#V décolletage

[gogmstuff]

1908 (June issue) Les Modes - Mlle Barelli Robe du soir par Doucet - photo by Henri Manuel. From gallica.bnf.fr; fixed flaws & spots w Pshop 864X1883.

[jewellery-box]

Dress: skirt and bodice

Hungary, c. 1850

The bodice is attenuated, stiffened by fish-bones, closes with lacing at the back. V-shaped neckline at the front and broad, curved décolletage at the back. The waist comes deeply down at the front. Short, set-in sleeves, puffed at the armhole. The skirt is covered by another, shorter skirt with two slots at the front it continues in three frills with jagged ends. The sleeves and the skirt are embroidered and decorated with braids of wooden beads covered with silk thread. Embroidery: white and golden vine leaves among zigzag lines of silver boughs, enriched with scattered flowers of red plush, with feather grass in their middle, as well as with leaves of green silk georgette.

Museum of Applied Arts

[leonkennedygvrl]

My father loves me with every inch of his manhood.

real dad leon x virgin reader

🌹 warning: 18+, p in v, oral (m recieving), creampies, incest, size difference, dead dove, tummy bulge, squirting, rape kink, baby trapping, murder, gore, leon’s gross and weird so beware! and enjoy :)

divider credits to @firefly-graphics

Oh, what a mistake she was! Leon felt a fool for thinking she was the one, maybe the sex was satisfying at first but God slicing through her felt even better. Her pussy was never tight enough anyways, and he’s a man with needs. That’s why he made you watch. Pretty little daughter, hardly resembles her whore of a mother. You’re trapped in a cage down in the basement, watching your daddy straddle your mommy.

And flesh was ripping. Audible. Blood was everywhere, flowing. Her eyes were wide. Just like her wounds as he slowly plunged the knife back inside her body. Again, again, and again. Ignoring your muffled cries, stupid silly girl. It’s okay, he had plans for you.

“Dad—daddy, please stop! She’s dead! Mommy’s dead!” You screamed with all your might, but it only earned a raspy chuckle. You were just… so shocked to be disgusted by your father. And even more so when he stood up and grabbed your mother’s hair, shoving her face against the glass you were behind. A gasp leaving your lips, her face was fucked up. You didn’t want to look at it.

You squeezed your eyes shut, hiding behind your palms as you turned away.

“She’s prettier like this, baby. No? You don’t think so?” Leon asked, her neck was slit. A gaping cut, multiple stab wounds over her décolletage. Blood coating her jewellery that he bought her, maybe he’d pass it down to you. That shit was expensive. Plus, you liked pretty things. Pretty girls did. And you were very, very pretty. That’s why he was hard, and it was not because he’d murdered your mother.

Okay, maybe a little bit. He liked the control. He watched you sob, back hunched over that he could see your spine in the cute dress you wore. You were such a sweetheart, your closet consisted of a fashionista’s dream! Heels, frilly socks, garters, purses and accessories. Much better than your mom, she was just basic. At least to him.

“Baby, it’s alright. I love you, that’s all that matters. You don’t need mommy.” He cooed, releasing the grip on her hair and kneeling down, watching as you meekly peeked through to look at him. Soggy tears all clumped together and your lips pouted. He felt his stomach flutter. “Yeah, attagirl. Cm’ere, I’d never hurt you.”

You always wondered why you were just a little bit fucked up in the head, yes mommy’s death hurt but daddy was just so much more important. Mommy couldn’t protect you, her press-ons would probably fall off if she even tried. But daddy was strong and he’d tear down anything to help you. Your shaky hands touched the ground, crawling over to him and pressing your palm against the glass.

“But you hurt mommy.” You doubted. Foolish, right? You expected him to be irritated but his eyes were soft as he looked down at you, but there was something in there. Something dark. Something that wanted to ruin you. He pressed his own palm to the glass, so much bigger than yours. “I miss mom, please… she—she…”

“Shh, don’t worry about her. You gonna let dad come in there with you?” Leon asked, he was dirty with blood but his dick hurt the longer he looked at you. In his eyes, you were perfect. You just needed a little tweaking. His dick could do that.

You looked at your mother’s limp body, wanting to puke. You should’ve hated your dad, but you couldn’t. You actually think you hated your mom a little more, she wasn’t the greatest individual.

Little feet of yours pattered on the ground, you were just a toddler in need of some love. Dad was never around, at least not much. He was gone for weeks at a time, so you’d always go to your mother but she was busy as well. On the phone, talking to Katie. Katie was her best friend since university, and as much as you stood by her legs, grabby hands wanting to be picked up, she paid no mind to you.

“No, no, no. I told her she couldn’t just nitpick about everything, Katie! She just doesn’t listen, and now she wants my advice? That’s not happening.” Your mother scoffed into the phone, hardly sparing you a glance as she shooed you away and leaned against the kitchen counter. “Honestly, I’m glad Mark cheated on her. Maybe that would teach her a lesson.”

Or another time when you were a little older, just beginning elementary school. You were scared. You were never good at socialising, and as your mother opened the car door she ushered you out quickly, still on the phone.

“Oh my, really? That’s great news, I’m sure Graham is a nice guy. Is the ring good? I mean, if he isn’t emptying his wallet on you then he’s probably not going to be a great husband Katie.” Your mother chatted, and you looked up at her, hoping for at least some reassurance.

No, she didn’t care much about you. You were just an annoying addition to the family because Leon wanted children. That’s when she got a little turned off, but she stuck with him because he gave her cash. And while he was off on missions, you observed everything.

Also, the first day wasn’t great. You got bullied.

Teen years you were a little smarter, always eavesdropping on your mother. But she started getting a little TMI with Katie, and you figured it was just the best friend privilege. You didn’t have much of that growing up, kids avoided you.

“He’s perfect, Katie. He has it all, you know? I don’t know why I even bothered with Leon, he’s such a prick sometimes. He doesn’t make any time for me and it’s just frustrating! Like, you know that italian restaurant I told you about? A few months ago, they had an all you can eat and I told him about it and guess what,” your mother rambled, openly admitting her afair. This is where you held a dislike for her deep down because how dare she? “He went on another goddamn mission!”

You thought back to all of that as you stared at your mother’s dead body, maybe dad was right. She deserved this, you don’t know why you felt guilty. So you nodded, and the grim smirk that had crossed his face made you a little uneasy.

Leon stood back up, digging into his pocket for the key to the cage and once he entered, he almost orgasmed in his pants at the sight of you looking up at him from the ground. He shoved you back against the glass, eliciting a little confused noise from your lips before his bulge was in your face and you felt sick.

“Oh, baby. You didn’t think I was going to come in ‘ere and pamper you or something did you?” Leon asked rhetorically, not much care in his tone as he unzipped his jeans and pulled his dick out of the confines. Big, bigger than the ones you’ve seen in porn. Except they were all circumcised and bare to fit standards but he wasn’t, his pubic hair was shaggy and he pulled his foreskin back.

“D—dad, no! This is wrong!” You exclaimed, feeling the bulbous tip press against your lips making you tilt your face to the side.

And now the softness was gone as he grabbed the hair atop your scalp, tugging hard and straightening your head. It hurt, your lips parting in surprise.

“Shut up, pretty. Should be thanking me, mmm..” Leon cut himself off with a groan as he pushed into your warm, wet mouth. Your tears had come back, streaming down your puffy cheeks as your lips stretched around his cock. “Been working for so damn long, providing for you. Got you cute things to make you happy and I got rid of that fickle bitch.”

He felt your throat stutter around his dick as you gagged, making his abdomen clench. Tight mouth, tight pussy, pretty face and a cute body. It made sense though, he made you after all. And he knew that deep down, you liked this shit. You could’ve used your hands to stop him, but you didn’t.

“Hm, smart girl.” He praised, pulling almost all the way out and then shoving his hips forward. A warm and gooey sensation in his gut, he could’ve cum right there. Your mom didn’t like blowjobs, figured it’d give her wrinkles. As if she wasn’t boxed up on botox. That he paid for.

“You just need dad, I know you do.” Leon repeated the action, feeling your hands finally press onto his thighs but you made no attempt go push him off — instead your nails dug into his skin, your vision blurred with tears as you watched him, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

And his words, well, they made your panties feel wet. You didn’t know what it was because the only time it felt like this was when you got your period and didn’t realise you needed pads, you avoided tampons; doing enough research because ignorant momma didn’t want to teach you a thing, and you heard of TSS and it scared you.

Your throat was constricting the harder he thrusted, lips closing around his dick until your cheeks hollowed out. You were sucking his dick, like a popsicle. Because in a depraved way, you liked the taste. It was musky but clean, like he used soap on it or something. And your nose was buried in his pubes each time he bottomed out, different variations of grunts leaving his mouth.

“God, better than your mom. So much better,” Leon moaned weakly, tightening his grip on your hair as he thrusted with increased fervour. He just wanted a taste, he didn’t want to cum inside this pretty mouth. Save that for another day. “But you don’t need to breathe, right baby?”

“Ggmmph—“ You tried, feeling his fingers pinch your nostrils effectively suffocating you as he stilled his movements. Your throat was even tighter now, and he felt jittery, biting down hard on his lip. He always wanted to choke a girl this way.

When you started turning all blue, he pulled out of your mouth and grinned darkly, pulling his hand away as your mascara was running down your face and your nose was all snotty. Cute. He liked the messy type.

“Sorry, baby. Did I hurt you?” Leon asked condescendingly, putting his hands beneath your armpits and forcing you to stand up as you coughed and stuttered, feeling brainless and dizzy. You couldn’t reply, the world was spinning right now and your dad was about to rape you. And you were letting it happen.

For two reasons, you knew it was absolutely pointless to try and stop him and you didn’t hate this. You remember a few accounts on twitter that post incel porn and you would cum faster to that, rubbing your clit.

“Time to test your pussy, but I hope you don’t mind honey. Dad doesn’t have a woman now, you made me kill her.” Leon muttered, bunching the hem of your dress up at your hips and pressing his fingers against the soaking wet gusset of your panties, feeling your engorged clit.

“You little slut, you’re getting off to this. You’re wetter than ever,” He degraded meanly, pulling them to the side and rubbing the head of his dick against your slit, watching as you jumped and convulsed, head tilting back against the wall as you weakly protested. “Daddy’s dick is just crying for this pussy, baby. Be a good girl and take it, okay?”

You sobbed, eyes fluttering closed as he pressed his dick into your entrance and then shoved it inside, breaking your hymen almost instantly as you squealed from the harsh intrusion and immediately grabbed his shoulders.

“F—fuck, fuck! Dad!” You cried, hearing his shaky exhale as you clenched down repeatedly. He was too big, you could feel him in your stomach. You tried pushing him away, but then his large hands snaked around your hips, pulling you up and straight back down onto his throbbing cock.

“You’re… a fucking virgin?” He questioned, shaking his head and then laughing mockingly. His sweet girl was cursing now, that was new. He thrusted at a slew rate, one hand moving up your body, touching the bulge in your lower abdomen, ghosting over your breasts and then grabbing your chin.

He squished your wet cheeks together, pursing your lips like a fish as whined.

“Answer me, baby. Tell me you’re a sweet virgin.” Leon said, tightening his grip painfully when you didn’t answer making you flutter around his dick. Slick gushing down his heavy balls, the plap, plap, plap noises reverberating through the basement.

“I—I’m a… sweet virgin, daddy..” You whispered, eyes opening wide to look up at his reprobated face, though he looked a little red himself as he moved his hips rhythmically feeling your chubby pussy pull his dick in like a suction cup.

“Yeah, a sweet virgin turned whore.” Leon mocked, stilling his hips until his tip pressed against your cervix, watching as your expression contorted into a mix of pain and perverted pleasure. If he was a better man, he’d feel guilty. But the blood on his hands served to say that he was maybe a little, or a lot, deranged. And it’s alright because he knew you were too.

“Dad… please,” you moaned, feeling too full. You needed him to move, to touch your abandoned clit, to give you something other than the pain you were feeling. “Please just… move, just fuck me.”

Leon tilted his head, had he really corrupted your little brain? He hummed, resuming his movements and watching as your lips parted in a silent gasp, and then the punched out moans that escaped you. Yeah, he knew it. You were a perfect little thing, toes curling the harder he got, the frilly socks were a little stained and looked miniature in comparison to his boots.

“I am fucking you, honey.” He muttered, pressing a few kissed along your jawline as your head leaned up and your eyes rolled back when his fingers ghosted across your clit, rubbing firm circles around the sensitive bud. “Cute little pussy need a baby inside it, right?”

There you go, with a shaky scream you clenched down hard on his dick. The words were enough to bring a clear liquid squirting out of your pussy, his hips stuttering as he moaned, you were just convulsing, back arching into him as your breasts bounced until they were peeking out of your dress.

“Yeah, you do. Fuck, squirting around me like a goddamn slut.” Leon grunted, voice a little more hoarse at this point. He was nearing his own orgasm, and he wanted to fill you up completely. He wanted to do so much to you. He wanted to crawl up inside you and watch his sperm take, watch the entire beautiful process of conception.

He thrusted a couple more times before pausing inside, his warm and gooey cum filling your womb up completely until you felt like it would leak out of your mouth.

The beads of sweat that had formed on his forehead made the front strands of his hair a little wet as he watched you pant and tremble in his hold, his arms wrapping around the arch of your back and holding you against him. Yeah, he was a dickhead but he cared.

“You’re perfect, baby. Such a good girl.” He murmured, kissing the top of your face as you melted into his embrace. He didn’t bother pulling out. “Gotta keep you plugged up.”

A million times better than your mother, and speaking of which he’d need to dispose of her stupid body. Maybe after another round, and then a bath. And then a night of sleep.

[motherismotheringggg]

nicholas chavez fic where he’s with plus size reader and he likes to see her jiggle during sex👁️👁️

made to worship 🥀

summary: this and one another anon request — LOVED THIS!!!

type: plus sized female reader x nicholas chavez

tags: established relationship, body worshipping, oral (m! and f! receiving), p in v sex, swallowing

author’s note: it’s the way i wanted to start writing for more specific readers/reader traits and the literal say i had this idea i got this request — INSANITY!!! but im so happy with this and i hope yall like it!!!

word count: 4909

taglist: @emluvsuxo , @blackynsupremacy , @hoffmansgirl , @godzillawillsaveus , @purple-1995 , @ilovecheetahchrome , @nicholaschavezslut69

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

The evening sky outside your high-rise apartment glowed with hues of pink and orange, the city skyline twinkling like scattered jewels. Inside, your space was bathed in the warm, ambient glow of your carefully curated mood lighting.

Fairy lights danced along the edges of your large windows, their soft light complementing the flicker of vanilla-scented candles scattered across the room. The atmosphere felt magical, almost like you were preparing for a scene in one of Nicholas’s movies—but tonight, the star was you.

Your "HOTTIES GETTING READY 🍸💗" playlist blasted through your Alexa speaker, Sabrina Carpenter’s upbeat lyrics urging you to sway your hips as you moved. The giddy excitement bubbling in your chest spilled into every movement: the way you twirled in front of the mirror, the occasional shimmy as you reached for another makeup brush, and the soft giggles that escaped your lips whenever you caught your reflection.

Your vanity table, a beloved thrift find, was adorned with an explosion of beauty products. Palettes, brushes, and compacts were arranged like tools in an artist’s studio, each chosen carefully to create the masterpiece that was you tonight.

Seated at the vanity, you leaned in close to the mirror, your curls bouncing lightly with the motion. You added the finishing touches to your makeup: a delicate shimmer highlighting your cheekbones, a precise wing of eyeliner that drew attention to your sparkling eyes, and a deep crimson lipstick that Nicholas had once declared "dangerous." The way the shade made your full lips pop was undeniable, and you smiled, pleased with the effect.

Your curves were hugged by a black dress that flowed over your body like a second skin. Stopping at the mid-thigh, it was a classic little black dress with a timeless silhouette and a sweetheart neckline that drew eyes directly to your décolletage and cleavage.

The fabric accentuated the softness of your figure—the swell of your hips, the dip of your waist, the fullness of your chest. The dress had been an indulgence, a piece you’d bought after seeing how it made you feel: sexy, confident, powerful. As you smoothed your hands down its sleek lines, you couldn’t help but admire yourself in the full-length mirror.

You had always loved your body. It had taken years to cultivate the confidence you now carried with pride, but tonight, you felt it in every fiber of your being. You were beautiful. And Nicholas, your boyfriend of almost a year, never let you forget it.

He’d been away for three months, filming a secret project in Europe. While the distance had been hard, you’d kept in touch with texts, calls, and plenty of late-night FaceTimes. But nothing compared to the real thing—to having him home, finally able to hold you in his arms. Tonight was your first date since his return, and though you’d suggested he rest after landing, Nicholas had been insistent.

You smiled to yourself as you remembered his words: “Sleep can wait. I need to see you.”

You really did think it was a good idea for Nicholas to get some rest after his flight. He had spent weeks on set, pouring himself into his role and managing the grueling hours of filming. But deep down, you knew rest wasn’t an option—not when it came to you. Nicholas could never resist you, and truthfully, you loved it. After all, you hadn’t exactly made it easy for him to keep his distance while he was away.

From the moment he boarded his flight for Europe, you had made it your mission to remind him exactly what was waiting for him back home. It started innocently enough: a few sultry selfies in his favorite lingerie, each one showing off how the lace hugged your curves just right. But it didn’t take long for you to turn up the heat.

Fresh out of the shower, droplets clinging to your skin, you’d let the steam fog the mirror just enough to add a teasing edge. Then came the quick videos: the camera lingering on your soft, full figure as you massaged your breasts or gave a playful slap to your ass, letting him see exactly what he was missing. You knew what Nicholas loved most—the way you filled his hands completely, yet still left more for him to hold. And you loved reminding him of it.

But one night, it all escalated. A little wine-drunk and missing him more than usual, you’d drawn yourself a bubble bath. The warm water and frothy bubbles felt indulgent, and with your phone propped securely on the edge of the tub, you put on a show just for Nicholas. You let the camera capture the way the water caressed your curves, your body glistening under the soft glow of candlelight. You posed and shifted, the bubbles teasingly obscuring parts of you before you’d lift a leg or arch your back, leaving just enough for his imagination to run wild.

His response had been immediate.

nickypoo 💘

You’re killing me, baby. How am I supposed to survive three more weeks of this?

you:

just giving you something to look forward to <3

He hadn’t stopped there, though. After a few more minutes of teasing, he sent another message that made you burst out laughing:

nickypoo 💘

I’m about to tell them there’s an emergency back home. They don’t need to know the emergency is how bad i NEED you.

You’d teased him relentlessly for it during your next FaceTime call, but you couldn’t deny how good it felt to be wanted like that. Knowing Nicholas adored every part of you, from the playful curve of your smile to the plush softness of your body, made the separation a little easier to bear.

And now, after all those weeks apart, he was finally on his way.

The sound of the lock clicking echoed through your apartment, followed by the familiar creak of the door opening. “Baby, I’m just finishing up in the bedroom!” you called out, checking your reflection one last time in the mirror. “I’ll be out in a minute!”

Nicholas didn’t respond right away, but you heard the soft thud of his bag hitting the floor and the shuffle of his footsteps as he made his way inside. There was a pause, followed by the unmistakable sigh of relief he always seemed to release when he was at your apartment.

When you finally stepped out of your bedroom, your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. He was standing near the couch, looking relaxed yet strikingly handsome in a fitted black sweater and dark jeans. His brown eyes lit up the second they landed on you, and for a moment, he just stood there, taking you in like you were the most breathtaking thing he’d ever seen.

“Damn,” he finally managed, his voice low and reverent.

Before you could reply, Nicholas closed the distance between you in three long strides. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a hug so tight it felt like he was trying to merge you into himself. His hands roamed instinctively to your waist, fingers pressing into the plushness of your curves like he was grounding himself in the feel of you.

“God, I missed you,” he murmured, burying his face in the crook of your neck. His voice was muffled, but you could hear the raw emotion behind it.

Your arms came up around his back, holding him just as tightly. His body was warm and solid against yours, and the familiar scent of his cologne—a mix of cedarwood and something earthy—wrapped around you like a comforting blanket.

After a long moment, Nicholas pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands still holding your waist. His gaze was intense, his brown eyes darting over your face like he was trying to memorize every detail. Then, without warning, he leaned in and kissed you.

It wasn’t a light, playful kiss. It was deep, almost desperate, like he’d been starving for you and you were the only thing that could satisfy him. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine, yet there was a tenderness to it—a gentleness that reminded you just how much he cared.

You broke the kiss with a soft laugh, brushing your fingers over your lips. “Okay, as much as I love this,” you teased, “I just spent way too much time on my makeup to let you ruin it before we even leave.”

Nicholas groaned, resting his forehead against yours. “I don’t care about the makeup,” he muttered, his voice gravelly and thick with desire. His hands slid down to your hips, squeezing them in a way that made you feel worshipped. “You’re so damn beautiful, it hurts.”

The way he said it, with absolute conviction, made your cheeks warm. “You’re not playing fair,” you said, trying to maintain your composure, though the fluttering in your chest betrayed you.

His lips curved into a grin, one of his dimples making an appearance as he leaned back to look at you. “I haven’t even started yet.”

As if to prove his point, one of his hands slid up your thigh, the warmth of his palm searing through the fabric of your dress. His touch was deliberate, teasing, and the look in his eyes told you exactly where his mind was heading.

You caught his wrist before he could go any further, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t get all dressed up just for you to ruin it now,” you said, your tone playful but firm.

Nicholas let out an exaggerated groan, throwing his head back with a dramatic sigh. His hair fell into soft waves around his face, and when he finally looked at you again, his grin had only grown wider. “Fine,” he relented, though the glint in his eye told you he wasn’t giving up so easily.

You pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, then trailed your lips along his jawline, stopping just below his ear. “If you can wait until after dinner,” you whispered, your voice low and teasing, “I promise it’ll be worth it.”

His eyebrows shot up, and his lips parted slightly as a sly grin spread across his face. “Oh, you’re trouble,” he murmured, his voice tinged with amusement and a touch of awe.

You turned toward the door to grab your shoes and jacket, but before you could take two steps, a loud smack echoed through the room as Nicholas’s hand came down on your ass. The contact was firm, leaving a faint sting that made you yelp in surprise.

“Nicholas!” you exclaimed, spinning around to glare at him, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed your annoyance.

He bit his bottom lip, clearly pleased with himself. “Sorry,” he said, though his grin was anything but apologetic. “I couldn’t help it.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to suppress a smile as you grabbed your shoes. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” you muttered, slipping them on.

Nicholas raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin widening. “Okay, okay—I’ll relax,” he said, though his eyes lingered on you in a way that told you he was far from done admiring you.

As you reached for your jacket, you couldn’t help but glance back at him. The sight of him, so completely enamored and entirely yours, made your heart swell. It had been three long months, but in this moment, it felt like no time had passed at all.

————

When you walked down to the car, the sight waiting for you made your heart skip. Parked by the curb was Nicholas’s beloved cherry-red 1967 Mustang, gleaming under the soft glow of the streetlights. Sitting in the passenger seat was the biggest bouquet of flowers you’d ever seen—an explosion of rich red roses, delicate baby’s breath, and fragrant lilies. You couldn’t hold back your joy, practically leaping into his arms before peppering his face with kisses. Nicholas laughed, a low, happy sound that vibrated against your chest as he wrapped his arms around you.

The drive to the gallery was filled with light conversation and your playlist humming in the background, his hand firmly resting on your thigh, fingers occasionally giving it a little squeeze. At the gallery walk, Nicholas’s attention stayed on you more than the art.

As you strolled through the exhibits, his touch was constant—never intrusive, just reassuring. His hand rested gently on your lower back as you navigated the crowded rooms, steering you effortlessly through clusters of art enthusiasts. When you stopped to read a placard, he’d step behind you, his hands settling on your hips, his chest lightly brushing your back.

Whenever your eyes met, he’d steal a kiss—a quick peck if someone was nearby, but when the moment allowed, he’d dip down to claim something deeper, making you momentarily forget the world around you.

At dinner, he was utterly captivated. Candlelight danced in his warm, brown eyes as he hung on to your every word. You laughed about some silly drama your friends were having, vented about the weird maintenance issues in your building, and recounted the wild dreams you’d had while he was away. Through it all, his gaze never wavered. He was enthralled—not just by your words but by the way your lips moved, the sparkle in your eyes, and the sound of your laughter.

Surprisingly, the drive home was calm, though his hand remained a grounding presence on your leg. Even in the elevator, where you half-expected him to lose control, he was restrained—his eyes on you, dark with promise, but his body relaxed.

But the second you stepped through your apartment door, all bets were off.

————

You barely had a moment to close the door before Nicholas’s lips found yours, urgent and consuming. His hands tugged at your coat as if the barrier was offensive, and when he finally had it off, his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him. His lips moved with a desperate hunger, yet there was still that softness to them, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to devour you or savor every second.

His fingers trailed up your sides, gripping at your curves in a way that made you shiver. “I told you I could wait,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and gravelly with a smile. Before you could respond, he lifted you effortlessly, his hands firmly grasping the plushness of your thighs, carrying you deeper into the apartment as if he couldn’t wait a second longer to have you all to himself.

Nicholas carried you effortlessly to the bedroom, his lips never straying far from yours. The kisses varied—some deep and consuming, others soft and teasing, but all filled with an undeniable need. When he finally set you down, it was in front of your full-length mirror, the glow from your bedroom’s soft lighting casting a golden hue over the scene.

You caught sight of yourself in the mirror, your chest rising and falling with each breath, lips already swollen from his kisses. Behind you, Nicholas stood tall, his hands resting on your hips as he pressed a kiss to the bare skin of your shoulder.

“You were breathtaking tonight,” he murmured against your skin, his voice deep and low, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. He kissed the curve where your shoulder met your neck, then trailed his lips upward until they found that spot just below your ear that always made you melt. “And you know it,” he added, his tone playful but dripping with sincerity.

His hands slid from your hips to your waist, squeezing gently as he pressed closer to you. You could feel the warmth of his chest against your back, his steady breath brushing against your ear. “Do you know why I put you here?” he asked, his voice a husky whisper.

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “Why?” you managed, your voice breathy and light.

“Because I want you to watch,” he said, his lips curling into a sly grin as he began to trail kisses down the curve of your neck again. “I want you to see how beautiful you are, how much I adore every inch of you.” His kisses grew slower, deeper, as he slid his hands down to your hips again.

Nicholas’s kisses grew hungrier as his hands slid the straps of your dress off your shoulders. His lips trailed over the newly exposed skin, his breath warm against your collarbone, making your pulse race. With a soft sigh, the fabric slipped further down, and Nicholas took his time kissing every inch of skin revealed to him until the dress pooled at your feet.

For a moment, he pulled back to take you in, his eyes darkening as they roamed over your curves, lingering on the black lingerie you’d chosen. His hands spanned your waist, his touch firm yet reverent, like he couldn’t believe you were real.

“God, you’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice thick with admiration. His fingers traced the curve of your hips, his hands splaying over the softness of your stomach, your thighs. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your jaw as he whispered, “You have no idea how much I’ve missed this. How much I’ve missed you.”

Heat flooded your cheeks, but before you could respond, he kissed you again—deep and deliberate, like he was pouring every ounce of emotion into the connection. His hands skimmed up your sides, over the swell of your breasts, and back down again, his touch leaving trails of fire on your skin.

“You’re so soft,” he murmured between kisses, his lips moving to your neck. “So warm. Do you know how obsessed I am with you? With this body?” His hands caressed your waist again, his grip tightening like he couldn’t help himself. “You drive me crazy. I swear, I’ll never get enough of you.”

“Nicholas…” you whispered, your voice barely audible, trembling under his touch.

He smiled against your skin, a slow, knowing grin as he gently guided you toward the dresser. “Lean here,” he said softly, helping you rest against the cool wood. Behind you, the mirror reflected everything—the way your chest rose and fell, the flush creeping across your skin, and Nicholas towering over you, his presence magnetic.

He caught your gaze in the mirror as he placed his hands on either side of you, caging you in. “I want you to watch,” he said, his voice low and commanding but filled with adoration. “I want you to see why I worship you.”

Your breath hitched as he tilted your chin up, kissing you deeply once more. His hands slid over your body with a confidence that made your knees weak, each touch deliberate, almost reverent. He kissed down your neck, over your collarbone, and then lower, his lips trailing along the tops of your breasts.

With a slow, deliberate motion, Nicholas dropped to his knees, his hands anchoring on your hips as his lips continued their descent. His fingers grazed your thighs, his touch leaving goosebumps in its wake. He pressed kisses to your stomach, lingering there, his lips soft but insistent.

“You’re everything to me,” he murmured against your skin, his brown eyes lifting to meet yours. The intensity in his gaze sent a fresh wave of warmth pooling in your belly. His hands slipped to the waistband of your panties, and with an effortless tug, he slid them down your legs.

He helped you step out of them, his hands strong but tender as he lifted one of your legs over his shoulder. The position left you exposed, vulnerable, but the way he held you—like you were the most precious thing in the world—put you completely at ease.

Nicholas pressed a series of kisses to the inside of your thighs, his lips slow and deliberate, as though savoring every second. His fingers gripped your thighs firmly, grounding himself in your softness.

“Look at yourself,” he said, his voice rough but gentle, his breath warm against your skin. “Look at how beautiful you are when I’m making you feel good.”

Your eyes fluttered open, meeting your reflection in the mirror. The sight of yourself—flushed and trembling, your chest rising and falling with anticipation—made your pulse quicken. But it was the way Nicholas looked at you, his gaze filled with a mix of reverence and hunger, that made your heart ache in the best way.

He leaned in, his tongue gliding over your sensitive flesh, and you gasped, your hands gripping the dresser for support. His movements were precise, deliberate, as though he was learning every reaction, every sound you made.

Your head fell back briefly as the pleasure built, but Nicholas’s voice brought you back. “No, baby,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze again in the mirror. “I want you to see this. I want you to see how gorgeous you are when you fall apart for me.”

His lips returned to you, his tongue and mouth working in perfect harmony as his hands anchored you in place. Every stroke, every kiss felt like an act of devotion, as though he was pouring every ounce of his love for you into his touch.

Every swipe of Nicholas’s tongue against your aching core sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body. His touch was maddeningly tender yet intentional, each flick and stroke designed to unravel you completely. Your knees faltered under the onslaught of sensation, but Nicholas was always there—his grip tightening, his strong arms grounding you. You felt the flex of his biceps as he held you steady, his strength wrapping around you like a promise that he wouldn’t let you fall.

Your gaze flicked to the mirror, and the sight made your breath hitch. You were a mess —your chest rising and falling with desperate heaves, your skin flushed with heat. Your bottom lip was caught between your teeth, a vain attempt to stifle the moans and whimpers spilling from you.

“I love it when you moan like that, baby,” Nicholas murmured, pulling back just enough to speak, his voice a low rumble that sent a fresh wave of heat through you. His lips were wet with your arousal, his eyes dark and hooded as they bore into yours. “Tell me how bad you need me, baby.”

Your voice trembled as you replied, barely able to form the words between your gasps. “So bad, Nicholas. I need you—I’m gonna cum.”

The admission spurred him on. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, his fingers digging into your soft flesh as he returned his mouth to you with renewed fervor. The rhythm of his tongue became more relentless, his movements perfectly in sync with your rising tension.

Your hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as the pressure inside you reached its peak. “Nicholas—” you gasped, your voice breaking as the first wave of your orgasm crashed over you. Your body tensed, trembling against him as you cried out, the pleasure consuming you completely.

Nicholas didn’t stop, his grip firm as he held you steady, coaxing every last shudder from your body. When you finally came down, your breaths ragged and your legs weak, he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh before rising to his feet.

Before you could fully catch your breath, Nicholas turned you around with ease, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss so heated it stole what little air you’d regained. His hands worked quickly, unbuckling his belt and shoving his pants and boxers down in one fluid motion.

He guided you to lean forward, your hands bracing against the dresser as he positioned himself behind you. His hands gripped your hips, the rough pads of his fingers pressing into your softness as he aligned himself with your entrance.

The first slow, deliberate thrust stole your breath entirely. Nicholas let out a low, guttural moan as he entered you, his hands steadying your hips as he adjusted to your tightness. “Fuck baby, I missed this pussy,” he rasped, his voice rough and shaky. “You’re so tight baby ... You feel so good.”

His hips began to move, the slow rhythm building gradually, each thrust sending sparks of pleasure through your overstimulated body. Nicholas’s hands roamed over your hips and thighs, grounding himself in the feel of you.

His eyes were locked on the way your body moved with his, the way your plush curves rippled with every thrust. The sight seemed to undo him. He groaned low in his throat, his hand drawing back before landing a sharp slap against your ass.

The sensation made you cry out, the sharp sting blending with the pleasure coursing through you. Nicholas’s grip tightened, and he let out a grunt at your reaction. “You like that, baby?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

“Yes,” you managed to moan, your voice shaky but insistent. “Do it again.”

A wicked smile curved his lips as he complied, his hand landing another firm slap against your skin. The sound echoed in the room, followed by your moan, and he couldn’t stop himself from doing it again—and again, the rhythm of his thrusts growing more erratic with each deliciously sharp impact.

“You’re so good for me,” he groaned, his voice rough and breathless.

Nicholas’s thrusts grew faster, each stroke deeper than the last. His grip on your hips tightened, his fingers pressing into your soft skin as he lost himself in the rhythm of your bodies. Each time his hand came down on your ass, the sharp sting sent a new wave of arousal through both of you, his groans mingling with your breathless cries.

His voice, a perfect mix of raspy and grumbly, edged with desperate whines, drove you wild. The sound was so raw, so unfiltered—it made you ache to give him the same overwhelming pleasure he was giving you.

You began to pick up on his rhythm, matching his movements with your own. Arching your back further, you started to throw your hips into him, meeting his thrusts with equal force. The shift in control made Nicholas let out a loud, guttural moan, his hands faltering for a moment as you took the lead.

“I love when you fuck me back like this,” he groaned, his hands slipping from your hips as he let “Baby, you’re so good.”

The praise spurred you on, your movements growing faster, more deliberate. You felt his resolve weakening, his breaths coming in short, ragged bursts as you took control. Each roll of your hips sent him deeper into bliss, and the sound of your bodies colliding filled the room—a symphony of moans, skin meeting skin, and the creak of the dresser beneath your weight.

Nicholas was completely yours now, his body trembling as you worked him. “You’re such a good girl,” he gasped between his moans, his voice thick with adoration. “So perfect for me. Just like that—don’t stop.”

But when he couldn’t take it any longer, his hands returned to your hips, gripping you with renewed urgency. He thrust into you harder, faster, his strokes relentless as he chased his release.

“I’m gonna cum baby doll,” he rasped, his voice breaking with the force of his pleasure.

The moment the words left his mouth, you turned your head slightly, your voice breathy but sure. “I want you to finish in my mouth.”

Nicholas groaned, his movements faltering for a split second before he regained his rhythm, thrusting into you a little longer before pulling out with a sharp gasp.

He guided you down to your knees, standing over you as he stroked himself, his hand moving in frantic, desperate motions. His brown eyes locked onto yours, filled with hunger and adoration as you tilted your head back, lips parted, waiting for him.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he muttered, his voice trembling with need.

Moments later, his release spilled into your mouth, warm and overwhelming. You took him in fully, your tongue swirling around his sensitive tip as he shuddered above you. His head tipped back, his chest heaving as he let out a low, broken moan, his entire body trembling with the force of his climax.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice weak as his hands gripped the edge of the dresser for balance.

You didn’t stop there, teasing him with gentle flicks of your tongue, savoring the taste of him as his knees nearly buckled. His back hunched as he let out a weak chuckle, his hand coming to rest on your cheek.

“Baby, please,” he begged, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Your lips curved into a satisfied smile as you pulled away, placing a soft kiss on his hip before sitting back on your heels. Nicholas reached down, pulling you back up into his arms, his forehead pressing to yours as he caught his breath.

But then, his lips brushed against your ear, and you felt the familiar heat of his words. “Don’t think I’m done with you yet,” he murmured, his voice low and full of promise. “I still need to have you… all of you.”

His hands slid down your sides, leaving a trail of goosebumps before giving your ass a playful slap. “Get on the bed,” he said with a mischievous grin, his brown eyes gleaming. “I want to see that gorgeous face of yours when I make you cum again.”

[redvexillum]

A/N: This story falls right between "One Moment," and "Choose Me." I have fully embraced the fact that I've written a mini arc in a series of three one shot for this universe.

SUMMARY: You didn’t mind that Vox spent the last Christmas with Valentino—it’s not like you were upset or anything. But this year, you’ve discovered something sweeter than holiday cheer: lollipops. And judging by the way Vox can’t take his eyes off you, they’re even better when used to stir up a little mischief.

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, p in v, Mandatory Overtime AU, sunshine reader, teasing, oral sex

Vox swallowed hard, his throat dry despite the bitter tang of his coffee lingering on his tongue. You leaned over him, your body close enough for him to catch the faint, intoxicating trace of your perfume—a warm blend of vanilla and spice that made his chest tighten. Your eyes flicked across the report in his hands, lips softly parted as you read, the faint motion of your tongue rolling a candy back and forth catching his attention and refusing to let it go. 

He tried—truly, he tried—to focus on your words, but the way your lips glistened as they wrapped around that candy left him entranced. The slow, deliberate way you swallowed, savouring its sweetness, sent a jolt of heat straight to the front of his pants. His fists clenched against the armrests of his chair as he fought to rein in his spiralling thoughts. 

“Vox, what the fuck?” your voice cut through the haze, sharp and biting. 

He startled, nearly jumping out of his chair. “What?” His tone pitched higher than intended, betraying the tension simmering just below his polished demeanour. For a terrifying moment, he wondered if he’d let his thoughts slip aloud. 

You arched an eyebrow, your sarcasm dripping like molten iron. “Oh, I’m sorry, sir. What the fuck?” Waving the report in your hand, you began pacing his office, each step punctuated by the sharp click of your heels against the polished floor. 

He couldn’t help but follow your every move. The snug pencil skirt you wore hugged your curves, its modest slit revealing just enough of the garter strap beneath to make his mouth dry all over again. Your blouse, unbuttoned enough to tease but not quite reveal, showcased the sharp V of your décolletage. Every detail—every sway, every deliberate pause—commanded his full attention. 

Crossing his legs tightly, Vox clasped his hands together, desperately attempting to appear unbothered. But you weren’t making it easy. As you ranted about stolen shipments and fabricated numbers, your voice carried a fire that should’ve demanded his respect. Instead, it only added fuel to the inferno building inside him. 

If you weren’t so damn alluring—if you weren’t already tangled in his sheets on more nights than he cared to admit—he might’ve had the presence of mind to be offended. After all, he was the CEO of Hell’s most powerful enterprise, an Overlord feared by legions. Yet here you were, strutting around his office with an air of authority that made it seem as though you ruled not just his company, but him.

When you stopped abruptly, tossing the report carelessly over his desk, you then leaned forward, catching Vox's breath. Your lips were a perfect pout, your brows furrowed in frustration, and your eyes boring into his with an intensity that made his heart pound. 

“Well?” you demanded, your tone sharp but laced with the kind of intimacy that only came from knowing exactly how to push his buttons. 

He felt a stirring heat that was impossible to ignore. You leaned just close enough for him to feel the warmth of your breath, and for a fleeting moment, he wondered if you were doing this on purpose. 

Perhaps, in some twisted way, you really did own him. Not that he’d ever admit it aloud. 

It was infuriating how many shady dealings were slipping through the cracks, siphoning the company’s money right under everyone’s noses. Even the auditors were in on it—you were sure of it. The past 45 years of financial reports were riddled with suspicious dips and trends that only revealed themselves when scrutinized with a sharp, unrelenting gaze. Whoever was orchestrating this embezzlement thought they were clever, but the data told a different story. Numbers didn’t lie, and neither did your instincts. 

You had been breaking your back for this company, pouring your energy and sleepless nights into making sure everything ran perfectly. This empire, this colossal corporation, was Vox’s pride and joy, the very foundation of his identity. And for you? He was your everything. That fact alone kept you tethered, pushing yourself past every limit to prove your worth, not just to the company but to him. 

But now, just a week before Christmas, the ache in your chest wouldn’t let you ignore a different kind of frustration. Vox had told you where he’d be spending the holiday, and it was with the Vees, as he so often did for appearances. Like estranged parents negotiating custody of a child, you and Vox had fallen into an uneasy rhythm: alternating Christmases between each other and his business associates. 

Every other year, he tried to make time for you. But not every year. No, he couldn’t afford that luxury. He was going to spend two Christmases in a row with Valentino. In order to maintain his position as one of the most powerful overlords in Hell, he had to show the world that his alliances with the other Vees were unshakable. A united front kept the vultures circling his throne at bay. It was a matter of survival, of dominance—a game you understood but couldn’t help resenting. 

And yet, you were selfish. You wanted him to spend every Christmas with you. You had foolishly thought that throwing yourself into your work—proving your value to him—might win you more of his attention. But the glazed look in his eyes when you presented your findings told you otherwise. Your efforts were only exhausting him, pushing him further away. 

Then, something changed. The sound of your candy clicking against your teeth as you swirled it with your tongue drew his attention. His lips trembled faintly, and when you bent over to glare at him, you caught the flicker of his gaze drifting down, lingering on the curve of your cleavage. You didn’t miss the way his legs shifted, nor the unmistakable bulge pressing against the fabric of his tailored slacks. 

You froze mid-thought, a mix of incredulity and amusement washing over you. You’ve got to be kidding me, you thought, your lips curling into a sly smile. Maybe hard work wasn’t the key to his attention. Perhaps, instead of burning yourself out for his empire, you needed to tease him, to remind him of what you both had been denying during this so-called "cooling period." 

It was all an act, wasn’t it? This charade where Vox had to spend more time with Valentino, where Voxtek was a stage and everyone within it mere actors playing their roles to maintain the narrative. But even amidst the theatrics, your feelings remained agonizingly real. 

You realized it then—pathetically, achingly—that you would take scraps of his affection over nothing at all. No matter how much it hurt to love him like this, to be sidelined for power plays and public optics, you knew where your heart stood. 

Damn it all. 

Damn your weakness. 

If only falling out of love with him were easy. Maybe then you wouldn’t still be tethered to this ridiculous game, wouldn’t feel the constant ache that settled deep in your chest. It wasn’t sharp enough to command your attention outright, but it was always there—lingering, humming just beneath the surface, a persistent throb that refused to be ignored. 

But then you’d see him. That goofy grin lighting up his face, the faint flush creeping across his cheeks, and the way his dark eyes sparkled when you drew closer. He’d shift in his seat, his legs crossing tighter, as if that could possibly hide the growing evidence of his desire straining against his trousers. And damn it, amusement bloomed in you, warm and wicked. 

And with it came love. Unbidden, unwanted, but impossible to deny. 

So, like everything else in Hell, you coped. And damn, you were a champion at it. 

It had all started innocently enough. 

Whenever you visited Vox’s office, you’d absentmindedly bring a lollipop to occupy your lips as you briefed him on your reports. It was a harmless habit—or so you thought. But you quickly noticed how transparent Vox could be with his desire. Every time you rolled the candy from one side of your mouth to the other, his Adam’s apple would bob, and his legs would shift, crossing tighter in what was clearly a futile attempt at composure. 

You couldn’t help but wonder if he realized just how much you could see from where you stood. After all, while he sat in his grand chair, you stood above him, with a perfect vantage point of the telltale bulge pressing against his slacks. 

The sight filled you with a petty sense of vindication. After all, he was the one who’d decided on this ridiculous “chaste” period while he focused on strengthening ties with Valentino. He was the one who left you on this infuriating dry streak. And damn it, your wrist had paid the price—aching from nights spent pleasuring yourself alone, whispering his name into the empty room like some pathetic lovesick fool. 

What started as a bit of harmless mischief soon evolved into something far more deliberate. 

The next day, you let the lollipop drag slowly from your lips, its glossy surface glinting in the office’s dim light as you hummed thoughtfully. You made a show of running your tongue over it, gliding against its smooth, round surface in slow, purposeful strokes. You didn’t miss the way his breath hitched, his jaw tightening as his dark eyes flicked to your mouth. 

It was intoxicating to watch him unravel. 

His hands gripped the armrests of his chair as if that might anchor him, but you saw the faint tremor in his fingers. When your tongue swirled around the candy’s tip in a motion that mimicked the way you���d tease the head of his cock, his pupils dilated, and his legs shifted again, as if trying to hide what you already knew. 

You wouldn’t fold this time. No, if Vox wanted release, he could find it with Valentino. After all, wasn’t that the point of this charade? 

What had begun as a mild tease quickly spiralled into a full-blown war—a war of wills and lust, where neither of you would back down. 

Day by day, you escalated your efforts. You leaned a little closer when handing him papers, your blouse conveniently unbuttoned just enough to give him a tantalizing glimpse. You bent over his desk with purpose, knowing full well how his gaze would drop to the curve of your hips. And through it all, you savoured your lollipop as if it were the most indulgent, sensual thing in the world, your tongue dancing across its surface in ways you knew would drive him to the brink. 

If he wanted to play games, you’d make sure to win. And when he finally begged, you weren’t even sure if you’d give him the satisfaction. Perhaps you’d simply smile, press the lollipop between your lips, and leave him aching for more. 

Three days before Christmas, you arrived at Vox’s office with a new treat in hand—a long spiral rainbow candy stick, whimsically dubbed "unicorn candy." The bright, multicoloured confection was playful on the surface, but you had every intention of turning it into something far more provocative. At this point, there was no pretense, no attempt to feign innocence. You both knew exactly what game you were playing, and you were determined to win. 

“Y-you’ve been sucking—ahem, eating—a lot of lollipops lately, sunshine,” Vox stammered, his usual smooth demeanour cracking under the weight of his growing tension. His laugh was strained, and once again, his legs crossed tightly, an all-too-familiar gesture. 

“Hmmm,” you hummed softly, the sound lilting and indulgent. “I guess I’ve been craving something sweet for the holidays. Keeps my energy up with all this year-end work,” you said nonchalantly, your tone light as your tongue flicked out to trail along the candy’s length. 

The texture was delightful—each ridge and spiral of the rainbow candy caught on your tongue as you languidly dragged it up the length. A medley of tropical flavours burst across your taste buds: cherry, pineapple, grape, green apple, orange. It was unexpectedly delicious, and for a fleeting moment, you almost forgot you were toying with him. Almost. 

“Y-yeah, maybe I should, uh, get you something to suck on,” Vox muttered, his voice low and trembling as he clasped his hands tightly, pressing them against his knee to steady himself. 

“Oh?” you murmured, the word slipping out in a soft, sultry breath. Your eyes turned hooded, heavy with playful intent, as you tilted your head and let your tongue drag from the base of the candy to its pointed tip. The movement was languid, each inch of the candy coated in a slow, sensual glide. 

When you reached the end, your lips parted, and you engulfed the tip, drawing the candy deeper, inch by inch. The faint wet sound of your tongue and lips working echoed in the room, and Vox’s breath audibly hitched. 

“Anything you want, babydoll,” he rasped, the words drenched in both surrender and desire. Slowly, he uncrossed his legs, spreading them wide in a bold, almost territorial gesture. His arousal was blatantly obvious now, the thick bulge in his pants straining against the fabric as he leaned back in his chair like a king on his throne. His cocky grin returned, though his eyes betrayed the fire smouldering within. 

“Maybe… another one of these lollipops?” you teased, your lips curving into a wicked smile before you turned on your heel and left without another glance. You didn’t need to look back to imagine the way his expression twisted—shocked, aroused, and undoubtedly frustrated. 

The day before Christmas, you decided to take things to the next level. Vox had been calling and messaging you all day, but you ignored him, silencing your Vwatch and tucking it into your desk drawer. You knew his patience was wearing thin, and more than anything, you knew how much he hated being ignored. 

It was after hours, and your office was dark except for the soft glow of your desk lamp. You had one last trick up your sleeve, a final act to push him to his breaking point. From your bag, you pulled out a candy you’d picked up from a sex shop—a thick, sculpted piece moulded into the unmistakable shape of a cock. The translucent blue candy gave off the sharp, tangy scent of blue raspberry as you unwrapped it, the faint crinkle of plastic breaking the silence. 

You’d barely finished peeling off the wrapper when there was a sharp knock at your door—three quick, decisive raps. 

With a cheshire grin, you placed the candy between your lips and called out in a sing-song voice, “Come in.” 

The door to your office swung open with force, revealing Vox with his brows slanted down in fury. His lips parted, ready to unleash his frustration. “What’s wrong with your Vwa—” He froze mid-sentence, his dark gaze locking onto the candy in your hand and then trailing to your lips. His expression shifted, a mix of incredulity and exasperation. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he muttered, the edge of a breathy laugh betraying his mounting frustration. 

You tilted your head, feigning innocence, even as the corners of your lips curled into a teasing smile. The heat of his gaze burned into you, and you could feel his restraint fraying by the second. 

All week, you’d been pushing him. A casual brush of your hand against his shoulder when you said goodbye, your fingers lingering just a moment too long. A deliberate lean against the hallway wall, directly in front of one of the security cameras, where you made a show of sucking and licking a lollipop. You wondered how many times he’d watched the playback, his fists clenched, jaw tight, and—if you were lucky—his hand drifting lower, succumbing to his desire you so carefully crafted. 

“Hm?” you hummed softly, pressing the tip of the cock-shaped candy against your lips, your eyes wide and falsely oblivious. “Yum!” you exclaimed, savouring the sharp tang of blue raspberry as you slowly wrapped your lips around the candy and let it glide between them. 

Vox’s hands clenched at his sides as he growled low in his throat, the sound rough and dangerous. “What game are you playing with me, babydoll?” His voice was a rumble, thick with barely contained desire as he shut the door firmly behind him. Each step he took toward you felt deliberate, measured, as though he were reining himself in by sheer force of will. 

He didn’t stop until he was towering over you, his presence oppressive and electrifying all at once. Without warning, his hand shot out and ripped the candy from your grasp. You barely resisted, your grin widening as you leaned back in your chair, looking up at him with shameless amusement. 

“Nothing,” you said airily, your tone saccharine sweet. “I just needed a little sugar boost to get through all this overtime on Christmas Eve.” 

Vox’s eyes bored into yours, searching, assessing, before his lips curled into a devilish grin of his own. “Yeah?” he murmured, his voice soft and dangerous. In one fluid motion, he pushed your chair away from the desk, his imposing frame looming over you. His arousal was evident now, straining against the fabric of his pants, the bulge unashamedly bold. 

“Go on, take your sugar hit, babydoll,” he purred, his voice a velvet command as he held the candy by his crotch, the implication as obvious as his growing smirk. 

You stifled a laugh, leaning forward until your palms pressed against his thighs. You felt the twitch of his cock through the fabric, the heat of him radiating against your fingertips. “I think the candy’s bigger,” you murmured with a wicked glint in your eyes. 

Vox inhaled sharply, his jaw tightening, but his glare was laced with something darker, more primal. He didn’t stop you as your tongue flicked out, teasing the tip of the candy before tracing languidly along its length. You worked the sweet with deliberate precision, your lips sliding over it inch by inch, your eyes never leaving his face. 

His gaze burned into you, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. Slowly, he rolled his hips, guiding the candy in and out, his movements precise and teasing. 

“Close your eyes, babydoll,” Vox whispered, his voice laced with mischief, his grin daring. 

You snorted softly, but complied, shutting your eyes with a playful roll. You heard the faint thud of the candy being discarded, followed by the unmistakable sound of his zipper sliding down. The tension in the room thickened, and then you felt it—hot and heavy, the velvety tip of his cock pressing against your bottom lip. 

“Go on,” he groaned, his voice rough and needy. “Keep sucking. Show me how much you adore your treat.” 

Your lips parted, the salty tang of him flooding your senses as your tongue darted out to taste him. “Hmm,” you hummed, your voice thick with amusement and arousal. “It tastes different, Vox.” 

He let out a low chuckle, but it turned into a sharp intake of breath as your tongue swirled over the sensitive head, teasing the underside with slow strokes. “Mhm,” you moaned softly, the vibrations sending a shiver through him as your lips curled into a smile. You pushed his foreskin back gently, your tongue exploring every inch of him with unhurried attention, relishing in every reaction, every hitch in his breath. 

And oh, did he respond. 

“Ah, fuck,” Vox groaned, his voice thick with desperation as he pushed his cock past your lips. His breath hitched, a guttural sound that resonated in the room. “All week,” he murmured, his tone both reverent and frustrated, “you’ve been sucking on that damn lollipop right in front of me.” He exhaled sharply, the weight of him pressing against your tongue, his cock brushing the sensitive ridges with every agonizing inch he slid deeper. “Fuck, look at you,” he rasped, his hand cradling the back of your head, “can’t get enough of sucking, huh?” 

He began to roll his hips, his movements fluid, plunging and withdrawing in a hypnotic rhythm. Each thrust made your lips tighten around him, creating a seal that drew a shiver from him. Your tongue worked him skilfully, tracing the veins along his shaft, savouring the salty, musky taste of him. 

When you looked up at him, his jaw tightened, and a wicked grin spread across his face. “Oh, fuck,” he growled, pressing your head down until your nose was flush against his hips, his cock filling your throat. “Look at you. Fucking perfect. Do you know how many times I’ve had to fuck my fist in the office because of you?” he murmured, his voice strained, his hips stuttering as he felt your throat tighten around him. 

You pulled back with a soft gasp, a thin line of saliva connecting your lips to his throbbing length. Rising from your chair, you reached beneath your skirt, slipping your thong down your legs. The fabric pooled at your ankles, and you stepped out of it slowly, your movements teasing. Vox’s eyes were locked on you, dark with hunger, as you motioned him toward your chair. 

He followed without hesitation, collapsing into the seat with his legs spread wide, his cock gleaming with your saliva. It twitched with anticipation, every pulse revealing his desperation. His eyes trailed up your body, lingering on the damp heat between your thighs as you hitched up your skirt. 

“Go on,” he growled, his voice rough, his chest heaving. “Wrap those pretty lips around me, babydoll.” 

You smirked, leaning forward to trace a finger down his chest. “That depends,” you purred, your voice dripping with saccharine mischief. “Did you get me anything for Christmas?” 

Vox groaned, the tension in his jaw evident as he watched you straddle his lap, your slick heat brushing against the tip of his cock. “Oh, fuck, doll,” he rasped, his hands twitching at his sides, aching to touch you. “Anything you want. It’s yours.” 

“Anything?” you whispered, leaning closer, your lips brushing the side of his bezel as a sharp grin spread across your face. 

“Any—ah!” His words turned into a guttural cry as you sank onto him in one fluid motion, taking him to the hilt. The stretch was intoxicating, every inch of him filling you completely, his cock pressing against places your fingers couldn't reach. 

Your head fell back, a sharp gasp escaping your lips as the heat of him overwhelmed you. His hands instinctively flew to your hips, but you caught his wrists, pinning them above his head. 

“Stay still,” you commanded, your voice low and sultry, your fingers tightening around his wrists. 

“Fuck, doll,” Vox groaned, his chest rising and falling with every ragged breath. He bucked his hips slowly, testing your restraint, dragging his cock out of you with agonizing precision before thrusting back in, his pace purposeful and calculated. 

“You want to ride me like this?” he asked, his voice hoarse, his crimson eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. 

“Yes,” you moaned, your hips rolling in slow, tantalizing circles. The slick heat between your thighs grew with every movement, every stroke sending sparks of pleasure rippling through you. You gripped his wrists tighter, enjoying the way he strained against your hold, his body desperate to take control but choosing to be at your mercy. 

Vox groaned, his lips parting as he watched you, utterly enthralled. “Fuck,” he whispered, his hips meeting yours with deeper, harder thrusts, “you feel so fucking good. Let me—” 

“Not yet,” you interrupted, your voice a breathy command as you leaned down, your lips brushing against his lips. “I’m not done with you.” 

The tension that had simmered for days finally erupted, and the small office was filled with the sounds of desperate moans as the dam of frustration broke. Vox’s thrusts grew frenzied, each one deeper and harder than the last, his hips slamming against you with reckless abandon. The sharp, wet slaps of skin against skin echoed, punctuated by his low, guttural growls and your breathy cries. Every movement sent jolts of pleasure through you, his cock filling you completely, hitting spots that left you trembling. 

But it wasn’t enough. You needed more. You needed to fall first, to shatter in his arms before he could. 

Bracing one hand behind you on his knee for balance, you brought your other hand down between your thighs. Your fingers, slick with your own arousal and the heat of the moment, found your swollen clit. You rubbed in tight circles, matching the rhythm of his relentless thrusts. Each touch sent sparks of electric heat coursing through your body, pushing you closer to the edge. 

“Fuck, that’s so hot,” Vox groaned, his voice gravelly and filled with awe. His eyes never left you, dark and hungry, watching every movement. “Is this how you want me to fuck you, baby? Just like this?” 

“Yes!” you gasped, your voice breaking as pleasure began to consume you. “Yes, baby, just like this. Don’t stop. Don’t you fucking stop.” 

The coil in your stomach wound tighter and tighter, the tension almost unbearable. Your muscles quivered, your breathing ragged and uneven. Your thighs trembled as his cock pounded into you, the friction sending shockwaves of pleasure straight to your core. 

“Cum, baby,” Vox growled, his hands gripping your waist as he drove into you with unrelenting force. “Let me feel you. Cum for me. I want to see you fall apart.” 

His words were your undoing. The coil snapped, and the world fell away as euphoria crashed over you. Your walls clenched around him, pulsing and fluttering in rhythm with the waves of your orgasm. A scream tore from your lips, raw and unrestrained, as your body shuddered uncontrollably. Vox’s strong hands caught you as you collapsed forward, your strength momentarily gone, your chest heaving against his. 

He slowed his movements, basking in the way you trembled and contracted around him, a satisfied smirk curling his lips as he watched you come undone. His cock throbbed inside you, the heat of him still buried deep as he held you close, his breathing just as heavy as yours. 

“Vox, baby?” you whispered, your voice soft and breathless, your head lolling against his shoulder. 

“Yeah?” he murmured, his tone low and husky, his hands caressing your back as if grounding you. 

“You said I could have anything, right?” You leaned back slightly, your fingers lightly grazing the edge of his TV-shaped head, the soft glow of his screen reflecting in your eyes. 

“That’s right,” he rumbled as he slowly began to roll his hips, thrusting deeply into you. “Name it, doll, and it’s yours.” 

A slow smile spread across your lips, playful and teasing. “I want ornaments,” you whispered, your voice laced with sweet mischief. 

For a moment, Vox blinked, and his hips stuttered to a halt, the tension in his face melting into something utterly baffled. “Ornaments?” 

You couldn’t help the soft laugh that bubbled up, your fingers tracing a pattern along his screen as your body settled into his. Moments like these, where he promised you the world with husky words and the unspoken weight of emotions too vast to name, left you breathless. Yet, they always carried the bittersweet edge of reality, a fine print neither of you could escape. 

“Yup, the bluest of them all,” you said, your voice sweet and sharp like shattered glass. Before Vox could react, you pushed off his lap, his aching, needy cock slipping from your warmth. The cool air hit your thighs, slick with the evidence of your release, but you didn’t falter. Standing to your full height, you smoothed down your skirt, your hands trembling only slightly. 

“A blue ball,” you continued, the edge in your grin cutting deeper than any knife, “more precisely.” 

“What—?” Vox froze, his screen flickering faintly as his system lagged, trying to process what had just happened. 

You tilted your head, feigning innocence as you leaned closer, your voice a dagger cloaked in silk. “Just like you said, Vox. We’re in our ‘cooling period,’ right?” You gave him a wink, the gesture as playful as it was cruel. 

Taking a step back, you added with a smirk that didn’t quite reach your eyes, “Maybe Valentino can help you finish up.” Another step, your heels clicking against the floor like the ticking of a clock. “After all, this Christmas, you’re spending time with him, aren’t you?” 

The words hung in the air like a noose, tightening with every passing second. 

Vox didn’t speak. He couldn’t. A flicker of emotions crossed his features—hurt, guilt, shame—all laid bare, unguarded. His usual smooth facade cracked, and for once, he had no quick remark, no clever retort. 

You wanted to laugh. God, you wanted to laugh. But it lodged in your throat, sharp and bitter, like a bone you couldn’t swallow. 

He was the one who had said it, after all. That the two of you needed space. A cooling-off period, as if your feelings were something to compartmentalize, to lock away until convenient. He didn’t want Valentino to find out. Couldn’t risk the nature of your relationship being exposed. 

Because to the world, to Valentino, to everyone… 

You were nothing. 

A secret. 

A stain on his perfectly pressed, polished life. 

The realization settled in your chest like a stone, heavy and suffocating. Yet, despite knowing this, you’d still allowed yourself to hope. To play along. To tease him, laugh with him, spend stolen moments in his arms. 

You loved him. 

God help you, you loved him. 

And that’s what made it hurt the most. 

You weren’t a good person, and neither was he. That was the truth of it—the ugly, undeniable truth. Yet, there was a twisted beauty in the misery, a strange allure to being scum, fractured, broken, and unhealthy. In a place like this, where two murky, tainted souls could mingle and burn together in eternal damnation, wasn’t that, in its own way, a kind of love? 

Even knowing that, you still danced. To the lies, the omissions, the hurt. Because this wasn’t a fairy tale, and love—real love, especially in Hell—was never clean or simple. It was raw and jagged, multifaceted like a rough gem embedded in stone, each angle catching shards of light and shadows alike. 

But it was still your life to live. Your choices to make and stand by, no matter how painful they were. That was the only truth you could cling to. 

And so, you kept choosing him. Time and again, despite everything. Because deep down, beneath the bitterness and bruises, you clung to the hope of a future for him. For both of you. In this hopeless, burning wasteland, wasn’t that a kind of rebellion? 

How laughably, pathetically human of you. 

“Merry Christmas, Vox, perhaps next year,” you whispered softly, your voice trembling with everything you couldn’t bring yourself to say. Then you turned on your heel, the echo of your steps slicing through the thick silence – your movements mirroring last Christmas with him, except this time, the roles were reversed.  

Behind you, he remained frozen, his mouth half-open, his digital eyes flickering with a storm of emotions. Hurt. Guilt. Longing. You could feel it, the weight of his unspoken words, the pull of his regret. 

He knew what he needed to do to make you stay. 

But he didn’t move. 

He...wouldn't, would he?

And that was, perhaps, the greatest tragedy of all. 

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[lateatnewyork]

Listen- I had an idea. I was thinking about a Lucien Vanserra and the reader feeking the bond snap? But Lucien feeling like he's not worthy of her but she tells him how pretty his eyes are? Even with the scar? I was thinking of adding the prompt 32 angst and 12 fluff maybe.

Scars and All

Lucien x Archeron!reader, Helion x reader (father, daughter dynamic)

Warnings: angst, swearing, fluff

Prompts: Fluff- “I wish you could see the way I see you,” Angst- “You… why did it have to be you?”

Summary: The youngest Archeron sister has always been ignored and rejected by everyone. When she finally finds her mate in the Day Court who thought her heart could’ve broken more at the rejection of someone who was made to love her?

a/n i legit could not find any good headers for this so i downloaded 6 billion of them from pinterest, my sister had made this dress for herself and i had direct access to it thats why the description is so long 😭 im trying a new thing with describing facial features and stuff like that more lmk if u like it or not. ✨ not edited ✨

There was a ball in Day Court, almost all high fae were invited, and as the sister in law to the High Lord of Night Court it was compulsory for all of us to be there.

The dress I'm wearing is a masterpiece of intricacy and elegance, designed to captivate and command attention. Crafted from the finest materials, it combines delicate silk and ethereal lace, creating a harmonious blend of softness and sensuality. The color chosen is a rich midnight blue, reminiscent of the starry night sky that blankets the Night Court.

The bodice of the dress is a work of art, adorned with intricate silver and sapphire beadwork that accentuates the curves of the wearer. It plunges low, revealing a hint of the wearer's décolletage, while thin, delicate straps grace the shoulders, adding a touch of allure. The back of the dress dips in a graceful V, teasing a glimpse of smooth, exposed skin.

From the waist, the dress cascades into a flowing skirt, made of layers of diaphanous silk that sways with every step. The fabric is sheer and airy, allowing a tantalizing view of the wearer's legs as she moves, creating an alluring dance between modesty and seduction. The hemline is asymmetrical, with delicate lace trim that adds a touch of whimsy and femininity.

As I move, the dress catches the light, shimmering and sparkling like a constellation in the moonlit sky. It exudes an air of confidence and sophistication, empowering the woman who wears it to embrace her inner strength and beauty.

The dress wasn't my first choice though. My first choice was an indigo dress with a sweetheart neckline, that showed just enough of my cleavage to not be named as slutty. It had a slit that showed my whole right leg, but Elain had liked that dress after she saw it in my wardrobe, so I gave it to her.

She always got what she wanted.

I wasn't a type of feminine beauty like my sisters. They all had graceful features and beautiful dainty blonde hair. Nesta and I were the most similar with our sharp features.

But that's where the similarities ended.

My hair was a lustrous cascade of ebony strands, shimmered like a moonless night sky, reflecting an ethereal sheen with every subtle movement. Its glossy surface captured the light, revealing depths of darkness that held an irresistible allure.

Once I had slipped my heels on, I headed down the stairs where everyone else was waiting for me. My lips curved into a sly smile when everyone's attention was on me, glancing over the room, my eyes stopped at Elain. Her dress (my dress) was falling at all the wrong places.

She wasn't as curvy as me, Nesta and Feyre. I don't get why she would want the dress, it's obviously not fitting her properly. Ignoring Elain's incessant huffing, I head to Nesta and Cassian.

“You look absolutely breathtaking tonight, sister,” I compliment, giggling.

“I love this dress on you,” she gushes.

Nesta was my best friend, my confidant, the sister who cared for me.

“But I would’ve loved to have seen the other dress on you,” she continues. “You shouldn’t have given it to Elain,”.

“Oh it’s fine, look at the absolute beauty I have found instead,” I reassure.

“Elain are you sure you don’t want to change your dress,” Feyre asks.

Nesta and I snicker behind our hands, Elain turns around towards us and I watch in glee as her faces turns into a scowl.

“I’m fine can we leave already” she snaps.

Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today.

Cassian winnows Nesta, Rhysand and Feyre, Azriel and Elain, while Mor winnows me.

Landing outside the day court palace, I mentally take in the beauty of the place. The sandy blocks making the palace and the beautiful candles hung at every corner. There truly is no darkness.

I look down at my dress, skepticism glazes over my face. I shouldn’t have worn such an eye catching dress.

How was I meant to know that there would be lights everywhere?

Cauldron fucking boil me.

After some mindless chatter with Feyre about how excited she is to show me her paintings. We’re escorted inside to see the High Lord of the Day Court lounging on his throne, looking like the childish playboy he is. Even though he was centuries old.

His beauty was otherworldly, the way his onyx locks cascaded down his back like they were paid to do so. Piercing amber orbs stared down at everyone. Clad in only a white fabric that was draped over him, he had an easy going presence to him. The sharp points of his golden crown glinting under the bright lights.

But the vision next to him put the Night Court stars to a shame. He was the sun personified. Tan skin, lighter than his father’s but darker than mine. Auburn red hair, similar to his father’s in length, rested along his back. A scar ran from just above his eyebrow to his jaw. His eyes met mine, maroon and golden. His features picked apart weren’t attractive but somehow together on him, he looked like a god.

My breath caught in my throat as my eyes blurred in and out of focus. Once they went back to normal I saw a single golden thread tugging. My eyes followed the thread back to Lucien.

I ran outside. Mother’s tits, I found my mate.

I gave an experimental tug on the bond revelling in the feeling of being complete. Tugging on it again, I let him know I wanted to see him.

Sitting there on the roof, I waited for five minutes, then ten, soon twenty and as quickly as my hope had been born it had faded away. But still remnants of it remained, maybe he couldn’t get away so soon, after all he was the heir to the Day Court.

Holy shit, he was the heir to the Day Court, what if he wanted nothing to do with me?

My thoughts spiralled one after the other.

A throat cleared behind me. Turning around to look at Lucien, I beckon him over.

“I’m Y/N, I already know who you are so introductions won’t be necessary” My attempt at a joke fails.

Finally taking a closer look at his face, I take in the pained expression. “Are you all right?” concern laces my voice, I stand up and whisper, “Have you had enough to eat you look like you’re about to pass out,”.

I’m about to leave and grab him some food, when he speaks, “You… why did it have to be you?”.

I freeze in place, I don’t dare to turn around. My mind flashes with memories of Feyre not wanting to teach me archery because she was busy, or how the boys at Rita’s never even looked at me, or how Elain took it upon herself to make me hate everything about me, or how everyone had their other half and I had just found mine. But not even a full hour of knowing me he hated me.

And somehow after all those years of rejection, self hatred and jealousy my heart broke one last time.

I assume he could feel it through the bond, as I wasn’t all that used to blocking people out of my mind yet.

I run down the stairs to get off the roof, to get as far away from him as possible.

Finally, finding an unoccupied balcony on the opposite side of the palace, I settled there, sobbing my broken heart out. The kohl from my eyes streaming down my face. My fingers red from rubbing my stinging eyes.

I looked around at the material of the dress pillowing around me. Such a waste of such a breathtaking dress.

Soft crying filled the room, my ears were ringing as I hadn’t heard the High Lord of Day Court enter.

“My dear, may I ask what’s wrong?” He asked, worry evident in his voice.

Gasping I stood up and did a sorry excuse of a curtesy, “High Lord” I bowed my head.

“Helion is fine,”

He sat down right next to the place where I was sitting. His muscled arm gently tapped the spot beside him as an invitation.

I sit down, smoothing my skirts out.

As if he can sense the awkwardness he clears his throat and says “We can stay quiet or we can talk about my son or your mate?”.

My eyes widen in shock. “How do you know me?” I mutter out.

“Sunshine I’m the High Lord of Day Court and unbeknownst to you, Rhysand talks a lot about you during meetings so most of the high lords consider you a little sister, but for me you’re like the daughter I never had,” he confesses.

A man I had not met before today, considered me his daughter, and six other high lords think of me as a little sister. My eyes well up in tears, my father had been one of the only people other than Nesta to ever truely care about me. And I had cried for months when he died.

To have someone think of me as their daughter again brought out a fresh wave of tears.

As if reflex, my head rests against Helion’s shoulder, we gaze into the night sky, in a comfortable silence. A strong hand reaches out and softly taps my head in a soothing rhythm.

“It’s ok sunshine.” he whispers.

After a while my tears stain my cheeks, Helion speaks up “I think you should give your mate another chance, I think you’ve mistaken his intentions,”.

Taking in his advice, I wordlessly stand up and hug the high lord. “Thank you” I breathe out.

Pulling away, I walk through corridors in search of Lucien.

A hand grabs mine and pulls me into a dark corner, while another hand muffles my screams.

I’m about to put the training Cassian gave me into use when I see a familiar pair of mismatched eyes.

“You can’t scream, I just wanted to talk to you,” he pleaded. Once his hand reluctantly leaves my mouth, I nod as a signal for him to keep going.

“When I said what I said before, I didn’t mean it as if you weren’t good enough for me,” he started. “I meant it as I didn’t think I was good enough for you.” My eyes soften at his words. “I mean yes I am devastatingly handsome,” I roll my eyes at his smug words, unable to hide my own smile when his lips twitch upwards.

“But I don’t think I could ever be good enough for you, a thousand lifetimes over,” he whispers, impossibly close to me but at the same time painfully far away.

“I wish you could see yourself the way I see you, Lucien,” I mumble cupping his cheek. “Please have me,” he murmurs.

I grab his face gently and fuse our lips together.

“I’m yours, if you’re mine,”

a/n i’m sorry girl dad!helion is just too good to resist and like imagine being like a little sister to all the high lords (instead of heron it’d be eris), hope you like it anon 🫶🏻

[thepaperpanda]

Everyone might’ve heard us - Bucky Barnes headcanons & drabble

Summary: a set of headcanons & a little drabble for drunk sex with Bucky

Warnings: smut (unprotected p in v), semi-public sex, drunk sex, female reader

Author: Fenrir

A/N: Today's prompt is: drunk sex.

Masterlist

Everything becomes incredibly heightened when alcohol courses through his veins.

Barnes may be a little more aggressive in his sexual advances. 

Get ready to be thoroughly dominated and fucked mercilessly.

He's consistently forgetful about using condoms.

When he's drunk, Bucky becomes more interested in the idea of public sex - the mere possibility of getting caught red-handed is driving him wild.

Under normal circumstances, he can stifle his moans when you work your magic on his neck, but with the assistance of alcohol, he's a cacophony of pleasure - he’ll groan louder and more often.“Fuck, doll, you’re going to leave a trail of hickeys on my neck, aren’t ya?”

He'll thrust with unrestrained intensity, abandoning his usual caution as he seeks to pleasure you. He will be unstoppable.

Picture this: you both in front of a mirror, where he'll force you to watch how his thick cock slides in and out of your pussy. “You like that, babe? Look at that. My dick fits you fucking perfectly.”

And when he's inebriated, he tends to get a bit cheeky, chuckling as your body jolts because of overstimulation.

"Was that too much for you, babe?" 

He's the type to initiate a passionate makeout session while you're in the midst of your fucking session, savouring the intoxicating taste of alcohol and your essence on your lips.

And here's a surprise — he'll want to experiment with your vibrator, using it to enhance his own pleasure, fucking your tight asshole with the toy while his fat dick is buried deep in your needy cunt.

Bucky's moans will reach a level of eroticism that feels like the very essence of desire. He’s going to sound like a fucking porn star.

He'll cup and squeeze your breasts like there is no tomorrow.

Get ready for ultra hard spanking, especially involving his bionic hand.

He'll deliver the most intense spanks while fucking your tight cunny from behind. Bucky isn’t typically into things that could cause you pain, but now he's gripping your hair like he's taming a wild stallion.

If you happen to be on top, of him, riding his dick, Bucky'll take control by gripping your hips firmly, rendering you immobile while he thrusts up into you with such force that you'll need to cup a headboard to prevent yourself from falling off; the sole sound in the room will be his ball sack slapping against the plush of your ass.

Bucky’s a fucking tease and he would rub his hardened shaft against your wet clit and folds first before sliding it on without a single warning. “Yeah, fuck, you’re so tight for me.”

“Baaaby, ‘m gonna cum inside of you, ok?”

The soft glow of candlelight cast a warm ambiance over the restaurant as Bucky and you sat across from each other at a cosy corner table. The low hum of chatter and clinking cutlery surrounded you, creating a perfect backdrop for the evening ahead.

You had chosen a dress that you felt confident and beautiful in, its neckline gracefully emphasising your décolletage. The deep, rich colour of the dress seemed to catch the candlelight just right, enhancing the allure of the moment.

As the two of you delved into conversation, you couldn't help but notice Bucky's lingering gaze, his eyes locked onto you. His usual demeanour was softened by a faint, appreciative smile, and his blue eyes held a certain warmth that spoke volumes. It was as if the rest of the world had faded into the background, and in that moment, it was just the two of you, lost in the magnetic pull of your connection.

_________________________________

Bucky firmly pressed your face against the restroom door of the restaurant, his hand gripping your neck, and his bionic elbow securing you in place. His other hand boldly explored your ass, while his lips trailed against your cheek. “So fucking sexy, aren’t you, doll?”

You trembled at his touch, a dampness growing bigger between your thighs.

Hiking your dress up slightly, Barnes cupped his hand over your clothed core, groping it, smirking widely as he felt how wet you were. Bucky purred, releasing his firm hold on you and withdrawing his hand from your pussy. With a deft move, he spun you around to face him. His hungry lips devoured yours in an intense, passionate kiss. As the heat between you intensified, your hands urgently worked to remove each other's clothing. Bucky's hand slid up, hiking the dress to your tummy while his bionic arm worked on the fly of his jeans.

Breaking the kiss momentarily, Bucky locked eyes with you, searching for any hint of hesitation and finding none.

His hand firmly gripped the shaft of his hard dick that was freed, aligning it with your eager entrance, all the while maintaining intense eye contact with you. He entered you at a tantalisingly slow pace, and both of you couldn't help but moan in unison. Your fingers dug into Bucky's back as you clung to him.

Barnes' hands held your sides, and he began a rhythmic thrusting motion, pulling out and pushing in, all while burying his head in the crook of your neck. 

Both of you panted heavily, your nails leaving their mark on his skin, which only intensified his groans as he quickened his pace. "Fuck." 

Your legs wrapped around his waist as he held you mid-air, allowing for even deeper thrusts, his hips meeting yours with a passionate intensity.

Intense waves of pleasure coursed through your bodies, leaving you both in a state of ecstasy.

Your silky walls tightened around him, causing Bucky's cock to throb with pleasure. His hold on your sides grew even firmer; you could be sure he'd leave bruises there.

"You feel so amazing around my cock," Bucky moaned, his Romanian accent becoming deeper as he peppered the crook of your neck with sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. One of his hands wandered from your side, trailing up to the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair and gripping firmly.

"Bucky," you moaned in response as he continued his rhythmic thrusting, and they grew faster and more primal.

The room echoed with moans, groans, and the sounds of skin slapping against skin, a cacophony of pleasure. Both of you were lost in pure bliss, completely unconcerned about the possibility of anyone overhearing or getting into the restroom to catch you both red-handed.

As a familiar sensation welled up in the pit of your stomach, you could sense Bucky approaching his climax. His thrusts grew sloppier, his bionic hand that had been on your left sides now moving down to where you were intimately connected. The pad of his metal thumb found your clit, and he began rubbing it in rough circles, causing your toes to curl in your shoes as your orgasm surged through you.

Barnes wasn't far behind, delivering one final powerful thrust before his cock convulsed inside you. 

Your walls clenched tightly around him, and both of you reached the peak of pleasure simultaneously, filling the restroom with loud, unrestrained moans.

As he softened inside you, Bucky murmured a quiet, "I fucking love ya, babe."

Bucky leaned in close, his voice a hushed whisper, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "There's something about that electrifying thrill in my spine and tummy when I think about the possibility of getting caught fucking your cunt senseless." Bucky added with a cocky grin, "I'm pretty sure everyone in the dining room heard us."

[huramuna]

a maid's folly - chapter 6.

dark aemond x maid ofc minor aemond x floris baratheon work is 18+, minors do not interact, lest ye be smited.

previous | next

summary: a new maid from the Vale arrives at the Red Keep during a tumultuous time and becomes ensnared in the One-Eyed prince's web.

word count: 3.7k

girl.... it took a bit to get here but i hope its worth it - please let me know what you think

warnings: smut (details below cut), power imbalance, religious guilt, dark Aemond, canon typical misogyny, canon typical violence, Aemond being a touch starved weirdo, possessiveness, jealousy, this is going to be ANGSTY

oh to be in love - kate bush • mary on a cross - ghost

chapter specific warnings: violence, blood, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, virginity loss, biting

The next few weeks were good ones for Rosemary– the best ones since her mother passed. She fell into a quick companionship with Helaena, accepting her oddities as fun quirks, rather than bits of madness that everyone else seemed to discount them as.

Helaena was smarter than people gave her credit for. She was witty with a great sense of humor, often poking fun at courtiers and other denizens of the castle. She had a lot of inside knowledge on the gossip and going-ons of the Keep, as people weren't afraid to speak openly while she was in earshot, citing her as daft and not paying attention.

Rosemary and Helaena sat shoulder to shoulder on the settee near the window. It was open, a crisp breeze tousling their hair. 

The princess had promoted Rosemary to her handmaiden, thus upgrading her wardrobe significantly. They matched now, as Rosemary wore light blue dresses, her hair down in a braid. Helaena usually leaned towards cooler colors, like flushed blues and light purples. 

“I've heard that Floris is pitching a fit over the flowers chosen for the wedding,” Helaena chattered, pricking a needle into the fabric stretched over an embroidery hoop-- she was working on a depiction of a blue carpenter bee, “Mother told me she cried when the florist brought in white tulips instead of yellow.”

Rosemary snorted a small giggle, her hands tangled in Helaena's hair, defting the tresses into intricate braids, “And how has your brother taken all of this?”

Helaena was privy to Aemond and Rosemary's 'situation', whatever it may be– it was ill-defined at the moment. The corners of her eyes crinkled into a grin, “He is running Vhagar ragged with how much he flies her. Mother said that when Floris began to weep, he slipped out of the hall and was gone for four hours.”

“Yes, that sounds about right.” the maid hummed. 

The weeks with Helaena had also proven fruitful for Aemond and Rosemary’s interactions– they were still few and far between, with Aemond expressing more restraint than he had before, but he visited Helaena’s chambers more often, citing brotherly love as his reasoning for his frequent social calls.

He entered that day as usual, his arms behind his back. His eye zeroed in on Rosemary, his nostrils flaring ever so slightly. She wasn’t wearing her formless maid’s dresses any longer, as Helaena had her tailored for a few higher end pieces for her. They hugged her curves in the right places with a sweeping décolletage, exposing just the hinting swell of her chest, the light blue complimenting her complexion.

He had been visiting more lately, but the past few days had been taken up with frivolous wedding planning, and half a dozen flights on Vhagar. 

“Brother, you’re staring.” Helaena murmured.

He became all too aware of his surroundings, his mouth slightly dry and his clothes all too tight. It took him a moment to regain his stoic self, “I am merely trying to see what you’re embroidering, dear sister,” he walked forward, nodding his head to Rosemary, “My lady.” he mustered a greeting.

“Your grace,” she hummed in response, tying off Helaena’s braids with a small leather cord, “Would you like for me to braid yours as well?” she said it ever so innocently, but she was goading him. They were in each other’s proximity more often than not lately, with Rosemary often watching him spar in the courtyard from the spectator’s eaves They had developed a back and forth banter— he tested her limits with his witty remarks, and she teased him endlessly until she was all but sure that he would need to relieve himself later. It was a fun game, their little verbal spars, but Rosemary wondered when it would become reality. A man could only be teased so long. 

Aemond cleared his throat, “That won’t be necessary,” he glanced at her for a moment, his pupil blown wide. She knew she had him, hook, line and sinker. 

“Rosemary, weren’t you going to go to the market today?” Helaena redirected the conversation, “I know you had a few things to pick up.” 

The maid perked up, “Oh, yes— hm, I should get started now so mayhaps I’ll make it home before dark,” she squeezed Helaena’s shoulder affectionately, the princess leaning into her touch, “I will see you this evening, my lady,” she got up, smoothing out her dress, curtsying before Aemond, “My prince.” 

“Hm.” he grunted, letting her walk past him. 

She made a quick stop to her room, donning a cape jacket, her hands tying a ribboned, wide-brimmed sun hat to her head. Looping a bag around her shoulder, she set out to the corridors. 

Rosemary walked with purpose, reciting her list, “Lavender oil, honey cakes, lilac and blue thread, rock salt, goat’s milk…” she had her head down, navigating the halls absentmindedly. She brushed shoulders with someone, caught off guard by an anguished gasp. 

Stopping, she looked to see who she bumped, “My apologies,” Rosemary murmured, seeing that it was… Floris Baratheon. She recognized her from passing through Maegor’s Holdfast going to and from Helaena’s chambers, “My lady.” 

Floris scoffed, “Yes, well, watch where you are going,” she looked Rosemary up and down, a flicker of something akin to recognition passing through her eye, “Ah, you’re the princess’ handmaiden, are you not?” 

“Yes, my lady.” 

“I see,” she clicked her tongue, seemingly mulling over something in her head, “Where are you heading in such a hurry, then?”

“I have to pick up a few things from the markets, my lady— I wish to get back before it gets dark.” 

Floris blinked slowly, her hands coming together, “Ah. The markets,” she repeated, “Enjoy your errands.” 

Rosemary curtsied hurriedly, walking away. She had already wasted enough time dawdling. 

The trip down to the market square was fairly uneventful— she managed to get lost once or thrice, still unfamiliar with the layout of the city; she had only visited through it once before arriving at the Keep. 

She haggled with her fair share of merchants and most definitely overpaid for most things. It was a wonder that she managed to somehow haggle up the price. 

The last thing she retrieved was the goat’s milk— it wasn’t to be drinken, but to be added to her and Helaena’s baths. Rosemary had fond memories of her mother drawing her a hot bath and pouring flower oils and goat or sheep’s milk into it, along with the chipped pieces of rock salt. It left her feeling soft and fresh and she wished to experience it once again. 

The sun was beginning to set over the horizon. Helaena warned Rosemary to not be in King’s Landing at night and to always come back before the sun set. 

Rosemary gnawed at her bottom lip as she tried to retrace her steps. She could see the Red Keep up on the hill, but when she tried to navigate there, she ended up being cut off by dead ends, empty alleys, and paths looming with unsavory characters. 

She felt the bubble of panic rising in her chest, her thumb nail sinking into the soft of her palm. Her lip began to bleed from her incessant biting upon it in her anxiety driven state. 

Turning down another alley, she was met with a dead end again. Tears pricked at her eyes, feeling frustrated and helpless— how idiotic could she be to get lost? She could see the Keep but couldn’t reach it. 

Moving to retreat from the alley, she saw a hooded figure at the end of it, awaiting her. Her heart instantly jumped into her stomach and she froze. The dying light of the sun glinted off of something in its hand— a weapon. 

The tears came in full force now as she dropped her bag, backing up further against the wall. The figure descended upon her, brandishing a knife. It was a man, stocky and older. His breath smelled of decay and rot— he was hissing at her, like some kind of animal. 

Rosemary put her arms up to shield against the first swing, she had seen Aemond do something similar in his training sessions with Ser Criston– of course, he was a seasoned swordsman and usually swathed off an attack with a weapon, so this method was nowhere near as effective as he made it look— it ripped through the fabric of her dress, slicing against her arms. She whimpered in pain but shoved forward against him, knocking him off his balance. He kept up his garbled hissing, as if he was trying to say something. 

“Take my bag— the money is in there, just l-leave me be!” Rosemary cried, kicking the bag towards him. 

The man couldn’t look less interested as he regained his footing, coming in again for the second time. This attempt was fruitful as he knocked Rosemary to the ground— he was on top of her, slicing wildly, his mouth agape. He had no tongue. She tried to keep her arms up to stop him from hitting anything vital, the blade cutting through her skin like ribbons. She cried in pain, kicking and screaming, her blood trickling down onto her face, her dress.

Her life flashed before her eyes— her mother, Jeyne, Helaena, the children— Aemond. 

Suddenly, the man was dead weight against her and the dangerous edge of a sword poked through the front of his skull, mere inches from Rosemary’s face. 

It all felt like a haze, a blur. Was she already dead? She felt so cold, the rivulets of blood flowing across her skin feeling like shards of ice. Her vision closed and blackened around her. 

The weight of the man was kicked off of her and then she was scooped up— she was no longer cold, but warm. She was warm, like in a goat’s milk and lavender oil bath, the steamy water enveloping her like a second skin. She had to be dead, surely. 

“Rosemary,” a voice, familiar, murmured, “Stay awake. Fucking hell, I shouldn’t of let you go alone.” 

She glanced up, her vision still muddied and red— her own blood had dripped into her eyes, stinging. But she realized who was holding her, the flash of a single violet eye burning through her. Aemond.

“Ae… mond,” she whispered. 

“Don’t speak,” he grunted, “Just… stay awake, okay?” 

She didn’t know how long it was until the air around her turned from the flowing outdoor air, to a dank and almost tepid air. It was dark now, flashes of torches dancing in her eyes. 

Then she was set down— on something soft. It smelled like sandalwood and smoke. A bed. Aemond’s bed. 

He sat next to her, bandaging her arms, “You did good putting your arms up,” he said, wrapping the soft, spongy cloth material taut around the worst of her wounds, “Where did you learn that?”

Rosemary blinked, “… been watching you spar… recently,” she responded softly, “I might’ve… picked up a thing or two.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. It made her chest feel aflutter. “Hm,” he mused, “I never saw you there but once.”

“I was hiding… didn’t wish to distract you.” 

Aemond snorted then, rolling his eye, “Chin up,” his hand softly lifted up her head as he wiped a damp, lukewarm cloth over her face, cleansing the blood from her skin. 

“How did you know?”

He made a small noise of discontentment, “You were bound to find yourself in trouble. I saw you overpay for all of your items today, far above market price,” he looked away for a moment, “I can’t say I expected this to happen. But it… was good I was there, I suppose.” the cloth eased over her eyes, helping her sight come back into focus. 

She blinked profusely a few times, tears gathering at her waterline– not just from the irritation, but emotion. “... I don’t know what to say…”

Aemond put the cloth aside, “Usually, this is where one says ‘thank you’,” he chided, citing her taunt at him from a few weeks earlier, “How is the pain?”

Twisting her arms, she sucked in a breath of pain, “... hurts.” 

“It will for a while and will likely scar. But, better a scar than your life,” he hummed, his hand flexing and relaxing absentmindedly, “I’ll bring you a salve for them so they won’t mar your skin as terribly.” his hand reached for hers, turning her palm up. He was gentle, his skin warm.

“... thank you,” she murmured, closing his hand between both of hers, wincing at bit at the movement. “I don’t understand… he didn’t want my money or items– he was actively trying to kill me. To just kill me.”

Aemond looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, his mouth wrought into a thin line, “King’s Landing is a dangerous place– the Red Keep even more so. I… will try to figure out what it was– mayhaps a purposeful attack.”

“Purposeful? Why would anyone want to kill me?” 

“You are the princess’ handmaiden– you have eyes and ears into a lot of affairs in the Keep and perhaps you overheard something you shouldn’t have,” he let go of her hands for a moment, but not before rasping his thumb over her knuckles. He then began to pace. “Have you heard anything odd lately? Some conversation you shouldn’t have been privy to?”

Rosemary only now just saw how distraught Aemond looked– his hair was down completely, the leather tie used to pull it back to the nape of his neck gone, likely broken off. His hands were stained with blood, her blood, and the blood of her would-be killer. He looked a bit flushed, pacing back and forth like a caged animal, his footfalls heavy and filled with emotion– not like his usual silent, detached movements. 

“Aemond,” she murmured. He didn’t stop his pacing, muttering to himself, “Aemond. Aemond!” she raised her voice slightly, causing his head to snap towards her. “Please– we can worry about it all later, just… come here.”

He looked perplexed by her tone and loudness, but walked over anyway.

 In turn, she reached over and took an extra dampened cloth, holding out her hand, “Let me help.” she asked.

He sat down next to her on the bed, the mattress dipping under him. He bobbed his knee incessantly as Rosemary took his hands and washed them of the grime and blood. His jaw was clenched, his muscles taut as if he wanted to spring into action or mayhaps run out of the room.

“Relax,” she grumbled, “I should be the one nervous, not you.”

“I am nervous– you… you were almost killed. I was almost too late, Rosemary,” he spoke, his voice breaking from its usual even tone into something soft and more raw, “What the fuck would we have done if you were… slaughtered by some ingrate? Helaena and the children– they would be heartbroken,” he took in a sharp breath, “... I would be… devastated as well.”

Rosemary stowed away the cloth, her hands not once leaving his. Slowly and cautiously, she intertwined their fingers. It was an intimate gesture, something soft and soothing. She could feel her heart catch in her throat, her ears burning. “Well, you weren’t too late, were you?” she whispered, her voice almost silent. She glanced up at him, those big brown eyes of hers piercing a hole right through him, right into his soul. 

Untangling one hand from hers, his hand came beneath her chin, tilting it upward. “I might’ve burned this whole fucking city down if I was,” he murmured, leaning forward. They were so close, their lips ghosting over one another.

She felt the heat rise in her stomach, feelings jittering around against her ribcage like some of Helaena’s butterflies. Her eyes flicked to his lips, then back to his eye– she inhaled as she leaned in– and in turn, he did as well.

Their lips met– it was soft but intense all at once, the butterflies in her chest breaking free in a cacophony of emotion. It was chaste at first, their lips melding together like two puzzle pieces– before her lips parted slightly and she tilted forward more, her free hand coming up to his chest, but wavering. “C-can I touch you?” she asked, her words pressed against his mouth.

“Please– please touch me,” he practically pleaded, “I’ve waited so long.” 

Her hand slid up his chest slowly, her brow knitting in discomfort as her wounds pressed against the bandages. 

He took note of this, placing her hands on his hips and a likely more comfortable position for her. 

She hummed contentedly as she leaned farther into him, her lips parting once more to accommodate his tongue slipping into her mouth. She needed more of him, pressing as close as she could. She wanted to crawl inside of his ribcage and live there. It was something of comfort.

“Lay down,” he said, breaking their intimate closeness for just a moment, earning a disappointed whimper from her. “I need to taste you.”

Rosemary swallowed heavily, nodding slowly. “I’ve– I’ve never… done this before,” she breathed, “I’m still a maiden.” she scooted back to lay on the soft pillows, looking down. Her dress was a torn mess.

“All the reason to go slow, little lamb,” he responded in turn, edging up the skirt of her dress, “Tell me to stop if you need to.”

Biting her lip, she nodded. The feather light touch of his hand on her leg made her shiver, a coil of warm settling in her core. 

His hands, calloused and rough as they were, felt like smooth silk as they glided up her leg, bunching up her dress at her stomach. His fingers traced the stretch marks on her hips and thighs as if to commit them to memory. Aemond’s fingers hooked under her undergarments and slid them off– a wet strip of arousal prominently painted down the center of them. Grinning, he stowed them away in his pocket, “Hmm,” he hummed, using both hands to part her legs as if it were some great feat, like mounting a dragon or swinging a sword for the first time. “Beautiful.”

Rosemary felt her face go red as she looked down at him, his head between her legs. “Please.” she murmured, almost too quiet to hear.

She didn’t need to beg, not this time at least– he fulfilled her wish, licking a strip from the bottom of her parted folds up to her aching pearl, causing her to whimper. He was slow at first, eeking out every little sound he could out of her before beginning to feast, his tongue ringing circles around her sensitive bud, his hands gripping her thighs like he was a man staved, and she was his last meal before death.

Rosemary clutched the sheets, wanting to snap her legs close, but his strong grip kept them open– thank the Gods for that– the warmed coil inside of her slowly eking into a smolder. ‘A-Aemond, ah–” her first orgasm ripped through her like a bolt of lightning, her toes curling. Her legs wrapped around him as she clenched around nothing, whimpering his name like it was a prayer.

“That’s it,” he purred, “Bleating like a lamb for me– so soft, like I knew you’d be.”

She panted heavily, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her death grip on his head weakened slightly, allowing him to slip from between her legs for just a moment. 

“Let's get this dress off, hm? I want to see all of you.”

“If you undress, too– I won’t be the only one naked,” she grumbled.

He happily obliged, stripping his doublet and trousers and kicking them away, all too eager to get her out of her dress. His fingers deftly undid the buttons, slipping it off of her. A hand palmed one of her heavy breasts, rubbing a nipple between his fore and middle finger. 

“Eyepatch,” she mewled between tiny moans, “Take it off.”

He was a bit more hesitant here– his thumb hooking under the strap. Pausing for a moment, he looked to Rosemary once more. 

She was disheveled, her face flushed red, her hair coming out of her braid and flowing behind her in pale blonde tresses. Her eyes were half-lidded, lips parted ever so slightly. She wanted him, she wanted all of him– it was evident.

Foregoing any more doubt, he discarded the eyepatch, revealing his sapphire implant. 

Her half lidded eyes grew into large saucers, her breath hitching in her throat. Rosemary didn’t say anything else, giving a hum of contentment before pulling him back onto the bed for another kiss. 

“Beautiful,” she cooed between kisses.

It was enough to make Aemond blush– hiding his bashfulness by slipping his tongue back into her mouth, palming his cock in his fist. He swiped the head against her folds, gathering the slick and slowly sliding it in. 

“Gods above,” he grit his teeth, “Fucking tight.” his lips pressed against her neck, he buried himself to the hilt in her, waiting for her approval.

“F-full,” she whimpered, needing a moment to adjust to his size and the overall new sensation, before she nodded for him to proceed.

He moved slowly again, starting at a measured, deliberate pace, watching her face for any sign of discomfort. 

Soon enough, she relaxed into his rocking motions, beginning to enjoy it. His pace increased as he left red marks on her neck, sucking and bruising the delicate skin there. He wanted to be gentle– but he was still a dragon, and dragons were wholly possessive. 

The room was filled with the sounds of her soft whimpering moans and his grunts– the symphony of skin slapping against skin. 

Aemond clenched, feeling the tell-tale sensation that he was close, “F-fuck,” he groaned against her skin, teeth biting into her now, “My lamb– my pretty lamb– you should be my fucking wife. You’re mine, mine, m– fuck–” he stilled his movements as he spilled inside of her, his fingers gripping her hips like soft putty. 

She clenched around him, feeling the warmth of his exertions spread through her. Sweat beaded at her forehead and chest as her hummingbird heart slowed down finally. 

He didn’t pull out yet– rather, he wrapped his arms around her and held her to his chest, laying on his back now.

“Stay with me tonight– please. I wish to wake up next to you, if only this once.” he murmured, holding her close against his chest in his all encompassing hold.

“Of course, my dragon.”

taglist: @watercolorskyy @queen--kenobi @heartb8k2 @violetiss3lfish @toodlesxcuddles

[aquagirl1978]

U N D E R T H E W A V E S

william rex x reader | day 11 - mirror sex | tags: nsfw; minors - dni; piv; sex standing up; mirror sex; marking/biting

His mouth was hungry, his hands greedier as you stumbled into his bedroom, the soft click of a lock barely audible. Your mouth matched his hunger, tongues tangling and twisting to taste the other.

Will had surprised you earlier with an impromptu date earlier. He had bought you a new red dress that he insisted you wear before He whisked you away to an evening out at the theater. It had started to rain on your way back to the castle. Normally, Will would linger in the gardens whenever it rained, but this time he was unusually eager to head back to his room. 

He took you by the hand and spun you around, just the two of you in his room sharing a private dance. Laughter bubbled from your lips – you were so happy just to be with Will that you thought your heart might burst into a million pieces if you felt any happier. You didn't need anyone else, you didn't want anyone else. Just Will, only Will. 

Enamored by his adoring gaze and dizzy from dancing, you did not notice the tall cheval mirror until you were standing right in front of it.

“Is that new?” you asked.

“I got it for you, so you can see how you look when you're getting ready every day.” Reflected in the mirror was too mischievous a smile on Will’s face to have simply spoiled you with yet another gift. You might not be able to read his mind yet, but you knew that wasn't the full answer.

He unbuttoned his shirt and enveloped you in his arms from behind; the heady scent of roses was intoxicating as you breathed it in, savoring the sweet floral smell that was Will.  

“I really got it for us.” He traced the slope of your shoulder with his long fingers, then along your collarbone. The scratching of his blood-red nails was enough to send shockwaves throughout your entire body. 

When he slipped his fingers underneath the fabric of your décolletage, your mind went blank.

“I want you to look at your face and watch your expressions. See what I see when I touch you. Do you see the adorable face you make when I touch you…” He circled your nipple with thumb, teasing your sensitive skin. “...here?”

Letting out a soft, sweet sigh, your body felt so hot it was like you were on fire. 

He ran his palms down your sides; your skin sensitive, your body trembled with excitement of what was to come. Lifting the hem of your red dress, its bodice now gathered around your middle, he exposed your backside; the air cool on your skin, your breath hitched as shivers shot down your spine.  

His thumbs ghosted your soft skin as his fingers dug firmly into your hips and spread your thighs. He teased your slit with the tip of his cock, sending a delicious tingle through your body.

His mouth fastened to the curve of your neck. Gentle at first, his kisses became more bite than kiss as his teeth grazed your skin, teasing you with quick little nips. He hummed, pleased, his breath warm against your laved skin. Tangling your hands in his soft and silky strands, you guided his mouth further down your chest. Your eyelids drifted closed as your lips parted, but no sounds escaped.

“Open your eyes, my darling robin.” 

You were slow to open your eyes, nervous to see what you would find reflected in the mirror. You gasped at the image before you; his hand was on your chin, tilting your face towards the reflection, his other arm wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you tightly against his body. 

Moonlight poured into the room, casting a soft glow on your exposed skin. Love bruised lips parted, pink and slightly swollen. A chain of love bites decorated your collarbone. Your eyes twinkled, shining brighter than the stars above. 

“Do you see how pretty you are?”

Moaning slightly as your body rubbed against his, the skirt of your red dress hiked around your waist, his words whispered softly in your ear. 

“My robin is so beautiful, filled with my cock.” 

*****

“Will...”  

You moaned your lover’s name as he fucked you from behind; his hands cupped your breasts, thumbs teasing your nipples.  

His hot breath was like a fire on your skin as he left biting kisses on the nape of your neck. Reaching back, your hand found his thigh, your nails digging into his supple skin, leaving marks of your own. 

Despite this gift’s purpose, you found yourself admiring your beautiful boyfriend, enthralled by the pleased expressions he made, the sweet sounds he made like music to your ears.

Pleasure uncoiled in your core, building and building in waves that were so close to crashing.  Will closed his eyes as his body tensed. His hands released your breasts, his fingertips lingering on the swell of your chest.

And then the waves consumed you, and everything turned black. 

Tagging: @natimiles @valkyyriia @queengiuliettafirstlady @william-rex

@ike-garden2024 @lucyw260

[merylstreepsworld]

The Necklace

Pairing: Miranda Priestly x Reader

Summary: You are infatuated with Miranda's necklace... and for good reason

Word Count: 462

In the intimate moments you shared with Miranda Priestly, her sense of style was as alluring as her commanding presence. She often wore low V-necklines that left little to the imagination, paired with exquisite, low-hanging necklaces that framed her décolletage. It was a combination that drew your eyes like a moth to a flame, and you couldn't resist the temptation to touch and play with the necklace that nestled between her breasts.

One evening, as you both lounged in her luxurious townhouse. Miranda was engrossed in a flurry of emails on her tablet, seemingly managing the entire fashion world from the comfort of her luxurious sofa. Her choice of attire was particularly captivating. Her V-neckline plunged gracefully, showcasing her elegant collarbones and a tantalizing hint of cleavage. The delicate necklace, adorned with a shimmering pendant, hung enticingly between her breasts.

You watched as she effortlessly juggled her responsibilities, her fingers dancing across the touchscreen with precision. The soft glow from the tablet cast an ethereal light on her features, accentuating her magnetic presence.

Unable to resist, you reached out and gently brushed your fingertips against the necklace, letting the cool metal caress your skin. Miranda's gaze never left the tablet, but her lips curled into a knowing smile, a subtle acknowledgment of your actions.

"Darling," she purred in her sultry tone, "Do you have an obsession with my necklace, or is it the territory it resides in that intrigues you so?"

Your cheeks flushed as her teasing words washed over you, and you replied with a playful smirk, "Perhaps it's both, Miranda. Your choice of jewelry is impeccable, but I can't deny the allure of what's beneath it." Miranda's laughter, like a fine wine, filled the room. Her fingers finally pausing on the tablet, she leaned in closer, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispered, "I find your fascination quite amusing, my dear. But you know, if you just wanted to touch near my breasts, you could simply ask." Your heart raced at her suggestion, and your fingers danced along the necklace once more, unable to resist the temptation. "Maybe I enjoy the element of surprise," you replied with a sly grin.

Miranda's eyes sparkled with desire as she captured your lips in a passionate kiss, her dominance and sensuality igniting a fire within you. The necklace between her breasts became a symbol of your shared desire and the playful teasing that only deepened your connection.

In those intimate moments, Miranda's style and your playful touches became a tantalizing dance, a testament to the passion and allure that bound you together. It was a love story where desire and teasing were woven into the very fabric of your relationship, creating an unbreakable bond between you and the formidable Miranda Priestly.

[thecursedprince]

Disney Designer Collection Midnight Masquerade Series: Queen of Hearts Limited Edition Doll - Alice in Wonderland

Wonderland's Queen of Hearts is sure to to be a head-turner with this Disney Designer Collection Midnight Masquerade Doll. Her Royal Majesty is resplendent in a metallic accented gown with a rose print underskirt topped by layers of red and black tulle, gemstone studs and red satin rosettes. Accessories include a stand-up collar, velvet stole, plus golden crown and matching mask that will let you judge this keepsake without a jury ruling.Magic in the details

Fashionably late, fiercely on point! The Disney Heroes and Villains are here to make an impression. Not even a lost invitation from a royal courier can keep them from attending the show-stopping Midnight Masquerade. They've finally arrived, and they are owning this magical moment. The blend of mystery and moonlight comes to life in this stunningly sophisticated collection. Designed by Disney artists, these dolls are adorned with intricately crafted masks, featuring iconic motifs that capture the innocence of our heroines, along with the dark deeds of our villains. This is an event for fans and collectors alike you won't want to miss. Let the drama begin!

Limited Edition of 3,450

Includes Certificate of Authenticity

Disney Designer Collection Midnight Masquerade Series; Fashionably Late

Queen of Hearts Collector Doll

Highly detailed

Poseable

Metallic satin and velvet bodice

Plunging v-neckline with velvet heart décolletage

Metallic puffed sleeves with satin ribbons

Pleated red satin stand-up collar with faux leather doily second layer

Rose print satin underskirt with metallic paint splatter accents

Layered red and black tulle

Satin rosettes and gemstone studs

Velvet stole with metallic embroidered hearts and satin lining, plus golden tassels

Golden crown with red faceted gem

Golden mask with rose trims

Moulded shoes

Finely styled hair

Rooted eyelashes

Display stand included

Comes in elegant window display packaging with ribbon ties and carry handle

Inspired by Walt Disney's Alice in Wonderland (1951)

Part of the Disney Designer Collection Midnight Masquerade Series; Fashionably Late

The bare necessities

Ages 6+

Polyvinyl chloride (PVC) / acrylonitrile butadiene styrene (ABS plastic) / polypropylene (PP) / polyester / metal

Doll approx. 27.9cm H (31.8cm H incl. crown and collar)

Box approx. 42.5cm H x 27.3cm W x 14.6cm D

Imported

Item No. 416147926798

[gogmstuff]

1913 Dress worn by comtesse Greffulhe (Palais Galliera, Musee de la mode de la Ville de Paris - Paris France) photo - Pierre Bulloz. From twonerdyhistorygirls.blogspot.com/2016/12/the-extraordinary-style-of-countess.

[stardancerluv]

A Time to Love and to Fight

Part Twenty - Six

Summary: Reader and Enjolras, allowing their moods lead them.

Notes/Warning: 18+ only. Consensual P in V intercourse, Dated views of intercourse

Thank you for reading! ❤️s & reblogs are always welcome. Feedback is also very…very welcome!

Translations: Then I am yours, heart and body. - Alors je suis à toi, corps et cœur. My love - Mon amour, Beautiful- Beau, My beauty - Mon Beaute.

He chuckled, “So tell me what has made my wife so bubbly?”

Your eyes twinkled. “The ladies gave me some wine.” You leaned in close. “Its stronger then whatever we drank at the tavern.”

“So are you feeling nice and warm?”

You nodded, a giggle came from you.

He shook his head smiling. “Those women befuddled my dear wife.”

“Enjolras?” You hold onto your bravery. You would finally tell him.

“Yes, love.”

“There is something I have been wanting to tell you.” You say in a lower tone.

He rested his forehead against yours. “Oh? This sounds like it will be very interesting.” He smiled and pulled back.

“You remind me of all those dashing rogues I used to read about.”

He sat a little straighter getting a hold of warm fuzziness the ale he had drank earlier did to him. He rested his hands on your hips.

He wiggled his brows. “Oh? Do I now.”

“Yes, you are dashing like them and are very close to how they came out of a writer’s pen.” You placed a hand over your heart.

He truly loved and enjoyed this sweet your nature.

“I am completely besotted.”

His lips were curled in an easy smirk but it easily shifted to a soft smile. Around you smiles felt natural were not a tool to gain something he wanted or needed.

“Are you sure this is not the wine those ladies gave you?”

You shook your head. “No. Ever since I stumbled into the warehouse and you retrieved my fallen scarf.”

He chuckled. “That feels so long ago now.”

You nod.

Reaching up he cupped your cheek. “You were a sweet distraction that night.” His thumb caressed your cheek.”

As you leaned into his hand and sighed, his heart picked up speed. He drew close to you, meet your eyes he bit his bottom lip before he kissed you.

Your lips were so and hesitant at first; easily it allowed him to easily deepen it. As you pressed against him answering his kiss his passion grew.

“I need you mon ange.”

“Alors je suis à toi, corps et cœur.” You breathed

Your words made his stomach tighten in his desire for you. Moving, he lifted you and so you were now the one sitting on the bed. He standing above you he bent down to kiss you. Your lips were hungry as they touched.

“Shuffle back a little, love and lift your skirt.” He managed to breathlessly say.

You nodded, easily you lifted your skirt and soon your petticoat. Watching you, he trembled as his excitement pressed hard against his trousers.

Kneeling on the bed, he took a breath and reaching up and pulled you free of your undergarment. He tucked them into one of his pockets.

“My beautiful girl.” He murmured catching your eye. When he did he saw the pink darken in your cheeks.

Easing one of legs around his hip he gently brushed your soft entrance. The soft moan that poured from your lips, shook him to his core. He easily then entered you. Loving how he snuggly felt using his unscarred hand he braced himself on the bed beside you.

“Mon amour.” He moaned aloud.

He smiled as he discovered that you had loosened laces near your décolletage.

“Beau.” He pressed his lips against yours. “Mon beaute.”

He began to easily move within you. As he did he relished the feel of your fingers in his curls. You moans fueled him. You were so soft, so lovely. You were his sweet little trésor.

You trembled under him. “Amour, my pleasure is about to wash over me.”

“Good. Mine will not be long after you.”

His lips met yours once more and he could hear as your muffled cry, his his mouth as you shared a sweet kiss. Your sweet tightening pulled on him and the knots that had been tightening inside of him snapped and he barely could muffle himself as his own pleasure washed over him. He gripped the blankets tightly as he felt himself fill you with his essence.

******

In your chemise, you sighed and laud your head on his chest. You smiled as you felt his lips press against the top of your head.

“Love, I couldn’t wait, nor stall my pleasure for you. Laying as we normally do when we become one, would have been too long for me.” He whispered against his your ruffled strands.

“It was exciting and different. I had no idea we could move like that but it felt so good.”

You buried your face into his chest. “Oh, the wine has continued to make my ability to speak of all things.

You felt as he squeezed your shoulder. “It is alright my love. The idea came to me, that you are becoming an inspiration in many parts in my life. This make our life in England, quite an adventure.”

“Truly?” You asked softly.

You glanced at him in shadowy cabin towards him.

“Yes. And I enjoy your thoughts, never stifle them.”

“I will have to remember that.”

“Yes. After all that we have already gone through, I do not want to change how we are.”

“Thank you.” You yawned softly.

A soft chuckle came from him. “I do say it is a good idea we shared about retiring early. I believe our passions has brought a cloak of slumber that wishes to be wrapped around you and I.”

You were barely awake, hearing his soothing voice just lulled you more into the world of dreams that were eager to visit. Keeping that solitary candle burning, shadows were cast in all directions and the flame flickered in draft that blew around as the boat continued to cut through the dark, ocean.

******

How much later, you were not certain. As you rose onto your elbow in dim cabin. You were grateful Enjolras had lit a candle. He had burned to half of its stature. You eyed his sleeping form, his features were smooth and soft. Underneath was a warrior that had fought and protected you.

Inhaling you saw his scared hand. You let your finger tips just graze what remained of the wound. For a moment, you were haunted by the night you and him fled into the night. The acrid smell of the guns, how the wood door burst open as the soldiers stormed through.

“Love? Are you alright?”

You stilled not realizing you had been trembling. That night shook you. His voice raspy as sleep still held onto part of him brought a calmness to you.

You glanced down at him and nodded. He took the past that had lingered around you.

“Yes.”

“Night terror?”

“Not necessarily.”

He rubbed an eye. “Your father?”

“Not tonight. I was remembering that night.”

“Come lay back down. It will be dawn soon. Let me hold you.”

“Yes.”

You nestled close with a sigh. His hand gently caressed your arm. You felt as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“I am so grateful that we made it, yet it still haunts me.” You finally spoke glimpsing up at him.

“Me as well. While I was playing cards, memories of times with Courfeyrac and Grantaire came to mind.”

His arm around you tightened.

“Once we reach land, I will send messages.”

@henry-cavs-tudor @corrodedcoffn @dealswiththedevilsblog @randomstory56 @pl1nfa1 @phantomxoxo @ladybug0095 @the-iridescent-phoenix @maryan028 @kindablackenedsuperhero @amethyst-serenade @moondev1l @samunson83 @julieteagk @little-wormwood @wafflepixie @shadyhamiltonfanatic @gretavankleep37 @peacefroggg23 @capailluiscedove @poisonedeuphoria

[lamaisongaga]

LADY GAGA AS NATALI'S MAID OF HONOR IN TOPO STUDIO NY & VERSACE

Lady Gaga graced her sister Natali Germanotta and Alex Dolan’s wedding as a maiden of honor at the Viewpoint hotel in York, Maine a couple days ago!

Before we get to the actual event, let's take a look at the LBD Gaga chose for the wedding rehearsal first.

The sculptural black crêpe dress with padded shoulders, V-neckline, nipped-in waist and mini hem ($1,645) hails from Versace's 60s-inspired Spring/Summer 2024 runway.

Shop:

Versace Mini Dress ($1,645.00)

For the ceremony, Gaga turning heads and warming hearts in a stunning dress crafted by the bride herself under her label, Topo Studio NY. She embodied a vision of romantic sophistication, adorned in a Grecian peach-colored pleated chiffon dress that epitomized both grace and modernity.

The gown, a testament to Natali’s design prowess, featured a draped V-neckline that beautifully framed Gaga's décolletage, adding an element of timeless allure. The buttoned front added a touch of classic refinement, while the asymmetrical scalloped layered hem infused a contemporary twist, flowing with ethereal elegance and enhancing Gaga's every step.

Gaga’s accessories were a perfect blend of whimsical and elegant. She adorned her hair with real flowers, adding a touch of natural beauty and romance to her look. In a creative twist, she also wore a flower as an earring, enhancing the unique, ethereal vibe of her ensemble.

Completing her sophisticated appearance, she donned custom Garo Sparo nude mesh opera-length gloves. These exquisite gloves added a layer of timeless elegance, perfectly complementing her dress and highlighting her distinctive style.

As a lover of a good platform shoe, my eye happily went to this pair of Giuseppe Zanotti heels. She opted to complete her maid of honor look with his Yana white patent leather platform pumps with ankle straps ($537).

Shop:

Giuseppe Zanotti "Yana" Pumps ($537.00)

[antiquesintheattic]

i am the number one hater of v neck t-shirts on men i’m not even sorry. sweaters are fine if layered with something else but no notttt come in here with your fucking décolletage

[hellraiseher]

McQueen himself made a series of comments about women which have the candour that won him many friends and admirers: ‘I think there has to be an underlying sexuality. There has to be a perverseness to the clothes. There is a hidden agenda to the fragility of romance ... I’m not big on women looking naive.’ We need you, Angela Carter! We need your help! Carter thoroughly upset the bien pensants with her essay The Sadeian Woman (1978) where she argued that Sade ‘was unusual in his period for claiming rights of free sexuality for women and in installing women as beings of power in his imaginary worlds ... I would like to think that he put pornography in the service of women, or, perhaps, allowed it to be invaded by an ideology not inimical to women.’ She also makes the connection between Sade’s misanthropy, as she calls it, and his splitting of women’s bodies from ‘the mothering function’. McQueen seems to me to fascinate for similar reasons. Some of the pull he exerts on huge numbers of people arises from this side of his sensibility: there’s no hint of motherhood; he disliked the way that traditional décolletage revealed the breasts, and instead encased the whole female torso in coiled silver, mussel shells or razor clams – even glass.

- Marina Warner, At the V&A: Alexander McQueen.