#Patrons saw it first

[pennedwithpassion]

♡ I'm the one you've been dreaming of ♡

[teleostuber]

Ninaposting

[wuntrum]

serizawaaa <3

[gingermintpepper]

Absolutely the funniest thing about my current corner of tumblr is that pretty much everyone I've recently followed for Apollo-Appreciating Purposes are either genuinely Hellenist or just rather very into Rick Riordan's Trials of Apollo series which is wild because I know a net zero about both of those things.

[spoopy-nevermore-dump]

Hey pssst hey. Have you ever considered: Montada?

I hate it, and it nearly killed my hyperfixation

But I understand my opinion on this may affect others, and many may be hurting from this episode soooooooooo

Art requests open

[coeluvr]

If anyone asked to turn my handwriting into a font I'd just assume they were writing from the perspective of a child because my handwriting SUCKS

My friend's handwriting is beautiful but scary because of how pretty it is? It's completely italic and cursive, it's just very "Victorian ghost that plays the piano at midnight" core.

[therosepetalrps]

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓 𝐎𝐅.....?

𝙼𝙰𝙴𝚅𝙴 𝙿𝙴𝙽𝚁𝙾𝚂𝙴: 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐒

patron saint of remembering. patron saint of holding something close. patron saint of holding on for too long. for a saint, a relic is often a part of the body, kept for some physical memento of their holiness. they are all in your hands, now: does it feel like remembrance? does it feel sanctified? are the dust and blood as precious as they're supposed to be?

𝙸𝚅𝙴𝚃𝚃𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝚆𝙰𝚂𝙿𝚆𝙾𝙾𝙳: 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐒

but not of homes. only the shells of what keeps us enclosed. houses can be decorated or well-built or crumbling or haunted but only a home can truly be warm; you are the patron saint of that lack.

𝚆𝚈𝙽𝙰𝙵𝚁𝚈𝙳 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝙺: 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃

patron saint of the life that flows through our bodies. patron saint of violence. patron saint of love. something that does not watch over but exists within: not for protection but for vitality. there is no passion without a beating heart at its core. when that heart breaks open, someone has to be responsible for what it bleeds.

𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐙 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐏 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 !!

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆: @shiftingmuse, @n0rthsqueen, @riiese, @soulxremains, @jaimelannisterthings, @bellecourageuse

(if I've tagged you here, I'm likely to tag you in things like this in the future. if you aren't a fan of these, please tell me & i won't tag you again 💖💖💖)

[kariachi]

Devin Lives au fic! Finally Geilla Bohln has a Savaran Temple.

~~

It wasn’t the most impressive of temples, one had to admit. There was no grandeur, thought there was room for it to come eventually, no ornate statues or vast mosaics. Mayhaps it could have been something more if it had been more limited, had left later expansion to add shrines rather than decorate those there. But Devin, his children, his small pack, were far from the safety of the homeworld, and he had decided that ensuring their close ties with all the gods was more important than artistry.

He was going to have to make sure Keal got proper statuary and such first after the suns by way of apology, but he had no doubt they would forgive the transgression given the circumstances. There were funds available- it wasn’t hard to get donations from the Morningstars, they had founded the pack after all- but he’d felt it better to spend the money surrounding the temple with low public buildings to ensure nothing would be built in place to shade it. Allowing that would have been an even worse blasphemy, and he’d already raised the gathering area above ground just to help prevent it. Normally one would build a temple in the highest location possible, but that just wasn’t a viable option on Earth- where digging out and building in the top of a mountain required the kind of funds even the Morningstars hissed at- and was inconvenient to the dens besides.

Better to have everyone accounted for, better to ensure the top floor wouldn’t be shaded, better to stay in a convenient location. Get everything built, finally have a proper temple with a semi-proper member of the Holyfolk to manage things. Even if it wasn’t spectacular, or perfect, it was far far better than the small, scattered shrines that had been all they had before. Something you could walk around, somewhere you could set proper tributes to a wide range of specific deities without having to force them to share, or limit yourself to just your own patron.

Yes, even a plain temple was better than no temple, and Devin couldn’t help but breath easier the first time he walked through the finished building, laying dried goods on each offering platter as he went from top to bottom. The twin suns on the top floor beneath their glass-windowed dome, the platter in the ground floor gathering chamber, the rest of the major gods on the floor below, four each of the minor gods on each of the four floors that followed.

Mainil, Tivaum, Leruv, and Vernito.

Veirum, Hegae, Faunel, and Yaon.

Mendeves, Menkaves, his Leum, and Rervon.

Vulkxhen, Menrhove, Menyuve, and Jalen.

All in good order, all with the proper offering plates, all with proper offerings, all with thanks and prayers given to welcome their presence in this place. With, he would admit, a bit a bias towards the patrons of the children- again, they would understand.

Finally, their territory had a heart.

[pennedwithpassion]

Whether they like or not, I wanna show you off

[doctorwhoisadhd]

jack harkness parker macmillan parallels are crazy especially with my personal opinion that jack and parker carried alice and york respectively...... holy fuckign shit. INSANE.

[ace-and-ink]

magpie, magpie

i loved you at first glance

i kept my distance

i didn’t want to scare you off

magpie, magpie

a little birdie told you my secret

but you said you felt the same

and i really did believe you

magpie, magpie

i loved you when your feathers were blue

dark blue to match your dark eyes

i half wish you had kept them short

magpie, magpie

you never told your parents

or even the rest of your flock

i only met one because they were perched with you

magpie, magpie

i remember when you dyed your feathers green

your wings and neck stained green

because you wouldn’t listen to a word i said

magpie, magpie

i was deafened by your birdsong

and gentle pecks on the cheek

i never paid attention to the flags you carried

magpie, magpie

you got bored after a month

you sought other thrills

you left in the middle of your song

magpie, magpie

you were never honest

gave me different reasons over time

and each one hurt more than the last

magpie, magpie

you never take a hint

i’m sick of your song

yet you still perch and sing

magpie, magpie

you’d never listen anyway

pierce your beak in the last place you should

just don’t cry to me when it hurts

magpie, magpie

you still perch next to me

sing things to me i never said you could sing

and you ask why i sit so angry

magpie, magpie

i know i’m the only one you’re still attached to

i don’t want to hate birds like you

but you never learned your lesson

magpie, magpie

i’m beyond ready to let you go

i don’t how how else i’m supposed to say it

when the door to your cage has been open the whole time

— magpie, magpie

[microsff]

The patron

The alien came to the library again, shortly before closing time, and quickly found a book.

"May this entity borrow The Complete History of Knitting?"

They always return the book they borrow after five minutes, but the ritual of checking it out seems important to them. 

"Of course. Did you bring your card?"

I looked them up, after the first time I saw them for real. They first registered with us over ninety years ago. The senior librarian who first told me about them said I shouldn't stare, or pry.

"Whatever else they are, they are a patron, and should be treated as such," she said. "If they seek knowledge, it is our duty to help them find it."

There isn't an ancient and secret code of librarians, but that is definitely a core part of it. If such a code existed.

I scan the card and the book. "There you go," I say and hand them over. "Please return it within two weeks."

They tilt their head. "This entity will honour your terms."

"Oh! That reminds me, we have updated the terms since your last visit." I hand them the pamphlet we got from the printers last week. "It's mostly about internet usage, but I'll need you to read them and agree."

They study the pamphlet.

"These are terms this entity can abide by." They pause. "Is there no requirement to keep your existence secret?"

"Of course not," I say, "we always welcome new patrons."

They stand silent, long enough for me to realise the implications of what I have just said. 

"This entity had made an assumption, based on prior experiences on countless worlds, where knowledge is always closely guarded and costly to obtain" they say at last. "You will provide knowledge for free to all who seek it?"

In my mind, I weigh humanity's ignorance of those countless worlds of alien civilisations against the code.

"Yes," I say, "this is a library."

[ghostsprincess]

I can't stop thinking about Ghost being such a gentleman when your boyfriend is an ass....

warning: domestic abuse, adult language

💀

You were mortified that it happened at work this time...

Your boyfriend was a brute of a man, made worse over the months by drinking alone at night while you bartended to help pay down your student debts from several years ago. He got a little rough with you, but only when he was plastered. And you forgave him, because he was decent the rest of the time.

But suddenly you had to start coming to the pub to pull pints with a little extra makeup on your face. The random patrons out for a casual drink wouldn't have noticed, but your regular boys did. You only knew them by Ghost and Soap. They were military and mean looking, but they laughed together like teenage schoolmates. It was always a good night when they sat at the bar, but you could often feel their eyes on you.

"Y' alright, love?" Ghost asked the first night you wore extra eye makeup and a bright red lipstick.

"Yes," you told him, not meeting his eyes. Your face hurt. Your boyfriend had slapped you two days ago. Your skin was puffy and bruised, and you were embarrassed and afraid to move out, so you stayed. "You boys need another round?"

They left you a sizable tip. They always did.

The next time you saw them, your lip was split open, and you were desperate for a way out of the mess your life had turned into. Trying to hide your face while you mixed drinks was a chore, and as soon as Ghost and Soap arrived, you knew it was useless.

When Soap disappeared toward the washrooms, Ghost leaned across the bar, his hulking shoulders taking up more than their fair of space, making you smile slightly. His voice was deep and soft, but his words made you shiver and freeze with your hand on a pint glass. "Y' know, a pretty little thing like you belongs on a pedestal. A man should touch you with reverence."

You stared at him silently as his eyes tracked the mark on your lip. When Soap returned, you didn't charge them a cent for their drink, but they tipped you well anyway.

When a confrontation happened at the bar, tears stung your eyes, and you wanted to hide. Your boyfriend was drunk and angry, and tonight he beckoned you from behind the bar to a dark corner near the hallway where he could have some privacy while he berated you and roughed you up.

"Please," you begged, running your hands nervously on your shirt. "Just go home. I'll be off work in an hour."

"How many of them have you fucked?"

"What?" you gasped, thinking he'd finally lost it. "What are you talking about? I need to get back to work."

He pushed you up against the wall with his other hand on your jaw. "How many of the men here tonight have you fucked?" His thumb brushed the spot on your lip that was nearly healed, and you flinched. "You have the guiltiest expression. So, tell me how much of a slut you've been. As your boyfriend, I need to keep you in line."

Then he was being hauled away from you as your legs shook. With wide eyes, you watched Ghost's massive bicep wrap around his neck like it was nothing. "Y' alright, love?" he asked you softly, and you nodded without saying a word. Then his face darkened, and his voice was an angry snarl as he told your boyfriend, "Ya' been relieved of your duties."

"The fuck?" he responded from his headlock, gasping for air.

Ghost sighed and rolled his eyes. "Fuckin' prick don't even know military protocol." Then he raised his voice a little louder. "I said, ya' been relieved of your duties. I'll take over from here."

Somehow, you found your voice. "Take over?"

Ghost's face softened again when he looked at you there against the narrow hallway wall. "With the boyfriend duties," he told you while Soap dragged your ex-boyfriend toward the exit. "Sound good, love?"

He was holding out his big paw of a hand, palm facing up, and you knew he'd be incapable of using it to hurt you. The softness in his gaze right now and every time he looked at you was proof enough of that. You didn't respond, but you smiled as you slid your hand into his grasp.

"That'll do for now," he grunted.

That was the night you came to know him as Simon.

💀

Part two

[the-thing-inside-your-closet]

Nothing You Can Prove

Danny wasn’t having a good time. In fact, he was having a very, very, very, very, bad time.

He was just trying to walk home with his children, his very energetic chaos inclined children, when Ellie declared that she needed to use the bathroom. So, as any responsible parent would, Danny walked with her and Dan to the nearest building that would have an open to the public restroom. And while Ellie was busy using the little girl’s room, Danny focused to ensuring Dan didn’t bite anyone. Again. The last time he drew blood and Danny couldn’t apologise enough to the punk looking guy who seemed completely bewildered by what had happened.

All Danny remembered was apologising repeatedly, turning to scold Dan about biting strangers, and the young man muttering something about some guy named Tom (or was it Tim?) And how he was never going to believe what had happened.

So, safe to say Danny was more focused on watching his child and waiting for the other one than looking at the suspicious group of men that had just walked into the restaurant.

Because of course the first building Danny saw that might have an open bathroom was a fancy upscale restaurant, and not the fast food restraint two blocks down. Ellie had said she couldn’t hold it that long.

But now, Danny had a gun to his face, and his babies hidden behind him as much as he could manage while the two of them subtly tried to shove past him so they could beat the shit out of this butthead for daring to point a weapon at their dad.

Masked thug: Hand over all of valuables! Wallet, phone, everything! Be quick and nobody gets hurt!

Danny calmly reached into his pocket, and hoped that the situation would stay as calm as possible until the city’s local heir or the police could arrive. He didn’t want to have to reveal his or his children’s powers and potentially need to flee yet another city.

Danny: Here, just take it and go.

The thugs had grabbed what they could from as many people as possibly before bolting, leaving many of the patrons upset and shaken from the encounter. Danny quickly turned to his children and vegans looking them over, fussing and making sure they were okay.

Ellie: Dad you never let the guy near us. How could we have possibly gotten hurt?

Danny: With how much trouble you two like to get into, I’m not taking any chances. Now Dan-

Dan was gone. Dan. Was. Gone. Danny felt his chest tighten and his breathing becoming harder to control. Where was his son?!

Just as Danny was about to ask a waitress who had just finished giving her statement to a police officer if she’d seen where his son ran off to, Dan reappeared beside his sister with a sharp toothed grin.

Dan: Don’t worry dad, I got your stuff back. So you don’t have to be upset now!

Danny: …What did you do.

Dan, smirking: Nothing you can prove.

The local vigilante/hero watching this exchange:

[thenixkat]

Ugh, ok, I'm just gonna have to unfollow a bunch of nature/science blogs and try to find fuckers who don't reblog from Bogleech often cause I don't wanna that fucker or randomly get slapped in the face (metaphorically) again with some kind of microaggression

[arcielee]

ilībio

Summary: Aemond finds comfort in your cunt. Paring: Aemond Targaryen x female!reader Word Count: 2.6+ Warnings: reader AFAB, dubcon elements?, oral (m receiving), vaginal fingering, rough sex as a coping mechanism, p in v unprotected, a hint of possessive Aemond as a treat Author’s Note: Thank you my beloved beta reader @sylasthegrim 💜 This story was partly inspired by the brilliance of @peachysunrize (my muse 💜) and @adragonprinceswhore and their wonderful pieces they shared on this hellsite, but it was also inspired by this bitch ass anon. This man is beautiful and I would do anything to be a hole at his disposal. Enjoy! Valyrian translations: ilībio is whore, Iksā ñuhon is you are mine 😈

The instructions from the madame were clear: you were not to speak to the prince and you most certainly were not to look him in the eye. 

It was hard to follow her explicit instructions, as he was as beautiful as he was captivating. You recalled the night when you first saw Prince Aemond. He was poised at the entrance, pulling back his hood to reveal the silver spill of his hair that showed gold in the amber light basking the brothel, his brow furrowed as he looked over the room before taking a step. He was tall and lithe with a grace that cut through the crowd, not sparing a glance at the patrons or whores that parted to allow him through. 

You remembered hearing the stories of the old gods of Old Valyria and thought that he was truly the embodiment from those legends, that he glowed from the ichor knitted into his veins. 

He paused to look at you, and you felt your heart begin to gnaw at your ribs, your pulse erratic as you burned under his one-eyed scrutiny. Your head was in a fog, unable to understand his question. “Your grace,” you chose to say with a curtsy that was clumsy and unpractised. 

He did not care for the attempt or for your formality, but instead repeated his question. “Where is she?” 

You escorted him to Sylvi as requested, and the madame was quick to capitalize on her honored guest, excusing you at once. You continued to watch him from the shadows, entranced, lost in the daydream of being whisked away with the favoritism of a Targaryen prince. 

When he finally left, she caught your gaze that followed him. Her law was laid, he was hers alone, and your envy was hot and thick in your blood, but you were nothing but another whore to serve, awaiting at her beck and call. 

It was her constant threat of being cast out to Flea Bottom that kept you obedient. She wished you to be a decorative piece, dressed in sheer gowns chosen to complement your figure, and tasked to carry a carafe that would keep the cups filled. You did what you were told; you moved throughout, your fingers curled around the neck and the other hand supporting the bottom, careful not to spill a drop. 

Your second run in with Prince Aemond was nearly your undoing. 

You did not even see him, as your trained demure gaze left you counting your footsteps, and despite how lean the prince looked, he felt solid enough when you stumbled into him. Your hands cramped to hold the bottle upright, your senses flooded with the scent of the leather he had been wearing earlier, mixed with the sheen of perspiration and the bathing oils you surely would never afford.

You were rooted to the cobblestone with the realization that he was bare. 

He seemed to tower over you, and the dragonfire that burned bright showed in the lavender of his eye, glittering in the sapphire of the other. You were mortified and he frowned in return, his silver brow furrowed as he looked you over.

You stared back at him, your embarrassment fading, and perhaps it was your unabashed awe that caught his attention–but whatever it was, he would not tell you.

Prince Aemond reached out to grip your jaw, dimpling into your cheeks. You could feel the warmth from his fingertip trickle down your spine and pool into your core; your thighs clenched for relief, your heart screaming to be consumed.

He tilted his head, his eye boring through as if he could see what you desired, though it was painted plainly on your face. He smirked. “One whore is as good as another,” he spoke out loud, and you felt your heart expanding, pumping your blood and encouraging your steps to follow after him. 

The prince glided to a stop in front of an enclave that was draped in silk and lace. The whore and her patrons inside recognized him at once, scattering like rats into the shadows and leaving you alone with the dragon prince. 

Your hands were still shaking as you set the carafe on top of a table, wiping your palms on your skirts. You turned to face the prince and saw his posture was proud, his muscles tensing as his hands balled into fists at his sides; his eye was ever-watchful of you. 

Your lips parted with a soft exhale to soothe your nerves, to settle the pounding in your chest. You took a slow step towards him, your fingers wishing to reach and touch the marble he had been crafted from, but instead you untied the dress that was wrapped around your waist. The fabric pooled at your feet and you were just as bare, your blood seering to the surface when you saw his cock twitch, a lust that began to cloud his eye. 

It was exhilarating to entice a god. 

Your eyes widened with your own admiration as you took him in, a trepidation that fluttered throughout when he did not reach for you right away. Another exhale and you moved closer to kneel before him, your head tilting up to look at him. 

His jaw ticked, a curiosity flickering, waiting for your next move. 

You swallowed your hesitation and your eyes washed over him with reverence, falling to the lines that cut into his slim hips and trailing in-between. Your touch was gentle to wrap your fingers around his hardening cock, moving it aside to press a wet kiss on the curve of the base. You rested back on your heels and looked up again, licking your lips. 

The prince had you rooted with his heady gaze, a rose dusting to his features. His hand touched the top of your head, returning your attention back to how hot and heavy he now was against the palm of your hand. 

It thrilled you. Your tongue flattened to follow along the side, tracing every ridge and vein of his impressive length. The tip was flushed and you pressed another kiss, licking away the briny taste from your lips before wrapping them around to savor the dragon thrumming in your hand. 

He gave a low groan, tensing with how your mouth moved to engulf him. His hand curled into the back of your scalp with a hold that made your skin prickle; your hand grabbed his hip to anchor your endeavor, moving up and down until he was slick from your spit, your desperation to try and swallow every inch of him. 

You gagged, pulling back to lick your other hand and wrap it around what could not fit, matching your pace. He now held onto you with both of his hands, his fingers knotting into your hair with a hold that brought tears to your eyes, but you would not stop–the taste of royalty igniting in your blood vessels. You were spurred on with the sounds that spilled from his lips, and he bucked into your mouth, bruising your throat. 

Only then did you let go, gasping for air. “Forgive me–”

He did not let you finish. He reached to wrap his hand around your upper arm and he pulled you to stand. “Get on the bed.” His voice was low and lethal, velvet that wrapped around to control you. 

You scrambled on top with a visceral shiver from that anticipation already curling at the base of your spine. You looked up at Prince Aemond and it beckoned him closer with a heavy sway between his slender thighs. “My prince, you will not fit,” you realized, “I must–I need to prepare myself…” 

He loomed over you, balancing one arm on the edge of the mattress while the other reached to stop your hand. “Allow me,” he murmured, bringing his first two fingers to his tongue before dipping to slip them between your silken folds. 

It mixed with your arousal, jolting through you as his fingers curled into you. The stretch burned for a moment, but his touch was tactful, pressing upwards until colors began to dance in front of your eyes, soft sighs spilling.

You whined when his hand pulled away, wiping your slick onto his cock. He pushed forward until you melted back onto the bed. Your legs spread to invite him to the cradle of your hips, and he paused to look at you, a softer expression worn as his eye dropped to your lips. 

Your pulse quickened with your hope for a kiss. 

But instead, his hand dipped to guide his length. You felt a shiver of delight from the glide of his swollen cockhead up and down your slit, gathering the wetness that pooled. You ached for more, willing, wanting, canting your hips to angle yourself in a way for him to sink into you.

The prince took his time and you back arched, gooseflesh rippling over from the intimate pressure, from his intoxicating scent and the softness of his hair tickling your skin, from the heat that seemed to permeate from him. He pushed into you further and it was a fullness you had never experienced before; your walls clenched with the slow rut of his hips, deeper and deeper, until he fully sheathed himself within your warm cunt. 

The prince melted into you, molding to your body. His head tucked into the curve of your neck, his teeth nipping at your pulse to muffle his low groan that rumbled through you.

Your lips pressed to his collarbone, a muted mewl in response. Your vision spun and your legs lifted to wrap around his slender waist, pulling him closer. Your hands followed up the definition of his arms to his shoulders, nails biting to hold onto him; you licked his skin. 

He pushed back with a shudder, eye blown and red blotches staining his alabaster skin. A slow roll of his hips went even deeper and you moaned at the sensation. This pleased the prince, and his lips touched the soft spot under your ear, your nipples pebbling when you felt his smile, his rasped command on your skin: “Let them hear you.” 

The madame taught all the girls how to feign pleasure. There was an art of kohl and hooded eyes, of girlish whimpers and whines to encourage patrons to completion. 

But it was unneeded with how the prince was splitting you in half with his cock.

His palms pressed to hold you against the slow snap of his hips, fucking you into the bed until you were teetering on the precipice of both pleasure and pain. Tears pearled at the corners of your eyes and spilled with his brutal pace. He does not see them, his sharp chin tucked to his chest, mesmerized by the white ring forming around the base of his cock that glides in-and-out of you.

It sparked a kaleidoscope of colors with each thrust and you clenched again. “Gods,” he hissed, “you were made for me.” 

His praise was muted, your mind so lost in the haze of passion building, in the wet suction of your cunt desperate to pull him back into you. Your slick spilled in-between your thighs, your fingers fluttering to his hips to pull him even closer– 

But Prince Aemond pulled away. 

You could not stop your whine, pressing to your elbows to watch him. He cupped your chin, not  rough like before, but enough to tilt your head back and truly look at you. The severity of his features softened, the natural curl to his pink lips ticking upwards and hinting at a smile. “I want you to turn around and get on all fours.”

Your stomach dropped at the thought of him claiming his pleasure in a more… unnatural means, remembering the horror stories that the girls shared. You burned as you moved, just as he wished–for how could you deny a prince? You faced away, your arse up. 

His palms were warm when they touched your hips, sliding back to spread your cheeks to see how you glistened for him. There was another noise of content as he shifted behind you, another trill of pleasure up your spine when you felt his cock pressing into your cunt again. 

This new angle was tight, and your hands knotted into the linen of the bed to brace yourself. The prince does not force himself on you, but takes his time to fit; he leaned over you, his lips touching the curve of your spine and his large hand reaching around to palm your breast, pinching your nipple between his finger and thumb.

You crumbled, another muffled cry into the bed, your nerves aflame. His hand followed to the nape of your neck, a firm hold to pull you back up. “Let them hear you,” his repeated rasp was hot against your skin. 

His hands bruised into your hips, sinking into you until the tops of his thighs were flushed against your arse. You were shaking, your back arching to feel him pressing even further than before. He hummed and slammed into you with a pace that builds.

It returned you to that pleasure you tasted earlier when his fingers curled within you, something anew. It was a warm sensation that prickled over your skin, igniting with his thrusts. Your hips rocked back to meet with his unrelenting rhythm as he crashed against you, again and again, until you shattered, splintering off and lifting above, a thousand butterfly wings fluttering throughout you. 

Your cries pulled him after, your cunt grasping for his release. It was quieter for him; the prince hunched over you, his damp brow pressing to your spine with another guttural groan as he pulsed hot and deep into you. 

You fell into the mattress, breathless and drunk from the pleasure pulled. Your mind was tittering how you should fetch a cloth to clean the prince, to pour a fresh goblet to wet his throat, but your body refused. 

At best, you muscled enough strength to turn your neck and look at his sharp angles as he laid on his side, taking in the vision he commanded: the rose tones that touched him intimately, the freckles sprinkled on his shoulders, the lavender color that returned to his one eye. 

Princely, you thought. “Beautiful,” you murmured.

His jaw ticked and for a moment, you swore he flushed from what you said. He touched a finger to your hip, following your curves and coming up to press into your chin to hold your attention–as if you would dare to look away. 

“I will be back for you tomorrow,” he decided.

Your practiced stoicism masked your elation. “She will not like that, my prince,” you reminded him, thinking of the venom that poured when Sylvi glared at you. She made sure to mention him like a trophy she possessed, her face perpetually smug with her every mention of him. 

A smirk played on his lips. He pulled you into his chest and you felt his spend spilling in-between your thighs. You did not care but melted into his warmth, your arm wrapping around his waist, pressing your face to his chest and feeling the low hum of his heart. 

“She will be of no concern,” he spoke like a man who acted without any fear of consequences, but you supposed that this was the tone of all royalty. He pressed a kiss to your hairline and it jolted through your chest. “Iksā ñuhon.”

You curled against him, too dazed to comprehend the weight of his words that rolled from his lips–the tongue of Old Valyria. They meant nothing to you as you laid in the arms of a god.

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