he said, a slight shrug accompanying his words. He looked down, his thumb gently tracing circles on the back of her hand.

“I think forever is everything and more,” she began, her voice thoughtful and tender. “It's not just a timeframe, but all the small moments in between. The laughter, the tears, the joy, the sadness, the anger, the patience, the kindness, the forgiveness. It's how even when you're both long gone, your story will still be told and sung, swept away in the wind, etched in the Milky Way, so no one could ever forget it.”

He listened intently, her words resonating deep within him.

“Mmh,” he murmured, letting the weight of her words settle in his heart.

“What? Is that too philosophical for you?” she asked, a hint of concern in her voice.  He shook his head, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“I think that's exactly what forever is for us,” he replied, his voice filled with a quiet certainty. “You know I'd love you forever and a day.”

“And I'd love you forever and a day, too, baby,” she whispered, her eyes shining with love. She leaned in, their foreheads touching, and in that intimate space, the promise of forever felt as real and as tangible as the stars twinkling above them.

As the song came to an end, she rested her head on his shoulder, her breath warm against his neck. Charles kissed the top of her head, closing his eyes, letting the moment etch itself into his memory. It was a beautiful evening, a perfect celebration of love, and as he held her in his arms, he knew that this was just the beginning of their lifelong dance together.

[lathalea]

Entangled 4/10

Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield x Dwarf OFC (The Hobbit) Rating: G (subject to change) Warnings: ANGST Summary: Arranged marriages are common among the dwarven nobility. After reclaiming the Lonely Mountain, the Kingdom Under the Mountain needs to be rebuilt. Thorin agrees to marry a lady from the Blue Mountains, securing a mutually beneficial alliance with the Broadbeam Dwarves. Lady Mista is said to be a practical and hard-working dwarf-woman, willing to give him an heir who would secure the line of succession. A decent queen material, his advisors say. If only Thorin could let go of his past… You can find this fic on AO3 (search for lathalea).

A/N: First of all, sorry it took me so long to update this story but your comments and messages kept me going! TRSB and Real Life™️ hit me hard, but I haven't forgotten about this story. In fact, I have a treat for you: an XXL-sized chapter as a thank you for your patience 💙 Special thanks to @legolasbadass and @absentmindeduniverse for your help. You are amazing and you made this chapter so much better than it originally was! 🤩🙏💙 -*-*-*- KHUZDUL: ‘Urdêk - ereborean variant of Lonely Mountain (referring to the Halls within the mountain) Nadad - brother Nan’ith - little/young sister Zabdûna - the Queen Zabdûna undu ‘Urd - Queen Under the Mountain Khagal'abbad - Ered Luin, the Blue Mountains Azsâlul'abad - the Lonely Mountain (both the mountain and the dwarven kingdom known among Elves and Men as Erebor) Tumunzahar - an ancient dwarven city in the Blue Mountains rebuilt by the Broadbeams in this story. The Elves call it “Nogrod”. Gabilgathol - an ancient dwarven city in the Blue Mountains rebuilt by the Firebeards in this story. The Elves call it “Belegost”. Thorinuldûm - Thorin’s Halls, the settlement of the refugees from the Lonely Mountain in the Blue Mountains Iglishmêk - the sign language widely used by all the dwarves -*-*-*-

✨ Chapter list: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4... ✨ Entangled Masterlist

Thorin opened his eyes with a gasp. That cursed dream again. Those eyes…

Several deep breaths helped to banish the haunting afterimages from his mind for good. Deep inside the Mountain — much deeper than the Royal Chambers — the mine bell struck eleven times. One hour before noon. It was later than he expected.

Thorin’s head was pounding, and the bitter aftertaste of rowanberry brandy in his mouth made him yearn for a mug of water. Slowly, he rose, noticing that he was not in his bed but in his armchair, still wearing some of yesterday's clothes. His finely embroidered undershirt and similarly adorned trousers — now crumpled. Parts of his wedding attire. His wedding.

He truly needed a drink.

The only thing he found in his chamber was an empty brandy bottle that lay forgotten on the floor. For a moment, Thorin wanted to ring for a servant, irritated at the fact that he slept so long — and his usual breakfast tray was nowhere to be seen. Had they overslept in the kitchens as well? What could have been so important that… Of course. His wedding.

He grunted. There was not going to be any breakfast tray and no servants. Not until he rang for them, at least. No one would disturb him in the morning after his wedding night. Frowning, Thorin managed to recall that a celebratory dinner was scheduled later that day — not only for the people of ‘Urdêk, but also for the whole royal family and the family of the bride. His wife.

Thorin ran a hand down his face. He was a married Dwarf now. A husband. Years and years ago, in another lifetime, that thought would have made him enormously proud — and happy. And yet, on this very morning, the only thing he felt was that bitter taste in his mouth — and shame; his foolish dreams of youth long forgotten. The weight of a new braid in his hair, the marriage braid, was not a symbol of perfect, eternal love he had foolishly envisioned as a youth. This braid only denoted the contract between the two dwarven houses: the Longbeards and the Broadbeams. 

A memory from the previous day appeared in his mind: pale, small, pale fingers nervously sliding through his hair, braiding a pattern that was unfamiliar to him. The personal pattern of the lady who now occupied the adjacent bedchamber — Lady Mista. The woman he had barely met and knew nothing of. His wife.

He should have felt something about this image, anything — sadness or perhaps the satisfaction of yet another duty he fulfilled as the King; hope or disenchantment. There was nothing — only a gaping hole deep inside him where his feelings should be. He stared with disappointment at the empty brandy bottle in his hand, and placed it on the table beside him with a clank. 

Perhaps everything was as it should be. His was an arranged marriage, after all. The Kingdom Under the Mountain needed an heir to the throne. The future and prosperity of the realm depended on it. It was Thorin’s duty to fulfil, and time was of the essence. As the ancient scriptures stated, only the firstborn son of the firstborn son — of the current king — had the right to the throne of this realm. The Book of Law emphasised that it had to be the direct descendant of Durin — as the line remained unbroken since the beginning of time. If the direct line was to be lost, the next in line was the second son and his progeny. Thorin closed his eyes and Frerin’s kindred face appeared before him — and quickly disappeared. That future perished more than one hundred and forty years ago beneath the East Gate of Khazad-dûm before it even had a chance to come to fruition. As for the other possibilities… they were just as painfully non-existent.

“Is there truly no legal way to name Fili or Kili as my heir apparent, Master Maldur?” Thorin crumpled a piece of parchment in his hand.

“I am afraid not, Sire.” The elderly scholar adjusted the emerald pince-nez on his nose. “They are both the sons of a daughter of Durin.”“Besides, since Fili is married to Lady Fridvi of the Firebeards. According to the treaty between our houses, their firstborn child will rule in the Blue Mountains,” added Balin with an apologetic smile.

“Aye. Even if it’s a daughter,” Thorin said and added, as if to himself, “I have always thought the Firebeards to be more sensible when it came to the laws of succession.”“Yes, well, Your Majesty…” Master Maldur cleared his throat in ill-disguised disapproval, shuffling some parchments in front of him. “The Longbeard laws, however, clearly state that if no male heir is procured by the current king before his 200th birthday, the next Dwarf in line — albeit one who is not a direct descendant of Durin — would be the grandson of your Grandfather’s brother, Grór, the firstborn son of his firstborn son, Nain, your…”

“I do know the lineage of my cousin, Dain Ironfoot, quite well, thank you,” Thorin remarked curtly. Genealogy, lineages, and recounting endless familial connections always made him irritable.

“And hypothetically speaking, if your revered cousin was not there to claim the crown of the Kingdom Under the Mountain, may Mahal give him long life,” Maldur spoke in his hoarse voice that made Thorin think of crumbling stones, “the next in line would be, of course, Lord Balin, the firstborn son of Fundin, the firstborn son of Farin, who, in turn, was the firstborn…”

“Thank you, Master Maldur.” Thorin nodded to him, having heard enough, and then turned to the firstborn son of Fundin. “Balin, how would you feel about becoming the next king?”

“I would rather not. Unless you and Dain plan to drink your way to the Halls of Awaiting together anytime soon?” Balin chuckled, shaking his head. “I have other plans, laddie, and besides, I’m not getting any younger.”

“And yet your wit is as sharp as it was one hundred years ago,” Thorin offered him a half-smile.

“Your Majesty, may I take this opportunity to point out how crucial it is that a direct descendant of Durin sits on the throne of Azsâlul'abad?” The frown on Master Maldur’s forehead deepened. “Additionally, the unfortunate discord between Your Majesty’s Grandfather and his brother, Grór, is vividly remembered by your subjects. Sadly, because of this, Lord Dain is quite an unpopular personage here. Not a favourable position to be in for a prospective ruler. If such an event were to happen, of course.”

“Of course.” Thorin sighed. “Any more ideas, Balin? Lord Bori?”

Balin slowly shook his head.

“May I remind you, Your Majesty, that we have received several offers of alliance through marriage?” said the white-haired chancellor, who — until that very moment — remained silent. Lord Bori always picked the perfect moment to strike.“Very well.” Thorin stood up, signalling that the meeting was adjourned. “It seems that we have run out of heirs. Balin, would you be so kind as to discuss the matter with my sister? I entrust you both with choosing a suitable royal consort for the King Under the Mountain.”

A thud brought him out of his reverie. It came from the adjacent bedchamber. Thorin heard two distinct voices, although he could not quite make out the words. It must have been Lady Mista discussing something with her maid, he suspected. He clearly recognized the soft lilt of his spouse’s voice, so characteristic among the Broadbeams. Perhaps she was readying herself for the day, as he should as well. Thorin was about to ring for his servant when a resonant voice reached his ears despite the thick door between their rooms.

“Why doesn't it surprise me, Mista?!” The voice was definitely feminine. “You had one job…” “Let me explain…” That was Lady Mista speaking. Thorin was able to recognize only one or two words.

“There is nothing to explain!” The first voice returned. “It was your wedding night, for Mahal’s sake! Couldn’t you have made an effort? Just look at yourself! For once in your life…”

“Mother, you don’t understand, I…” Lady Mista’s words trailed off. She sounded tense.

The pounding in Thorin’s head intensified. He glared at the door.

“Have you forgotten how hard your father and your uncle worked to achieve this?! Is that how you repay your family, Mista? By ruining everything? On the very first night?”

Without thinking, Thorin placed his hand on the door handle and pressed. He had heard enough.

“What is the meaning of this?!” he demanded.

In the silence that filled the room, just after he stepped into Lady Mista’s bedchamber, he saw Lady Mista sitting in her bed. Her face was as pale as the bed linen, her eyes wide, and her quilt pulled up to her chin. She looked at him as if she wanted to disappear underneath it. With her hair tousled and her slightly skewed spectacles, she looked more like a defenceless young maid than an adult Dwarf-woman.

Next to her bed stood a corpulent red-haired matron in a fashionable green-and-gold gown, her hair immaculately dressed, her neck and wrists adorned with elegant jewellery, her fisted hands resting against her hips.

“Your Majesty.” The matron executed a customary curtsy, offering him a sweet but artificial smile. “What an honour to see you in my daughter’s bedchamber. I believe…” “Lady Milva.” He gave her a curt nod of recognition and graced her with a cold stare. “You will have to forgive me, madam, but I do not intend to reciprocate. I, for one, cannot understand why you would choose this particular time to visit Her Majesty the Queen.”

“Ah, but Your Majesty would surely understand that I wanted to see to my daughter’s comfort on the very first day of her rule.” Her smile widened.

“Do you wish to imply that I am incapable of such a feat, madam?” Thorin hissed.

“Oh no, Your Majesty, not at all!” The matron attempted a giggle. “On the contrary, I believe it is my daughter who failed to see to your comfort.”

Thorin’s head seemed to be pounding even more than before.

“Mother, please…” He heard Lady Mista’s strained voice behind him.

“Enough, Mista, you should be apologising to His Majesty for disappointing him!” Lady Milva turned to her daughter and Thorin decided that he had heard enough.

“My lady, you are disturbing me and my spouse in our private chambers. Only because you are my wedded wife’s mother, My Lady, I am going to ask you kindly.” Thorin hissed. “Leave now.”

Silence filled the chamber for several heartbeats. Lady Milva’s gaze moved between her daughter and Thorin before she spoke again. 

“Very well, Your Majesty,” she replied stiffly, abandoning her insincere manner. “Mista, I will return later, to prepare you for dinner.”

“Is that what you wish, My Lady?” Thorin turned to Mista.

“I… Thank you, Mother,” Lady Mista’s words were a mere whisper as she clutched the quilt, “but I think I will manage on my own this time.”

Her mother stood there for a moment longer, her brow furrowed, and then she replied, “If that is what you wish.”

She made another curtsy to Thorin, and then, in a swift flurry of her opulent gown, she stormed out of the bedchamber.

“Forgive me, My Lord, have we woken you up?” The bedclothes rustled, making Thorin gaze at Lady Mista — the woman he wed yesterday. As she left the bed, he caught a glimpse of her bare feet, so much smaller than his, and so dainty. Her sleeping gown flowed elegantly down her body, hugging her figure and revealing patches of smooth skin that only a husband was allowed to see. Quickly, he looked away. He did not feel like one.

“I was already awake,” he offered, glancing around the chamber. “Have you broken your fast yet, My Lady?”

“No, My Lord,” she replied. “I’m afraid I lost track of time. I was reading.”

Thorin followed her gaze to the thick tome that lay open on the bed. It looked like something from the Royal Library of Erebor, but he did not recognize the cover.

“I’ll ring for breakfast for you then. You must be famished,” he offered. 

“Thank you, that’s very kind of you,” Lady Mista replied, her words barely audible, like the chirping of a frightened little bird. “Would you… would you like to join me?”

Thorin shook his head decidedly. 

“I am expected elsewhere. The meeting of the Guildmasters is going to be held quite soon,” he was amazed at how easily this half-truth slipped out of his mouth. That meeting was on his general agenda, but no one expected him to join it, not so soon after his wedding.

“Oh, I see,” Lady Mista’s voice wavered, but she continued after a pause. “In that case, allow me, My Lord, to thank you for your… intervention. My Mother can be tempestuous at times, but she means well.”

“Forgive me, My Lady, but her behaviour was out of place,” he said, attempting to ignore the insistent pounding in his head. “You are not only her daughter but — first and foremost — the Queen. No one is allowed to treat you so, no matter the circumstances. No one. Not even her.”

Thorin took a deep breath in order to rein in his temper. He was abrupt, his words far from courteous, but his patience was wearing thin. The last thing he was willing to endure was a lady on the verge of tears, bullied by her own kin. A half-forgotten memory surfaced in his mind: those sobs, that lavish but abhorred wedding dress, and his sister’s words: “You can’t help it, nadad. This is women’s lot in life.” 

This time, unlike that other time, Thorin could help it — and so he did. That was the least he was able to do for this terrified woman. His wife.

He did not find the strength to look into her face once more and see those glossed-over eyes and those trembling lips. Instead, he excused himself under the pretence of procuring breakfast and left her bedchamber.

He found his reward in the form of a full jug of water in the adjacent parlour. Quenching his thirst, he rang for a servant. Katla, Lady Mista’s new maid, arrived soon after. She was one of the maids who worked for their family when they lived in the Blue Mountains. Now, however, Dis decided that Katla was exactly the person Lady Mista would need. The girl was unusually agitated, and as soon as Thorin asked about Lady Milva’s presence in the Queen’s bedchamber, her countenance wavered. 

“Forgive me, m’lord,” she curtseyed, her gaze lowered reverently. “I had no means to stop Her Ladyship, I asked her not to disturb Your Majesties, but she said that she was the Queen’s mother and the Queen would dismiss me right away if Her Ladyship was not allowed to enter, and I thought…”

“Thank you, Katla, I understand,” he said. “You are not going to be dismissed. However, Her Majesty does not need such disturbances. Should someone attempt to storm into Her Majesty’s private chambers without her consent again, do not hesitate to call the guards.”

“Of course, m’lord,” Katla nodded stiffly. “And… Thank you. For not dismissing me.”

“My Mother, the Dowager Queen, always spoke highly of you. Now, I need you to take care of the new Queen in a similar manner. This is her new home, and we need to make her feel like it. Can I rely on you?”

“Always, m’lord.” A hopeful smile appeared on her face. “Does the Queen need anything now, m’lord?”

“She is requesting a hearty breakfast,” he ordered.

“I’ll be right back with her tray! Shall I bring one for you as well, m’lord?”

“No, thank you. I have matters to attend to.”

With these words, Thorin directed his steps to the Royal Baths. Hot water and steam were exactly what he needed at that very moment. A sizable pile of documents waited for him on his desk, but he needed to clear his head first.

***

“Here you are, nadad! I’ve been looking all over for you!” Dis’ voice made him raise his gaze from a parchment.

“Where else should I be?” Thorin tilted his head, observing his sister as she approached his desk. There was only a handful of braids in her modest hairdo — her wavy strands as dark as his own — and she wore a simple day dress. Yet, Dis looked more elegant than many other ladies in their finest gowns. She inherited her noble bearing and facial features from their paternal grandmother, after all.

“Where should you be? Let me see…” she tapped her mouth with her index finger and then asked innocently. “Perhaps with your wife?”

Thorin cursed inwardly. Dis inherited their grandmother’s wit, too.

“If only those trade licences could somehow sign themselves…” he grunted.

“And while you are drowning in parchments, your newly-wed wife is halfway through the second volume of The Golden Age of Azsâlul'abad,” she grunted back.

“The second volume?” Thorin’s eyebrow rose as he recalled the size of that monstrous twelve-volume work. He never managed to make it past the first one.

“Yes. Apparently, Mista finished the first one during lunch. Which she ate alone.” Dis folded her arms on her chest. It had never been a good sign when Grandmother Birgit folded her arms like that.

“I ate my lunch alone as well.” He pointed at a plate with a forgotten piece of dark bread left, half-covered by a couple of documents.

“On the first day of your marriage,” Dis retorted.

“These licences are vital for…”

“Thorin…” His sister rolled her eyes.

“Dis…” He sighed. “You know what I mean.”

“Some things need time,” he heard himself say.

“I know, Thorin,” Dis stepped to him, placing her hand on his forearm. “Of all the people in the world… I know.”

“At least you knew Vili before your wedding,” Thorin put his quill aside.

“Vaguely. While you managed to spend a whole evening with Mista in Tumunzahar.”

“Which apparently happened a long time ago — and of which I remember nothing.” He admitted with a frown and then drummed his fingers on the desk. “Nan’ith, I may have made an utter fool of myself yesterday.”

Dis sat heavily on a chair beside him, “Let me hear it.”

“Lady Mista was convinced that I remembered meeting her at a feast. Apparently, we danced and talked, and she expected me to…” He sighed. “I don’t know. The problem is that instead of playing along with it, I told her that I did not remember it at all.”

“Nadad, I have always admired your disarming honesty, but…” Dis paused and then grinned. “Well, it looks like you have figured it out yourself. You are an utter fool.”

When she elbowed him, as if they were smooth-cheeked youths again, Thorin simply had to elbow her back.

“Thank you, dearest sister. I know I could count on you.” He let out a lukewarm chuckle.

“How did she take it? Is that why you are hiding in here?” Thorin shook his head, “Lady Mista did not seem offended. I’d say she was perhaps… surprised? Disappointed?”

“I would be too if my future husband first sent me a letter in which he spoke fondly of our meeting years ago and then admitted to not remembering it at all,” Dis waved her hand in despair.

“A letter?” Thorin’s frown deepened.

“The letter. Don’t tell me you haven’t read it.” A frown appeared on her face as well. “Balin and I spent half a day composing it before it was sent along with the marriage contract.”

“For which I am very thankful. I have no head for this sort of letters, as you know.” “That was precisely why you were supposed to read it before it was sealed, Thorin.” She rolled her eyes.

“I knew I could trust you with its contents. Dis, we were rebuilding the Forges at that time! I barely had time to eat or sleep; that letter was hardly on top of my agenda.” 

His sister let out a long sigh.

“It is not me you should explain yourself to. What happened, happened. Tell me, do you truly not remember anything from that meeting?”

“This was one of many feasts I was obligated to appear at. Amicable relations with our allies, and all that,” he offered.

“We were there together, you know.”

“Were we?” Thorin searched his memory. To no avail. All those feasts seemed like a blur in his mind.

“Balin was there, too. And Dwalin, I think.” Dis added. “And Mother. She wore that emerald green gown.”

He tried once more. Still nothing.

“There was lots of food, lots of political scheming… Oh, and there were quite a few mothers flaunting their offspring at me and you. Mostly at you, the Crown Prince,” she snickered.

“You have just described most of the feasts I have attended in the past.” He ran a hand over his face. “Every time I felt like game during hunting season. Did I really spend the whole evening with Lady Mista?”

“Quite a bit of it.” Dis nodded. “You were seated next to a matron who insisted on making you dance with each of her daughters — I think she had two or three of them — and then you did what you usually used to do. You disappeared. When you returned, Mista was with you already, and then you danced. That matron, together with her cronies, was of course appalled, because you never even looked at anyone else. And Mista was not even formally out, she was maybe a few years over half battle-age at that time!”

“It seems that I scandalised the matrons of Tumunzahar and nearly robbed a cradle. What an achievement. And I cannot even remember it.” Thorin smiled wryly, although an image or two flickered before his eyes. A handkerchief with his monogram in a lithe hand. Grey-brown hair adorned with pearls.

“At least no one bothered you afterwards,” she put her hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eyes. “Now, I hope you find a way to make amends with your wife, nadad.”

Thorin gave her a nod, “You and me both. I simply do not have the slightest idea how to talk to her. I feel as if she is afraid of me.”

“We both know that you are not the greatest charmer when it comes to the matters of the heart,” she offered him a smirk. “And neither am I. I can only tell you what Mother told me once. Marriage is like the endless forging of a sword. If you want to make a great blade, you have to keep the fire going, and work the metal every single day. Draw it, shape it, and then keep on tempering it so that it never breaks.”

“She knew her way around the forge,” Thorin admitted fondly. He liked to think that he inherited his bladesmithing skills from their Mother.

“She knew how to deal with Father, too. I took her words to heart, and it worked for me — for us. Vili and me…” Dis cleared her throat. “We had nothing in common — or so I thought at first.” 

A sad smile softened her features, and Thorin covered her hand with his. 

“He was even younger than me,” she continued, “so rowdy and boisterous, and talked only of mountain goat races and throwing knives. Remember how terrified I was when I had to braid his hair?”

“You? Terrified? You were as decorous as Grandma Birgit would,” he said.

“That was because I knew Grandma Birgit would have been appalled if I fainted halfway through the ceremony. You cannot believe how mortified I was before the wedding night!” His sister chuckled.

“You asked me for two pints of the strongest malt beer we had,” Thorin offered lightly. It was good to see her smile.

“I only wanted to take the edge off things!” Dis grinned. “How was I supposed to know you spiked it with Dwalin’s horrible brandy?”

“You weren't. And you and Vili were supposed to drink them together. How should I know he would down them both at once?” He shrugged as if he had not seen it coming.

“I think I was the first bride in the history of Arda who spent her wedding night listening to her new husband’s loud snores.”

“You should talk with Bombur’s Ronja,” he quipped.

“Nadad! I shall not discuss their wedding night with her!” Dis feigned outrage only to burst out in laughter.

“Be glad that you did not hear his snores during the Quest. Every. Single. Night. He even made us think a storm was coming! And once, in the Misties…” It was so easy to fall back on the anecdotes from the past, and Thorin was awarded with another bout of laughter. Since Dis arrived back to the Mountain — their home — for the first time in years, it was easy to make her smile. There was a new spark in her eyes too, one that Thorin saw in countless eyes these days. A glint of hope for their reclaimed homeland they were rebuilding — and for their future. Was the same glint present in Lady Mista’s eyes last night? He could not say.

“Thank you”, Dis startled him, pecking him on his cheek.

“For what?” He met her eyes.

“For many things… like not terrifying your bride too much.”

Thorin swallowed, “What do you mean?”

“You know how you can be sometimes.” Dis patted his hand.

“Are you going to tell me once more that I scare others away with my ‘brooding’, or whatever you call it?” He rose from his chair and looked down at her.

“Not at all! Brooding is not as loud as snoring.” Tilting her head up, she winked at him. “Do you know you sometimes come off as quite intimidating?”

“I have never heard of such a notion,” Thorin let his lip curl up. “Especially from you.”

“What about that agreement you managed to hammer out last week with those stubborn donkeys, the Guildmasters?” Thorin knew better than to offer a reply.

“I heard your voice all the way to the warehouses! And when the Masters left the council chamber, they were meek as lambs, even the fiery Master Karg!”

“I simply reminded them that the world did not revolve around their coin pouches. Loudly.”

“I am glad you made use of it this morning.”

“You heard about what happened,” Of course. His sister had a knack for knowing things that did not happen in her presence.

“A word or two.” “Lady Mista’s mother needed to be put in her place,” Thorin quickly recounted his confrontation with Lady Milva. 

When he finished, Dis pressed her lips in a thin line.

“What a viper,” she huffed. “Now I know why Mista looked so shaken today. But we are in luck. The whole Broadbeam delegation is leaving in a week or so. We will manage.”

“We have managed worse.” He finished the thought, their private saying, one that they used since the vile Smaug ravaged their kingdom. Last time they spoke it happened just before the Quest to reclaim their homeland. Now, both the current circumstances and stakes felt vastly different, and Thorin could not help but wonder — would he manage?

“I must say you did wonders with the Queen’s bedchamber in such a short time.” Thorin admitted in a hasty attempt to change the subject. “It looks quite… comfortable. Especially with that tapestry from Grandmother’s chambers. And to think it survived Smaug almost untouched…”

“Oh, so you did spend some time with Mista after all?” Dis raised an eyebrow, her eyes twinkling. “Were there two pints of malt beer involved or not? Don’t you make that face at me, nadad! This was your wedding night and everyone will jest about it, whether you like it or not!”

Sadly, she was right.

***

Dis’ prophetic words proved true in the evening at the celebratory dinner. It was held in the largest cavern under the Mountain, the Great Hall. It was as tall as several levels of the Dwarven kingdom, making it easy for people to freely join and leave the festivities, catch a glimpse of the royal family or listen to the music while feasting in their local quarters. Thorin remembered that this natural formation in the depths of the Mountain was where all the largest festivities happened when his Grandfather, King Thrór, ruled. He himself did not expect to celebrate his royal wedding in these legendary chambers as well. After all, marriage had not been a part of his plans for the future.

Upon entering the Great Hall, it was difficult not to notice all the lavish adornments he remembered from the day before, countless tables filled anew with various dishes, lanterns and candles that cast their golden glow on the walls, brightening everyone’s faces — and the fact that all the eyes were now set on Thorin and his new royal consort. They were both clad in matching attires made especially for this occasion; every detail, pattern, and jewel on those black, silver, and gold garments was supposed to symbolise the imperishable beauty and opulence of the Kingdom Under the Mountain. Judging by the reactions of his subjects, the newly-wed royal couple made a favourable impression on them. 

Casting a sidelong glance at Lady Mista, Thorin expected to see the joyful or perhaps even triumphant smile of a new queen. Instead, he noticed the strained lines of her face, the paleness of her cheeks, and her bespectacled gaze set somewhere above the heads of the guests. Only the crown over her temples softened the solemn impression somewhat and lent her a regal air. Lady Mista’s palm rested stiffly on his forearm as Thorin led her through the chamber towards the royal table. He could feel how stiff her muscles were, as if she was a wooden doll controlled by an invisible puppeteer.

Thorin made an effort not to look at Lady Mista’s kin, who had already gathered at their side of the royal table. After what he experienced with the members of this family so far, it was not at all difficult to infer what face — or rather, faces — that puppeteer bore. 

That poor, terrified girl. His wife. The new Queen Under the Mountain.

“Our people are curious about you, My Lady,” he whispered just as they walked onto the stone dais where the royal table was placed.

“Oh?” Quickly, she turned towards him, her eyes wide. “About me?”

“They do not know you yet, and many of them are wondering what they can expect of you, their new Zabdûna,” he murmured, leaning slightly closer to her.

“Of… of course I will do my best to care for them,” she lowered her gaze and a blush darkened her cheeks. Then she added, “There is no Kingdom without its people.”

The last time Thorin heard those words, he was barely a youth, and his days were filled with endless studies and training. One of his Grandfather’s sayings — words of Dagur Sture, an ancient philosopher from Khazad-dûm — spoken in the trembling voice of a Broadbeam lady from the distant Khagal'abbad, the Blue Mountains. 

“Indeed,” he said, shaking off the surprise as they both turned towards the guests, an endless sea of faces before them . “Pray, show it to them, My Lady.”

“But how?” Lady Mista blinked, adjusting her spectacles on her nose. “I do not know what to do…”

“Simply greeting them will be enough,” Thorin attempted to say these words with an encouraging smile. “Acknowledge your new subjects.”

Lady Mista nodded slightly and swallowed, lifting her gaze upon the crowd. He felt her right hand tighten on his forearm, but then her left hand rose into the air, and she waved to the gathered crowd. An avalanche of cheers went through the cavern; some of the guests responded to her greeting in turn, their faces brightening.

Thorin chose this moment to greet the gathered Dwarves in the same fashion, enhancing their jubilation even further. All it took was a wave. A simple trick his Grandfather taught him a lifetime ago, but one that never failed.

When he glanced at Lady Mista’s face again, there was a new glint in her eyes and a timid smile on her lips as she took in the enthusiastic response to her gesture.

“They like you already, My Lady,” he whispered, nodding to her in approval and seeing her features finally soften when her lips curled up slightly. A welcome change, he thought. People needed to see their rulers glad, especially on such an occasion. Appearances mattered more than one’s true feelings; he had learned that bitter lesson well.

After the customary welcoming speech — Thorin somehow managed to keep it short — he led Lady Mista to their chairs at the centre of the table, and then the feast began. Soon, he found himself in a lively conversation with Glóin, Dwalin and Lord Taran, Lady Mista’s uncle, discussing the strategy applied in the siege of an Orc stronghold that happened during the Great War. Various pieces of golden tableware turned into numerous units of dwarven troops, a nearby platter with fruit acted as a mountain range, the octagonal brass salt cellar became the stronghold, and leftover pheasant bones served as Orcs.

“What a battle it was! We hadn’t slept for three days in a row!” Glóin announced as the culinary re-enactment of the battle came to an end. “When we were done with the Orc scum, Thorin looked every bit as tired as he looks now after one night with his bride!”

Thorin grunted.

“Aye, he does, but can ye imagine his state after three nights of storming her stronghold?” Dwalin roared with laughter.

Thorin glowered at his friend, who, in response, laughed even harder.

“With such a meek lass like our Mista, he doesn’t have much storming to do!” Lord Taran bellowed, the tattoos on his cheeks stretching in a wide grin.

Thorin clenched his fist. 

Dis threw him a meaningful glance from across the table. We will manage. Mahal, give him strength. Casting a fleeting look at Lady Mista, Thorin saw that she was deeply immersed in a conversation with Balin, who at that very moment patted her on her hand.

“May Your Majesty strike a gold vein quickly so we have a new reason to celebrate soon, a naming ceremony!” Lord Tair, the new Queen’s father, raised his goblet, meeting Thorin’s gaze. “May Mahal bless this union with many children!”

Other cups shot into the air, and the toast echoed across the hall, countless eyes set on the royal couple. Thorin gritted his teeth. This was not a purely well-meant wish, not in Tair’s mouth. The Broadbeam lord, who negotiated the marriage contract himself, alluded to its crucial clause: children from this union meant prosperity for both of their houses. On the other hand, no offspring by Thorin’s 200th birthday meant the dissolution of the marriage, the end of the vastly profitable trade agreements for the Broadbeams, and the end of the direct line of Durin for the Longbeards — and Thorin. The stakes were high for both houses.

Decidedly, Thorin grasped his own goblet and returned the gesture. A quick glance to his left told him that Lady Mista followed his lead, her fingers stiffly holding her goblet’s stem. He felt her eyes on him, but he found himself unable to reciprocate her gaze.

Another toast came after the first. This time, it was Dis wishing the newly-wed couple a long and happy marriage. A couple of toasts full of platitudes followed, and when everyone in the Great Hall drank their fill, conversations returned. Thorin’s sister was talking with Lady Mista now; he thought he heard them speak of a library when a sonorous voice reached his ears.

“Such a match happens once in a lifetime, Lord Balin, wouldn’t you say?” Lady Mista’s mother gave the older Dwarf a charming smile.

“As you say, Lady Milva. And it is a prosperous one, too,” Balin nodded with a twinkle in his eye.

“I am truly overjoyed that I had this idea! I told my husband: ‘Remember that winter feast we had in Tumunzahar, love? The one when Prince Thorin — for His Majesty was merely a prince then — danced only with my dear Mista?’ He only had eyes for her that night! So many mothers had fits of jealousy, because he did not even spare a glance for any of their daughters!” Lady Milva chuckled.

“That must have been quite an event,” Balin admitted. 

Thorin gritted his teeth, acutely feeling the weight of his crown on his head — and the eyes of his subjects on him. Instead of addressing a few curt words to Lady Mista’s mother, he took a large gulp of wine.

“So it was, Lord Balin, so it was! If you only had been there to see it!” She dabbed an invisible tear from her eye. “They danced, and danced, and afterwards my sweet daughter would sigh, and dream away, and ask if Prince Thorin would attend the next feast! So when the Lonely Mountain was finally reclaimed, I told my husband: ‘My love, if you are not going to send that marriage proposal to King Thorin, I am going to take her to Azsâlul'abad myself!’. And do you know what he said?”

Thorin’s old mentor declared, “I have not the slightest idea, My Lady.” 

Neither had Thorin. He refilled his goblet. Beside him, Dis asked Lady Mista a question he did not quite hear, but she received no answer. Lady Milva’s daughter, the new Zabdûna undu ‘Urd, sat unmoving, staring at her empty plate, her lips pressed into a thin line, while her relentless mother kept on talking. 

“Well, my dear Tair said ‘No need to do that, my dearest, for I have already sent the proposal!’. I swear, we act and think as one, is it not so, my lord husband?” Lady Milva turned to her spouse and loudly pecked his cheek.

“You speak the truth, my dove,” her husband replied, running his hand down his thick silver beard braid with clear contentment. “It was a great honour that His Majesty agreed to our offer this time!”

“Oh, hush, my gem, no need to bring that up, it happened such a long time ago,” Lady Milva waved her hand. “It is of no consequence now.”

“May I ask what you mean, My Lady?” Óin put his fork aside and brought his hearing trumpet to his ear. “Is there another layer to this charming love story?”

“Indeed, there is! I can tell you in confidence,” Lady Milva clapped her hands, leaning towards Óin, although Thorin noticed that she did not bother to lower her voice, “that we sent a marriage proposal to Thorinuldûm a few years later, but we were informed that King Thorin was not interested. I must admit that we made a grave error that day! You see, dear Lord Óin, we offered the hand of our daughter Adla in marriage instead of Mista! Therefore, it was not at all surprising that His Majesty was not interested. She was simply not the right daughter! The whole Blue Mountains wondered why he would not marry our Adla — for you must know that she is considered one of the greatest beauties of our clan — nor any other lady for one hundred years!”

“A true mystery indeed,” Óin agreed with a chuckle.

Thorin glared into his goblet. It was not a mystery to him. He clearly remembered the day the first proposal arrived. This missive from Tumunzahar came together with another letter from Gabilgathol, the city of the Firebeard Dwarves. The city he vowed never to return to. The memories he buried on the bottom of his mind, never to revisit. The eyes he would never look into again.

“...so when we sent our second offer,” Lady Milva placed her goblet on the table with a loud thud, “the answer came swiftly. And now — just look at these two, My Lord, and tell me this was not a match carved in stone.”

“May Mahal grant them happiness!” Óin said, lifting his goblet.

Lady Milva did the same, stood up and added loudly, “Let us drink for their long-awaited reunion! Will our royal lovebirds sweeten the toast with a kiss?”

“A kiss! A kiss!” Several voices from among the guests were heard at first, and then more and more of them joined in the chant. “King and Queen! King and Queen!”

What a viper, Thorin cursed inwardly. So that was her revenge. He should have seen it coming. At that moment, he could no longer pretend that he had not heard Lady Milva’s words. Neither had Lady Mista. Their gazes met; her spectacles slid slightly down her nose, uncovering a pair of brown eyes — wide open and terrified.

Thorin leaned towards her, whispering into her ear in order to be heard despite the continuous chanting.

“Forgive me, Lady Mista. This is not how I…” He paused, searching for the right words that did not seem to come. “I am afraid that we may need to make a little spectacle of ourselves, if you do not mind.”

“Kiss! Kiss!” The chanting grew louder, just like Lady Milva’s vicious smile, as people started clapping their hands, stamping their feet, and banging their goblets against the tables.

“I understand. I apologise for my mother.” She signed discreetly in Iglishmêk. Her fingers trembled when she added, “Let us turn it to our advantage and give our people the fairy tale they expect.”

Our people.

“Very well,” Thorin signed back, offering her his hand, palm up, and trying to empty his mind of all the importunate thoughts. With everyone in the Great Hall staring at them expectantly, they had to do it. There was no other way. Lady Mista took his hand, and it seemed to him that in that very moment, a spark of understanding passed between them. This was something they had to do together, something they were expected to do as the King and Queen Under the Mountain. A duty. Nothing more.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” The guests continued to chant.

Thorin stood up, waiting for Lady Mista to gather her skirts and do the same. A moment later, they stood, arm in arm, before the gathered crowd, their hands joined. The continuous chanting echoed against the ceiling of the Great Hall when he turned to face her. Their gazes met; in the candlelight, her eyes looked like molten amber. The new Queen nodded almost imperceptibly, her fine hand gave his a little squeeze, and he could not stall any longer. Thorin lowered his face towards her and his nose bumped against hers,  so he tilted his head further, mindful of her spectacles, and let his lips gently brush against hers. 

Her breath hitched, and he carefully moved to press his lips against hers, and she must have stood up on her tiptoes because he met the softness of her lips much sooner than expected, and she smelled, or perhaps tasted, like an apple orchard, sweet and innocent, and—

An enthusiastic storm of cheers washed over the Mountain, drowning all the importunate thoughts of his for a long while.

To be continued...

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[01zfan]

mango flavored | o. st

coworker!shotaro x reader | 7.6k words

thought about how shotaro was studying economics in school and i started thinking a little too much…i promise i’m so normal about him.

contains: secret relationship, reader and shotaro are tipsy, fingering (fem. receiving), teasing, unprotected sex (but reader is on birth control)

the mango flavored alcoholic beverage got you by surprise. it went down like juice at this point in the night, although it didn’t go down with any problems to begin with. it was sweet and barely tasted like alcohol, the fruity cocktail tasted like juice with a little bit of a punch.

you weren’t normally the type to drink in a work setting, but it was a special occasion. you and your team were wrapping up the end of a project that ran all your lives for a month. it was extremely ironic to have another late night out after spending the last two weeks in the office after hours. it had gotten to the point that your team would take power naps in the conference room just to come right back out and type away. you thought your eyeballs were going to melt out of your head from the blue light and lack of sleep. but you couldn’t miss out on a celebratory drink with your coworkers. especially because you knew what followed after each project was closed.

“i think you should pace yourself, yeah?” shotaro said into your ear.

he spoke to you quietly, leaning backwards to remove himself from everyone’s line of sight. shotaro tried to be sneaky for no reason—none of your coworkers had picked up on your secret relationship. if they didn’t know what you guys were doing they definitely wouldn’t find out tonight. they were drunk a long time ago, going straight for the hard liquor in contrast to your mixed beverages. they were two shots deep before the food even arrived, and it only got worse from there. you could make out with shotaro in front of them and they probably wouldn’t pay it any mind, and if they did it would be forgotten by the morning. 

you looked to your coworkers sitting directly in front of you and shotaro, engaged in their own conversation. you could hear them a little too well, the alcohol making their speech slurred and loud. you kept staring at them, waiting for them to acknowledge your stare that was less than an arms length away. they were unbothered, shit talking your bosses boss that was elusive and never in the office. you turned back to shotaro to see him staring curiously at you, waiting for a response. you almost forgot what he had asked you when you let your eyes shamelessly eat at him, resting on his lips. 

letting the thought of kissing shotaro enter your mind was a mistake, because now it was all you could think of. it became more and more tempting when his tongue ran over his pink lips. you’re sure he would taste like a mix of the mango beverage he finished for you and the shot he had at the beginning of the night. you thought about how his lips were probably soft from the balm he applied religiously, kept in his front pocket (and a spare in his backpack) for maximum convenience. 

if you were going to hypothetically kiss shotaro in front of the entire marketing team you would have to hold his face too. when you two kissed, his hands always found their place on the back of your neck while yours rested on his face or ran through his hair. his skin was always so soft underneath the pads of your fingers, firing off all the dopamine receptors in your mind. his skin was glowing underneath the warm light of the restaurant, and a little glossy from the warmth and alcohol in his system. shotaro looked cherubic, the apples of his cheeks shining each time he laughed or smiled. 

you constantly felt like you were fighting two wolves each time you thought about shotaro. on one side you saw the angelic sweetheart that everyone in the office loved, but on the other you saw the confident and attractive man that had you on your knees. you thought he was hot in his business casual attire for work but outside of work he was even more captivating. his carefree spirit translated into his fashion, with a hint of classiness that had intrigued you. you had already fucked shotaro by the time you first saw him wearing his casual clothes at a company lunch months prior. it was pleasantly surprising to see a new side to him, the complete opposite of the button ups and slacks he wore to work. you were checking him out the whole lunch, barely contributing to the conversation your bosses were having. when he looked at you worried asking why you hadn’t eaten you lean to whisper in his ear that you were hungry for something else. you saw shotaro’s eyes widen and his ears that were tucked into his beanie get red when he understood what you said. 

ever since the lunch you both started unabashedly flirting with the other during office meals, loving the risk of it all. it was easy to cover it up if someone did ask what you two were chatting about, you and shotaro were friendly. you guys were assigned to nearly every project together so how could you not be cordial? if shotaro had his arm on the back of the chair behind you it was only because he liked the comfort of having an arm up. not to mention shotaro was even more chatty when he was tipsy, talking to anyone who would listen. you became bratty when you got alcohol in your system and you became an awful liar too.

“i’m barely tipsy.” you said, looking back at shotaro. “what’s it to you anyways?”

shotaro ran his hand through his hair for the nth time of the night, staying in the pushed back position he wanted it in. you let yourself look at the rings on his hand then drift down to his face, where a knowing smile had you smiling back. you had crossed the threshold of  “tipsy” a long time ago. you were at the part where you wanted to do unspeakable things to your coworker and you didn’t care if other people saw it. shotaro seemed to know it too when he leaned close to your ear. he was at the part where he started to care less and less about getting caught.

“i don’t know if you’ll be able to handle it later if you’re too drunk.” shotaro said innocently.

it was whatever shotaro had planned for you once you both made it back to your apartment after drinking. it was usually shotaro pressed against your sweaty body while feeling you up or you on your knees for him. it had become plenty of things ever since you started seeing him.

when you first met shotaro you didn’t think he had it in him. he wasn’t shy by any means, instantly hitting it off with everyone in the office but he was just so kind and seemed so innocent. his bright smile and expressive eyes gave the impression that he was the human embodiment of purity. you found out that this very much wasn’t the case half a year ago.

you and shotaro were working on a project about consumer preferences for off brand versions of skincare products alone when the question first came up. it was simple and non assuming on your part, just a question to try and keep yourself awake.

“do you have a girlfriend?” you asked.

shotaro took a break from typing on his computer to turn and look at you. you instantly clarified that you weren’t asking romantically, only curious as to why he transferred to your office’s location. shotaro went back to typing before answering you.

“no i don’t have a girlfriend.” he answered. “i transferred because my friend needed a roommate and i wanted to leave my hometown.” 

“cool, cool.” you typed on your keyboard a couple of times, trying to move on. “any particular reason?” you asked.

shotaro laughed, still typing on his computer. you took a quick peak over your shoulder and saw shotaro with perfect posture filling out endless cells on the spreadsheet. he was a terrible multitasker, having to pull away from his computer before answering you.

“that i don’t have a girlfriend? or why i left my hometown?” shotaro asks.

shotaro smiles at you tripping over your words. you thought this interaction would be the other way around, with him being the mess instead of you. but you have to clear your throat and look at the random words you typed on your computer as an excuse to look away from shotaro.

“why you left. if you want to answer the first question too go ahead.” you said.

shotaro laughed before explaining his reason for moving. he wanted a change of scenery and a chance to spread his wings. he woke up one day realizing he was an adult who had never seen life outside of his prefecture. so when his friend from college told him he was moving shotaro leaped at the chance, transferring from his previous location to this one. shotaro didn’t have a girlfriend because he was too busy with work, which you understood. there was no way to have a significant other when a majority of your day was spent in an office. unless you were seeing your coworker.

it was silent between you two again, the only sound in the office was typing on the keyboards and the occasional sigh. shotaro stopped typing again and turned towards you, a smile on his face.

“do you have a boyfriend?” shotaro asked.

he didn’t clarify why he was asking you that question, you assumed it was to embarrass you. you felt you face heating up as you shook your head staring at the graphs on your computer. it was getting to the part of the night where nothing made sense and your eyes were losing focus. 

“i don’t understand how you don’t have one.” shotaro said. “you’re beautiful.”

you thought that your lack of sleep was making you delirious when you heard shotaro say that. you turned in your chair to face him, and his smile confirmed that you weren’t just hearing things. 

you had foolishly believed that shotaro wasn’t hiding anything underneath his smile and big shining eyes. you thought that you had him figured out, a typical twenty-something that had never pursued a woman before, much less slept with one. but shotaro pursued you that night in the dark office and he got you. you ended up with your back pressed deep into the chair with one foot perched on the edge while the other one pressed into the ground. you could feel your toes curling in your dress shoes from the pleasure while shotaro sat in the chair next to you with his hands shoved into your pants. the sound of typing in the office was replaced with your quiet pants and the subtle squelching while shotaro told you how good you feel. you ended up returning the favor, palming him through his slacks while he put his fingers that were inside of you in your mouth. he held on tight to the armrest of his chair when he came in his pants and squeezed his eyes shut, whispering quiet explexitives. his face was tinted red and sheepishly smiled when he said you two should do this again. 

you learned that night that shotaro was far from innocent. you also learned that you needed more of him. so you two worked out an agreement that everytime you finished a project or were alone in the office together you two would have sex. sex in the office became a rarity especially with the onslaught of group projects.

but now the project was done and shotaro was telling you he had something in store for you. you suddenly didn’t want to drink anymore, pushing the rest of your mango beverage away. you turned to shotaro and lightly shrugged your shoulders.

“i’m actually done for the night.” you said casually.

“good,” shotaro smiled and looked towards the exit of the restaurant before looking at you “wanna get out of here?” he asked.

when you nodded and shotaro flagged down a waitress so he could close out the tab both of you were drinking on. you bid your goodbyes to the table together, giving pleasantries and saying you’ll see them in the office on monday. no one questioned why you and shotaro were leaving together, why he had a hand on the small of your back while he held your bag, or why he got into the cab with you when he lived on the other side of town. 

the cab rides back to your place was always one of your favorite parts of the night. people out on the street passed by you in a blur and lights on buildings caught your eye. when you were tipsy you always felt like you were in a spaceship in a car, moving through space and time while shotaro’s hand rested on your thigh. it felt like the imprint of his hand was burning through your pants, making you squirm in your seat. you moved closer to him and shotaro welcomed it, putting a hand behind you so you could nestle into his chest.

when you got to your apartment shotaro helped you out on his side of the car, wishing the driver a goodnight before closing the door. you waited patiently for shotaro in front of your building, for him to lead you to your room. you just liked his gentle hand resting on the small of your back, helping you up the stairs like you couldn’t walk. the brunt of your drunkness had worn off during the car ride, leaving you with the giggly tipsy feeling. you couldn’t hide your excitement of what was coming your way as shotaro led you up the stairs.

you didn’t waste any time once you closed the door to your apartment. you pulled shotaro close to you by his button up, pressing your lips to his. his lips were incredibly soft and his hand pressed into the door beside your head. you put your tongue in his mouth to taste the mango and the sake, pulling him even closer. shotaro laughed into your lips, letting you explore his mouth as you pleased. he started using his free hand to help you out of your jacket and undo the buttons on your blouse, letting your clothes fall to the floor. when you hastily got out of your shoes shotaro did the same.

when your top was gone shotaro moved his hand to your neck, helping you deepen the kiss. you were getting drunk again off of shotaro alone. you thought about how pent up you were during the whole project, stealing glances during the late night team meetings. you caught shotaro looking too, always asking your team for coffee to hide the fact that he already had your order waiting for you at his desk.

shotaro pulling away from you brought you back to the present. his lips were glossy and already plump from the biting. you had lost yourself in kissing him like you always do, not coming back to reality until shotaro ran his fingers over your bottom lip.

“lets go sit down.” shotaro said.

he walked through your apartment with ease, tracing the same steps he has taken thousands of times. each time he comes over you’re reminded you should try switching your furniture around or buying a painting. it’s ironic, paying rent for a place you’re never at. it would make more sense to split the electricity bill of your office building with all your coworkers. but you like seeing shotaro familiar with your apartment, you enjoy seeing him go into the fridge and know exactly where your bottles of water are. you enjoy seeing him point to the seat he knows you like on the couch, letting you sit there while he unbuttons his shirt. shotaro takes his time, making sure it’s not wrinkled when he lays it over the back of your chair. he sits the two bottles of water on your coffee table and stands in front of you. you look up at him, your hands going to his thighs to touch him.

“still a little stressed?” shotaro asked.

you actually felt the calmest you’ve been in a long time. you weren’t necessarily relaxed, the anticipation making you antsy all over. but you felt calm underneath the squirming feeling to the point that you were enjoying your nerves. regardless, you nodded your head slowly and looked up at shotaro through your eyelashes. he cooed at you, bringing a hand to rub and hold your chin.

“you work so hard for our team.” shotaro said.

it was simple work you did, much easier than what shotaro had to do. he was the one actually gathering the data and doing the math that you barely understood. your job was simply just compiling the answers shotaro gave you into neat graphs and reports to give to your bosses. he knew you felt this way, you never hesitated to tell him that a robot could easily do your job. you let him have it this time when shotaro started moving to get behind you on the couch. 

his body fit between yours and the armrest of the easily. it was the perfect amount of space, your body fit between his legs like a puzzle piece. you sat slotted between shotaro’s legs waiting for his next move. his hands went to your shoulders and guided you backwards until your back was pressed against his chest. it was broad and comfortable, you instantly settled into him. 

shotaro kissed the exposed skin of your shoulder when your body was flush with his. you sighed contently and tipped your head to the side, purposely exposing your neck to him. it was soothing the way shotaro slowly pressed his lips to your skin. each kiss was gentler than the one before. you started having to fight the lack of sleep away. it was catching up to you before you felt shotaro’s cold rings brush against your warm skin. his hands started massaging your shoulders, starting from opposite ends and working their way to the base of your neck. 

shotaro worked through the knots brought on by bad posture and stress, coaxing a satisfied groan from you. it was almost painful when shotaro found a particularly stubborn knot, kneading your skin until you started slumping your shoulders in relief. you had almost forgotten what you both were here to do, too caught up in the comfort of it all.

you brought a hand to rest on top of shotaro’s and he kissed your knuckles, still driving his thumbs into your tensed muscles. he pressed exceptionally hard on a knot, eliciting a pained whine. shotaro kissed the back of your head before going even further. your whine got louder, the mixture of pain and relief causing you to tense your shoulders. shotaro kissed your hand one last time before pulling away from your shoulders. he wrapped his arms around you and pulled him closer to you, placing an open mouthed kiss to the back of your neck. you felt his tongue touch your bare skin before he pulled away. shotaro’s face was close to yours, so close that his hair brushed your skin and his lips were against your ear.

“can i help you relax?” shotaro whispered into your ear.

you could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke to you, his curled lips grazing the shell of your ear. shotaro asked the question so innocently while his hands found their way to your dress pants, undoing the button and pulling down the zipper. he didn’t even have to look down to know what he was doing, a mix of experience and intuition guiding his hands. you nodded against his chest, lifting your hips and pulling off your pants a little too quickly.

while you took off your pants shotaro pulled his hands away from your body to take off his rings. he took them off in front of your face, just to tease you a little more, to let anticipation build all over your body. he put the rings between the bottles of water that sweat from condensation. you discard your pants and shotaro helps guide your back to his chest to the position you were in before. you settle against him and bend your knees to help keep yourself stable, loving the way your skin rubs against his undershirt. one of shotaro’s legs hang over the edge of the couch and he keeps the other extended and close to your body. you can see the way he places the leg, the way he’d be able to keep your legs spread with ease. he kisses the crook of your neck and a gentle hand on your chin tilts your head to expose more of your neck.

you keep your head in the same place as you feel shotaro’s hand travel down your body. he starts by trailing down the center of your throat and he lets his middle finger and thumb trace the outline of your collarbones before continuing his way down. shotaro has you on holding your breath when his fingers travel down the valley of your chest. it’s a breath that comes out rushed when he cups your breast, alternating between pressing it into your body and kneading the supple skin. you’ve tried touching your chest the same way shotaro does but it’s different. the grip doesn’t feel the same and you can’t mimic the desperation, or the way he twitches against your back. shotaro’s lips touch your neck as he switches to the other breast, just as desperate as he was on the other one.

“you’re so perfect.” shotaro whispers.

you whine and press yourself further into his shotaro’s body.  your hands grip his thighs and he flexes his muscle to give you somethign to dig your nails into. your legs squirm in the air, your knees close in until they touch. everything is too much already, the tipsy brain fog making all the sensations feel more intense. by the time shotaro makes it your panties you’re already whimpering and digging your fingernails into his skin.

“so pretty in pink.” shotaro says.

you look down to see him play with the elastic of your pink panties. it’s an intoxicating sight, seeing shotaro’s fingers grab the band of fabric and pull up slightly. it’s almost a feeling of discomfort, feeling the panties press against your folds. but you let it happen because shotaro is doing it, and you might trust him just a little too much. 

the fabric sticks to your folds and shotaro runs a light finger over the fabric. he takes his time, tracing all the way up and all the way down until he settles on your clit, pressing lightly. you gasp and let your head fall back against his shoulder, craning your head to kiss his jaw. it’s an impulsive act, but it’s one that has shotaro moving his head to kiss you on the lips. you let him kiss you, loving how he has to sacrifice the perfect posture he always brags about just to get closer to you. he doesn’t care about the discomfort either when he gets to see your face contort in pleasure or feel your lips on his. you feel good and you taste even better, and shotaro wants to keep indulging himself in it all. 

shotaro pulls away from your lips, waiting for you to open your eyes and look at him from his shoulder. when you make eye contact with shotaro, he pushes your panties to the side and slips a finger inside of you.

even though it’s only one, you still sigh and have to bite your tongue to hold back curses. you know it’s by design, the way shotaro teases you. he likes for you to see what he’s doing to you, he wants you to see his finger plunge in and out of your heat. he has always taken a liking to teasing you, you’ve had nights with him where he edged you to tears before finally giving in, maintaining that sweet smile the whole time. you wanted to say you were used to it by now, but when he pulled his finger out you whined from loss of contact. 

he leaned his finger towards your heat again and you slid down slightly to try and follow his fingers. you looked up to shotaro, eyes wide to show him how badly you needed it. he had his signature smile, so innocent and non assuming like he wasn’t propelling you towards your wits end. 

“i’ll take care of you, just like i always do.” shotaro says.

he helps you out of your panties and you let him. when they’re off shotaro’s soft hand guides one of your legs until your thigh rests on top of his. your legs are completely spread, and shotaro kisses your cheek for being so pliable. his hand that doesn’t tease your center undoes the clasp on your bra with ease. your tits are hard from the cold air of your apartment. the fact that you’re completely naked while shotaro is fully clothed makes you even more sensitive. he has you completely in the palm of his hand, and you’ll eventually have to come to terms with how much you love it.

you nod your head and whine, and you feel shotaro’s slow hands go back to your thighs. he uses his fingers on his other hand to spread your folds and bring two fingers to his mouth. you have to tilt your head awkwardly to see them glisten from his spit. he puts his wet digits inside of you, and you straighten your back. it’s hard to maintain your composure, your iron resolve from work related stress crumbles in shotaro’s hands. he uses your whimpers as guidance and your face expressions as motivation. when your eyes close it means he’s doing good, and when you bite your lip for a moment it means he needs to pull back. shotaro loves having you figured out, and he loves knowing what makes you tick. when he bends his fingers inside of you, you bring your hand to his bicep.

“right there.” you sigh contently.

shotaro looks down to see his fingers pump in and out of you. he has to bring his chin forward to rest on your shoulder to see the view. he wouldn’t change it for anything else. 

your foot that hangs down from shotaro’s leg flexes. each time you habitually try to close your thighs together to lock shotaro’s hand in place his leg keeps them apart. you let yourself completely fall into shotaro, his pretty fingers that kept your folds apart went to focus on your clit instead. it’s slow and steady strokes, ones that prolong your whines and moans. shotaro extracts your sounds like surgery, each pump of his fingers and revolutions on your clit is deliberate. he wants to feel your tense body progressively become more and more relaxed against him, until your become so pliant your legs start to shake. it’s suspiciously easy to get you to that point and shotaro has to tell himself to not get a big ego because of it.

“just like that.” you tell shotaro breathlessly. 

he nods and adds another finger. you tense for only a second to get used to the stretch before your body becomes limp against his again. shotaro smiles against the skin of your neck before kissing it. your head tilts upwards to the ceiling and when you take the occasional moment to open your eyes you focus on your ceiling fan. its blades move slow and steady, in such a contrast to your racing heart. you try to focus on the slow fan to steady yourself but it only reminds you of the same gentle way shotaro pushes his fingers inside of you.

“feels good?” shotaro asks. 

he sucks on the skin of your neck. he wants you to look at what he’s doing to you, but shotaro lets you focus on other things if it means he can do this to you longer.

”so good.” you say quietly.

“good.” shotaro kisses your neck. “i just want you to feel good.” shotaro says.

you let him continue to slowly pump his fingers in and out, your grip on his bicep varies based on what he does. shotaro can feel you getting tighter around his digits and your thigh starts trying to pull in a little harder.

“do you want me to add another finger?” he asks.

you shake your head, still looking at the ceiling.

“no. three is perfect.” you say.

shotaro starts driving his fingers a little deeper, and his hand that rubs your clit speeds up. shotaro can see your breath catch in your throat.

“i’m close.” you whine.

shotaro picks up the pace on your clit and acknowledges you with a hum. your other hand grips his other bicep now. shotaro hopes you don’t plan on pulling his hands away when you release around his fingers.

“can you look down for me?” shotaro asks innocently. 

you hesitate for a moment but you obliged. your head tilts down and shotaro starts picking up the speed on your clit. your jaw starts to hang ad your eyebrows cinch together. shotaro looks down for himself too, conflicted on which sight he rather see.

“can you cum for me baby?” shotaro asks.

you nod and shotaro pushes his hard dick into your back. you move backwards quickly, loving the feeling of the imprint on your hot skin. 

your hands tighten on shotaro’s biceps and try to pull them away with minimal force. he keeps them in place, not halting his movements. the rest of your body reacts first before your mind does. your thighs twitch and try to close in on eachother and your feet start flexing again. your breathing becomes rushed and the nails leave indents on shotaro’s skin. your walls clamp around his fingers and your sopping heat squelches from your cum. you let your head go back on shotaro’s shoulder as your mind tells you you’re experiencing your first orgasm since the project started. it runs through your brain and fires off all your receptors, the feeling of shotaro kissing your face gently. pushes you through it all.

you’re still reeling and shotaro can tell it. his precum seeps through his underwear as you start moaning. it starts off raspy and loud, but by the time shotaro’s fingers come to a stop it evolved into quiet high-pitched squeaks. shotaro has to let you gain composure while you’re slumped against his chest. he takes the time to compose himself too. if you were to move your body any deeper into his he would be cumming in his pants.

when your breathing settles shotaro looks at your face. when you shyly turn to him he pecks you lips and taps your thigh.

“wanna move to the bed?” he asks. 

you were still out of it, coming down from edging that seemed to last forever. all you could do is nod your head and take shotaro’s hands as he lifts you up from the couch. your legs are like jello underneath you when you stand on them fully, wobbling a little bit like you’re still drunk. shotaro laughs and puts his hand on your hips to steady you. shotaro follows behind you closely, mimicking your steps as you make your way into your bedroom. your clothes in the livingroom are long forgotten, your mind instead focused on the next part of your night with the man behind you.

his hands only leave your hips when you enter the bedroom to close your door. you situate your naked body on top of the covers, trying to hide how badly you need shotaro to touch you again. he walks slowly over to the opposite side of your bed and your eyes follow his every move. you see the way shotaro undoes his belt, the way it falls out of your line of sight. you get excited, resting on your haunches to watch shotaro slowly take of his dress slacks until he’s left in his underwear and a-line shirt. he gets on the bed in the spot you subconsciously save for him, walking on his knees until he gets to you in the center of the bed. shotaro puts a hand on your chin and traces your jawline before tilting your head upwards. his eyes are so inviting, and he hold your stare when your body leans forward to kiss you. 

shotaro keeps a hand on your face to caress your skin while his other hand presses on your lower back. it makes you move forward while you use your own hands to play with the end of shotaro’s shirt. he gets the hint, pulling away from you to lift his garment over his head. he stops only for a second, looking at your lips then looking at your eyes. 

“how do you want it?” he asks.

while you think, shotaro lets his thumb press on your bottom lip. he has never been the dominant type in bed despite his inclination to be a tease. when you first asked him what his thing was in bed, shotaro was raking his brain the same way you were racking your brain now. nothing was off limits for shotaro in regards to sex. he didn’t know how to say it then, but now he knows he would try anything if it meant he could see your eyes screw shut in ecstasy and hear you whimper. but when shotaro told you simply that his thing was seeing girls cum, he knew you didn’t believe him. so since then he has made it his mission to prove it to you. if that meant giving you the reins that was fine. if it meant edging you until you were a mess underneath him that was a bonus.

“i want to be on top.” you say confidently.

when you finally decide what you want you let shotaro push his thumb into your mouth. you can taste yourself on your tongue, and you can smell it on the rest of his hand. shotaro opens his mouth slightly as he watches you take more of his thumb. you can see his tongue move in his mouth the same way yours moves around his digit. he had a strange habit of mirroring your movements, in and outside of the bedroom. that’s something you’re going to have to tease him about later when he copies you in the office. 

you shift on the bed and shotaro follows you, finger still in your mouth and his hand still ghosting over the small of your back. you two lay down on the bed together, chest to chest while you maneuver into the right position. shotaro takes his finger from your mouth regretfully to reach for the waistband of his underwear. you help him out of it the same way he helped you out of your clothes on the couch.

you’re both content when he’s free from his boxers, his heavy dick hits the taut skin of his lower stomach. you try to tease shotaro the same way he teased you, ghosting a slow finger up his shaft to spread the precum on his tip. you love the way his head presses into the pillow, and hearing his sigh of relief. shotaro has been high strung from the deadlines the same way you were, he just hid it behind a bright smile.

“you’re stressed too, right?” you asked. 

shotaro nodded his head, a hand pressing into your tricep lightly. you grab his length into your hands, jerking him off gently. he hissed and twitched in your hand. you can’t bring yourself to tease him, to innocently ask when was the last time he took care of himself. you don’t  know what you’d do if he told you the last time he masturbated was to the thought of you, or if he had let himself get all pent up until he could be with you again.

“i can help you too.” you coo at shotaro.

he opens his eyes and his other hand goes to your arm. he pulls you slightly, trying to tell you subtly he can’t wait any longer. he’s much more impatient than you are.

“show me. please.” shotaro says.

that’s all you need to hear before moving your knees to straddle his hips. shotaro’s hands go to your waist, pressing the pads of his fingers deep into your skin you think it’ll leave a bruise. he doesn’t hold back his strength, too desperate to feel you around him again. shotaro has to use every ounce of self control to stop himself from bucking upwards when his tip prods at your entrance. you let go of his dick and rest your hands on top of his. the angle is awkward when shotaro flips his hand to intertwine your fingers, but he doesn’t care. he’s able to feel your hand squeeze his as you sink down onto him, slowly taking in everything shotaro gives you. you’re both gasping pent up messes, drunk off the feeling of eachother. 

shotaro moans when you sink all the way down, and a fast hand pushes his hair from his face. he watches you swivel your hips and you can feel shotaro’s dick in your stomach. you had almost forgotten what it felt like, riding shotaro while he looked at you with so much lust and gratitude. it made you cocky and a little too confident. when shotaro grabs a handful of your ass and praises you for how tight and perfect your pussy is it makes you think you can ride him until the sun comes up. you do have the vigor and you want to keep bouncing on his dick, but when your knees and burning thighs catch up to you the brutal pace you set starts to lag. shotaro understands, because he’s nothing if not patient. he always enjoys watching you tire yourself out just to please him. he enjoys the way your eyes look down at him, the way you grip his hands for stability. he loves the way you wrap around his dick and how he can feel your walls clamp around him when he praises you. 

when you slow down shotaro is more than happy to take over. he sees your tired but determined face, and he can feel the way your thighs start to shake. when you stop to take a breather shotaro brings your body down until your chest to chest.

“i told you i’d help you relax.” shotaro coos at you.

you let yourself fully rest against shotaro’s chest, your sweaty skin keeping you glued to him. it only takes a moment for him to plant his feet into your mattress before pistoning up into you. the sound of his hips slapping against your ass fills the room as he exceeds the pace you failed to set. you plant your hand against the wall for stability and put your other hand on shotaro’s shoulder. the moans tumble out, and your words are stuttered each time his hips meet yours.

“oh my god.” you cry.

“good right?” shotaro asks.

you opened your eyes to look at shotaro in front of you. he has a smile still, one that falters as he focuses on fucking up into you. he took the brunt of the work just so you could take all of him. you wondered if he would still fuck you like this if you were to date him, or if he’d become the soft and affectionate shotaro you got on rare occasions. either one didn’t matter to you, but you hoped that he would still fuck you with the reckless abandon he was giving you now.

you lift yourself up and kiss shotaro on the lips. it’s the only thing that slows down his pace temporarily, before going back into his speed with more stamina. you don’t know where all this energy suddenly came from, but you can feel it draining you as you get closer. your hand on his shoulder flails back and grabs his bent knee, digging into the skin. you don’t know what to do with your hand to stabilize yourself. you need someone to ground you before you explode.

“gimmie your hand.” shotaro says. 

you comply immediately, going to his hands that moved to your ass. shotaro grabs your wrist, pressing it into your lower back. the hold he has on you turns you into his rag doll, you have no control over the way your body moves. your breasts surge upwards in tandem with shotaro’s hips. your upper body pressed to shotaro’s is the only thing that keeps your chest somewhat in place, and you move a hand to his shoulder in an effort to stabilize yourself. now your headboard creaks pitifully and occasionally bumps into your wall. it’s no use trying to stop the pace—not that you want to anyway. you take as much of shotaro as you can, because you’ll need something to think about when he’s not here. 

when shotaro kisses your forehead you look up from his chest, barely able to focus on anything else anymore.

“you close?” shotaro asks. 

he already knows the answer before you nod your head and whine a yes. your hand that’s grabbed by the wrist balls up, and your walls close in on shotaro. his pace starts to slow down too, going for spots deep inside of you instead of going fast.

“still on birth control?” shotaro asks.

“yes.” you whine.

shotaro keeps going and you go back to kissing him. your body moves upwards from earch deep thrust, but you stay focused on kissing shotaro as he stays focused on fucking you. when you have to break away to curse shotaro watches you with wide eyes, needing to see how you look when you cum before he can do so himself. he hears your high pitched moans and the way his name falls from your lips. you can barely keep going, resting against his body as your walls continue to clamp around his length. it’s then when shotaro lets himself cum, cursing into your hair as he continues to fuck slowly into you.

you’re reduced to quiet moans by the time shotaro is done. his hand let go of your wrist so you grabbed his instead. your nails dug into his skin while he gripped your ass. shotaro’s legs slid on your sheets, fully extending down your bed while you both caught your breath. 

you came back first, trailing drowsy kisses from his sweaty chest to his lips. you lifted your hips and brought them down on his dick experimentally, just to see shotaro hiss and to feel his hand grip your waist. you smiled and settled back into his chest again, listening to his heartbeat. 

it doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep on shotaro’s chest. his heartbeat lulled you to sleep and his hand rubbing your back soothed you. 

shotaro lets himself lay there with you even after you’re fast asleep, loving how your chest rises and falls in time with his. one of these days he’s gonna keep you awake and tell you how he feels, how much he liked spending time with you outside of having sex. shotaro always considered himself to be an extrovert when it came to handling people. he was confrontational and didn’t hide from conflict or expressing what he wanted. 

but when he kissed you for the first time he made the decision to do whatever he had to for you to stay around. shotaro also considered himself to be a conceited individual, but even he didn’t know what you saw in him. he didn’t know why you kept coming back to him after every project wrapped up, or why you were so keen on fucking him out of everyone in the office. 

you’re a snoring mess and sleeping like a log from the drinking and exertion you have gone through for the past month. he’s happy you’re sleeping so soundly after the stress of the last couple months, your stress lines actively disappearing as you snore into your pillow. shotaro grants himself some of the credit, the fact that he was able to tire you out enough to get a good nights rest. 

shotaro almost feels weird for watching sleep, but he can’t bring himself to look away. you snuggled your pillow in his absence, your hand awkwardly underneath your chin causing your lips and cheeks to poke out a little further. if you were to wake up in this moment you would be freaked out and self conscious over someone seeing you in such a vulnerable and unflattering state. but shotaro thinks you look beautiful—ethereal even as you catch up on your sleep. he can’t stop himself from squatting down to kiss the side of your face that isn’t smushed into the pillow. you barely react to the kiss, your face twitching in the spot where shotaro pressed his lips to your skin. he stays there beside the bed, looking at how serene you look. he gentle caresses your cheek, rubbing the place he kissed. shotaro stands up and gives you one last look before heading towards the door.

“see you on monday.” shotaro says quietly to you.

you don’t reply, only turning sleepily to throw your arm on the spot you leave open for him in bed.

[forgotten-realm5]

That's all I needed to hear

(image from sorryseraphim)

Gortash x Dark Urge/f!Reader

Warnings & summary: MDNI, 18+, pre-tadpole, After a successful crown heist you realise you have feelings for Gortash, but not wanting to be just like every other conquest you make him work for it. (i suck at summaries), dominant!durge, magical restraint, masturbation (f), sorcerer durge, unprotected sex, p in v, biting, blood, choking, name calling.

Words: around 2K

Notes: This is my first attempt at writing smut ahhhh! i just wanted to try and contribute to this amazing community of BG3 fans, your artwork and writings have given me life. Gortash has taken up residence in my mind and won't leave so enjoy my brainrot ! Even if just one person enjoys this I will die happy.

The crown heist was a success. A feeling of pride and power courses through your body as you consider your partnership with Lord Enver Gortash and the full extent of what can be achieved when you work together as equals. Equals… a term that has never been used to describe you. As a child of Bhaal, you were constantly reminded by your father of your mortality compared to his omnipotence. Your mind ponders at the Chosen of Bane’s use of the word to describe your newly affirmed partnership, as he sits across you with a triumphant smirk on his face. You realise that he may be the first person to actually see you and your true worth, not just a mere slave to your father’s wishes. Never in your life have you felt a connection like the one between Gortash and yourself, the way you seem to complement each other and how he does not shy away from the darkest parts of your soul but instead welcomes it. You realise you are falling for him and feel frightened for the first time in your life, unsure of what to do, unsure whether he feels it too.

You come back to reality and realise Gortash is watching you expectantly waiting for a response to his question. When you don’t answer his face morphs into one of concern. You push your internal thoughts of love and lust to the back of your mind and focus on the object of your desire.

“Are you feeling alright my dear?”

“Just tired, what were you saying? you answer as your cheeks start to flush at being caught out.

“I was just raising a glass to us and the fine job we did in acquiring the Crown of Karsus. We are now one step closer to seeing our plan complete” Gortash explains while pouring a glass of wine and sliding it towards your side of the table.

You take the goblet of wine and raise it “To us and the future of our partnership”.

Gortash chuckles his eyes darkening slightly as he responds “Yes the future of our partnership indeed”.

You noticed his eyes roam over your body and then settle of your lips. You were concerned with your own feelings tonight but didn’t stop to examine his. Now that you think about it he may be trying to seduce you, as it was his idea to have a private celebratory dinner in his room.

Gortash sets down his goblet and walks around the table to come to a stop in front of you. He reaches down and offers his hand to pull you to your feet. You let your eyes roam his body. He is wearing his usual dark attire, but without his formal jacket you can see the lines of his strong chest and muscular arms. Your eyes settle the longest on the front of his shirt where it is has been opened to reveal chest hair you always longed to brush your hands through. Your eyes then focus on his mouth and his full lips, and you imagine taking them between your teeth. You bite your own lips with longing and reach forward to take his offered hand while you stand from your chair. You finally raise your eyes to his, and notice him watching you intensely. You can read him well after all these years, but tonight you see a slight apprehension to him that is unusual.

“Come stand by the window with me” Gortash guides you to the main window in the room, overlooking all of Baldur’s Gate and the lands beyond. It was a clear night, the moon shining bright illuminating the streets and people below. Gortash takes your hand in his and gestures with his other to the city below.

“Very soon all of this will be ours to rule together” He pauses and locks eyes with you.

“You look very beautiful in the moonlight”.

Gortash waits for you to respond with lust filling his own eyes. You know he is used to getting what he wants, taking on a dominate persona in all things. You knew this encounter was a long time coming as he had been nothing but a flirt since the first time you met. Looking at him in the candlelight, you decide you don’t want to be just another easy conquest, you want to be the one to make him beg.

Stepping closer to him you soften your voice to a sultry tone. 

“And you’re looking just as delicious” while your hand reaches up to caress his exposed chest through his shirt. It’s just as you always imagined, soft and warm. Gortash chuckles and then smirks at you and slowly, seductively he grabs the hand on his chest and brings it up to his mouth to kiss at the pulse point on your wrist, all the while not taking his eyes off you.

Your eyes shine with approval and he takes that as encouragement to lean forward and capture your lips. The kiss is an explosion of past longing coming to a head. You feel his stubble against your skin as you grab his face to deepen the kiss, his hands move to grip your hips. His mouth tastes of red wine and you inhale his lingering scent of incense and soap. Just as you are both about to pull apart to breathe again, you grab his bottom lip between your teeth and bite hard enough it breaks the skin causing Gortash to moan with approval. You lick the blood off his lips and move away from his embrace.

Gortash looks at you, his face flush with arousal.

“Gods you’re perfect, I can’t wait to hear how you moan my name”.

“All in good time, but first I want to hear you beg for me ” you smirk at the surprise on Gortash’s face, he narrows his eyes but answers with a hint of amusement.

"I don’t beg."

“We’ll see about that”. You motion for him to follow you back to the dining room and forcefully push him into a chair. He is watching you with enjoyment, his eyes following your every move. You stand in front of him close enough that your knees are touching and look down at the noticeable bludge in his pants, you smirk to yourself thinking this will be easier than you thought.

“Looks like someone enjoys a bit of pain” you tease him.

“Only if you’re the one delivering it” Gortash counters.

“Is that so?” you draw out. “You don’t have to hide it, I know you’re a kinky fuck”.

Before he has time to respond you grab his throat and crash your mouth to his. He moans loudly and you can feel yourself becoming increasingly wet listening to his responses. Gortash tries to grab at you to pull you on to his lap but you pull away, and take a step backwards, enjoying teasing him. You quickly cast hold person so he can’t move his body. Gortash chuckles at your use of a restraint and has an amused and hungry look on his face while you start to take off your clothes in front of him. Now standing in front of him completely nude his eyes roam the curves of your body, his face in awe of your physique.

“Come here so I can touch you." You note a slight hint of neediness in his voice that only spurs you on.

“That doesn’t sound like begging to me."

You note his slight annoyed expression and laugh. You then start to move your hands slowly down your body taking time to cup your breasts and play with your pointed nipples. His eyes are glued on your hands.

“Let’s see how long the Chosen of Bane can hold out for” you tease.

His mouth drops open slightly as your hand travels to your pelvic region. You lock eyes with Gortash while you slip one finger into your folds and let out a small moan. You bring the finger back out, now glistening with your arousal which causes a small noise that sounds like a whimper to come out of Gortash's mouth. You smile at him, eyes challenging him to break. He tries to shift in his seat against the restrains of the spell, his arousal threatening to burst through his pants.

“You cruel torturous woman, when I get my hands on you” he mutters, with a violent look in his eye. There is however also a slight note of defeat in his voice which makes you realise he is almost at breaking point.

You continue and pump two fingers in and out of yourself, moaning louder than needed to further torture him. You then bring your fingers up to your mouth and lick them clean slowly, exaggerating your tongue movements to demonstrate what he is missing out on. Gortash is captivated by your show, pupils blown wide with hunger. You then walk up to him and a plop yourself on his lap straddling his waist with your nipples at his eye level. You continuing to touch yourself in his lap, every so often brushing up against his achingly hard, still clothed member. Gortash moans loudly at the display looking about ready to explode.

“Alright! alright! you win” you grin at the victory and at the bitter tone in his voice. You stop your show to listen to the rest of his sentence.

Gortash pauses looking away from you

“Well, I’m waiting” you respond sharply.

“Please” you hear in a quiet voice.

“What was that, couldn’t quite hear you” you reply in amusement.

“Please!” Gortash almost shouts with an irritated look in his eyes. His voice then returns to his usual level.

“Please just let me touch you, let me fuck you, you cruel wicked thing” you hear the arousal in his voice, breathy and needy.

“That’s all I needed to hear” you respond as you break your concentration on the spell.

In an instant his arms are around you, picking you up and almost running towards the bed. He throws you on the bed and gets on top of you.

“You little harlot” you hear his light-hearted tone.

“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy my show, I know you did." You smirk and grab between his legs to emphasises his arousal still tightly pushing against his breaches.

He gives you a look of hunger and hurries to remove his shirt only just realising he is still fully clothed. His body is how you imagined it, muscular yet soft with dark hair coating his body in just the right places. You can feel your desire burning inside you as you eye the patch of hair that trails down his stomach. You reach forward to undo his pants and push his undergarments off eager to see all of him. His member bounces free of its confines already slick. Your eyes widen at the thickness of it, already anticipating the burn. Gortash notices your line of vision and chuckles with pride as he grabs your chin and pulls you in for another heated kiss. He hungrily kisses every part of your body that he was denied while kneading your breasts with his hands. He moves from your mouth to your neck where he bites and sucks at you, you let out a whimper knowing it will leave a bruise. He then grazes his teeth over your nipple, licking, sucking and then finally biting causing you to cry out at the feeling. You feel his self-satisfied smirk against your skin as he continues his path downwards. His tongue enters your folds without warning causing you to grab a hand full of his hair and cry out his name. You can feel yourself about to come undone quicker than you expected .

“Fuck Enver, I need you inside me now."

“That’s all I needed to hear”, his smartass response mocking your words from before.

You let it slide for now as your need is too great, but you make a mental note to make him pay for it next time.

He lines up with your entrance and buries himself inside you in one smooth motion. You both moan loudly at the feeling of connection. You feel a sharp tinge of pain mixed with intense pleasure as you get used to his width. He starts to pump in and out of you at a quickened pace knowing it won’t take long for either of you to cum. You grab on to his body and rake your nails down his back hard enough to draw blood. Gortash hisses in pain and pleasure and bites at your neck in response. Gortash comes first moaning your name loudly, causing you to follow closely, both your bodies withering in ecstasy as you ride out the climax. Breathing heavily Gortash rolls off you and you both lie together in silence for a few seconds recovering. You move to get up off the bed but he stops you with his arm.

“Just where do you think you’re going?”

“Back to my room?” as though it was obvious.

He pauses, looking unsure of himself.

“I want you to stay, tonight and every night after that. You’re mine now”, his serious expression softens slightly.

“If you want to be?”

As you look into his eyes you are surprised see a vulnerability that you have never seen before. You realised that this night means as much to him as it does to you, and with that thought you agree to stay, content to lie in his arms dreaming of your future together.

[wing-ed-thing]

Stay the Night (Smoker x Reader)

Synopsis: Smoker is surprisingly, bafflingly competent at taking care of you while you're drunk.

Word Count: 2.4k

Tags/Warnings: Alcohol, Intoxication, Alcohol Sickness, Vomiting, Fluff, No Reader Pronouns Explicitly Mentioned (Reader Wears Heels, Makeup, and a Wig), Language, Mildly Suggestive, Two Longtime Friends and Peers who are Clearly in Love with Each Other

Notes: I felt like Smoker was the kind of guy to reluctantly hold your hair back while you're throwing up.

Unlike the rest of his present company, Smoker usually avoided overindulging in elaborately planned social events, especially those with an open bar. It was best to stay out of the way. 

The Marines rarely allocated funds to such frivolous occasions, and so most officers and honored guests took it upon themselves to find the bottom of the generously offered bottomless champagne. While the hangovers were never worth it, that didn’t stop even the highest leadership from stumbling out of the ballroom doors with hair tousled and neckties hanging across their shoulders. 

Smoker preferred to sit at a table out of the way: a sanctuary among the chaos, away from the main path of foot traffic, with a clear view of the door. That’s where he nursed his single glass of whisky. If he were feeling especially celebratory, he would have two. 

You, on the other hand… were already standing on top of a table. Your stilettos were positioned on either side of the floral centerpiece in the middle, and the tiny point of your heels barely allowed you to balance as the bottle in your hands exploded in a loud, crisp pop. 

Smoker watched how the sea of Marines that gathered around you in disheveled formalwear cheered, and your hypnotized face admired the bubbles pouring from the bottle's neck. 

A group of newly trained officers jumped up and down together in time with the music on the opposite side of the circular table in celebration, knocking some tall glasses over onto the white cloth below. Smoker nearly leaped out of his chair as your knees began to buckle. But even despite your tiny shoes and even tinier dress, you managed to catch yourself. Your laughter resounded loudly among the voices around you.

Smoker heaved a deep sigh, sitting back down, swirling his drink with a flick of his wrist. 

He didn’t even need to see that stunt to predict what would come later that night. 

The streets were utterly empty. Aside from the glow of the street lamps, the only light that shone was from the venue as the staff hurried their clean up. Smoker strolled out of the double doors, tie loosened around his neck and suit jacket draped neatly over his arm.

He barely had to make it outside before he saw you. Hell, he’d be able to spot that glittery ass anywhere, even without your blinding choice of attire. 

You were bent over on your weak knees as you hurled your guts out into a bush. Smoker let out a low, resigned grumble, swiping a hand over his fatigued face as he approached you. You barely registered the large shadow that overtook you, let alone the hands that gingerly and neatly gathered your hair away from your face. 

You sputtered, coughing as a few tears streamed from your eyes. The insides of your cheeks were wet and bitter, and your throat burned. You spat onto the ground to get more foul-tasting mucus out of your mouth. 

You were a Marine, dammit, and a few too many took you out quicker than any pirate ever did. 

“Koby?” you whined. Tears continued to stream from your eyes at the pressure in your sinuses. You spat again. God, something was in your nose.

“Sorry to disappoint, Lieutenant Commander,” Smoker gruffed from where he squatted next to you. 

“Don’t call me that,” you whimpered, not wanting to be reminded of your rank during such a state of weakness. Your stomach convulsed, causing your sickness to start again. Smoker’s gaze drifted to the still street like another weekday night. “I’m never gonna drink again.”

“Mh-hmm” was about the only noise you got out of Smoker. He sat patiently and wordless, not one to croon words of assurance at you as you paid for your night of over-indulgence. But for his silence, he continued to pull your hair back, meticulously smoothing the bundle back as best as he could so as not to knot or tug at your stands. 

In a moment of relief, you finally turned over to sit on the curb. Despite the extra alcohol emptied from your stomach, you were far from sober. Smoker knelt on one knee in front of you. You could hardly get his face to focus, let alone register the warm jacket he hung across your shoulders. 

He took the pocket square from the left breast pocket and unfurled it with a snap of his wrist. Smoker swiped the fabric over your mouth, clearing away saliva and slime. The backs of your fingers knocked against his wrist belatedly as you shook your head.

“‘M gonna fuck up your hankie, Smokey,” you sighed, even though he had already wiped your mouth. He shoved the square roughly into his pocket, paying no mind to you as he heaved you onto your feet. “‘M alright. I can make it home.”

“Like hell, you can.” You stumbled as you tried to step forward, but Smoker caught you around the waist. “These, too. You know the whole street’s cobblestone, right?.” His movements felt incredibly fast to you as he bent down again to slide your shoes off, and with two large fingers hooked around the pinch of your stilettos, Smoker moved to throw you over his shoulder. 

“Whoa, whoa, wait…” Your hand flew over your mouth, and the other splayed across Smoker’s right shoulder. He held you at length, studying your face and movements carefully. 

“What’s goin’ on?”

You shook your head in small but rapid swivels.

“Can’t do that.” You heaved a deep breath, slowly removing your hand from your mouth. 

Smoker grumbled a hum of acknowledgment, pulling his jacket closed over your chest before shepherding you down the street toward your apartment. 

You barely remembered the walk, although you were sure your drunken meandering was more than a test of Smoker’s patience. Even so, he hardly said a word, only breaking his silence to ask you where your keys were when you reached your doorstep. 

They were in your clutch, which Smoker was holding with your shoes, of course. 

As soon as the door opened, you nearly collapsed into your apartment. With Smoker's help, you fell neatly onto the couch by the entrance. He slipped off his boots— no matter how formal the event, Smoker was wearing his combat boots— and disappeared somewhere into your apartment. 

You didn’t even care. Your head was so heavy that all you wanted to do was sleep as you slowly sank into your couch cushions. 

“Sit back up.” You heard Smoker call sternly from the other room. You didn’t think you could obey him if you wanted to. 

In a second, you were being repositioned. The light from the lamp in the corner of the room was sobering and borderline upsetting, but it allowed you to see the small trashcan Smoker brought for you on the floor to your right and the bottle of make-up remover on the coffee table in front of you. Smoker sat beside you, tilting your chin to delicately rub your make-up away with a prepped, textured cotton pad. 

It caught you off guard, to say the least. Even in your drunken haze, Smoker still didn’t seem like the type to have patience for tender acts of service. Hell, you didn’t even know he knew what make-up remover looked like. 

But despite your judgments, Smoker sat on the couch next to you, one elbow resting against the back cushion as he held your chin while his other hand swiped away your perfect contour. 

“Who taught you this?” you giggled. Smoker, make sure to get the creases around your nose. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he muttered. “Where do you want your lashes?”

“What?—” 

Smoker had already pulled your left eyelash off, the entire strip. 

“I’ll put ‘em back in the book I saw.” Before you could protest, Smoker had already pulled off your right lash. He stood quickly, stuffing the solution-soaked pad into your hand as he pivoted to carry your lashes to the other room. “Work on the rest of the glue.”

He turned back to you slightly, leaning over you just a bit to grasp your wrist and manipulate your hand to move in a circular motion on your face before you slapped him away. Smoker disappeared once again into your apartment. 

You finally noticed the plastic cup of water on your coffee table and mustered up the energy to take it. The outside was wet with condensation. It was cold. You couldn’t remember the last time you drank water. 

“What do you wanna do with your unit?” Smoker appeared from around the corner again; some linens balled in a wad under his arm. He held a pillow in his opposite grip as if he were holding a stray dog by the scruff. 

His white collared shirt had been pulled from the waistband of his dress pants sometime during the night. The black tie that was already draped over his shoulders drooped to one side, making one side longer than the other. The first three buttons of his shirt sat on his chest untethered. A dampened towel rested over his shoulder.

You blinked at him between sips of water. Your stomach was handling rehydration so far, but you were about to push it.

“You’re not touching my hair, Smokey.”

“Though I’d offer.” He set the pillow down to take the towel off his shoulder. Smoker wadded it in a ball before throwing it your way. You somehow still had the dexterity to catch it out of the air. A generous amount of adhesive remover had already been applied to it. 

Smoker pulled the coffee table out of the way, and as you stared at the towel he threw to you, Smoker began arranging blankets and pillows around you. You supposed he was trying to get you to sleep somewhere you could sit up. He draped a fuzzy throw blanket on your lap and moved two large decorative pillows to your right and left.

As your eyes moved from the remover-soaked towel to Smoker and back, you couldn’t help but laugh. The sensation moved through you before tearing out of your chest. Unrestrained by the liquor, it probably came out louder and more shrill than it would have usually, but if Smoker had any comments, he kept them to himself. 

He knelt before you, both his wrists resting on his bent knee. He shook his head as if regretting the question he was about to ask in advance.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

You swayed forward, racked with trembles, as you continued to laugh. The back of your heels knocked against the bottom of the couch. Smoker didn’t move, even as your face inched gradually towards his. Your cheek settled into your palm, allowing you to sit folded over to meet his eye. He waited as your laughter gradually subsided.

“What are you doing here, Smoker?” 

He stared directly into your irises, and you didn’t know if his expressionlessness or the intensity of his gaze made your smug smile waver. Intending to tease him, Smoker didn’t humor you with an expression. Nothing you had done that night—nor anything you would do—could sober you up faster than the sharp and sudden twinge in your chest that came with simply meeting Smoker’s dark brown eyes. 

What the hell?

“Your girlfriend’ll be pissed.” You sharply recoiled, kicking your legs over Smoker’s bent knee to swiftly stand. You made a beeline deeper into the apartment. 

Smoker only wavered a moment, his eyebrows creasing for a second in confusion before he stood and followed you.

“What girlfriend?” he shouted. He nearly ran into you as you closed a small cabinet by the bathroom. The side of your lip drooped downward in an acute pout. Smoker, never one to enjoy feeling left out of the loop, hovered over you expectantly. You entered the bathroom without a second thought. Smoker found himself in the doorway.

“Weren’t you with that…” You snapped your fingers as you tried to recall her name. You didn’t have to wait.

“Six months ago… and we only went on a few dates,” Smoker defended, although he wasn’t quite sure why he felt the need to defend himself to you in the first place. The two of you had known each other for longer than he recalled knowing anyone else, and more prominently, the two of you were peers. Why should it matter if he took some petty officer out for a few drinks a few months back? His eyes narrowed at the back of your head. “Why?”

You shrugged. You seemed far less worried about the whole thing; your face practically pressed against the mirror to remove the remaining patches of product Smoker missed. He did a more than adequate job. He hardly missed anything regarding your makeup, but the pointed glance you stole in the mirror escaped him. 

“Now I know I’m pretty wasted—” You met his gaze through the mirror. You cocked your head, and your hands gripped the side of the sink in pure bafflement. “But you said ‘lash book’—?”

“Got it. Got it.” Smoker crossed his arms as he tore his attention away. Steam filled the air. He hardly noticed the shower running, and he most definitely didn’t realize that you were standing in front of him, presenting your back, until you started speaking again.

“So, you’re just kind of a—" You glanced over your shoulder at him, and for as off as your judgment was, you knew you probably shouldn’t finish your sentence—even if his reaction would have been hilarious. You turned back around. “Get my dress for me?”  

You could have noticed Smoker’s single beat of hesitation if you were any less intoxicated. But for yet another instance that night, Smoker went quiet as he slowly tugged down the back zipper of your dress. The invisible zipper was thin and difficult to grip, but it slid down your spine like butter regardless, revealing the soft skin underneath.

“I have a pair of your shorts in the bottom left drawer of my dresser. The couch is yours.” You pivoted again on your heel, one hand holding your dress up on your chest and the other pushing Smoker back through the doorway. “Now get out.” 

You shut the door. Smoker sighed and resigned himself to rifle through your dresser, wondering why he had clothes at your place at all. 

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: Based off my personal headcanon that Smoker has a surprisingly extensive dating history and an equally surprising library of knowledge about girly stuff because he's an extremely involved boyfriend. I'd say most of his previous relationships had amicable break ups. Reader was also going to say "so you're kind of a whore" but decided against it.

[avidfics]

pretty pretty pretty pls part 2 to moving on if you’re feeling up to it!

Appreciate the request anon :)

Trying to Move On

summary: soccer player abby doesn’t like seeing you with someone else (Moving on Part 2)

warnings: slightly toxic and clueless abby; jealousy, slight groping, fluff, angst, teeny tiny mention of fingering but mostly fluff

a/n: appreciate all the love part 1 received! thanks!

abby knew how to handle a team, she was an awesome soccer player, but she was shit at winning her girl back. It had just been over a week since you sprung on her that you were going on a date and were sick of her not reciprocating your feelings. What the hell did that even mean? Sure she had a certain reputation around campus but everyone knew that you were her main girl. 

After every game it was your body she’d enveloped in a crushing celebratory embrace, it was your name she’d accidentally whisper while she’d be thrusting her fingers into a random girl (which resulted in countless unfriendly slaps across the face), and it was your bed she’d sneak in whenever she was completely spent, snuggling her front to your plush backside. Arms circling your warm waist while her heavy hands always found a way to push themselves to nestle between your thighs. 

Her legs pressed together just reminiscing how your thighs always instinctively would wedge her hand in deeper, a slight high-pitched moan escaping your lips. 

abby let out a sigh. It was her favorite sleep position and kept her hand nice and toasty throughout the night. 

The image of someone else taking her destinated spot in your bed hit her with the force of a freight truck. What if you no longer unlocked your door late at night because your lame date was the one sneaking their hand between your thighs, pulling honey-coated pleas from your lips? 

Her hands balled into fists just thinking about the image. You two were inseparable, truthfully she didn’t know where she ended and you started, and she wouldn’t wish it any other way. If only she wasn’t so clueless when it came to talking about her feelings and desires. 

The beep of a door locking breaks her out of the maddening thought of you with someone else and is replaced with a radiant smile as you round the side of her house to meet her in the backyard, a place she typically practices drills during her free time. 

You had tried distancing yourself from abby over the past week but today she asked for you to come over and spend time together like you used to do. The request wasn’t easy to agree to, especially since you were trying to get over abby. But you could never say no to her, which was a fact abby was well aware of and continued to use to her advantage. 

You immediately regret your decision as you walk onto the vibrant green grass and see abby causally kicking a soccer ball in full leisure attire that would look ordinary on anyone else but was panty melting on her. Loose navy shorts hugged her ass and cut off high on her thighs, leaving out her toned, muscular legs in full view. As she did complicated foot work her muscles flexed in a way that created sinful thoughts sprouting in your mind. Your only luck was the fact that she wore a full shirt, even though her burly arms were on full display, a thin layer of sweat highlighted every little groove and dent along her delicious body. 

But more than anything, what had your heart pounding was the way her face morphed into a blinding smile immediately when she noticed you walking onto the field. 

Which made it almost gut-wrenching when your date from last week finally came into view. abby’s smile went lopsided and her stride fumbled a bit as she glared at the girl standing a bit too close to your side. 

Your date seemed oblivious to abby’s irked glare as she stepped forward, hand-stretched for a handshake. “I’ve heard so much about you and am a huge fan-” her pleasantries hang in the air as abby pushes past the outstretched hand and bends low to wrap her arms beneath your bum and lifts you into the air. “Abigail anderson let me down now!” you screech even as a smile threatens to break out from her firm lips.

Not that abby is deterred as she smiles from below you. “Let me have my fun, its been forever, doll.” The past week of radio silence is all forgotten as the familiarity between you two returns with smooth ease. 

An awkward cough from your date pops the bubble. You start to struggle away a bit more but abby just gives a stubborn look in retaliation. It takes pinching her ear for her to reluctantly set you down. A pout quickly forms on her lips but she finally drags her attention to your date. “Thought Uber drivers were supposed to remain in the car.” 

The insult takes both you and your date by surprise but luckily, she recovers fast. An easy grin slides on her face. “If I was only the Uber driver, her mouth gave me a pretty intimate tip last night.” 

Embarrassment heated your checks yet you refused to duck down in shame since you were single. But the look on abby’s face makes you immediately glance away. Burning accusations and a hundred demanding questions were silently thrown your way. But to the girl, abby just chuckles. Her face seemed carefree but below veins along her arm became visible as she gripped her hands together in a vise. “Good to know my teachings are paying off after so many nights together.” She gives the girl a dismissive once-over. “Her choice of partner could be better. But now that my team has a few home games lined up, I’ll be here to fill any needs. You shouldn't expect as many calls after today.”

With that she drags you away to the porch even as you apologize profusely to your date. As soon as you enter her place you snatch your hand away. “Fuck you, abby.” 

Any lingering anger had already melted away from her shoulders. That smile reserved only for you came back as she leaned so close that you became squashed against her chest and the metal door knob. She squeezes against you so closely that you can tell her sports bra is unpadded as pebbled nipples drag against your boobs. “Sure, doll. Does right here work?” The soft puffs of her breath tickle your lips. There seems to be a direct link from the bounding beats of your heart to the maddening pulse in your clit. So distracted you almost don’t hear her. “Because I can attach my strap-on in under a minute.” The click of her locking the door behind your waist jerks your thoughts away from the sinful curiosity of what she’d look like with a strap-on tied around her hips. 

And judging by her mocking smile she already guessed what you were imagining. “I’m glad you find humor is my humiliation. This is all just one big joke to you, right? Finally, I found someone who is actually interested in me, and your first instinct is to sabotage it.” Desperately you dash the horny thoughts away to be able to look her in the eyes. Demanding an answer. 

Her brow scrunches. “oh please, there’s been plenty of girls interested in you. It takes forever to get rid of them.” Her callused hand reaches out to snag you closer by your belt buckle. “But if you want to go on awkward dates which will ultimately result in nothing, be my guest sweetheart. Sure, it sucks that we’re together and you want to date around, but whatever.” The pout returns even as her strong grip remains on your belt buckle. That last sentence takes your entire focus, leaving you to be dragged by the brooding girl into the living room. Completely malleable as she sits on her sofa, reclined horizontally, and settles you so your butt nestles against her thighs so you're propped up. She’s fully content now as she hums a little song, tracing patterns along your soft legs. 

As good as being handled by abby feels, what she’s claiming has just shifted the world on its axis. “abs… we’re not together.”

She rolls her eyes. Both her heavy hands grips your waist - pressing her rough fingertips into your cushioned skin. With anyone else you’d feel self-conscious but with her you just felt cherished. “I think I’d know if we were going out or not.”

“Just because you’re jealous doesn’t mean you can make things up.”

The prettiest clueless expression morphs across her face. “So even though I stole a copy of your keys, we hang out every single day, I listed you as my wife on my insta bio, and I'm always dry humping you whenever I sleep over your place, that doesn’t mean we’re together?” Another wave of embarrassment makes you bend over and cower your face in her neck. “I swear you’re so dumb sometimes. Abs, you can’t just assume. You have to ask.”

“Do I have to get on one knee?” you laughed at her clueless joke. “Babe, what will it take for you to date me?” The soft question is followed by her heavy paws climbing higher and higher along your inner thighs. A whiny moan slips out your mouth when her thumbs get dangerously close to your outer lips. 

Still, you playfully acted as if to ponder the question over. “Hmm, I’ll add you to my roster.”

That smile, you absolutely adored, returns. As if pleased with your answer, twin kisses are pressed to your inner wrists. “As long as I’m placed at number one I’m certain I can get rid of the others.”

[comphy-and-cozy]

oh I have a marty thot for sure! I’ve been thinking about riding his thigh while he sits back and just watches, kinda unimpressed at the show and telling you “you can do better than that, can’t you?”

Earn It

Pairing: Matt Martin x sugar baby!reader (f)

Universe: sugar daddy Marty

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Smut (18+ ONLY). Sugar daddy/baby dynamic, lap dance, semi-public/risque sex, unprotected sex, hair pulling, choking, mild degradation, creampie, a little bit of cum play (lmao jfc).

Fridays are supposed to be celebratory; the end of the week, welcoming in a few days off to relax and reset. What they’re not supposed to be are stressful, non-stop, chaotic. 

Yet here you are, already thinking about the large glass of wine you’re going to pour yourself when you get home; the only decision you’re planning to make for the rest of the night is red or white. 

Setting your keys into the bowl on the table beside the door, you eye the pristine leather sneakers next to your shoe rack, but make no move to greet the person you already know is waiting on the couch. You knew you’d regret having the extra key made for him, that he’d show up unannounced like a poorly-timed pimple, but it’s not like you really could say no—not when you consider that he all but pays your rent. 

When you round the corner, bag left on the quartz countertop (an upgrade he insisted on when you were signing your new lease), you finally offer him your attention.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he muses, glancing up from where he’s scrolling on his phone. You do your best to mask the shiver that runs down your spine when his eyes lock with yours. Based on the smirk that quirks up on his face, you’d wager a guess that you did a poor job of it.

“Hi, Matty,” you say. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You need a new dress for the charity gala,” he drawls. 

“I do, do I?”

He ignores your attitude, standing up to walk over to the island and setting the invitation in front of you. You glance it over, admiring the thick, black cardstock and gold foil detailing the casino-themed event taking place at UBS Arena next month.

“Black tie attire,” you hum. “I don’t have anything that’s black-tie appropriate.”

“That’s why you need a new dress.”

“And that’s why you’re here right now, sitting on my couch after a day from hell, full of back-to-back meetings, am I correct?”

Matt smiles again. “Already have a bubble bath going for you, my little brat. I’ll be here tomorrow at 9 to pick you up.”

You feel a little guilty for the sass, smiling bashfully at him as he plants a sweet kiss on your cheekbone on his way to the door. “Lock up behind me, darlin’.”

Goddamn him. Always knowing exactly how to charm you to get you to bend to his every will—but not without giving him the kind of attitude that makes his dick hard. A fair tradeoff, in your opinion.

That’s why you work, why your dynamic makes your relationship feel so smooth and seamless and… perfect. Except the part where he’s paying you to fuck him.

Either way, it’s how you find yourself walking along Fifth Avenue, following Matt as he leads you into stores with price tags that intimidate you so much, your cheeks get hot. He lets you browse on your own, warming you up a bit, picking out a few items for work along with a new Yves Saint Laurent purse.

Purchase after purchase. Item after item. The ease with which Matt whipped out his thick, black credit card—you know, the heavy ones that just feel luxurious—almost physically pains you as you try to do the mental math of what he’d spent today.

Finally, you follow him to the dresswear section of Bergdorf Goodman’s, admiring the ease with which he carries the multiple bags in his large hands. You feel well and truly spoiled, thinking to yourself that the dark green lace set he purchased at Fleur du Mal will come in handy later when it comes time to show your gratitude.

“This dress,” he murmurs against your temple, pressing an affectionate kiss to your skin as the fitting room attendant readies a room for you. “I want everyone there to imagine fucking you out of it.”

At this point, you’re used to his blunt and sometimes crude nature, but that doesn’t stop your skin from heating at his crass words. You can’t deny the warmth that radiates between your legs, though, at the thought of him showing you off, claiming you as his, publicly. And, well, how are you supposed to say no to him buying you a dress that’s worth more than your groceries for the month?

The selection is enormous, and you find yourself overwhelmed by the options—lace, chiffon, silk, crepe—all of it doesn’t mean much to you, so you rely on your stylist to select a few options that complement your body type. Matt sits quietly in the corner of the fitting room, watching you try on dress after dress, making barely any comment other than an occasional hum.

When the stylist leaves you to contemplate your options, you glance over your reflection, at the Alex Perry gown that stares back at you. It’s the first dress that feels right, and you can’t help the feeling of excited anticipation that fills your chest when you think about wearing it beside Matt at the gala. Maybe he’d wear that delicious gray suit that you like, the one you almost stained permanently humping his thigh like a fucking dog in heat.

“Is this the one you want?”

You do a final spin in the mirror, checking the various angles and standing on your toes to imitate your height in heels. It’ll need to be altered a bit, but you’re pleased with the way it fits your body and, more importantly, the way it makes you feel luxurious. With your nod, Matt leans forward and glances at the price tag hanging out of the back. His eyes flick to yours in the mirror, and you stew in discomfort for the few seconds before he’s sitting back, apparently approving of the price.

A wide smile forms on your face, feeling a bit like a child on Christmas morning at your excitement. You like Matt for far more than his wallet, but you can’t deny that it feels nice to be spoiled by him, to feel lavished by his gifts and special treatment. 

“Think it’s time for you to say thank you, don’t you?” 

Matt’s low purr snaps you out of your thoughts, eyes focusing back on the navy silk material that’s hugging your body. The corset bodice keeps you tucked in, accentuating the curve of your breasts, fabric draped across your middle and fastened in place with a large, glittering piece. But the real attention-grabber is the slit on the left side that goes up to your hip, revealing almost your entire leg.

You cast a glance at him in the mirror, a flutter in your chest when you see the way his eyes rake in your reflection. He hums, and though he told you it was your decision, you’re pleased that he likes what he sees.

“Thank you, Matty,” you say, batting your eyelashes at him. You lean forward and press a kiss against his lips, warm and soft—the kind you could fall into with ease. He smiles, crooked and patronizing as he tsks.

“Oh, sweetheart, you know that isn’t good enough. Look at all these bags—all for you. I think I deserve more gratitude than that, hm?”

The hidden meaning of his velvet words are enough to make you shiver, your heart chilling as you realize what he wants. His eyes glitter as he watches you, sees the recognition on your face and the hitch in your throat. 

Your voice is hoarse as you whisper, “Here?”

Matt blinks, lazily, with a raised eyebrow, like he’s challenging to you to deny him. Of course you can’t, and he knows it. He leans back on the bench, his back resting against the wall and his legs spread comfortably. It’s a silent invitation, one you can’t refuse, and you find yourself moving to sit in his lap with a shaky gulp.

His hands weave their way to your hips, warm through the material of your jeans. “Good girl.”

With just the right amount of pressure, he encourages you to move your waist, swaying your hips as your ass brushes against his groin. He’s half hard, the bulge firm against you as you set a rhythm, listening for any other customers entering the dressing rooms nearby. The classy elevator music hums softly through the speakers while the silk covering your ass glides against his slacks in a filthy narrative.

A low hum of approval sounds from Matt’s chest, eyes glued to the way you work your hips. It isn’t long before you’re glancing behind you, meeting his eyes as he regards you with his easy, lazy gaze. Beneath the firm press of your ass, you can feel him hardening as the tick of your heartbeat increases in your throat. His signature smirk slides its way onto his face, smug, soaking in the fact that he’s got you wrapped around his finger, willing to do practically anything he asks you.

It isn’t long before he’s stiff, solid beneath you, and you feel an involuntary throb at the size of him. Every moment, you remain vigilant, ears perked for voices—or worse, the sound of someone’s gasp. It reflects in your movements, not lackluster but certainly not to your usual level of enthusiasm. There’s something about him when he’s like this—cocky confidence rolling off of him in waves, his gaze heating your skin—that drives you desperately, deliciously wild, a feral urge in you snatching control of your conscience.

But not right now. And he knows it.

He hums, displeased, and you have a split moment to register his disappointment before he’s purring, “Sweetheart, I think you can do better than that, can’t you?”

The velvet of his voice strokes the flame inside you, sending a wave of warmth between your thighs. Another throb against the stiffness under your ass. His hands remain at his sides, not offering any assistance. You can practically feel his lazy gaze on your ass, waiting patiently for you to react.

He senses your hesitation, knows the reason you’re timid—waiting for the fitting room attendant to come back at any minute and discover the lewd situation unfolding. So he changes his approach, voice honeyed and silky smooth. “Look at that gorgeous dress. Y’look fucking stunning in it, baby. But you gotta earn it, darlin’.”

You meet his gaze in the reflection of the mirror, see the glitter in them that tells you he’s serious, accepting the small nod he gives you. Bracing your hands on his meaty thighs, you resume your movements, pressing yourself into his groin with more force.

Matt’s words echo in your head as you work him—and yourself—into a frenzy. Earn it. He didn’t specify what his… end goal was, but from the glint in his eye you think it’s safe to assume it’s more than just a clothed lap dance in the middle of the dressing room. 

How you ended up half-naked, thong tugged to the side, hands bracing yourself against the wall of the fitting room, you’re not sure; all you really know is the feeling of Matt’s weight behind you, so tall his face is almost out of your view in the mirror’s reflection. He’s not looking at you, instead focused on tapping the head of his erection against your ass.

You bite your lip to stifle a whine, staring at him in the hopes he’ll offer you just a glance so you can beg him silently to please, put it in. Eventually, he does, sees the desperation pooling in your eyes and chuckles smugly, pleased at the rash desire he finds in them.

“Arch it for me, sweet girl.”

Obeying, you press your ass out toward him, thinking you’d break your back right here, right now, if it meant he’d provide you with some relief. His warm palm presses against your spine, encouraging you to go further, and he hums in approval at the view you present him: expensive dress bunched over the swell of your hips, ass out, pussy dripping, eyes wanton and pleading with him in the mirror.

“You want it?” he asks, his voice so low you strain to hear it.

You’re almost embarrassed at how fast you nod, not wanting to waste any time. He smirks again, and you know he’s biting back the urge to tease you, instead just offering, in all its simplicity: “Slut.”

There’s a brief moment where he allows his words to sink in, a flood of arousal seeping out of your bare, uncovered core, threatening to drip onto the faded wood flooring of the dressing room. You’re grateful that he didn’t make you beg—he usually does—but then he’s pressing into you without warning and a loud cry leaves your lips.

Your hand slaps over your mouth to muffle the sound, but he’s already gotten what he wants out of you, a more than obvious admission of the debauchery occurring just inside the fitting room. Instead, he focuses on the warm wetness enveloping his dick, watching the way your cunt sucks him in, greedy.

Despite his reckless attitude, he’s aware of the slap of his hips against your ass, and instead of jackhammering into you the way he wants to, he’s opted for hard, deep, slow thrusts; hard enough to have a soft, involuntary sigh every time he sheaths himself to the hilt inside of you. It’s the opposite of a quickie (even though that’s exactly what this is); instead, he’s diligent, indulging himself in the feeling of your tight walls throbbing around his length. 

All things considered, you’re pleased with the minimal amount of noises sounding from your stall; though your body shivers when you hear the low groan rumble in his chest. With a glance in the mirror, you can see the way he’s watching himself pull out of your cunt, biting his lip at the sight.

Matt offers a light slap of his tip against your lips before he’s jutting his hips forward, subtly, to rub his length against your clit. The sensation makes you shiver, the slickness of his shaft sliding against the tender button, and you feel the shockwaves coursing through you at the movement. 

With his free hand, he gathers your hair in his fist and yanks backward, arching your back until your head is resting against his chest. The sharp pain melds into pleasure, loving the way he knows exactly how to take control over your body to have you dizzy with lust. Hot breath fans over your ear, soft and subtle pants puffing air down your neck. “Fuck yourself on it, baby.”

His warm fingers press into your hips, urging you to move; you do, seeking out that delicious tingle when the fat tip of his cock brushes against your clit, running between your folds. You hear the pleased hum in your ear, quiet, and then the chuckle that follows when he slips into you, a loud gasp leaving your lips.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he murmurs with a low groan. “So fucking wet for me, just the way I like it.”

Matt urges you to keep going, biting back another moan at the feeling of him being buried inside you. Your hips roll him in and out of you, and Matt’s hand trails over your ribcage, groping your breast on its way up to finally land at your throat, fingers curling around the base and squeezing. “Makin’ too much noise. Someone’s gonna hear you, and then I won’t get to flood this pretty little cunt with cum, will I?”

Swallowing the urge to whine with need, you shake your head, trying to tell him with your eyes how badly you want that. His lips press softly against the place where your shoulder meets your neck, keeping eye contact with you through the mirror while he angles his hips in search of the spot that’s going to have you dribbling down your legs. He knows he’s reached it by the way your mouth falls open, your brows scrunching in pleasure when the nudge of him against your g-spot has your eyes fluttering shut.

He hums again, and you know he’s pleased—both with himself for reading your body like his favorite book, and with you for being obediently quiet. The hand around your neck tightens while the forceful punch of Matt’s hips grows more intentional, aiming for precision rather than speed.

The smirk in the mirror, flashed in your direction is enough to make you shiver in his arms. “You think you can stay quiet while you come for me? Hmm?”

You’re trapped—can’t nod, can’t speak, barely hanging onto your last shred of control before you’re succumbing to the release that rips through you. Your legs shake, lungs scrambling for breath as the wave crashes over you, hands clutching the wall in search of purchase. Tears prick at the rims of your eyes, blurring your vision. 

Matty’s eyes glitter as he pulls out of you, grinning when he hears the slickness between your legs. 

“Love it when she purrs for me.”

It’s only when you feel hot liquid oozing out of you that you realize he met his climax, too, burying the evidence deep within your core. Your shaky legs clench together in an effort to prevent his cum from seeping down your legs and onto the floor.

Matt’s hands linger on your sides to make sure you’re steady before he’s tugging your panties back in place and swooping the dress back over your hips. He hums at the creamy drips on the inside of your thighs, swiping up to collect it on his finger. You don’t even have to be told to open your mouth, eyes fluttering shut when he presses the salty mixture onto your tongue. He hums when your lips close around the digit, sucking it clean before he releases it with a pop.

His eyes are still dark when he presses the call button on the wall with a crooked grin, and when the attendant knocks gently on the door, he says simply, “We’ll take the dress.”

[the-fiction-witch]

Good News

Media The Artful Dodger

Character Jack Dawkins

Couple Jack X Reader

Rating Flirty

Requested: can you also do one where yns father sold her off to Jack

I hummed to myself as I worked in my little patch of the garden, digging and planting little flowers. I saw my father approach and almost immediately I had a bad feeling about this. 

"Good News!" He gleamed, 

"Ohh?" I glared, 

"I have very good news for you dear."

"Oh? am I being shipped back to England?"

"Better."

"You're killing me?"

"Don't talk like that dear, it's good news."

"I stand by what I said." 

"I have found you a husband."

"This is terrible news." I sighed returning to my flowers, 

"Ohh for-" he sighed picking me up from the dirt and forcing me back to the house "You are to have a bath, wash and brush your hair, and put on your prettiest dress to meet your new husband."

"And what if I refuse him?" I asked as he threw me back into my room,

"You will not refuse him, it's already been agreed your dowry paid." he said "Clean. Now," he demanded shutting my door,

"What happened to me having a choice!" I yelled,

"You turn away ten suitors, you give me no choice you're marrying him." 

"UUuuuughhhhhh!" I yelled in frustration, I had a quick back and fixed my hair to the minimum my father would allow putting on my dull blue dress, nowhere near my best dress but I highly doubt this is anywhere near the best man. 

I went out and met with my father outside as he wore his good suit, I held my fan in my hand trying to both fan myself and hide myself from this whole situation.

"Straight." He demanded forcing my back straight, "And smile."

I rolled my eyes and forced a smile for him, 

"That's a good girl" he smiled kissing my head "Where is he?" he muttered, 

Luckily at that moment, the carriage came into view, I noticed immediately it was our carriage meaning Father sent it to pick him up rather than him coming to get me, well that's a red flag. 

Once the carriage stopped my mind ran through with who on earth my father could ever convince to marry me. And then he stepped out.

My eyes went wide, as I saw The Dr Jack Dawkins step out.

He hadn't even dressed up, in his usual attire hell he even still had blood on his sleeves! 

He was the new surgeon in town, we hadn't met yet I had just heard of him in passing and such,

I glared at my father and he just smiled back. 

"Miss Y/l/n" He smiled at me, 

"No." I snapped turning to go inside but my father stopped me and forced me back to my place, 

"Do excuse her Dr Dawkins, overcome with emotion."

"Yes ange-" I began but my father slapped my hand silencing me, 

"Shall we retire to the parlour for the celebratory drink?" he asked,

"That sounds lovely" He smiled, 

My father then forced me to walk with them.

I sat in my chair pouting as they discussed me as if I wasn't here. 

laughing and drinking between themselves, 

"I'll leave you two to... get acquainted." My father smirked before he left the room leaving us alone, 

"So? We're going to get married."

"It appears we are."

"I take it... you're not thrilled about this?" Dr. Dawkins asked,

"Should I be?"

"I thought every little girl dreamt of her wedding?"

"Not me." 

"Alright,"

"What are your intentions?"

"... to marry you, oldy enough."

"Why?"

"Why not? you're cheaper than a maid"

"How dare you!"

"Look, you're a maid, I don't have to pay, live in my house, and I can fuck. This is a win-win for me"

"I will make your life a living hell."

"So would every other woman."

"So you're just fine with marrying an unwilling woman?"

"I'm unwilling, your unwilling, most we can do is make the best of it." 

"And what am I meant to get out of this?"

"You'll be married so your father will stop bothering you, you get out of this house, bragging rights of having a well-renowned surgeon and doctor as your husband and given I work so much I'll barely be home so you can just... do whatever you want." 

"Fine." I sighed I wasn't happy about this but he had a point, my father would stop bugging me and as a doctor, he wouldn't really be around that much. "So you're a doctor?"

"Surgeon yes."

"Let me guess military?"

"Ex-Navy"

"That'll be why father likes you," I sighed, "So you'll be working at the hospital?"

"Six to ten most days." He nods "Eleven to five is all for you."

"Fine, you get days off?"

"If I'm not busy yes."

"time with friends?"

"Friday night down the cat and bagpipes"

"I'll allow it so long as you don't come home drunk enough to be hung over Saturday morning"

"...Alright." He nods

"Do you expect children from me?"

"Four."

"One."

"Three?"

"One."

"Two?"

"I'll allow two."

"Good, one needs to be a boy." 

"I'll see what I can do." I sighed, "One boy one girl?"

"I can find that agreeable." He nods, "social events?"

"Avoid at all costs."

"Well we agree on something." He smirked "You dance?"

"No."

"Thank god neither do I." he smiled "You cook? clean? laundry?"

"I'll cook and do laundry, you do dishes and handy work."

"Ohh no handy work is gonna be your forte."

"I meant fixing things."

"Ohh. Fine Anything you insist on in our home?"

"Give me a garden and I'll stay quiet."

"I can agree to that." He nodded getting up and coming over stroking my face, "Once we are married shall we start working on our baby?"

"I can agree to that Dr Dawkins."

"Just jack buttercup" he cooed giving my lips a soft sweet kiss, "Pleasure to meet you."

"Pleasure to meet you too" I smiled 

[crystallizedtwilight]

You once made an art with shuggy I think wedding???? And you wrote “the mobile game does something right” WHAT DOES THAT MEAN? What mobile game??? What happened?

There are official One Piece mobile games, such as Treasure Cruise and Grand Collection, that depict the characters in fun situations! This tumblr has a nice archive here.

Happy childhood moments, Shuggy hanging out in their adult years, and even an image of them in formal wear together (...which also just happen to be traditional wedding attire, while they hold a bottle of celebratory champagne in front of red and blue bouquets under a flowered arch)

[akunose]

Shinra's Hero ↳ Nameless | Telluric Fury Aeroglider ↳ Glaireid | Sweeping Slash Edged Wings Training Garb ↳ Edged Wings | Aerial Frostblade Kuja's Attire ↳ Kuja's Spirit Blade | Flare Star Dark Habinger ↳ Dark Heavens | Gale Strike Celebratory Garb ↳ Radiant Edge | Iai Lethal Style ↳ Protector's Blade | Protector's Blow Shinra Formal Uniform ↳ Shinra Military Sword | Theatrical Strike Natant Jacket ↳ Tempest | Torrential Thrust

[devildomwriter]

Hello! How are you doing? Are you taking requests, right?

I'd like to know... how do you think weddings at devildom are like? If there is a wedding ceremony, of course. I can't stop thinking about it, and I'd like to know your opinion :)

Devildom Wedding Headcanons

Rings

• Rings are also part of Devildom relationships. Most are extravagant and include the demon’s sigils in the jewels or the band. Necklaces or other clothing with the demon’s sibilant are commonly gifted to show they are engaged and who to.

• Not all demons care to wear rings or jewelry, as most love fights and chaos and don’t want it to be lost. They may opt for dowry, or something they desire instead as a form of engagement.

Decorations

• Like most of the Devildom decorations involve, bones, beating hearts, and other gothic/horror related items. The colors of the venue are usually dark unless they prefer something else.

• Almost all the flowers of the Devildom are horrific or partially sentient so great care is spent choosing which ones to use, if any at all.

Attire

• The tradition of white dresses was started by an English monarch so that’s not something too common in the Devildom, though based on card art, it may have been adopted by them since they regularly interact and learn about human culture.

• I believe darker colors are most common for wedding dresses but specific colors like red or gold are common for nobility, or their house colors.

Wedding Vows

• Demons would take their true forms as their partners are accepting them as they are.

• There are no religious vows. They probably ask for blessings from Denizens of Darkness or from the ruling monarch.

• In the past, marriage wasn’t really a thing. They likely just announced they were together like in olden days or had some kind of personal mating ceremony.

Food

• I imagine the food is mostly rare varieties meat, the rarer the more impressive/rich they are.

• Some food is likely human as this is still a thing in the Devildom. Even under Diavolo’s rules, demons still desire and consume humans though it’s not often talked about.

• They may even drink a celebratory chalice of blood (Who knows who it belongs to)

Honeymoons

• Demons are wild, some weddings may devolve into orgies, especially among friends if family isn’t invited.

• Some nobles and monarchs may have ceremonial robes they use, a specific place they go to, steps of execution etc.

• Either way, being demons, honeymoons are intense and the majority is spent in bed, or wherever they choose to have sex.

Traditions

• Some demons choose to carve/burn/magically place their seals on each other as a sign they belong to each other.

• There are probably some form of sacrifices varying on their preferences. Some probably get away with human sacrifices if they had a pact.