#and the chest hair peaking out of the neckline and the sleeves

[leopardom]

this is an appreciation post for Nace’s tattoos and Nace’s arms in general

[tadpolesonalgae]

Two-Faced[***]

Dark!Rhys x reader

a/n: Honestly I’ve tried to edit this so many times I can no longer tell if I like it or not? Also this is a prequel to Desk Pet and goes along with that universe but can be read on its own 🧡💛

warnings: non-con, shadow play(?), bdsm themes, suggested breeding kink, smut, overstimulation, somnophilia, suggested dacryphilia(?), a little peak into Rhys’ mind at the end

word count: 8,875

-Desk Pet- -Play-Mate-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

You glance into the mirror, readjusting how the thin golden chain hangs around your neck, the small pendant sitting pretty between your breasts.

Easing in a deep breath, you check everything else is appropriately placed, nothing revealing too much skin, no fabric dipping where it shouldn’t, everything neatly wrapped up. You could swear you can see how your heart pulses in your chest in the reflection, a slight shudder passing beneath your flesh as you think ahead to what might unfold.

The deep purple gown settles comfortably over your body, dark and velvety, the neckline modest without being conservative, the hem of the skirts brushing just shy of your feet, sleeves that run down to your wrists, locked in matching golden chains, slim and elegant. Your lips are painted darker than usual to match the purple of your dress, with small golden pins keeping some strands of hair in place. Is it too much?

Dining with a High Lord… Even if you’re friendly, you don’t want to suggest something you can’t give, nor flirt where you can’t fulfil.

In the recent months, you know you haven’t been imagining the intensity in his eyes, how they sweep so deliciously over you, slowly, under the guise of polite appreciation. But there’s nothing polite about the way he looks at you. How it sets your skin on fire, pulse spiking with the slightest curve of his mouth. How your breath hitches whenever his skin brushes yours, fingers grazing your waist to guide you someplace—gentle dominance that makes your body flush with heat. Even at the faintest hint of his scent, you’d found yourself seeking out his gaze, as if sharing in a forbidden fantasy together.

Maybe it’s your fault for letting it get too far. Letting it escalate without consideration for how high he might truly be able to take you. He certainly isn’t the only male in your life. You hadn’t even realised how far things had gone with Rhys until the male you’d been seeing casually had brought it up, and you’d felt a tug of guilt in your gut. The two of you weren’t together exactly, but it definitely wasn’t just sex. There was too much emotional intimacy for it to be such a black-and-white situation. Emotions bleeding over where they should have been kept in line.

A triptych of knocks are landed to your door, gentle but firm, and you tear your gaze away from your reflection—attractive as it is, you shouldn’t keep him waiting.

Easing in a breath, you open the door, pulse spiking as you take him in, raising your chin to meet his violet gaze.

On the wooden deck of your house, stood beneath the warm faelight to illuminate the entranceway, he dominates the space, your attention zeroing in on his figure, dressed immaculately as usual, shirt revealing a peak at the appetisingly tan skin beneath, a suggestion of ink peering over the hem of the linen.

“Rhysand,” you greet with a smile, opening the door wider, previous worries forgotten as he takes up your attention whole. “Rhysand?” He drawls, brow quirking in amusement as he leans forward, and you step into his invitation. “Have I done something to irritate you?” He muses beside your ear, bodies pressed a little closer than appropriate as your arms wrap over his shoulders. His palm splays between your shoulder blades, pressing you deeper into his sturdy heat, spine arching under his direction. “You show up dressed as you are—I thought you said this was a casual dinner,” you smile as you pull away, arms still wrapped around one another.

Violet eyes sweep across your features, the skin between your shoulder-blades tingling beneath his broad palm, and that intensity burns down into you. “You look like this for casual dinners?” He replies, lips curving with amusement. “I look like this for my High Lord,” you reply, rolling your eyes playfully, stepping out of his hold, already missing his heat. “Will you tell me where we’re going to dine? Or are you going to insist on keeping it a secret until the last second?”

“The last second might be a bit of a stretch,” he chuckles, offering you his arm, “but I know how you like surprises, so perhaps arrangements can be made.”

“You could winnow us there with ease,” you muse lightly, linking your arm with his, door closing at your back as he guides you down the steps leading into your front garden, then out into the street.

Violet eyes flick over you, your skin tightening beneath his open attention, meeting his gaze. “A lady deserves preparation,” he replies, heat fluttering in your lower abdomen at the sonorous drawl. “I’m sure you’d still succeed with the surprise element regardless,” you laugh, lips warm from the smile. “I suppose I could always blindfold you?” He suggests, and you gently elbow him, rolling your eyes again, trying to quell the traitorous heat that’s unspooling in the pit of your stomach. “I’d trip up and break something,” you counter fondly, swiftly averting you gaze so he won’t be able to somehow read your emotions. The attraction that always seems to become much more prominent in his presence. More pertinent, and palpable.

“I could direct you,” he replies lightly, a curve to his soft mouth, “I like to think I’m fairly good at giving instructions.”

“You’re practiced at giving orders. There’s a difference,” you counter, unable to help the smile on your lips—that’s undoubtedly shining in your eyes. “Besides, I don’t trust myself in heels.”

“You certainly picked a tricky pair,” he admits, glancing down to the thin golden strings wrapped around your ankles, disappearing beneath your dress. “I’m sure I’ll be regretting that by the end of the night,” you sigh, taking care to avoid any uneven surfaces. “If you need a reprieve, feel free to say,” he chuckles lowly, guiding you down another street, and you silently admire how seamlessly he blends in with the inky darkness of his court. “I’d be more than happy to sweep you off your feet, if needed.”

————

You’d been surprised when he’d taken you not to a pre-established restaurant but to a house he’d recently purchased by the riverside—for ample view of the Sidra, he’d explained, when you’d asked why he’d picked that part of the city.

He’d guided you in, as he usually does when you’re out together, a hand kept lightly against your lower back to keep you steady, especially when passing over cobbles. You’d noticed how his touch had smoothly migrated from lightly brushing against your skin on the way into the house, to settling securely around your waist once away from the public, a response of equal parts concern and satisfaction humming in your chest. It’s hard to keep your head when he singles you out so obviously—like there’s something special about you in particular. Something he can only find in you. How are you supposed to resist a male who makes you feel so treasured?

“You certainly succeeded with surprising me,” you smile, leaning back in your chair, content with the meal—mansaf, with goat’s meat. “I didn’t know you could cook like that?” You muse, meeting his gaze across the cozy table, tucked away in an alcove on the library he’s slowly filling up, tall windows to your right, providing a clear view of the Sidra, rooftops shadowed under the night’s sky. His smile isn’t as full as you’d hoped, instead seeming quieter than usual. “I don’t have much time to indulge anymore,” he answers, and you straighten in your seat. “It would be nice, to pursue my own interests. From time to time.”

Your expression softens as you watch him from across the table—he makes it easy to forget the things he’s withstood. It’s easy to speak with him, to be around him.

“I appreciate you finding the time to do so tonight,” you say quietly, briefly glancing down at your empty plate before returning your gaze to his. “It was delicious.” His eyes twinkle, and a small smile makes its way onto your mouth at the familiar gleam. “I’m glad you thought so,” he admits, “it’s been a while.”

“If this is how you are out of practice, it might be for the better you don’t have more time on your hands. You’d run people out of business,” you say quietly.

There’s a pause that passes between you, and you feel yourself being pulled in, already so thoroughly snared by his riptides you haven’t noticed you’ve been pulled under.

“I know it isn’t much,” you say lowly, a little roughly, pushing up from your seat to walk to his side. “But you deserve the time to indulge in your own interests, Rhys. To be able to enjoy life like the people you devote yourself to protecting do.” Violet eyes lift to yours, swirling and depthless, pulling you further down. “You’ve mentioned what that time was like,” you manage quietly, voice thick with emotion, at all he’s sacrificed to keep Velaris safe. To keep his people safe. “I can’t even imagine what it was like,” you murmur, hand resting gently on his shoulder, hoping you aren’t overstepping.

It isn’t often he talks about what had been done to him, what he’d been forced to do, but when he does…you listen. Take in every word, let him know you hear him, at the very least. That he has someone he can share his life with, someone he can come to when he’s alone, and know you’ll be there.

“You’re out now,” you whisper, “you made it.”

“I’m in pieces,” he murmurs, expression neutral despite the sadness of the admission.

“It’s okay to be in pieces, Rhys,” you reply, stepping into him when he shifts to face you, his hand coming to rest atop your own, fingers dancing to your wrist, wrapping over your forearm carefully. As if afraid to break you, too. “You’re allowed to grieve yourself, after what happened.”

His fingers tighten a little around your wrist, then he’s smoothly standing from his chair, though you don’t step back, keeping together as his hand slowly settles on your waist.

“I don’t think…” he trails off, voice breathy and hushed, and you hold him a little tighter, free palm settling on his upper arm. His throat rolls, and he pulls you the barest bit closer, bodies connecting as heat is shared and swapped, scents pushing together. “I don’t think I’m the same as I was before,” he admits quietly, violet eyes pinning you to the floor, touch pressing into your skin. “That’s okay,” you whisper, “time changes people. It’s okay to shift in essence.”

“No. Not like that,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your own, your hand brushing against his jaw, his palms wrapping tighter around you, growing more assured in their hold, like you’re becoming a part of him. “I can’t stand it,” he admits, brow pressing to your own, his eyes shut, a troubled expression on his beautiful features. “I can’t stand it anymore.”

You peer up at him, now cupping his face in both your hands, leaning into him. “What is it?” You ask softly, “you can tell me. I want to know what’s troubling you.” Violet eyes open slightly, darkened by his lashes as he looks down at you, brows furrowed in what looks like indecision. Or regret. But then it’s gone in a flash, easing out into something more calm, and familiar. “I want to be happy,” he confesses quietly, words brushing over your mouth so tenderly. “I don’t want to be alone again. How I was.”

“You aren’t alone,” you murmur, thumb brushing his cheek. “You have your family, you’re back with them again—you’re back here again. You survived.” But he shakes his head, and you push slightly closer, letting him know whatever he wants, he can confess to you. You’ll be there for him if he needs.

“I can’t stand not having it anymore,” he breathes, hold tightening on you, voice deeper, rougher, than before. “I should be happy, shouldn’t I?”

Your brows pull together, curving as you nod, wanting nothing more than to comfort him, slotting yourself into the familiar lines of his body. “Everyone deserves to be happy,” you whisper, heart aching, “even if they don’t believe so.” You swallow, feeling hot beneath his gaze, but refusing to step away, not when this is the most vulnerable he’s ever allowed himself to be with you. “If you…” you swallow again, eyes darting away briefly before returning to his. “If you know what you want…” You trail off, bewitched by the swirling intensity of his gaze. Your breath catches, aware of how close you are, how intimate the embrace has become. “…you should have it, Rhys.”

He exhales heavily, relief loosening the tension in his body, then he’s leaning forward, mouth opening over yours.

You freeze, not having expected the bold action, but quickly melt beneath his touch, all previous thought fading to nothing as his lips slant over yours, soft and hot, and his hands are moving across the planes of your body, strengthening as you’re pulled impossibly closer. He’s a really good kisser.

His tongue flicks out, and you start, reeling from his pace, but he’s gently turning you around, mouth still sealed against your own as he pushes you into the wall, hips against your own while his arm wraps tight around your waist, other hand settling over the nape of your neck that’s so small in comparison. Your palms stutter as they shift, unsure where to place them, having been swept off your feet, caught with your guard down. You hadn’t realised just how intense the attraction had become—for either of you.

Rhys makes a hungry sound from the back of his throat, and your insides flutter, spine arching into him, breasts pressing fully against his chest—but you need to slow down. You hadn’t planned on any of this unfolding so rapidly, had intended to be wary of his advances, of the mutual lust binding you together. It’s dominating; overpowering, mind-warping to struggle against, but you have enough sense to know acting on this desire will only confuse things. Mixing tender affection with the sharpened blades of lust never ends well.

“Rhys,” you murmur, pulling away enough to get his name out, but his mouth seals over your own again, and you fight to not be dragged under by hunger, by your desire to follow in his motions. This isn’t something you can rush, if you want it to work. Your hands tangle in his hair, tugging him back firmly, heat warming your cheeks. “Rhys, we—”

His hands leave your body, roughly gripping your wrists and shoving them back against the wall, hips keeping you pinned in place as he devours you, prying your mouth open with embarrassing ease, arousal making it hard to resist. His tongue stokes over your own, and a heady feeling rushes your veins, need pounding in your blood, losing grip fast as he sinks his claws into you.

Rhys pulls away from you, and you open your mouth to tell him to stop, but he’s dipping lower, attacking your neck as his canines flash, the kisses rapidly descending into untamed bites and claiming slashes of teeth against soft, unmarked skin. You gasp as he bites, putting his mark into your body, startled by your own enjoyment, how arousal is swiftly rising to meet him, as much as you’re trying to pull away. “Rhys…” you pant, struggling half-heartedly beneath his touch, enjoying how his strength dominates you, a display of power so brutal and fundamental something warms in your chest.

He releases your wrists in favour of roughly gripping your skirts, almost tearing them as they’re shoved up your thighs, making way for him as he grips you tight, hoisting you up so your legs wrap around his hips—allowing him to press against your centre, purple fabric pooled around your waist. Instinctively your arms fly over his shoulders, and then his mouth is reclaiming your own, a flashing frenzy of tongue and teeth that knocks you clean off your feet, heart pounding from the assault on your senses, the ticklish pleasure still tingling across the erogenous skin at your throat.

Your fingers shakily tangle in his hair, and he snarls into the kiss, canines scraping over your lower lip before crushing back against your mouth, the damper on his power waring thinner, and thinner, pressure straining on your bones as you tremble. He’s never come this close to removing it completely around you, and it’s terrifying, your heart pounding in your chest, pulse spiking as you begin to get an understanding of what kind of beast you’ve been taunting.

“Rhys!” You gasp as his hand palms over your breast, grinding between your thighs as he again dips down to your throat, feeling your heightened pulse beneath his teeth. Tongue darting out to taste you.

Your hands stutter over him, torn between trying to pull him away and to tug him closer, to take more of him, startled by the ferocious hunger he’s subjecting you to, and the starvation it’s bringing forth in your own body.

His fingers effortlessly slide beneath your dress, but when they brush the golden string that’s clinging to your right hip, it’s like a bucket of icy water has been speared into your bloodstream. Your palms slam down against his shoulders, leveraging yourself against the wall as you shove at him enough to push him away by an inch or two, allowing your legs to unlock from his hips, standing on your own shaky feet again, nearly collapsing thanks to the sharply-angled heels.

“Rhys, stop,” you demand breathlessly, hands flat against his powerful chest, able to feel how his magic thrums dangerously around you, beating in time with his pulse in deadly waves. “Slow down,” you breathe, gazing up into intensely dark violet, practically plunging into icy indigo, his features turning glacial as he looks down at you, caged in, your cheeks warmed from arousal. He steps closer, crowding your space, and you tense up, abruptly aware of how that lethal strength could just as easily be used against you rather than with you.

“What is it?” He drawls, the tone having hairs rising on the back of your neck in warning, a long lost sense rising from the recesses of your mind to scream its horror at the creature before you, steadily emerging from beautifully carved skin. “I…Rhys, I’m not sure about this,” you answer honestly, hands trembling over his chest, trying to even out your breaths. “I’m sorry,” you fumble, “it’s all happening so quickly—I didn’t expect anything to happen tonight.”

“Is that why you’re wearing these?” He asks lowly, and you stiffen as his fingers brush over your hip, now covered again by your dress, but you know he’s talking about your underwear, how it matches the gold of your jewellery, complimenting the regal purple of your gown.

“I—…that was for me,” you mumble, flushing, shying away from the pressure within his gaze, how his attention crushes down upon you. “So I’d feel more confident around you.”

“Confident?” He remarks lowly, roughly, the slow drag of the word tingling down your spine. “So you always wear something matching whenever you feel unsure?” You falter, glancing away, hands lowering a little but remaining against him, anxious to keep him at bay for the moment. “I’m sorry if I misled you,” you manage, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “But I…if you’re only after sex, I can’t give you that.”

“You’d give more?” He asks breathlessly, pushing closer despite how you try to keep him away. “With someone else, I could manage a one-time thing,” you whisper, “but with you…”

A deep noise rumbles in his chest, male satisfaction resounding through you as your insides flutter, his hands coming to brace themselves on the wall, either side of your hips as he leans down, mere inches separating you. “You want something serious?” He asks quietly, roughly, and you nod, tilting your head to better see him.

His lips curve at the edges, pleased with your reply. “Then come with me,” he murmurs beside your ear, and your breaths stutter as his arousal wraps around you, stark and heady. His hand wraps around your wrist, making to take you elsewhere, but you pull against his hold. “I need you to slow down,” you manage firmly, getting stable footing on the ground—relatively stable, anyway.

“You were so eager a second ago,” he muses, the sonorous drawl returning, his eyes dark and deadly, able to scent your own arousal by now. He doesn’t release your wrist. “I’m allowed to change my mind,” you say firmly, lightly trying to pull away but to no avail. Either he doesn’t get the hint, or…you swallow thickly.

Violet eyes glint, a curve tilting the edges of his mouth. “And what have you changed your mind to?” He asks smoothly, as if indulging a child’s whim.

“I think a lot has happened tonight, and I want to go home and sleep on it,” you say, aware of how his touch is making your skin tingle. A strange weariness creeping over you, eyelids beginning to weigh as the adrenaline wares off.

A sadness flickers in his violet eyes, before it’s vanished, and he shakes his head. “I can’t stand it a moment longer,” he breathes, firmly pulling you into his body, knowing you’re unable to resist. His palm settles on your lower back, and you press your own hand to his chest in protest. “Rhys. Stop messing around,” you say, peering up at him, meeting hungry, dark eyes. “This isn’t funny. Let me go.”

“Lovely, little lamb,” he breathes, angling you so he can peer down at you, and you can feel the evidence of his arousal pressing intrusively into your middle. “You think I would joke when it comes to you?” He asks gently, violet eyes sweeping over you, and you shrink away, the ravenous lust making your legs feel weak. “I can hardly breathe right around you,” he whispers, “I ache for you. To feel you. To touch you. Don’t deny me for a second longer.”

Your lips part in shock, unable to formulate a response, and his eyes glint with approval, before he’s turning, forcefully dragging you from the room, hand shackled around your wrist as you try to struggle against him, to rip yourself from his hold, but he refuses to budge. You might as well be fighting against iron for how much give he allows.

“Rhys,” you call sharply, tugging away. “Rhysand!” You try grabbing onto a banister, but he’s too strong, and your hold slips away, heels practically clawing lines into the floorboards as you try to lean against him, to counterweight his force—to no avail. “Rhys let me go,” you bark, surging forward abruptly in attempt to knock into him, but he’s been trained as a warrior since birth, and has no difficulty in remaining stable.

“Stop struggling,” he demands lowly, piercing violet pinning you to the floor, and you’re utterly helpless as he effortlessly puts you over his shoulder, sweeping you off your feet with devastating ease. You start kicking, slamming your fists against his back, aiming either side of his spine as you scream at him to put you down, trying to dig your nails into his skin, to rip through his clothes to scratch and slice at him.

You recoil into yourself when his palm connects with your hind, body going taut as you freeze, horror and terror paralysing you, and he chuckles lowly. “Like that?” He asks, voice deeper, and your stomach drops when he reaches a bedroom, able to watch as the door clicks shut.

“Rhys,” you whisper, fear pounding through your veins. “Rhys, put me down.”

Panic roils in your gut as you’re roughly thrown down from his shoulder, knees pressing together as you land on the softness of his mattress, crisp sheets rustling as you try to squirm away from him, pushing further up the bed. “Rhys— Rhys listen to me,” you try, but he ignores you, looming like a nightmare as he grips your ankle, dragging you back toward him.

“Relax,” he muses, fingers biting into your skin as he pushes the deep purple of your dress higher, until you’re certain he’ll be able to see the gold material clinging between your thighs, presented with a perfect view between your legs. “You’ll feel good. You know you’ll feel good.”

“Rhys, fuck off!” You bark, voice shaking with terror, pressure building behind your eyes. “You can’t fucking do this. Just because she did it to you doesn’t mean you have the right to inflict it on other people.”

He snarls lowly at that, pinning you down in an instant, easily slotting between your thighs, his powerful body keeping you where he wants with ease. “I thought you cared, huh? I thought you were eager to be with me. What happened to that, hm?”

“You’re sick, Rhys,” you hiss, “this is sick. You’re fucking insane.”

“It’s okay to be a little insane,” he drawls, mimicking your earlier words of comfort, given in attempts to help him, but in doing so dooming yourself. “It’s more than a little,” you hiss, teeth flashing as you try to kick him off you, but he’s pressing himself flush between your thighs, leaving you without a hope in hell.

“I deserve to be happy, don’t I?” He murmurs so softly over your mouth, and in any other context your heart would have broken at the question—that he would even have to ask. But, “not at my expense, Rhys,” you hiss, heat warming behind your eyes. “Not at our expense.”

“I’m not sacrificing us,” he counters quietly, hand coming up to grip your jaw. “I’m joining us together.” He rolls his hips against yours, feeling him against your sex, how the pressure grinds over your clit, deliciously traitorous heat gathering in response, and you’re utterly helpless as his lips curve into a slight grin, sadism gleaming from deep within his violent gaze.

“I don’t want to join with you,” you spit back, trying to push him away, but darkness gathers on his bed, keeping your wrists bound to the mattress as he lowers his mouth to your throat, kissing and biting his way down your skin, painting a pathway of bruises while his hands glide up your thighs, catching beneath the material of your dress. His lips brush the hem of its neckline, and then he’s smoothly pulling it away, leaving you practically bare.

Your High Lord pulls back, tan skin flushed, pupils dilated with dizzying hunger as he gazes down at his prey, the golden fabric clinging to your hips as you squirm, ankles wrapped in that gilded string, keeping your heels in place, the elegant little chains decorating your wrists, settling around your throat. He groans lowly, rough palms splaying over your waist, resting there gently as he rolls his hips against you, into you, taking his time pulling you apart. Savouring your struggle.

“You were desperate for it minutes ago,” he drawls lowly, right palm raising over your stomach, the pads of his fingers brushing with a feather-light touch upward, starting from your lower abdomen, gliding slowly to your sternum, pleased to feel how your breath hitches beneath his touch. “You’ll be desperate again soon enough.”

“Go to hell, Rhys,” you manage, lip curling back to showcase sharp canines—a set he’d gladly allow to pierce his skin. The only set he’d allow to mark him ever again. “This isn’t fucking okay.”

“No, it isn’t,” he breathes, and your throat rolls heavily as his fingers begin the slow, torturous descent back down your body, trailing over your abdomen, stroking down over the golden fabric, running lightly over your centre. “It’s better.”

Heat flushes your skin as his rough palms grip the underside of your thighs, just above your knees, raising your legs up and out of the way, pressing them close to your torso so he has more room. Callouses drag against your skin, a reminder of his strength, the warrior that’s concealed beneath his finely tailored exterior. He is the embodiment of power.

“Rhys, stop,” you breathe as he settles at the edge of the bed, violet eyes hungrily licking over your clothed sex. You squirm, trying to shift your hips, but his lips brush over your abdomen, and then his teeth are clasping the band of your underwear. He gazes up at you intently, slowly dragging it back—tauntingly; teasingly—until he releases it to snap back against your skin.

“Rhys…” you murmur shakily, the understanding finally beginning to dawn across you that he might go through with it. “Rhys, please. You’re better than this.” Violet gleams with ravenous hunger, dark and starved, and he presses forward, mouth a breath’s width from your sex. “Shall I show you how much better I can be?”

You swallow thickly beneath that look, but manage to nod your head. If you can just get him to pull away, to remove the bonds of your wrists…

Your lips part in a sharp gasp, writhing beneath him as he presses his face between your legs, violet eyes closing as he takes in his own heaven, submerging himself in your scent, your heat. You try to buck away from him, to get further from his mouth, but it only serves to make you more aware of how he’s invading, though his grip has lessened on your thighs.

He exhales heavily, contentedly, shifting between your legs and your muscles coil tense, nails piercing your palms as his nose brushes against… Your toes curl, thighs trying to press together, to ward him away, but he keeps you spread apart effortlessly.

Eventually he pulls back, violet eyes glued to your clothed sex as his fingers hook in the golden strings lacing over your hips, slowly pulling them away. His gaze practically glows, pupils dilating as he peels away the wet material, shame and humiliation burning hot in your gut. Eyes flick up to you, and you force yourself to meet them, to not yield and look away—to not admit defeat. “You’re wet,” he breathes lowly, roughly, depthless hunger swirling in the pits of his pupils. “That means nothing,” you hiss, trying to writhe away from him, fearing what practices his mind will conjure. “I think it means quite a lot more than that, darling,” he breathes, pulling your underwear away completely, then pressing it back to your heat.

You inhale sharply as his fingers run up over you, slow but firm strokes, circling your entrance through the golden fabric, and your pulse spikes. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing now?” You snap, voice shaking with fear, darkness now banding around beneath your knees to keep them apart as he stands, peeling your underwear away. Embarrassment flushes your skin when you catch their gleam, how thoroughly soaked they are.

Rhys’s cruel mouth curves, and you writhe on his bed, trying to turn away as he pushes the wet material between your lips, long fingers prying them apart. Your tongue recoils, trying to pull away, but his grin widens, a pleasured sound coming from deep within his chest as he feels you struggle. “Do you taste good?” He asks lowly, fingers stroking over your tongue, “like having that in your mouth? I bet you’re only getting wetter by the second,” he breathes, pupils fully dilated.

You release a sound that should be disgusted, but comes out as more of a whimper. His breath catches at the noise, able to see how his cock is straining against his trousers but he leaves himself unattended—for now.

He returns between your legs, and a noise between a whimper and a snarl rips from your throat, heat flaring across your skin as he licks up your centre, broad palms keeping your thighs absolutely open for him to indulge.

“Rhys,” you panic, feeling pressure build behind your eyes, managing to spit out the fabric that had been gagging you. “Rhys please. Please stop. We can— We can figure something out—”

His tongue swipes over your clit, making you jolt and squirm, trying desperately to thrash against his hold but it’s like being chained up, his grip stricter than iron as he applies himself, suckling at the impossibly sensitive part effortlessly, as if he’s familiar with how your body works. As if he knows already exactly where to touch, suck, and fuck to have you drooling dumb.

Breaths pant from your lips, hips wiggling as one hand trails down your thigh, and you know exactly what he’s planning to do with those long, dexterous fingers of his…exactly how they’ll feel inside of you, how they’ll know where to push and rub at to have you dripping onto his knuckles.

“You want me to stop?” He breathes lowly, roughly, thumbing at your entrance, liking how you tighten around nothing as if eager to invite him in. “You know I could make you feel like an immortal,” he growls, mouth prone to attach your clit with his tongue and teeth should you try to rebuke him. “I could take you higher…further than anyone’s ever taken you before.”

“I don’t fucking want it,” you hiss, lip curled as heat wets your eyes, trying to blink away the hot tears in favour of sending him a look of pure hatred.

Rhys blinks his violet eyes, then smiles, pulling away.

“Give me five minutes?” He muses lowly, a starving glint in his gaze, darkened and scheming. You snarl, then inhale sharply when the darkness releases you, completely freeing you. Immediately you sit upright, pulling your legs together, but refusing to cower before him—keeping your hands at your sides, gripping the sheets to prevent yourself from recoiling physically.

“You don’t deserve a single second of my time,” you spit, blinking away the tears as you snarl. “I regret how much I’ve already spent on you.”

“Not even a single second?” He laughs, hands sliding calmly into the pockets of his finely tailored trouser, perfectly encapsulating the raw power contained within his body. “I’m not sure if I can take you there in an instant without hurting you somewhere,” he drawls almost apologetically, but his violet eyes spark. “But if that’s all you’ll give me…” he murmurs, softer than a breath.

Your breathing pattern spikes, heat flushing intently beneath his gaze. Talons swiftly enter your mind, and you’re utterly helpless as your body starts to tremble, terrifying heat swelling with such ferocity your vision goes tilted, muscles feeling like custard as you fall back into the bed. Your spine arches on its own, toes curling eyes squeezing shut as he plies the orgasm from your body, easing out your pleasure while he stands at the foot of the bed, idly licking at the pad of his thumb that had prodded against your entrance.

Your lips part as it intensifies, and you scramble, thrashing in the bed, a choked noise erupting from your chest as you feel the high in your entire body, like there are hands touching, feeling all across your body, tongues lapping over your nipples, sets of teeth biting at your throat, lips sealing over your clit as fingers pump and curl inside of you.

The scream rises swiftly, limbs trembling violently as sweat is forced through your skin from the abrupt intensity, the orgasm absolutely devastating as you lose all control of yourself, moaning unabashedly as those feelings are drawn out—as Rhysand draws them out. His fingers the ones inside of you, his teeth piercing your skin, his tongue circling your clit.

“Do you want it to stop,” he muses, unable to help licking his lips at the obscene sight before him, the scent of it filtrating into his blood, rushing straight to his cock, hot and heavy between his legs.

The words jumble and melt across your mind, splashing like melted butter into your head, and struggle—for what? For more? For more.

He chuckles lowly, and you scream as he forces you through a second one, having it break like the surf across jagged rocks, arousal dripping down your thighs, webbing between your legs as you try to press them together only for the darkness to spread you apart. Definitely more than wet enough to fill a shot glass or two.

You pant heavily. Ragged, gasping breaths as wild heat ravishes your skin, pleasure bursting at the seams of your body, a perfectly ripe fruit dripping with flavour, ready to break beneath the slightest pressure from a set of sharp, piercing canines the second they graze your skin. And Rhysand is more than happy to bite.

Your eyes are squeezed shut tight, so you can only feel the mattress dip as he prowls up onto the bed, pinning you down, caging you effortlessly between his powerful, ruining arms.

The High Lord allows your orgasm to wash away slowly, bringing you back to the plane of reality he’s on, your skin hot and dewy from the intense pleasure he’s forced you full of. Your lids flutter, eyes struggling to lock onto his as violet pierces into you, doing nothing to hide the deep-rooted hunger that’s tearing him apart. He moves lazily, with the leisure one can move with when they’re in no rush, yet you can sense that undercurrent, the riptide within him that you’ve been caught in, at last dawning on you. The only other tell aside from his actions and confessions, is the strain in his jaw, wound tight as he gazes down at you, eyes so dark they’re closer to being entirely black as shadow and darkness writhes around you in a great, slithering mass, tangling with you on the bed.

“I think you’re more than ready now,” he whispers, the words dragging like gravel across bare, sensitive skin. “Are you ready?”

Tears spill down your cheeks, so turned around you feel entirely out of control. All you can remember is the sizzling burn of pleasure, the electrifying tingle of heat as it sears through your thighs, making your body feel weightless, like you’re above the clouds and bathing in starlight…starlight that’s hot and wet, that trickles down the naked planes of your body…that slips and slides where your fingers drag through it…that tastes like power and possession…laced through with iridescent violet…

A rough laugh drags from the High Lord’s throat, sensing your pleasure-induced daze, facing not even an ounce of resistance as he gently flips you over on the bed, the side of your face pressing into the soft fullness of one of the pillows, saliva pooling inside your cheek, drooling out onto the cotton as he pushes your thighs apart.

He curses lowly, eyeing the mess between your thighs, wanting more than anything to pull you to the edge of his bed, or flip you around again so you’re spread out on top of him, suspended in the air for him to play with and touch. So he can kiss, lick, bite wherever on your body he likes, so he can press his face between your legs, so he can take his time learning the pace you most like his tongue circling your clit, the pressure to apply that will most swiftly lead you to orgasm, the spots inside of you he should rub against if he wants you to soak him.

But he doesn’t. He’s waited too long.

Besides, after tonight, he can do whatever he pleases; you’ll be his. If he wants to dangle you from the ceiling while exploring your skin, if he wants to bind you to his bed while he kisses up your thighs, if he wants to seat you in his lap while he strokes his tongue against your own…he can. The thought has him growling lowly, dark power writhing beneath his skin, aching to manifest with talons and large, spanning wings, to allow proper canines to slide from his upper lip and his skin to become dark and leathery; to yield to his baser side.

You make a soft sound in the back of your throat, confused but aroused, and his cock twitches between his legs in response. Trailing a hand up the path of your spine, darkness gathers your wrists in a light coil, bringing them to cross at your back, and he swallows thickly at the imagery. Unable to entirely help himself, having only ever witnessed these events within fantasy, the darkness wraps itself also beneath your shins, raising them from the bed until your calves are pressing to the backs of your thighs, legs bent at the knee.

Breathing deeply, he pulls himself free, noting the slight tremors that run through your body, shuddering lightly from the aftershocks of pleasure, trembling beneath the beast who’s got you at his mercy. So out of it you can hardly understand what’s happening, reduced to a panting, drooling mess. A groan of pleasure rasps from his chest, guiding his tip to your entrance, and slowly…slowly easing in.

Your breaths stutter, small noises whimpering from your lips as your lids flutter with confusion, and he applies a light pressure to the base of your spine, having you curve lightly beneath him as he goes in…and in…and in. His breath fans against the nape of your neck, lips skimming the shell of your ear, and tears spill from your eyes, unable to help as you cry, unable to understand why after having had your mind so thoroughly toyed with.

Rhysand shifts, his forearm banding beneath your stomach to raise you up onto shaky knees, legs still bound while your face presses into the pillow, allowing him to press the entirety of himself inside, his hips meeting the backs of your thighs, at last finding home for that last inch he couldn’t fit into you when you were on your front. You whimper at the stretch, the fullness, the strange pleasure from having no space left inside of you. His lips press to the bare skin of the top of your shoulder, skimming the thin golden chain that remains loosely around your throat.

“So good,” he whispers beside you ear, voice shuddering as he presses his face to the crook of your shoulder, inhaling the thickness of your scent—he could come from that alone, from how you’re squeezing him, the pliancy of your body. “I knew you’d fit me perfectly, and feel how right I was.”

He shifts his weight, and your toes curl lightly, squirming beneath the pleasure, and Rhys can sense it will be a struggle to move, to gather the energy to bring a greater pleasure to both of you. It feels so good as it is, he almost doesn’t want to move, to simply bask in the wet heat of your cunt, the lost familiarity of your scent, the way your body slots so perfectly beneath his own.

You’re struggling internally, grappling for consciousness but overwhelmed by the pleasure he’s forcing into you. You can feel everything that’s happening, feel every thick inch of him that he’s pushed into you, yet can hardly even lift a finger to stop it, tears growing larger as they quietly wet the cotton of the pillow.

“Gods, you were fucking made for me,” he breathes roughly, sounding almost pained as he hoarsely whispers the confession of thought, and it has enough disgust gathering in the pit of your stomach to push you to the forefront of your mind, resurfacing and gasping for breath as you tense, awareness coursing through your blood, suddenly so acutely aware of every place you’re pressed together, every intimate touch of bare skin, and you try to recoil, to squirm away from him.

“Rhys get off me,” you hiss lowly, crying harder as you try to free yourself, but his shadows hold tight, keeping your wrapped up beneath him, physically unable to push him away or to claw at him as you would like to. Your cheek presses into the pillow, neck straining from the uncomfortable angle, the weight being pushed onto your shoulders from the position, and your gaze meets with dominating, depthless violet. You try to thrash, try to writhe away, but you can manage little more than a shift of your hips with the way he’s holding you.

“Aware again?” He murmurs softly, holding you a little tighter, pulling his hips back by a few inches, just to let you really feel as he presses back inside, cock touching against a sensitive spot that has a quiet sob escaping from your throat. “You were enjoying it so much,” he whispers cruelly, like a malevolent spirit urging you toward evil, silently goading and encouraging you away from the good, and instead forward into the bad. “Relax,” he muses besides your ear, your spine unwillingly arching as a shiver ghosts up your back.

Words of hate, of fury and disgust sit ready on your tongue, but he pulls his hips back again, and the breath you take is one you would breathe down before being dragged under a river’s icy surface. One you would take, knowing it might be your last.

He pulls out to his tip, then roughly pushes back in, pushing you into the pillow, and all sense is knocked from your head.

All sense from his, too.

A low growl rumbles through his chest, constraints dissolving to dust and ash as discipline crumbles like sand, disintegrating into nothing as both his hands roughly grip your hips, pulling back to slam into you. Deep, rough, thorough strokes that have his cock hitting spots inside of you, drool slipping over your lips as he fucks the protests out of your mind—fucks the moans from your mouth.

Your vision changes, unable to understand anything you’re seeing through the pure haze of pleasure, unable to take anymore after the two he’d forced through you without having to so much as trace the pad of his finger over your clit. And now he’s pounding into you, knocking the breath from your lungs, filling you up all the while you’re bound and tied, shackled and caged beneath him. For him to use as he pleases.

Tingling heat coils in the pit of your belly, and you’re not sure whether you would prefer the gathering orgasm to be of your own making or his. Whether you would rather it be your body naturally responding to his cruel, dominating pleasure, or for his daemati hands to have slipped into your mind again, fingers easing the puppet-strings to move in the correct formation to have the high rising so swiftly. You hardly have the capacity to consider the thought before it’s banished from your mind, darkness widening the stance of your knees on the mattress so they can twine between your legs, pushing and rubbing at your clit, slick and precum having mixed together, dripping down, slowly making you gleam with arousal that the darkness now uses to catapult you into the orgasm. Shoving you mercilessly into the boiling tempest of pleasure, holding your head below the raging waters so as to drown you in euphoria, to having it fill your lungs and burn at your eyes as it passes through your body.

Rhysand feels you trembling, crying out as you flutter and squeeze him, finding his own high with yours, canines flashing in a barely restrained snarl, teeth biting down into the appetising slope of your shoulder. He feels it as he spills inside of you, hot spurts of cum releasing from him directly into your cunt, and he continues bucking his hips to keep it all pressed deep inside, sloppily grinding against you until your body has ceased its shudders and you’re panting quietly, tears still dripping down your cheeks, nails having bitten deep into your palms but he doubts you’re at all aware of the pain in the moment.

The High Lord curses lowly, breathless as he pulls out of you, seeing how he’s coated in your arousal, wrapped in the evidence of your orgasm, a fresh wave of pleasure having soaked him in your slick, slightly creamy from his cum mixing in. He groans lowly, canine finding place in the corner of his lip as he bites lightly, stroking himself experimentally, then gritting his teeth from sensitivity.

Rhysand glances down at you, ass still kept in the air, trembling; unable to move yet from his shadows, and at once the hunger is renewed, grip tightening on himself as he hardens again. Arousal gathers within him, and he moves almost without thinking, guiding himself back to your entrance, despite how you cry as you feel him begin to push back in, forgetting you will be about to endure a fourth orgasm in less than quarter of an hour, while he is only starting on his second.

You cry out as he firmly presses back in, once again shoving the air from your lungs, and you flinch as the heel of his palm presses hard against the nape of your neck, thumb to one side while his fingers settle on the other, chaining you to the bed by your throat, and allowing him to… You swallow thickly, but struggle with his weight leaning on you.

“Rhys…” you rasp, panic setting in, realising what differences this will make; knowing you can’t take it. “Rhys… Rhys…!” You struggle frantically, arms tugging at the restraints as you try everything you can think of: thrashing against the bonds of your wrists, trying to rock your body side to side to turn over, using all your trembling strength to try and pull your legs free… “Rhys, please…Rhys listen—listen to me,” you cry, fingers moving as if trying to scratch him.

He pays you no mind, grip hardening on the nape of your neck as he pushes in, finding his pace again, following his own instincts this time, the feeling of your orgasm on his cock, how you’d fluttered around him…he’s undone.

Your breath turns more ragged, heart pounding as he increases the pace, feeling inside as it becomes rougher, more feral, more unrestrained, the damper of his power clean off as darkness sprawls across the bed. The rhythm becomes punishing, brutal bucks of his hips, and you nearly scream as he takes advantage of the position, putting his weight behind each thrust, pinning you down by your neck, fucking you into his bed with a conviction that’s obsessive.

Nails dig into your palms, muscles going taut as darkness presses to your clit, rubbing in mean, tight circles, far too harsh for how sensitive you are, thighs shaking with the cruel stimulation. You’re utterly helpless to the way your spine curves, how your toes curl, how you tighten around him with how good it feels—being so roughly treated, pleasure being so mercilessly infused into your body.

And this time, you know he’s tampering with your mind.

You scream as you come again, cock driving into you over and over until your voice gives out, his hips bucking into you in a way that has you forgetting the circumstances, silently begging for it not to end, to not let the pleasure slip away.

A dark grin curves his hellish mouth, daemati fingers effortlessly plucking on the puppet-strings, dragging the high out just as you’d silently prayed for.

But a mind can only take so much tampering. The High Lord knows this, had warned you about it himself before he’d pulled the first two from you. Yet in his haze, caught in his hunger, all he hears are your pleas, and his own mind is helpless to give more and more and more.

It’s only after he’s flipped you over, fucked you full, and sealed his mouth against your own that he realises you’ve passed out, mind exhausted from his relentless ministrations. He doesn’t want to stop, but he knows he can’t continue.

Gazing down at your body, head tipped to the side, your eyes already slightly puffy from crying, he feels a slight ache within his chest. He’s old enough to recognise regret when it appears, the cloying heaviness of guilt that’s so difficult to shake.

He brushes hair from your cheek, wet with saliva, and his thumb traces the curve beneath your lower lip, regaining his breath as he quietly looks over you. You’ll need to rest, to recuperate after the night. As much as he wants to keep you in his own bed, it will only make more damage, and he’s caused enough for the time being. Anymore and he might struggle to fix it.

As it is, he allows himself a few more minutes, leaning over your pliant body, brow pressing to your own as he cups your jaw. He supposes it’s a prayer of his own, though he can’t guess what to.

He’s not sure he wants to pray to something that would listen to him.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria

rhys taglist: @azrielshadows1nger

[targwh0re]

New Ideas for HOTD Rhaenyra Fashion pt.6

This is another one where I like the idea, but I wish they’d stuck more with concept:

As you can see they’re aren’t identical but you can see where they pulled from what. I just wish they’d pulled a bit more.

Number 1) I wish they’d kept that piece around her neckline a yellow shade, and more pointed like a dragon. The yellow represents her dragon Syrax, I repeat DRAGON. Like you could put a little symbol in there, a little reference to their bond. I know it states after she had children she rarely rode, but I feel like that implies she rode a lot before hand.

Number 2) I like golden flower embroidery around the neckline, however, from there they could’ve had the dangling chains we see across her chest in the concept art and also trailing down the front of her dress. It would’ve just been a nice simple added design, they could even be scale in design. Also, I imagine them still being small, not something that’s going to make you stare at them, you’d have to really look to see the design pattern of them.

Lastly Number 3) I would’ve kept the white sleeves. Not get rid of the red sleeves we saw in the show but instead of the fabric we see under her sleeve in the above picture, I’d have the white sleeve from the concept art come from up under the red to peak out and hang down beside her waist:

And I’d the last thing I’ll say is I don’t mind the original belt piece but I would’ve added the chain around the seam where the sleeve meets the shoulder or if they’d gone with the belt piece in the concept are I would do the same just with that same embroidery.

Oh, wait, the hair, the hairrr. Believe it or not but I actually loved this hairstyle, it might’ve been my favorite one that we saw on younger Rhaenyra. It’s just royal, is the only word I can think to describe it. It’s kept out of her face, but not by a simple braid, but nothing so out there that people would stand and stare. Just a hairstyle I think I’d like to admire and keep as it suited the outfit, particularly due to the neck piece that frames her.

[eyes-of-rock]

Revenge

Paul Stanley X OC

Chapter Two

-> {Prologue // Chapter one} (would love to link it but can't)

I do one final look at myself to make sure everything is perfect. I'm wearing a beautiful satin emerald green tea-length dress. It is sleeved with a plunging v-neckline, and the fabric gathers up at the torso. The dress looks stunning to me—the perfect revenge dress. I look damn good.

I look at my living room wall clock—two minutes till four. I take my clutch off the table and head out the door. As I leave my apartment building, a slick black Porsche pulls up.

I know there is no one living around here with a car that nice. The most excellent vehicle I've seen is my Toyota. So it has to be Paul. Right on time. Impressive. I note. More than I can say for Jack, my ex and groom of the wedding I'm about to attend.

The car is sexy as hell. I haven't ever seen a Porsche in person before, at least not this close. You might think it is crazy, considering I live in Los Angeles, but I don't live in the Hollywood part.

Paul seems to be understanding the assignment. I know no one is going to be pulling up to this wedding in a car this nice.

I walk up to the car and open the door. The interior is a sexy black leather. This is the most excellent car I've ever been in. It almost feels wrong to be sitting in a Porsche with Paul Stanley of KISS. I'm a security guard at an office with an awful dating history. I'm not a model or an actress.

“You look stunning.” Paul compliments me, sliding his sunglasses down his nose for a better look.

“Thank you.” I smile, “You look pretty good yourself.”

He's wearing a nice black double-breasted suit jacket, a black striped vest underneath it, and a white low-cut t-shirt under the vest, and he's showing off just a peak of his chest hair. Then he's wearing some nice black jeans. He looks perfect.

I think that wedding is about to be hit by a big surprise, and I can't fucking wait. That's what they fucking deserve.

———————————————

“Lorna.” My mother greets me coldly. “I didn't expect you'd come.”

If you can't tell, she took Vanessa’s side. It's not surprising. She's always been her favourite and could do no wrong. It was always my fault, even when she was in the wrong. This situation is no different.

She eyes up Paul. She wants me to introduce her to my date because she's too proud to introduce herself. Every single guy I've ever brought home, and there haven't been many, she's done this same thing, too. Meanwhile, with Vanessa, it’s always been a friendly smile and an introduction.

“I know that's why I came,” I tell her, “and this is Paul Stanley. Paul, this is my mother.”

“Are you two seeing each other?” She asks in a rather demanding tone. She sounds rather unimpressed. Good.

I don't know how to answer that. I want to say yes, to get her back because we are now that I took him to this wedding technically. But this is also the first time we've gone out if this even counts as going out. I don't want to overstep and say something untrue. Who knows how he's feeling about this? However, something about our conversation a few days ago tells me he’s hoping it is going in that direction. For whatever reason. I still can't figure out why he even went after me, to begin with.

I’m not against the idea. He's been nothing but a gentleman all night so far. Paul is an adorable, caring guy behind the Starchild persona. I don't know if I'm someone he'd want on his arm at the end of the day.

“Yes, and your daughter is a lovely woman,” Paul answers for me, putting his hand on the small of my back and pulling me closer.

“Oh. Isn’t he a little old to look like a teenage degenerate?” My mother asks me, being a snotty cunt as per-usual. I know she's referring to the fact Paul has long hair.

“Isn't Jack a little young to be balding?” I fire back without thinking. His hair is thinner than a piece of paper. At least Paul still has all his hair and is older than Jack.

“You need to check your attitude, Lorna!” my mother gasps, scolding me and holding her hand to slap me. Like she always did to punish me as a kid.

I'm just going to take it like a grown women. I've been hit by her so many times it doesn't even hurt anymore.

“I wouldn't hit her if I were you,” Paul warns her, his voice level and calm.

My mother stops dead in her tracks and looks utterly shocked. I'm just as amazed as her. No one has ever actually stood up for me before. I'm not used to that; my mother isn't used to being told no.

“I want to hit my daughter for being disrespectful, and I will.” My mother gasped, horrified someone told her no, that someone stood up for me.

“Not while I'm here.” Paul insists.

“You’ve always been a spiteful girl; of course, you brought a little guard dog. Just don't ruin this day for your sister.” my mother spits at me, sounding disgusted.

Then, before I can retaliate, she turns and stomps off. I make sure to flip the bird her way real quick. That's what she deserves after that interaction.

I watch her walk over to my sister, hug and kiss her. When only moments ago, she was going to slap me in the face. It fucking hurts. I don't know why I've never been good enough for her. I wish I could have been. I fucking do.

I shouldn't have come. I know being around my family fills me with both anger and hurt. Yet here I am, and I refuse to look like they are getting to me, so I leave early.

At least I'm not alone. Paul is in my corner, which is very sweet of him. He didn't have to defend me, but he did, proving him to be a good guy.

“What a lovely woman,” Paul says sarcastically, an unpleasant look on his face.

“Yeah.” I agree, “Thank you.”

“I wasn't going to let her hit you.” He tells me, sounding like it's just a no-brainer. “Any normal person would have reacted the same way.”

“Well, you say that, but Jack let her hit me in front of him once,” I tell him.

“He’s a jackass,” Paul says, “I mean, come on, he let you go.”

“He did me a favour.” I admit, “I could be the idiot marrying him.”

“Exactly.” He agrees. “This won't be their last marriage.”

“You think?” I ask curiously.

“It’s not a good sign when the couple meets through adultery. Then you have to factor in he's an asshole.” He explains, “I promise you, this marriage will end eventually.”

“I hope you’re right,” I say as we sit at the table. Naturally, my sister put me in one near the back. Not with the rest of my family.

“Hello everyone.” The maid of honour, Vanessa’s best friend since middle school, speaks into the mic at the front of the venue with the rest of the wedding party.

“I’m the maid of honour.” She introduces herself.

“This is a love story for the ages.” She continues, and I roll my eyes. This is going to be a long speech.

“When Vanessa met Jack on that fateful rainy day in October at the Oldstone Bar. They locked eyes, and even though Vanessa had never met him, she knew her destiny was to be with him. So she walked up to him, and their love story began, even though she had to deal with jealousy from her sister of all people they made it through.”

“What the fuck?!” I blurt out in utter shock at the lies from that woman's mouth.

Are they out here spinning it like I made the whole thing up? Like they never knew each other, and I was jealous and getting in the fucking way? When there is undeniable proof that Jack dated me and they had a fucking affair? His entire family met me as his girlfriend. We dated for two whole fucking years. If anyone was jealous, it was Vanessa; she broke us up.

I'm so angry right now I can't even think straight. All I can think about is walking up on that stage and telling everyone the truth. I know I shouldn't, but I can't let this fucking slide. I can't let them tell a fucking lie to everyone and get away with it. I'm done. I’m not holding my tongue any longer.

I stand up.

“WHAT A LOAD OF BULLSHIT!” I yell to catch everyone's attention.

Everyone gasps, and the room falls silent.

“You two are such fucking liars.” I ask, “Would you like to know how they met?”

“I was dating Jackass over there,” I say, pointing right at Jack’s stupid fucking balding head.

He looks as terrified as he should be.

“and then he goes and cheats with my bitch of a sister Vanessa. Who never so much as felt a drop of rumours. So if anyone in that situation was because it was her.”

“Lorna, please-” My father bags; he doesn't ever get involved. He spent my whole childhood just letting everyone treat me like shit.

“No.” I snap, standing firm, “You don't deserve me to stop; I'm done with all of you.”

“You two deserve each other,” I say, pointing towards my sister, who's crying crocodile tears and her pussy ass husband.

“I wish you a short and miserable marriage.” I pick up the champagne glass and cheer it towards them.

Then I start walking towards the door, everyone looking at me. I hold my head up high. I don't regret it. It had to be said, and I don't care if a single one of these fuckers talks to me again.

I take a deep breath once I'm outside. I don't even feel sad. I don't feel like I’m losing something, but I am walking away from them. From cutting them off. I probably should have done this years ago.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” I apologize to Paul; I feel slightly embarrassed, so I just blew up in front of the frontman of KISS.

“I get it if you don't want to see me again.”

He didn't know me well and had to put up with all my family drama. He's been very nice about it, but he must think I'm insane now.

“Don’t apologize.” He says, “They had it coming.”

“Really? You don't think I'm crazy?” I ask, surprised.

“You’re the most normal one there.” He laughs, “I’d love to take you out again, maybe this time without your family.”

“I’d like that.” I smile at him, “And don't worry, I don't think I’ll be talking to them anymore.”

And I wholeheartedly mean every word of that. This wedding had a better ending than I could have thought. I did get my revenge.

[goofie-light]

Toilet Bound Hanako-Kun- Sakura Nanamine

Nanamine Sakura is a 3rd-year student at Kamome Academy's High School division. She made a contract with Tsukasa and is now bound to him as his assistant. She is a member of the school's Broadcasting Club.

•Sakura has green hair styled in an asymmetrical bob cut with very short bangs. She has two pieces of hair left in front of her ears to frame her face, and two more long sections that extend to her chest. She also has two braids that extend from the crown of her head down to her ears. Her eyes are green with yellow flecks. She has notable eyelashes and always has her eyes half-closed, giving her a somewhat drowsy or disinterested look.

•Sakura is noted to be quite beautiful, mainly by Nene. She is said to have a doll like appearance. Sakura also appears to be quite slender and seems to be taller than Nene.

•She wears the school uniform with a red gem brooch above the front bow. Unlike Nene's uniform, Sakura's is long-sleeved. She wears yellow stockings with brown stripes and garters. In the anime, her socks are brown and lack garters.

•During the tea party arc, Sakura is wearing a long, sparkling black dress with long, bishop sleeves. On her sleeves she has two yellow buttons, and seems to be wearing a frilly white undershirt that can be seen peaking out of her sleeves and behind her neckline. On her neck, she also has a matching white cravat with a red gem brooch in the middle of it, just like on her school outfit. She is also wearing boots, which are black in the manga but brown in the anime.

•When transformed into a male body, she a sharper face, wider shoulders and burlier legs and arms. She is also generally taller and somewhat more muscly. Her eyes are smaller and without eyelashes, and her hair is a lot shorter, with two long chunks of hair on either side of her face. During the chapter, she request a male uniform, which is a standard kamone gakuen male uniform, but with her signature red gem brooch.

•She enjoys Yashiro Nene's company and treats her with hospitality and kindness, but is also willing to double cross her at Tsukasa's behest, indicating she may not be terribly honest. While she may legitimately desire Nene's friendship, she also seems to keep herself distant in order to carry out Tsukasa's requests.

•Interestingly, both of girls share aesthetic similarities, like their short bangs, brooches, and irregular stockings.

•In Chapter 103, Sakura dons the costume of a Maid as part of Class 3-B's Maid and Butler Cafe exhibit. She still wears the same stockings and garters as her school uniform, but with the rest of her outfit being a short-skirt maid costume. She has a ribbon on the back of her costume, and wears a fluffy headband on her head. Her signature red gem brooch is located above the collar, as it is in the rest of her outfits.

•It is unclear currently what favor she gained by being in a contract with Tsukasa. It is also unknown what her specific goal or wish is, however, it is most likely related to leaving Kamone Academy's bounds.

•By association with Tsukasa, and due to her status as a supernatural herself, she is able to see other supernatural beings. In addition, she is able to communicate with kokujoudai as it brings back results or information to her.

"I've always wanted to talk to you. You see... you and I... we're in the same position. I think we could be good friends."

-From Sakura Nanamine

[ I HAD TO PUT MORE PICS LMAO]

[cacklingblobbittyrabbitty]

unhinged rainbow magic post 4 of 12

There are ups and downs in this one yeaaaaaa but we do get the first two fairies of colour woohoo!

JEWEL FAIRIES

India LOOK AT THE PEARLESCENT DRESSSSSSSSS Peak 2000s cute girls (the dress silhouette) First sandals!! Shiny hair with cute lil pin babey First long hair? In conclusion, one of the most iconic first fairies so far?

Scarlett (but like why are you spelling it with two t’s?) Some points for rhyming Kitten heels gurl (first heels?) On first glance: cute! On second glance: I absolutely hate this 1) Pouffed up 90s ass hair 2) Waistline!!! Why does she got long torso syndrome 3) The colour difference between the skirt/shoulder and the torso material 4) Skirt split above the knee = dangerous 5) I just don’t like the waves In conclusion: why you trying to be as iconic as ruby

Emily First proper ginger!! and her freckles are so cute omg Green as a colour works BUT the background colour is heinous why would you do that Ballet shoes for the baddest bitches!!!! also Nice Power Pose HOwever. The dress. 1) Is that fuycking seaweed 2) Why would you fuck up my favourte halter neckline like this 3) Whole dress should be dark green HOWEVER double layered skirts ARE an icon - so points for that ig but at the end of the day this feels offensive to gingers 

Chloe First woman of colour babey Triple layered skirt? Yes Wraparound cardigan? Yes Headband? Yes Sharpay Evans could Never The red accents are chefs kiss Cute ass wings babey 2000s icon - one of the best examples so far

Amy MASSIVE mum vibes esp. with the 80s hair Oh jeans and dresses my beloathed The background shouldn’t be that colour I do like the range of purples So period accurate that it hurts Nice gold hair colour (not too brassy) Vibes are so immaculate that we don’t want to change anything - it feels like an Artefact

Sophie Second woman of colour! Go Jewel Fairies! VANS GO STYLE ICON I love her Her skirt and top are so iconic Off-the-shoulder bell sleeves with poof? It’s doing So Much but works So Well Socks are a slightly different colour than the sleeves which hurts my soul but the vans are so cool that I have to overlook it That haaaiiiir man? Incredible No notes

Lucy (diamond) The top is beautiful - cinched at the chest, long sleeves with open ends, diamond pattern Skirt? Hmmmm I really like the diamond pattern but it feels too sharp - I think more subtle spikes would work here Shout out to Cherryfall23 on deviantart for doing a great remodel of the skirt, making it a skater skirt with a triangular cutout waistline Hair is a statement and it is a good one - she cut it herself and she’s a hairdressing icon Boots. Incredible. Pulls off the cowboy style immaculately

[scribbledquillz]

Revka Tabris reference sheet for @siriskulksnerding - ask for OC gushing and ye shall receive.

Race: City elf, born and raised in the Denerim alienage

Skin tone: Rich chestnut brown with warm, ruddy undertones.

Eye color: Deep brown with notes of a lighter tone which turn up in brighter settings. In dark places her eyes can appear close to black.

Hair color / style: Revka's hair is solid black, and falls to her mid back. It is thick and - while not as textured as Ceral's bouncy, tighter coils - dose have a soft wave to it which is much more noticeable when she wears it loose. Typically while traveling, fighting or just going about day to day business she keeps the whole of it pulled back into a looser, simple braid - the sort which hangs low and only starts to gather up at the base of her head. She ties it in place with a scrap of ribbon, linen or twine if nothing else is available. Generally it will hang down the center of her back, but sometimes she will pull it to rest over one shoulder. It is washed and cared for regularly, but the routine is quite spartan. She's been known to fall asleep with her braid still in.

Cleanliness: In general, Revka will wash herself with a bowl of water, rag and block of simply soap before turning in for the night. She appreciates, but doesn't require perfumed soaps or oils, and is quite used to making do without as such things were a luxury within the alienage. A full bath typically happens twice per week, though obviously she will bathe if at all possible when she becomes excessively dirty or sweaty. While traveling during the blight she generally waits to bathe until nightfall for the extra sense of privacy the darkness offers, ducking away to wash herself quickly in a source of clean water (pond, river so long as the water is quite shallow / slow moving) and be back with wet hair before anyone notices her absence.

Notable features: Revka lost part of her left ear in the midst of the events which led her to be recruited into the Wardens. A hard strike to the side of her head from the back of a Templar's gauntlet tore deeply enough into the skin to make it unsalvageable, resulting in her losing the top inch and a half-ish of it. The edge is scarred and rough, making it clear it was not a clean cut. The strike also left her with three scars - akin to three fingers from said gauntlet - following the angle of the cut ear beneath her hair on her scalp, two of which are just long enough to peak out onto the edge of her cheek.

She has a small beauty mark - inherited from her mother - below and to the right of her bottom lip, as well as a few other smaller dots here and there on her face / cheeks.

Casual clothing: While traveling during the blight, Revka keeps her casual wear quite simple, though they are well made / maintained having come from her work as a prior seamstress. Around camp she can most often be seen wearing a loose fitting, off-white tunic which falls to her hips and is drawn in by a simple leather belt with a plain buckle. The neckline of the shirt cuts down into a V with laces keeping the cut fairly modest. The sleeves hang slightly from her arms and end in buttoned cuffs around her wrists, though more often than not she will roll these up, making the sleeve end just below her elbows.

For pants she tends to keep to one of two options - either a pair of equally loose linen breeches dyed a dark green or brown which fall a few inches below her knees, or a tight set of dark brown leather leggings which reach down into her boots.

Her boots are sturdy but old, the light brown leather stained and roughened by harsh Ferelden weather. They reach to mid-calf and fasten with three sets of buckles - two about the top of her foot and ankle with the other at the top of the boot.

As for underthings... being small chested, Revka doesn't HAVE to make use of a breast band very often, but chooses to at all times while traveling during the blight for the sake of modesty. When alone or with company she feels comfortable with, she'll choose to forgo one entirely. And smalls - generally they're basic and serviceable. But there are a couple pairs stashed away somewhere in her pack of the much more frivolous variety with LOTS of lace.

Class: Dual wielding rogue. Revka's style (if it could be called any such thing) at the beginning of Origins was far more brawling based than anything refined that could be put into a typical class. With weapons banned from the alienage it would be all but impossible for her to learn any refined fighting techniques, and so most of what she picked up was from her mother's defense teachings and her own trial and error. Eventually her tactics are honed to a more elegant, efficient style thanks to Zevran, who helps build her grasp of the assassin and duelist styles of fighting.

Armor: During the main bulk of her time contending with the blight, Revka makes do with piecemeal leather armor she is able to find, afford or loot. Her having daggers hidden away in the alienage was already a huge risk, and owning armor - even the most basic pieces - would have drawn too much attention. The pieces tend to vary in style / color for that reason, but will have several characteristics in common.

Revka prefers leathers to all other materials, finding them the best balance between protection and movement. Her cuirass is a full, close fitting piece which covers her from waist to mid arm to the base of her neck, and fastens at the sides with buckles. The sleeves meet with a set of sturdy bracers, and those with a pair of fingerless leather gloves to allow for dexterity while giving the more delicate skin of her palms coverage. For her legs she uses padded leather leggings with extra reinforcement put into the knees, thighs and groin, while the rest covering from the knee down being covered by sturdy, well abused boots which come to mid-calf. She does not tend to opt for a helm, finding it limiting for her field of view and hearing, both of which are essential for her style of fighting.

After the events of her capture and imprisonment in Fort Drakon, Revka's original armor is lost and unrecoverable. This is replaced by a new set of fine leathers - the first brand new pieces she's ever owned.

All in all, I generally picture her armor to be very similar to the long sleeved version of leather armor as seen in Origins - minus the weird excessive straps across the chest.

Weapons: Revka uses a mismatched pair of simple steel daggers, both of which are approx. 10 to 12 inches long and easily concealed beneath clothing if need be, though generally are kept in sheaths attached to her belt to either sides of the small of her back (see below). The handles are both wrapped in leather - one dark brown, the other a reddish ochre color - with a simply styled but sturdy pommel Revka isn't opposed to slamming into jaws as needed. She also will use throwing knives, kept on her belt within easy reach. Examples:

Outer layers: One of the few belongings Revka is able to bring with her after her conscription aside from her mother Lysha's amulet (see below) and essentials is a well made shawl which used to belong to her father Hammel. It's a deep jewel tone blue, simply but masterfully stitched by her mother and held in place around her shoulders by a simple brass pin. It offers warmth and a hood to keep her head dry during the frequent wet Ferelden weather while not hindering her movement too severely to be a burden.

Jewelry: Prior to her relationship with Zevran, the only piece of jewelry Revka wore was a simple round pendant which used to belong to her mother. It is made of glass with Forget-Me-Nots preserved inside, backed in beaten silver and hung on a silver chain. She does not remove it for fear of misplacing it while traveling, but generally will keep it tucked beneath both her breast plate and her tunic against her skin to keep it out of harms way while traveling, fighting etc.

Zevran gifts her the golden earring after Taliesin's death and Revka's imprisonment in Fort Drakon. I imagine it as a small golden hoop she wears on her right ear - pierced with Zevran's help.

Both pieces of jewelry can be seen in her tarot card portrait:

Makeup: Generally Revka chooses to not wear makeup simply because she feels it isn't a necessity she is willing to devote time to. If she decides to wear some for a more formal/important occasion, she will stick to simple kohl eye shadow and a touch of color at her lips, typically red.

Symbols: None until she becomes Warden Commander of Amaranthine, when she is given a proper set of Warden's armor with the griffin crest on the breastplate.

Expression: Stern, focused, a look which would most likely be described as uninviting and no-nonsense when not around those she's let her guard down for. In a fight she tends to look rather vicious, pointed elven teeth on display with a clenched snarl, nose wrinkled, eyes dark and pointed.

Favored skill: Revka is quick, light on her feet and clever. She prefers to use her speed and quick thinking to catch her opponents off their guard or pit their attacks and movement against them whenever possible. However she is also know to fight dirty, having no qualms with sweeping someone's feet out from under them, throwing punches or elbows if it means the difference between her life and their's. She has a rudimentary skill in sneaking which is grown only stronger thanks to Zevran's training, and gradually becomes quite competent with stealth attacks meant to cause the most damage to, if not outright kill her adversary.

Things I'd love to see: TEEEEEEEETH! Pointy elven teeth please I would LOVE that, as well as a chance to have her damaged ear visible - I've not managed to get a proper picture with that yet and it's such a prominent part of her appearance. I also see her with a very DA 2 elf style nose, so having that included if the image is in profile would be great as well. : 3

[artsysurvivor]

[Image ID: 2 separate pictures with multiple drawings on each. The first picture has 4 drawings of Caitlyn through out the years, all in bust shots. Common in all of them is the color of her hair, black, and the color of her skin, a very light tan.

In the first one, she is 4, with short messy hair. She has almond-shaped eyes looking off to the right and a wide toothful smile. She has freckles. Above a long-sleeved, light blue shirt is a darker blue vest with a low neckline and a plaid-like pattern on it made with white lines.

In the second one, she's 7, her hair longer than her shoulders. Her nose is more angular and she is facing a 3-quarter view with a neutral look on her face. She has more freckles than before. Peaking out from behind a yellow, light-weight jacket with a long button holding it together is a white shirt with a bow at it's collar.

She's 13 in the third drawing, her hair only reaching her shoulders but not going over them. Her eyes are closed, and her smile is thinner than when she was 4, but it is still toothful. With a loose collar tied together with another bow, her under-shirt is light tan while the garment going over her shoulders is a darker brown.

Finally, in the last drawing of the first picture, she is 19. Her face is longer and more angular with a small square chin; her eyes are smaller and the bridge of her nose coming from the bottom goes up higher. Her hair is neater, again long enough to go over her shoulders, reaching past them. She has a widow's peak. Her outfit consists of a light purple undergarment with puffy sleeves and stitching going all the way down her chest. A darker purple vest goes over it, a small, hill-shaped pattern going down the inner side of it.

In the second picture, it shows two groups of the O'Carrick siblings; one in their younger years and one in their older years.

In their younger years, when she is 4, she only reaches the twins' chests. Ferris has one hand on his belt and the other on her opposite shoulder; he has a cape, long hair, a button up vest over a long sleeved shirt, and boots. Halt has his arm hanging at his side with the other resting on her head. His hair is cut short, done by himself, and is wearing a long-sleeved shirt pinched at one point of the waist, a sash, puffy pants, and boots with ropes wrapping them up. He looks like he is saying something, while Ferris has a small smile on his face. Caitlyn is beaming and tilted slightly towards Halt with her hands at he sides.

In their older years, she is taller than both of them, still standing in the middle. She has her hand on her hip and has one foot in front of the other. Wind is blowing her hair and dress, as well as Ferris's cape and long hair. Ferris, on the right side of her, has puffy pants going into taller, laced up boots, a mustache and a goatee, an asymmetrical shirt with a sash towards the bottom of it towards his waist, puffy sleeves at his shoulders and thinning out towards the rest of his arm, a high collar, and padded armor holding the cape in place on his shoulders. Halt, on the other side, is wearing a ranger's cloak and his clothes underneath it are shaded. His hair is cut short and he has a beard. /End ID]

Heyy i love your art style and i just wanted to see how you painted Caitlyn so *ohm* this is a request for Caitlyn

CAITLYN!!

(the tallest O’Carrick)

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

double dare, m | ksj, knj

pairing(s): seokjin x reader x namjoon — also yoongi x reader, implied ot7 x reader

summary: Kim Seokjin calls to issue a challenge. A (double) dare, if you will. He says you can't take two dicks at once. Kim Namjoon, his roommate, argues that you can. Well, you never back down from a dare, especially when it involves Seokjin and Namjoon.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language, low-key horny crack + chaotic energy; smut (fem reader, doggy, threesome, slight D/s dynamics, mild restraint, nipple play, finger sucking, fingering, double penetration); non-idol!AU - ot7 x sex friend!reader, focusing on Seokjin and Namjoon in this one :D (cough with some Yoongi)

'journey (to the dick)' au aka you as the main character in harem hentai and BTS is your (horny af) harem

--

“Yah!”

Smack!

“What? Ah, f-fuck!”

“I need you to get over here. There is a particular matter that needs to be discussed,” came the very serious, no-nonsense tone from your phone, speaking rather sternly for someone who called you three times in a row and forced you to answer in the middle of your, ahem, dick appointment.

You were holding the phone in one hand and your other was on the bed, fingers clutching the sheets, jerked forward periodically with firm, hard thrusts.

Someone was shouting behind the one on the phone.

“I told hyung that you could take dick in both holes and he doesn’t believe me!”

You immediately recognized that deep, sultry voice in the background. Still, you needed to address the accusation first.

“Kim Seokjin,” you panted. “What the fuck?”

You could hear his exaggerated eye roll. Well, you couldn’t, but you could, you know?

“Namjoon thinks you can take dick in the pussy and the ass at the same time,” Seokjin spat as if that was utter bullshit. “And that’s just not possible.”

Smack! “Why–” Smack! “Would–” Smack! “You–” Smack! “Think–” Smack! “I couldn’t – mmm, fuck, yes right theeere, fuck, so deep and so hard, ugh, you’re so good…”

Seokjin continued like you weren’t in the middle of getting fucked right that very second.

“Because, okay, you could take some small dick, sure, but us? Us? Come on, you totally couldn’t.���

“That was absolutely absurd of you to say so, Kim Seokjin,” you snapped, your words curling into a lustful moan as a firm hand pushed the small of your back down, forcing you to your elbow, leisurely spanking your ass hard with his open palm, keeping you on the edge, so close to hitting your peak but not quite there, thrusting steady but rough.

The headboard was hammering the wall at the same deliberate pace.

The neighbor who lived on the other side of the wall was cursing again.

“Are you both going to be home?” you gasped out, all of your muscles tensing. Almost…

Seokjin snorted. “Pfft, obviously, we are human beings who sleep, you know–”

“We’ll see about that.”

You hung up on him.

“I gotta go.”

Surprisingly, the deep, husky voice behind you actually responded.

“After this one.”

“You asshole, you are holding out – a-ah, wait, oooooooh, fuck!”

-

"I took a shower, Yoongi helped me clean all my bits, I dried my hair, went back home to put on a fresh dress and you're fucking ASLEEP, KIM SEOKJIN, WHAT THE FUCK?!"

“Zzzzzzz – guh!”

Total chaos as you threw yourself onto Kim Seokjin’s lap, disturbing the perfect image of self-proclaimed Worldwide Handsome laying on the couch covered with a fluffy white blanket and squishy alpaca plush with a red neck scarf tucked in his inner arm, grabbing said plush and smacking him with it repeatedly as Seokjin lost his shit, flailing about and throwing his arms over his head, wailing at you to stop. His roommate, Kim Namjoon, was unabashedly cackling like a lunatic behind you.

“CEASE AND DESIST!”

“You–” FWOOP! “Bossy–” FLOOP! “Pillow–” BOOP! “Princess!”

“Namjoon, h-help!”

“Hell no,” Namjoon snorted in laughter. “I’m having a great time watching.”

“Yah!”

“First you doubt me, then you fall asleep on me, what’s next, you–”

Seokjin grabbed both your wrists, thinking he had won, already cheering for himself, only for you to plant your tits right onto his handsome face, his nose jammed right into your cleavage because of the sweetheart neckline of your red lace dress, hot breath warming your chest, brown eyes wide, grip on your wrists lessening in his shock. You yanked your hands out and clutched his head, sinking your fingers into his black hair, violently muffling his half-squeal, half-moan with your breasts, blaringly obvious that you weren’t wearing a bra because your prominent nipples were already hard and creating stiff peaks under the fabric, poking him incessantly in the cheeks.

You gasped as another pair of strong hands grabbed your forearms and made you release Seokjin’s head, forcing them up and your back to arch. A deep voice dipped down to caress your ear, not paying attention to Seokjin who did not detach himself from your tits.

He was making the most of it while you were distracted.

“Woah there, what do you think you’re doing?” Namjoon drawled, grip tightening, bending your arms back, elbows up, pressing your wrists to your upper back. “That’s not a punishment.”

You tried to breathe but Namjoon’s heavenly deep voice was taking your breath away.

“You know what punishments are.”

He pressed your head back, leaving your arms the way they were, and Namjoon’s sultry eyes appeared, half-lidded brown orbs completely visible because he had cut his hair very short now, dark gray-brown and spiked up, cocking an eyebrow at you. You whimpered at his gaze, suddenly feeling hotness on the curve of your breast, lips pressed to one of your nipples, and then wetness closing in, sucking you through lace and satin, the short flared skirt rising because of your spread thighs, but there was too much fabric between you and Seokjin’s hardness, the blanket and pajama pants and boxer briefs, so frustrating, about to lower your head to rectify that, but Namjoon’s palm pressed into your chin, fingers closing in around your cheeks, immobile.

“Where do you think you’re looking?”

Every time Namjoon smirked, one of his dimples peeked out at you. Ugh, so sexy.

“I… I’m s-supposed to be punishing Seokjinnie…” you gasped out, feeling said man’s teeth nicking at your nipple through your dress, his large hands closing in on your waist, pulling you closer, causing you to bend back more, unable to escape Namjoon’s grip and gaze.

Namjoon tilted his head, amused. “Yeah? Were you so, so mad that hyung wasn’t awake so you could show off how well you can take it in both holes?”

You didn’t want to whine and be pathetic, but Seokjin’s mouth and hands were all over your breasts and waist, pinching you through your clothes and sucking on the hard nubs, rushes of pleasure clouding your head and making you forget your defiance, remembering all the things Namjoon liked, like when you were so drunk on sex that you just gave into him, now whimpering and opening your mouth, your tongue sliding out, feeling him shift his palm, Namjoon’s finger leisurely tracing your lips. Your tongue followed, licking the pads of his fingers, rolling your body into Seokjin’s mouth, wanting to grab his shoulders but not letting yourself do so because Namjoon hadn’t allowed you to do so yet.

He liked you bad, but he also liked you obedient.

“W… Want it…”

You felt Namjoon’s other hand tangle in your hair, fingers molding to your scalp, sliding two of his long fingers into your mouth and making you suck on them, your eyelids fluttering as he fucked your mouth with his fingers, rubbing your tongue, pushing your arms down, your name growled by that deep, deep voice.

“Look at me.”

You fixated your eyes on Namjoon’s stern expression, shuddering as you felt Seokjin push the sleeves of your dress down, scooping out your breasts, moaning as his lips touched your skin, hot tongue teasing your hard nipples and you couldn’t tell him to do more or less, trapped by Namjoon’s fingers in your mouth and his hand in your hair, tugging at it lightly so you sucked his fingers like a cock, vision hazing out at the helplessness of it all.

Voluntary helplessness, to be clear.

“You want it? You had Yoongi-hyung fucking you earlier and now you want more? So dirty and so insatiable,” Namjoon taunted, not meaning it of course, because how could he mean it when he too wanted it all, knew you were insatiable and loved it as much as the rest of them, addicted to the feeling you gave him, pushing your head down, fingers still in your mouth. Seokjin raised his head, black hair, large brown eyes, pink lips lush and full and gorgeous, meeting the image of fingers sliding in and out of your glossy lips, your eyes glassy and reflected in his.

Namjoon pushed his fingers apart, opening your mouth.

Your tongue lolled out, swiping around his knuckle, staring into Seokjin’s eyes.

“F… Fuck…”

The oldest was dirty-minded but resistant in showing it, clenching his jaw, weakening as your fingers danced up his arms and you moaned his name messily between Namjoon’s long wet digits, tits pushed up by the neckline of your dress straining under them, knowing your sensuality was irresistible and infectious, placing your hands on his broad shoulders, pulling him closer.

“I still… don’t think you can take us both at once…” he breathed, staring into your eyes.

You smirked, Namjoon’s fingers sliding out, saliva smearing onto your chin, the taste of his skin on your tongue.

“Only one way to find out.”

And you leaned in and kissed those perfect lips, soft and passionate kiss, wrapping your arms around him, fingers splaying over his back and in his hair, his name trapped in the kiss, sudden hardness pressing to your back, breaking the first kiss and turning your head to be trapped in another, full lips commanding the lip-lock, two different hands on your breasts, Seokjin and Namjoon toying with them, the rush of pleasure only just beginning.

-

“Whose face am I looking at?”

“Obviously mine,” Seokjin scoffed. “Do you even have to ask?”

You gasped. “But Namjoon is so handsome.”

Seokjin rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but you want him to make you look at him, so that completely defeats the purpose of being forced when the default is you facing him.”

“Also, hyung thinks he’s the most handsome,” Namjoon chuckled, tugging your dress off, kisses across your chest as it left your body, hands travelling to push your panties down.

“No,” Seokjin choked, affronted as you moaned and gripped Namjoon’s shoulders, enjoying his powerful grip. “I am not that self-centered. I just happen to like how I look very much. Namjoon is very handsome, capable, and intelligent.”

“Thanks, hyung.”

Namjoon shoved a finger inside your wetness, making you stumble into the sofa, raising your leg to place it against Seokjin’s naked thigh, almost falling if it wasn’t for your ass being suddenly grabbed by Seokjin’s firm hands.

“You are still clumsy, Namjoon,” Seokjin sighed, lowering you slightly to look over your shoulder.

You reached back and held onto the sofa, Namjoon’s mouth on your nipple and his finger in your soaked pussy, thrusting deeply to match his swiping tongue, maddeningly slow but rough, so dangerous, losing your mind at the leisurely pace, trying to buck your hips to get more but Seokjin’s hands were preventing you.

You heard the oldest huff and make a disapproving tongue click.

“Not like that. She likes it faster than that.”

Namjoon knew that. Obviously.

Your eyes widened.

He smirked around your nipple as one of Seokjin’s hands left your ass.

“Seok– oh, fuuuck!”

You gasped as you felt another finger enter your dripping pussy, another finger of a different hand, stretching your walls and a different pace, faster, your eyes rolling back, head hitting Seokjin’s shoulder, but either he didn’t notice or didn’t care, your moans in his ear, Namjoon matching the rhythm, oh, shit, they were fingering you together, Seokjin from between your legs from behind and Namjoon from the front, the backs of their hands slick with your juices, Seokjin’s other hand still squeezing one ass cheek and Namjoon’s other hand on your waist, his mouth on your breasts.

“Come on, I know you’re close,” Seokjin muttered, exhaling hard. “I can feel your pussy sucking me in, asking for dick already.”

He was not normally one for dirty talk, but sometimes Seokjin let himself got lost in the lust, lost in the moment of your throbbing walls and shaking body, moans of their names tumbling from your lips, filling up their living room with obscenity and depravity, thrusting in unison, loud and wet and heavy breathing blending with your sound, pushed to the edge, thighs tensing, electricity flashing throughout your nerves.

“Namjoon, Seokjin, fuck!”

Wet squelch, sweet gush of your juices soaking their hands, your eyes rolling back, yelping as Namjoon’s hand retreated and Seokjin stuffed another finger in you. You didn’t need to say it, one glance at Namjoon and he could see it, harder, hyung, she can take it, gasping as Seokjin obeyed and Namjoon's wet fingers pressed onto your throbbing clit, wild howl at the contact, sparks of sensitivity because it was right after your orgasm, heat at your neck from Seokjin’s cheeks, his teeth finding your shoulder, biting it, maybe from his realization of how crazy this moment was or in the heated moment of wanting to feed you even more pleasure, but the sharp unexpected pain only hiked your moans, Namjoon rubbing your clit as Seokjin shoved his fingers into you hard and fast, the angle a little awkward but there was so much going on that it didn’t matter, already there once again, obsessed with the overabundance of ecstasy, I’m cumming, fuck, Namjoon, Seokjin, a-ah, clit engorged and pulsing strongly to Namjoon’s punishing touch, words jumbled and woven with breathless cries, orgasm crashing down and soaking Seokjin’s hand once more, thick and sweet and honey-like, viscous juices clinging to your inner thighs, painted with your high.

Namjoon leaned in, silencing your shuddering gasps with his mouth, deep kisses and swirling tongue dazing you, aftershocks flinching through your torso as he pressed his fingertips to your jerking core, lowering you from the crashing waves, whispering darkly against your lips.

“We haven’t even started.”

Releasing you, and you were already turning around, meeting Seokjin’s gaze and his panting smile, kissing it, sighing contentedly in his touch, just something about those lips and his large frame surrounding you, something about the way he shivered when you sucked his breath away and drank it, almost innocent, but not that innocent, because the second your wandering hand found the condom on the sofa and pressed it into his palm, his lips curved into a teasing grin, nipping at yours.

“Already?” he teased.

You reached between you and him, fingers ghosting his length, smirking at Seokjin’s gasp, gazing at him under your lashes.

“You get hard from kisses, Seokjinnie.”

“I – gah, d-don’t…”

But he didn’t mean it, of course not, because he was humping your hand that was closing around his hot, hardening cock, stroking him slowly from base to tip, spreading the pre-cum over the sensitive head, his jaw clenching at the feeling, desire and need clouding his eyes, pupils blown-out, ripping open the foil packet, heavier exhales, staring into your eyes.

“You want to look at me that bad, huh?” he breathed against your lips, fishing for it.

You gave it to him, exactly what he wanted.

“Mhm, Seokjin, I want to look at your handsome, perfect face while you fuck my pussy and Namjoon fucks my ass.”

He sucked in a breath, caught in his throat.

“You’re crazy, but so, so hot.”

Eh, you’ll take it.

You moved your hand and he rolled the condom down, yelping as you captured his lips again, addicted to his kiss and his soft cries, his hand and your hand guiding his stiff cock to your quivering pussy, already saturated with slickness, spread knees and lowering body, sinking down onto him, moaning into his mouth and he moaned into your throat, suffocating each other with your noises, rolling your hips and breaking the kiss, both of your faces pointed to heaven with the true heaven between your connected hips, pleasure at being filled and doing the filling, his hands on your ass to push you down.

“Hyung, spread her ass,” Namjoon ordered behind you.

You pitched forward slightly, wrapping your arms around Seokjin’s shoulders, gasping as you felt him tug outwards, sinking his fingers into your softness, your lips pressed to his cheek, his sweet voice murmuring your name, filling you with warmth despite being exposed so vulnerably.

You inhaled deeply, breathing in Seokjin’s clean scent.

Then you flexed your asshole, tightening and relaxing the ring of muscle.

“Fuck, that’s so sexy.”

You gazed at him in your periphery, eyes widening as you realized Namjoon too was naked now, muscular body towering behind you, flicking open a bottle of lube and spreading it over his fingers, rubbing them together as they became shiny and slippery, catching your interested expression.

He smirked, dimple on display. “Ready?”

“I’ve been ready since I walked in the door, Namjoon,” you smirked back, enamored with his seductive dark brown eyes.

He chuckled.

“Nah, you were ready the second Seokjin challenged you and said you couldn’t do it.”

Oops, he got ya.

You gasped hotly, feeling his fingers press up against your tight hole, tracing circles and teasing you, pushing into your ass in the opposing rhythm of Seokjin’s rocking hips, your hold on Seokjin’s shoulders tightening, hearing him gasp with you, watching two Namjoon’s fingers dip in and snake into the tightness, both of them inhaling sharply at the sound, wet squelch and your wanton cry, your hips rocking into it, pleasure shimmering all over.

“T-That’s still not a dick,” Seokjin managed to get out, still stubborn but mixed with awe regardless.

“Gotta stretch her out,” Namjoon chuckled. “Don’t wanna hurt our good girl, right?”

Well, if you weren’t in euphoria before, you definitely were there now.

“N… Namjoon-ah…”

“Shh, I got you, just enjoy.”

You arched your back a little more, Seokjin sliding down to accommodate, slowly thrusting and gasping at the sensation, turning to him and intense kisses, needing to occupy your mouth, fullness in your ass and your pussy, whimpering as your felt Namjoon’s fingers flex, nudging your muscles to relax, core throbbing, clenching around Seokjin’s stiff length instead, so good, oh, yes, it was so good, his kisses and slapping your hips down, wanting more, already chasing more, intoxicated by the feeling of both your holes being filled.

You heard the bottle of lube fall to the floor and the slick sound of hand on hardness.

Shivers up and down your spine.

“Say it.”

You broke Seokjin’s kiss, gasping.

“Tell us that you want it,” Namjoon growled.

Drunk on the idea, commanded by lust.

“P-Please, Namjoon…” you breathed, eyes hazy and half-lidded, staring at Seokjin. “Want you to fuck my ass as Seokjin fucks my pussy. Want you two to ruin me.”

The brown eyes beneath you widened, mouthing, you’re crazy.

You grinned, Namjoon’s fingers buried in your ass.

“Told you, hyung.”

His fingers pulled out, pushing the small of your back down with his palm. One a second to mourn the loss and then your eyes widened, the thick head of Namjoon’s cock pressed against your ass.

Wait, maybe you should have asked if Namjoon could be in your puss–

Too late.

“Oh, f-fuck!”

You clutched Seokjin’s shoulders, digging your nails into him as slowly, carefully, Namjoon’s girth entered your tight, tight hole, still tight even through he worked you up and stretched you out, the lube helping him slip inside, your mind going blank, realizing that maybe you went over your head a little, but too far to turn back and, to be honest, you didn’t want to turn back, the fullness already too good to regret it, gasping as Namjoon gripped your hips, holding you completely still as he bottomed out, hot breath on your shoulder blades.

Well.

Your mind wasn’t so blank that you forgot to speak.

“Still…” you panted, slowly grinning at Seokjin’s shocked and stunned face, his jaw dropped as he felt and witnessed it. “Think it’s impossible for me to take dick in both holes?”

“Y-Y-You…” he sputtered, choking a little as Namjoon began to move, his scrambled words mixing with your lustful moans. “Are absurd.”

It was almost too much, but Namjoon did not let you command the pace, instead firmly keeping you in one spot as he nudged Seokjin to move, guiding you both expertly, groaning when you pulsated around the two dicks, able to feel the reverberations from the closeness, body to body to body, trembling from the overwhelming sensation, Seokjin thrusting up from below, his handsome face tense, panting with effort.

“Oh, fuck… it’s so tight… fuck, I can feel it, I can feel his dick fucking your ass, that’s so weird…”

You weren’t quite sure what he expected to feel. What did Seokjin originally think he was getting into when he called you? He was the one who had been touting their superior size! What did he think it would feel like–?!

“A-Ah, y-yes, there, like that, oh f-fuck, like thaaaaaaat…”

You forgot about questioning Seokjin’s brain, refocusing on the feeling of the consistent thrusting and depth of the two cocks, an almost melodic rhythm and substantial fullness. There was a sweet spot, right, oh, there, Namjoon’s hand flat against your back, his deep grunts of effort paired with each smack of hips to ass and Seokjin’s crotch to yours.

Oh, huh, were those loud, pitched moans resonating off the apartment walls you? But the ecstasy too high, too real, too good, so good that you seemed to forget that it was already very late at night.

Surely their neighbors would complain – was that part of your brand now? oops – but it seemed that neither Seokjin or Namjoon noticed or cared, pants and moans and groans and chasing carnal pleasure, irrational, wild, heads thrown back, lashes fluttering and lost in bliss, stuffing your tight, wet heat from both holes, kissing Seokjin sloppily before turning your head to make out with Namjoon, his teeth trapping your tongue and sucking on it, gargled moan and shaking body at the mercy of his iron grip, snapping back to Seokjin’s pillowy lips, juxtaposition of hard and soft, crashing pleasure and coiled constriction, letting go, orgasm overtaking you in shudders, not realizing you had been so close, their names falling from your throat between fucked-out, loud, blissful cries.

“Seokjin… Namjoon…”

Couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but peak in that gratifying elation, shivers up and down your spine, the lower half of your body throbbing and trembling, chin lowering only to witness Seokjin shutting his eyes and clenching his jaw, groaning out your name as he shot into the condom, jerking cock twitching inside you, vibrating front to back, no, that was Namjoon’s low hiss of your name, his fingernails digging in your hips he shot into your ass, your eyes snapping open, thick spurts of his orgasm so strong that you could feel his cock twitching deep inside, your pulse roaring in your ears, chest heaving, struggling for breath.

Feeling far too proud that they both came with you.

Namjoon’s sweaty chest hit your back, sandwiching you between that big body and Seokjin’s broad shoulders. Seokjin looked to be two seconds away from passing out from the ecstasy of orgasm.

Nice.

“Don’t… question me… again,” you snickered, panting heavily.

Seokjin mumbled and shrugged, incoherent.

“I think he’s saying you could do this, but not the reverse of him in the ass and me in the pussy,” Namjoon clarified, kissing your shoulders with an amused chuckle.

“What?!” you roared.

“That’s n-not…!”

Welp.

-

“We still have unfinished business.”

“Yoongi, I just got DP’ed last night. Have mercy.”

“Mmm.”

Kisses on your neck, lowering the strap of your bra, wrapping his arms around you, purring your name.

“I guess you can buy me dinner and we can watch a movie instead.”

“I have to buy?!”

--

masterpost

[gothgleek]

The Ladies of Team Green

Queen Alicent Hightower and her daughter, Princess Helaena Targaryen

Details Below

Please be kind, I’m still learning how to draw on an iPad.

I was a little disappointed with the costuming on HOTD, Alicent’s costuming and a few of Rhaenerya’s dresses were done the best but even then (and I mean no disrespect to the costume designers, I can’t sew something better) some of them felt discombobulated and the quality felt like a poor Halloween costume. Personally, I think there should be more markers of their higher status such as jewelry and embroidery and the like.

Alicent and Helaena are inspired by Tudor fashion, but the shape of their silhouettes leans more into 1880s Victorian fashion.

Alicent’s first outfit is inspired by Crimson Peak’s costuming as the puff sleeve robe is inspired by the Victorian wrapper dress/ night gown. The dress’s highly stylized jewels and embroidery are lifted from Byzantium fashion. Her hair is inspired by Padme Amidala’s hair in the meadow scene because I think hairnet styles are super underrated. Her second gown is more directly Victorian in shape but with enough Tudor accessories and embroidery to make it appear more medieval. The belt in particular is inspired by Tudor fashion, which I believe was also inspired by the rosary and I know Alicent would like the option to pray on the go. I gave her high necklines with necklaces over it because I think, in a way, she feels confined in her status as a woman and a Royal.

Helaena is more simple with her outfits compared to her mother. She has a Victorian silhouette because I think her mother does have a degree of power but she looks more Tudor like than her mother. Her clothes are more muted than Alicent as she does not want to draw too much attention to herself but her patterns and accessories do not make her fade to the background. The sleeves in the first pic are in reference to Renaissance fashion where ladies were able to adjust their sleeves and redesign them. I think Helaena is autistic and would enjoy the option to change how she feels in her sleeves from time to time. She has a belt in both pics so she can have something to fidget with. I’d like to think Alicent gave her long belts to pick at, so she wouldn’t resort to picking at her nails or digging into her fists like she had once done. I wish I put her in more red or pink but paired with the green and white, she would’ve looked too much like a Christmas card. However her fishnet design is maroon, almost brown to reference her house colors and to resemble dragon scales. The pale green dragons on either side of her bodice are also a shout out to her house because I enjoy more embroidery in period drama fantasies. Her crown in the second pic is more ‘masculine’ than I think she would go for but it is a reference to Alicent and Rhaenerya’s matching rings from when they were friends because I think Alicent subconsciously sees a bit of Rhaenerya. Helaena wears a silver chain across her chest with a pendant/pin of the Seven, another one of Alicent’s choices.

I think I’ll do the ladies of Team Black next because I adore Rhaena and Baela but I’m having a harder time thinking about what kind of dresses they would wear. Definitely Byzantium inspired to put them all in the same time period as team Green but other than that I am stumped so please tell me if you have any ideas!

ID:

[whiskeynwriting]

Insatiable - Chapter Five: Let Me Savor You

Oberyn Martell x OFC Reader “Savia”

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Word count: 9.9k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI) dirty talk, praise kink, oral (m and f receiving), heavy petting/grinding, masturbation, slight voyeurism, spanking, cum play-ish, exhibitionism.

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Summary: Your courtship reveals personal self-doubt, but the prince’s love for you continues when he sees you with his children. Unbeknownst to you, Oberyn plans for a big decision.

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A/N: God, what a fucking sugar daddy. Oberyn Martell absolutely OWNS ME.

Side note, do y’all like longer chapters (8-12k)? I really enjoy writing them, but let me now your thoughts! (:​

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“Oberyn, my prince.” You express, eyeing him lustfully. “You look ravishing.”

He turns away from his servant, smirking at you from over his shoulder. The prince is currently being dressed in a brown, leather suit of armor for his training. He’d taken time off from such activities due to your presence but would like to keep his form and skill. You hardly mind, though. Getting to watch the prince of Dorne conquer the arena set before you, hailing victory over his opponents as he dominates the small battlefield… what better way to spend the day?

The market’s celebration won’t be until later this evening, allowing you to relax at your leisure while the sun rests high above Dorne. Your booth had been prepared diligently by your helpers as well as Oberyn’s artistic eye, making sure your beauty and intellect are truly honored as you’re shown to his people. This day is to be a marvelous one, indeed.

Your eyes are set on the prince as he grins, eyeing his prominent muscles even from beneath the outer layer of protection that adorns his toned frame. He looks magnificent, the shade of brown perfectly complimenting Oberyn’s dark features. He’d been freshly shaven this morning, the dark hair of his scruff lining his sharp jawline while his mustache sits cleanly above his upper lip. The corded muscles in his glorious neck tense beneath his bronzed skin as he eyes you. You continue to scan his body, eyes rising up to land on his wavy, brown locks. His dark hair grays on the end, only adding to the prince’s mature appearance and wildly attractive appeal.

“As do you…” he mutters, his voice alluringly low. “Lovely girl.”

His eyes drop from yours, now staring at your exposed cleavage. You’re wearing a short dress with a low-cut neckline, detailed with small sleeves that hang off your shoulders and over your biceps. It’s quite loose, and very obviously revealing.

He walks over to you, now fully leaving the servant attempting to finish his dressings. His large hands immediately find your breasts, cupping them lightly. A loan groan rumbles through his chest as his tongue peaks out to wet his lower lip. He then looks to you, slowly smirking as he grips you a bit harder. You gasp softly, maintaining eye contact with the passionate prince.

Your sweet hands reach up to hold his face just as he leans into you. His hands curl around your breasts as you kiss resting on your back as they fall lower. He squeezes your round cheeks, pressing you further into him as he grins against your lips. One of your hands trails to the back of his neck, the other up the back of his head to intertwine with his beautiful, dark brown hair.

“My prince,” the servant speaks, “your first opponent has arrived.”

“Go,” you whisper, pulling back enough to rest a hand on his chest. “Let me see you fight for Dorne.”

You know this isn’t real; he’s not out to kill these men, as they aren’t even true enemies. This is all practice, an exercise to refamiliarize him with his combat strategies and swift skills, further increasing his strength and muscle memory. But you can’t help yourself; he looks amazing like this. So strong and broad, so menacingly fierce as he walks away with his signature Dornish spear in hand.

You exhale excitedly, staring at him for a moment before turning to walk over to the cement seating. Ambrose waits for you, standing at the edge of one of the seats. His hands rest behind his back as his fingers link together, slightly puffing out his armored chest. He appears tall and robust while clothed in the dazzling metal; you’re so proud of him and what he’s become.

“Ambrose,” you say softly while approaching him. “I’ve missed you.”

He embraces you fully once you reach out to him, holding you tightly against his large frame. His reply is warm as its spoken, full of genuine love for you as his assumed sibling.

“I’ve missed you, too.”

Due to your busy calendars, the two of you had been unable to converse over the past few days. You’d been quite busy with Oberyn, not only fulfilling your sexual desires but your professional responsibilities, as well. Furnishing your display for tonight’s festival, attending Lord Doran’s meetings, and studying up on your lectures, was quite the load of work. Ambrose found himself betwixt a hectic schedule as well, doing his best to live up to the Dornish guards’ expectations. And to your knowledge, he was successful in doing so.

“How have you been?” he asks, moving aside to allow you a seat.

“Quite busy.” you retort, crossing your legs as you rest on the stone bench. You place a hand next to you on your seat, leaning against it for support as you begin to relax.

“And Prince Oberyn?”

“Quite busy.” you repeat, glancing up at him with a teasing smirk.

Ambrose sighs loudly, rolling his eyes in a dramatic show of annoyance. “You are rather irritating, little sister.”

“Oh yeah?’ you reply, blurting out an abrupt laugh at your knight’s blunt statement. “Well, what about you? What have you been up to?”

“That woman you saw me with earlier this week, you know, during your first celebration?”

“Yes.”

You do recall her, though not in detail. It had been a fleeting moment, the recollection of seeing a woman pull Ambrose toward the dancefloor while you munched on treats at the head table.

“I’ve seen her since.”

“Really?”

“Yes, she’s quite appealing.”

“Ambrose, that’s great!” you exclaim, smiling up at him. “The Dornish are quite a treat.”

You sigh, a small shiver of excitement running through your body you as you recollect this morning’s endeavor. The prince’s lips and tongue had roamed the entirety of your body at least twice before your morning meal. He reveled in your receptiveness, savoring your small whines and moans as he licked and sucked over the pointed peaks of your nipples. He’d lightly drag his perfectly straight teeth over the sensitive skin, biting down gently before sucking it into his fervent mouth. He’d cupped you roughly, massaging you plump flesh beneath his large hands while he ground his clothed erection over your hip.

“So beautiful,” he mumbled against you, sighing deeply. “So divine.”

He continued his praise, entirely aware of the effect his sincere commendations have your wanting sex. He ripped himself from your breast, glancing down at your colliding hips. The wetness growing on his pants wasn’t just due to his leaking cock, but your dripping slick as he rubbed himself against you. You bucked your hips up at the lack of friction, earning a small chuckle from the older prince.

“Oh…” he sighed out, his tone mockingly sweet as he spoke to you. “Such a needy lover…”

Ambrose grins, nodding slightly as he stares ahead. Due to his sudden silence, you follow his gaze, landing your eyes on the prince as he stands a few yards ahead. His opponent is large, slightly taller than him with bulkier muscles, too. You wonder how the prince will do when fighting against this man.

“Can I service you, madam?” Amabel offers, rushing over to your side. She’d just finished washing your bathrobe and is returning to tend to you while Milena works on sharpening Oberyn’s weapons.

“Yes,” you reply, lolling your head to the side with a lazy smile. “Wine would be magnificent.”

“Of course,” she nods, gracefully curtseying before walking off.

A courtyard off to the side holds a set of tables and carts, all filled with scrumptious treats of fruits and vegetables, along with bread, mead, and wine. The sets are shielded beneath a single, large canopy in order to say cool in the Dornish heat. Amabel fills a glass, returning it to you in a matter of minutes.

Wine in hand, you relax into your seat, enjoying the contended feeling blossoming within you. The day is bright, full of beautiful rays and glowing expectations of the hours to come. Your tropical surroundings create a place so magnificent you swear it could have been made by the gods themselves. Dorne truly feels like home, but no, that doesn’t do it justice. Dorne feels like heaven.

Suddenly, the prince’s adversary approaches, fiercely swinging his sword at the beautiful Dornishman before him. Oberyn is swift, shifting to the side in response before twirling his spear upwards. He easily knocks the man’s weapon from his hands, scattering it across the stone floor. Oberyn then turns, using his staff to shove the man forward and forcing him to stumble to the ground.

“Please.” Oberyn sighs dramatically, “Do you truly think I’ve been out of practice so long?”

The man growls, shoving himself up from the ground to face the prince of Dorne once more. There’s a wooden case of multiple weapons off to the side of the small arena, to which the man takes advantage of. He marches over to it, grabbing a dagger and lunging at his opponent. Oberyn’s feet are quick as he jumps backward a few times, dodging his attacks before moving to strike with his own weapon.

Oberyn is flashy with his style, displaying his illustrious strength and speed as his energy heightens with each advance. You can see his brow furrowing as he contemplates his next move, concentrating on formulating his steps to victory. Sweat begins wetting his brow as he continues to fight, swiftly leaping through the air before moving to strike. Oberyn’s opponent eyes the prince’s cockiness, grabbing hold of him before their eyes meet and shoving him to the ground. The prince stumbles, falling to his back and dropping his spear. The taller man lunges at him, surely thinking he now has the upper hand.

Your heart races as you attentively observe the scene before you, watching the prince’s every move. Even from the ground, he’s confident; so sure of himself and his knowledge and strength. He stares up at the man, baring his teeth as he quickly shifts his body.

He rolls on the ground and away from his rival, speedily moving his body and lifting himself to stand behind the man. The nobleman is now weaponless as the man turns, dagger in hand as he moves to attack the prince once more. Oberyn leans to his left, sidestepping the strike and reaching out to grab the attacker’s wrist. In the blink of an eye, Oberyn disarms him, ripping the small knife from his hand before turning to slice the man’s arm. He shouts in pain, grabbing the fresh wound on his outer bicep as he turns toward Oberyn, who is already delivering his next blow. Oberyn’s strong arm shoves itself to the right as he kneels, gracefully cutting through the skin along the man’s outer leg. The man then falls to his knee once his calf is sliced. The prince rises to his feet, languidly circling the man before kicking his lower back, hailing victory above the wounded fighter.

“Stay down.” Oberyn’s low tone demands, panting as he tosses the dagger to the ground. “Bring me another man. One who is interested in a proper duel, not hand-to-hand.”

Oberyn continues to fight, and you continue to watch. Opponent after opponent, glass after glass, time begins passing quicker than you’d like. Your enjoyment is obvious as you watch your lover, excitement rushing through you at each advance he makes, each victory he claims. His confidence is something you admire greatly, endlessly entrancing to your beautiful mind. His strength, his power, his dominance… each impressive trait showing in more ways than one.

You opted to give Oberyn some privacy once he finished his training, surely off to bathe and relax before dinner, and ultimately tonight’s later events. He had denied your offer, though, insisting on your presence.

“Have I done something of concern?” he asks softly, curiously. “Something to upset you, little one?”

You smirk up at him, both the nickname and his tender words waving butterflies through your stomach. He pinches your chin between his thumb and forefinger, looking down at you as a small smile begins sliding across his lips.

“No, my prince,” you reply, staring up at him lovingly, “You have done nothing wrong.”

Though you wanted to give Oberyn some time alone, his decision to keep you by his side made your heart grow fonder. He led you to his chambers, hand in hand, walking down the path you’ve grown all too familiar with. His bath had already been ran, the steam filling the room laced with a flowery perfume.

“Who should I call upon?” you ask, scanning your reflection. Your fingers comb through your hair, a bit tangled and in desperate need of a wash.

“Milena has always been fantastic with hair.” Oberyn responds, already relaxing into the warm water. He rests his head back on the stone, closing his eyes.

Within a few moments, Milena is by your side. She sits you in a chair near the sink, laying you back as she washes your hair. Her fingers feel graciously soothing as she massages the soap through your now wet strands, rinsing and combing them to perfection. Though Amabel did your hair and makeup, she’s yet to wash your hair. Maybe you could see how she does it next.

“Hm?” you reply to Oberyn, who has questioningly called your name.

“Would you like to meet two of my daughters tonight?” he inquires, his eyes still closed as he continues to ease his muscles in the hot bath.

Your heart leaps at the offer, nervousness quickly flooding your veins. Of course you want to meet his daughters, you’d absolutely love to, you’d be honored to. It’s possible, though, that you’re worried they’ll have the same distaste for you as Oberyn’s niece does. You also wonder what they look like, if they have their father’s eyes or his charisma, if they have a Dornish personality or one similar to their cousin, Trystane. Though, you suppose you’ll never know unless you meet them. It’s a good sign, you think, that Oberyn wants you to meet his daughters. Surely, this would mean your significance is growing in the prince’s eyes.

“I would love to.” You respond, once you’ve swiftly sorted through your thoughts.

He opens his eyes, leaning his head forward to look at you. You’re just barely able to see him from out of the corner of your eye as he stares.

“Two of them are quite eager.” He informs, “The two eldest that remain in the palace.”

“Really?” you ask, so shocked that you lift your head from Milena’s fingers.

“Oh!” she shouts, sudsy water now splashing onto the floor.

“Oh, I’m so sorry Milena.” You respond, quickly leaning back down to rest your head in the soapy water.

“Yes,” prince Oberyn responds once you are settled, chuckling a bit at your surprise. “Sarella and Elia share your love of art.”

You smile up at Milena, and she returns the look, more than happy for you and Oberyn as you continue to grow fonder. “How old are they?”

“Sarella,” the prince begins, sitting up from his relaxed position. “Is eighteen. Elia has turned fourteen within the past month.”

“Oberyn,” you sigh out, slightly shaking your head in Milena’s grasp. “I’m so excited to meet them.”

He chuckles, tilting is head at you. “Does an introduction over dessert sound appealing to you?”

“That sounds perfect.”

After a few more minutes, Milena is finished with your hair. She dismisses herself before you undress, allowing you to bask in the prince’s company in private. Oberyn calls you to him, in constant demand of your attention. You love this, truly, his explicit desire for your affection.

“Oh, my prince…” you sigh out, slowly striding over to him as you lower yourself into the water. “You were quite impressive today.”

He grins at you, due to both your words and your naked form. His eyes scan your curves, running along your breasts, your waist, and your hips before hitting the water’s surface. He lets out a small breath, almost sounding frustrated as he adjusts in his seat.

“I enjoyed watching you,” you continue, now close enough to run your slender fingers over his smooth chest. “Watching you dominate those men with such power and strength, such speed and skill…”

Your hand trails up, lightly cupping his jaw and staring into his beautiful brown eyes. “Was almost as breathtaking as when you dominate me.”

Oberyn’s smile grows, his large hands finding the skin of your hips and curling around to your back. He brings you in, pressing your body flush against his. Those marvelous hands trail lower to grip your backside. He then gazes at your plump breasts and pointed nipples as they rest before him, moaning lightly at the sight. You move your legs, crawling over him and resting on his lap. You wrap your delicate arms around his neck, sliding one down his chest and scraping lightly at the muscles that lie beneath his tan skin.

“I never knew my combat strategies sparked such arousal.” He teases, amusement in his voice as he grins. His gaze then meets yours, his mouth parting slightly as he stares in awe at your beauty.

“Liar.” You retort, playfully smirking down at him.

There’s a pale off to the side that holds various soaps, sponges, and wash rags. You lean forward, taking a bar of soap and a small cloth. He watches you as you dip the rag into the water, rubbing the soap along the fabric before laying it over his chest. With the bar now set on the edge of the stone tub, you begin rubbing the wash rag over his skin, lightly cleansing him of any dirt and grime he built up during his earlier activities. You’ve worshipped his body since the first night of your stay, but you desire to do more, to show your adoration for him in ways that go beyond your physical desires. And you do, continuing to move the washcloth across his skin and caring for the prince’s body with the veneration and attention he undoubtedly deserves.

“Oberyn?” you ask, your eyes staring at his broad chest.

“What is it, little one?” he replies, his voice savoringly sweet. He lifts a hand from beneath the water, lightly pushing some wet strands from your face and behind your ear.

“What will you do tonight, during this festival?”

“What do you mean?” he inquires, cocking his head to the side. “I’ll be by your side, Inamorata…”

The tips of his fingers find the skin beneath your jaw, softly urging you to look at him.

“Presenting the magnificent masterpiece that you are.”

You smile at this, his words and actions causing an ungodly amount of love to fill your bones. Your hands continue moving the soapy, wet cloth over his body, rubbing along his tense muscles and helping to soothe their dull ache.

“You’re so good to me.” You sweetly sing, sitting upon his lap with your long hair cascading down your back.

He watches you, watches your eyes as they scan his body. The same doting eyes that have greeted him each morning, that have lulled him to sleep each night. And your skin, the same skin that adorns your adorable freckles and provides your soothing touch, resting just over his. It drives him wild how absolutely ethereal you are, how gentle yet powerful you can be. He swears that if you let him look into your eyes a little deeper, for a little longer, he’d see everything that makes the night sky so beautiful, all the stars and planets and galaxies within your loving soul. He’d see that you are made up of everything he’s ever wanted, everything he’s ever wished for, everything he’s ever loved.

“How can I not be?” he questions, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve never been so taken with anyone, with anything, in the way I am taken with you.”

Your eyes find his once again, heat flushing your face as your heart races just inches from his. The hand washing him momentarily stalls, resting over his right pectoral.

“Is that true?”

“Yes,” he replies, his voice full of sincerity as his brow furrows slightly. “Of course it is.”

You look back down at his naked body resting below yours, scrubbing your cloth with more soap before moving on to his right bicep. As you swirl the dripping fabric over his lean muscles, your thoughts begin to wander.

“Sometimes…” you begin, hesitantly sharing your reflections. “When we lay at night, resting in each other’s arms, I look at you. I watch the little movements you make in your sleep, the way you sometimes giggle or speak… and I can’t help but stare at your handsome face.”

Oberyn hums happily as you go on, a small smile lifting in his cheeks. His large hands hold you, gently circling his thumbs over your hips. You rest comfortably in his tender grasp beneath the warm bathwater, always content with your body against his. Though you aren’t looking at him, he is looking at you, offering every ounce of his attention to you and your hesitant expressions.

“I ask myself if I can remember you… if I know you, somehow.” He watches your brow crease as you concentrate, doing your best to explain your abstract thoughts. “If my soul knows yours, if we are connected… in a way. Like when the Gods made us, did they make us together?”

You sigh, growing a bit frustrated with yourself and the clarity your words lack. Your hands continue cleaning him, washing his beautiful body as he listens to your random babbles.

“Everything feels so natural with you, Oberyn, so comfortable and warm. I feel like I was meant to find you, in a way… like I was drawn to you. I feel so happy here with you… I feel like I belong here.”

As you continue to express your inner emotions, another thought crosses your mind, a quote, actually.

“I heard something, once.” You say, smiling to yourself, “‘I look into your eyes and I’m sure that some divine artist dipped her brush in the same soul and used it to paint us both’.”

Your smile widens as you say it, the words blossoming a happy warmth in your heart. You’ve always loved that quote; it sounds so spiritual and pure, so loving and comforting.

“And do you believe it?” he asks upon your sudden silence.

“Hm?”

“Do you believe this divine artist used the same medium when creating our souls?”

The prince asks this genuinely as he continues his loving strokes, his heart pounding beneath his chest as he awaits your response. His soothing circles along your hip bones have now turned into passionate, yet slow brushes along your thighs and up to your waist. Oberyn’s love for you continues to grow with each word that leaves your lips, with each passing second spent in your company. He longs to endlessly hold you in his arms, not only on this day, but for all his days.

“I do.”

Supper strolled idly by as thoughts of Oberyn’s daughters filled your mind. Arianne tried her best to pick at you, but it’s as if you had ears for everything but her. There were more important things to give attention to.

So, here you sit, gathered beneath a designated canopy at Oberyn’s request as you wait for him and his daughters to arrive. Dessert has yet to be served, which is proper; it should be provided when the royal family arrives. Though, Oberyn’s daughters are not royals, regardless of their father’s title. They are Sands, bastards of Dorne, therefore they can never hold the title of Martell. Nevertheless, they are treated as monarchs; entirely granted the rights of noblewomen in every way but legal. And this, you choose to respect.

The day is hot, hotter than the previous ones you’ve experienced. The combination of the intense temperature and your rising nerves cause sweat to form on your brow, which you quickly wipe away before the prince and his daughters approach. You see them; Oberyn walking down the center of the stone path with a daughter on either side. One is taller, reaching the height of her father’s shoulders and neck, causing you to assume her identity as Sarella Sand. His other daughter, Elia, walks to his left, lovingly holding his hand. Oberyn looks beautiful like this, so full of love and pride as he escorts his daughters through the water gardens, the three of them happily conversing as they approach you. Oberyn then looks up, meeting your affectionate eyes before speaking your name. His daughters then look up, too.

“My prince,” you respond softly, looking to him and then his daughters.

You let your gaze fall to the stone floor, lifting the edges of your dress as you respectfully bow. When you look up, you find them mirroring you, each of them smiling as they realize your ironic actions. The three of you stand, smiling shyly as you admire the other’s polite gesture.

“My daughters,” Oberyn then says, “Sarella,” he motions towards her, then turning to his other side. “And Elia.”

“It’s so nice to meet you both.” You express, genuinely pleased to finally meet two of his gorgeous children.

Sarella is absolutely stunning, a true lady as she stands before you. Her body adorns a lavender colored halter dress, lengthy as it rests at her feet. Her short, black hair is thick and wavy, just like her father’s. Also similar to her patriarch’s features are her eyes, entirely his in their color and shape. However, her skin is much darker, and her nose much straighter.

Elia is whimsically lovely, her little white dress flowing over her effortlessly. The dress’s style is empirical, with small ruffles draping over the skirt. Her hair dark and curly, her ringlets noticeable even through her tight braid. She has skin like her father, and eyes like him, too. While they’re a different shape, they share the same chocolate brown that greet you each morning and night.

“We’re very pleased to meet you, too.” Sarella responds, nodding lightly.

“Father says you like art.” Elia says, much lighter in tone than her older sister.

“I do.” You reply, smiling kindly.

Elia then looks to the hand not held in her father’s. You follow her line of sight, now noticing the small folder she’s grasping at her side. She brings it to the front of her, quietly whispering as she speaks.

“Would you like to see mine?”

They’re entirely polite, both of prince Oberyn’s daughters. Elia eagerly displays her works of art as the four of you sit at the table, giving the younger daughter your full attention. She shows you papers full of designs made from acrylic paint, chalk, charcoal, and pencil. She’s quite creative. Oberyn and Sarella scan the pieces, too, verbally admiring her imaginative work.

“I’ve never worked with chalk before,” you admit, lifting the piece of paper in your hand.

“Really?!” Elia exclaims, no doubt excited to have used a method you haven’t yet dabbled with.

“Nope,” you giggle, shaking your head. “This is quite impressive, Elia.”

The young girl blushes beside you, ultimately putting away her art as dessert arrives. Each of you has your own plate set before you, every single tray adorning a separate dish at that individual’s request. You’re quick to notice the matching of your and Sarella’s plates, both of you ordering the exact same cinnamon-covered sweet; a rare spice in the land of Dorne.

“Do you enjoy cinnamon?” she asks, acknowledging your likeness.

“I do,” you respond. “I discovered the spice on a trip to the Summer Islands in my childhood.” You explain, lifting your utensils to begin cutting into the tasty dough.

“That is where I was born.” Sarella states, sounding a bit surprised.

“Really?”

She scoffs, laughing to herself as she says, “Father probably told you.”

“No, he didn’t.” you shake your head, eager to keep her attention. "Is that why you like it?”

“Yes,” she replies, lifting her eyes. “I love it. It smells amazing.”

“Have you ever been to your place of birth?”

“I haven’t, not yet.” She admits, eyeing her father.

“You haven’t been mature enough to travel.” Oberyn states, popping a berry into his mouth.

“But I am now!” she whines, rolling her eyes.

“Maybe I could bring you on my next journey to the Isles.” You offer, shrugging innocently. “You’re of age. It’d be useful for you to see the world.”

Oberyn turns his head, observing you with a small smirk. He shrugs, pouting his lip as he ponders your statement. Sarella smiles at you, turning her gaze to her father’s thoughtful look.

“I agree.” He admits, “It’s a big and beautiful world. Most of us live and die in the same corner where we were born and never get to see any of it. I don't want you to be most of us.”

Oberyn looks at his daughter as he speaks, earning an excited shout from the now-mature child. He speaks so eloquently; you could listen to his beautiful voice for hours. But while you’re listening to him and conversing with his daughters, he’s looking to you. His heart beats in his chest as he watches you bond with his children, more than eager to introduce you to the rest of them, each introduction leading you closer to unity.

The four of you continue to nibble at your desserts, pleasantly swapping stories from the past and various interests you each possess. Elia immediately returns her papers to the table once your plates are removed, boasting about her artistic creations with much more verve than before. She’s energetic and lively as she continues bragging, reveling in the combined attention from you, her sister, and her father.

“When will you meet the others?” Elia asks, finally finished with her presentation.

“What do you mean?” you ask, taking a sip of water.

“My other sisters, Obella, Dorea, and Loreza.” She clarifies, looking up at you with all too familiar eyes.

Elia chose the seat beside you, with Sarella across from her and her father across from you. You look to Oberyn, an expectant expression washed over your face.

“Maybe even Obara, and Nym.” She continues quietly, “And Tyene.”

Wow… that’s eight. You count eight daughters of Dorne, including the two in front of you, as the names continue from the little one’s mouth. While you were aware he had multiple daughters, you did not know there were that many to meet, and to say the least… you have quite a bit of work ahead of you.

“Elia…” her father speaks, sounding a bit saddened. “You know your three eldest sisters have gone.”

“I know.” She sighs, staring at her hands.

“Hey,” you quickly say, placing a hand on her shoulder. Her eyes meet yours once more, now a bit teary at the mention of her sisters. “I’ll meet your sisters, little dove. Don’t worry.”

The name comes out unexpectedly. You suppose its due to her small form and white dress, her charm and elegance not dissimilar to that of the peaceful bird. Regardless, it makes her smile, and that makes you happy.

“You should meet her mother.” Sarella snickers, taking a quick sip from her own cup.

You assume from their few dissimilar features and Sarella’s comment that the two have different mothers. You are also aware that Oberyn has bed many women, but only claimed one paramour before you, Ellaria. She, presumably, appears to be Elia’s mother and not Sarella’s.

“I assume I’ll eventually meet her, as well.” you agree, nodding as you laugh along at her sarcastic remark.

“How did you like it?”

“Hm?” you inquire between kisses, gently placing them along his clean jawline.

“Your introduction.” He clarifies, his large hands stroking your sides.

“I feel more than blessed to have met them.” You respond, still intent on mouthing at the prince’s jaw and neck.

“They are beautiful, just like their father.”

He hums at this, tilting his head slightly and giving you better access. After dessert, you had parted ways with the girls. They returned to their nursemaids and their remaining sisters, staying within the palace walls as the festival’s hours emerge.

“My younger ones,” he begins, slowly but surely unraveling under your touch.

“Obella, Dorea, and Loreza?” you ask, your soft lips ghosting over his taut skin.

“Yes,” he responds, grinning once more. He is always appreciative of your attentiveness, and this admiration heightens as you apply it to his daughters. “You could meet them tomorrow, if you’d like.”

The older nobleman grunts beneath you, his breathing picking up as you roll your clothed body against his. When parting from his children, you opted to spend your remaining hours in the library until it was time to visit the city. You’d been in the lavish space many times since Oberyn gifted you with its key, finding the area quiet, private, and comfortable. A second level to the large bookkeep was accessible through multiple sets of spiraled staircases, which the two of you had climbed in order to access the larger sofas that rest in the lofts above.

It came as absolutely no surprise to you that Oberyn pulled you onto his lap, eagerly grinding your small frame onto his sturdy body. Your hips greeted pleasurably, but there was the small sting as you sat that could only be the memory of him. And you told him this, told him that you needed to wait until tonight so he could pleasure you more thoroughly when the dull ache subsides.

And so, this is what he continued with, the fervent grinding of your bodies coupled with your soft lips and wet tongue, rolling against his beautiful body as you lightly stimulated your abused sex. It was quite teasing, though, grinding on the prince’s lap while denying him entry. It’s not something he’s used to, either, and you can tell by how flustered he’s become.

“Let me taste you, pretty thing.” He requests, feeling you just barely run your lips over his jawline.

You pepper the scruff along his jaw with kisses, soft and small and so very playful as he hardens beneath you. He tightens his grip on you, stalling your motions entirely. A deep groan resonates within him as he tries to keep his composure.

“Inamorata…” he says it lowly, almost as a warning. You meet his eyes, intense in their stare as he speaks. “The prince of Dorne does not beg.”

“He does for me.” You whisper, smirking mischievously before moving your hands over his.

He lets you intertwine your nimble fingers with his own, allowing you to lift them higher. You guide him along your body, holding his gaze while leading him to your breasts. With your hands against his, you cup them, so full and round beneath his wide palms.

“Inamorata…” he whispers again, sighing out as he drops his look from your tantalizing eyes to where his hands now rest.

With him now seemingly distracted, you move over him once more, swaying your hips along his clothed crotch as he lays below you. You look beautiful like this, utterly enthralling as you tease the prince of Dorne, grinding down on his lap in the dimly lit space. When your hands fall, his stay, gently weighing and massaging your breasts in his hands, occasionally sweeping his thumbs over your aroused nipples as they rise beneath the fabric of your dress.

It's almost ungodly what you’re doing to him. You appear stunningly breathtaking above him, gracefully sliding your smooth body over his own, feeling him grow and throb and ache between your legs. He whines your name, nearly sounding boyish as you fully make him beg.

“Please,” he sighs, his chest rising and falling with hopeful anticipation.

“My love,” you respond, cupping his face. “If you have me now, you cannot have me later. And I want you to ravish me later.”

He moans at this, momentarily closing his eyes as he tries to gather his bearings. You smirk, leaning in to lick a stripe up the cuff of his ear before whispering inside.

“Is that not what you want, my prince? To dominate me? Overwhelm my body and take my cunt… to pleasure my being and drink from my sodden core once you’ve made a mess of me?”

He release a long, slow exhale. “Naughty thing.” he mutter, the air fully leaving his lungs.

You hum at this, absolutely reveling in the power exchange you suddenly have.

“Am I being naughty, my love? Being disobedient to the prince of Dorne?” you ask innocently, leaning back to look into his eyes.

“Do you not like it, my prince? Not like the way I feel?” you lift your hands as you speak, laying them over his own and urging him to squeeze your tits.

“Do you not like the small whimpers and moans I sing to you? The wonderful pleasure I bring your body?”

Oberyn growls lowly, staring up at you with a concentrated brow as you continue teasing him. He then leans up, connecting your lips in a harsh kiss. You whine at the contact, moaning into his mouth as his large hands fall to your backside and slither beneath your loose dress.

“Oberyn!” you cry out, feeling the first sting of pain as his palm hits your ass.

“Naughty.” He repeats, grinning before reaching up and biting your lower lip.

He spanks you again, causing you to gasp against his mouth. The prince smirks playfully at your reaction, grabbing harsh fistfuls of your ass before spreading your cheeks apart. You grin, sighing out and giggling girlishly as he smacks you again.

“You like that?” he asks, his tone light and teasingly tender.

You nod, staring at him with innocent eyes as he rips the power right from you, fully seizing it and returning it to its rightful owner. His palms lay over your cheeks, suddenly shoving you forward. He grips you tightly as he begins guiding you over his lap, urging you to continue rubbing your thin, wet panties down onto his royal robes.

“I want to taste you…” he says, his voice rough as he moves your hips. “I miss your flavor.” He looks at you, eagerly awaiting your response.

“You wish to taste me, my Viper?” you whisper breathlessly, holding onto his shoulders for support as you continue swaying your hips with his guidance.

You remove your right hand from his broad shoulder, lowering it to your wanting sex. A single finger slips past your folds, slowly pumping in and out of your slick channel. You loll your head to the side, rolling it back as you sigh out. He throbs beneath you, the act of watching you pleasure yourself before him only heightening his overwhelming desires.

Once you’re satisfied, you remove your finger, fully resting yourself back on his lap. You look at him, his puppy dog eyes staring desperately into yours. This causes you to smirk, slowly raising your hand up to his soft lips before speaking.

“Then taste me.”

His mouth parts slightly, a look of awe washing over his face at your erotic proposal. He opens further, allowing you to slip your finger past his lips. You watch his mouth close around your digit, his tongue immediately swirling and sucking over you skin. You bite your lip as he does so, moaning slightly at the gentle throb in your pussy. Oberyn closes his eyes, sighing lowly at your taste, at the sliver of satisfaction you’re finally giving him.

You gently retract your finger before pushing it back in, watching him suck on it fervently as you massage it against his tongue. You lean further into him, a devilish smirk splaying across your lips as you watch him suck on your finger, licking the sweetness he so often craves. You place a gentle kiss on his forehead as he moans, fully enjoying himself while you continue grinding over his lap.

The rapid rate at which your pulse beats floods your veins with adrenaline, causing you to rip your finger from his wanting mouth before attaching your lips to his. He moans into you, sitting up further on the luxurious lounge while your mouths move together.

“Are you sore, sweet thing?” he grumbles, your quick breaths fanning over the other’s lips. “Have I taken you too many times for your liking?”

“No,” you quickly reply, “never. I like it…” you sigh breathlessly before him, kissing him once more before continuing.

“I like feeling the remnants of your passion… seeing the discolorations you mark me with along my neck and chest, the slight sting of my walls from your fervent cock as you claim me each night, it brings me joy to know I am claimed.”

He grins at this, shoving you even closer to his handsome face. You believe in your independence, your power as a woman. You aren’t an object to be owned, but you do recognize the belonging you share with the prince and yearning to be held and kept in each other’s embrace.

“Let me claim you... in more ways than one, sweet thing.” He begs, “I want more…” he exhales, his eyes lowering to the space between your thighs.

“Let my mouth sooth your aching core.” He asks once more, his desperate eyes lifting to yours.

You’d enjoyed the power struggle you experienced moments ago, enjoyed making him beg and moan beneath you, but now… you need him. And so, you give in, letting yourself go to the euphoric waves slowly rolling through your hips, more than eager to feel his handsome face between your thighs.

“Please me, Oberyn.” You request, allowing him full access to your body.

Without skipping a beat, Oberyn’s hands slide down to cup your backside, immediately moving to slide off the couch and onto his feet. He drops you back down, kneeling in front of you before grabbing your shoulder and throwing you to the side. He flips you over, resting you on your stomach as his eager hands find your hips. He then yanks you back toward his face, his curved nose running along your clothed cheek. You gasp out at the action, lightly giggling as he flips the edge of your loose dress up and over your hips. He continues to kneel behind you, sighing deeply at the sight of your smooth sex as his large hands spread you open.

Oberyn then leans in, his soft lips kissing yours as he begins to mouth at your sensitive core. The prince’s warm, wet tongue rolls over your slippery lips, gliding along every fold of skin that surrounds your desperate heat. Gradually, he dips his tongue inside, kitten licking at your entrance before sliding delicately into your inner channel. He’s gentle with it, so soothingly slow as he licks at you languidly, thoroughly enjoying himself while releasing long, satisfied sighs.

“Oh…” you moan, closing your eyes as you revel in the feel of his talented tongue.

His strong hands wrap around your hips, grabbing your ass and spreading you wide before his handsome face. He laps at you, sloppily spitting on your sodden core before sucking gently on your folds.

“Fuck,” you whimper, resting your forehead on the cushions below. “Oberyn…”

He continues, his pace beginning to quicken as he eats you like a man starved, even though he’d had a taste just this morning. His large palms grip your backside, spreading you open before letting go, allowing them to bounce against his face before he massages them to his cheeks. He shakes his head back and forth, his desires growing absolutely feral as he consumes you entirely.

“Oh gods…” you sigh out, your eyes rolling back in delirious pleasure.

The prince’s tongue dives further down, fervently flicking your sensitive bundle of nerves. He moans as he suckles on your clit, eagerly moving his head side to side, rolling it against your body and absolutely reveling in the obscene sounds he yanks from your core. He keeps you spread open behind him now, relentlessly working your clit as he sloppily mixes his spit with your arousal. You roll your hips back against his face, stimulating your sex in the best of ways. Your body reactions to him so eagerly, the behavior never before displayed for another man.

“Cum on my face, pretty girl.” He begs breathlessly, “You know how much I like it.”

You release a loud whine at this, crying out as his lips reattach themselves to your throbbing clit. He licks at it, wrapping his lips around the reddened peak and fervently sucking. His lips are soaked as they move against your dripping core, due to both your slick and his saliva. His chin and jaw adorn your juices as well, something you know he absolutely loves. He makes little mouth sounds while he licks your orgasm from you, small sucking noises as he takes what he wants.

“Yes, yes! Yes, baby… just like that…” you gasp, your entire body forcefully shivering against his.

The prince’s sturdy frame and strong hands keep you in place, cementing you to his mouth as you cum on his face. You claw at the cushions as you do so, reveling in the euphoric quivers that ring throughout your magnificent body. He moans into you, truly enjoying everything about this moment. The way you feel, smell, and taste, have become sensations Oberyn absolutely craved.

“Oh yes,” he sighs happily, using two fingers to spread open your folds to dip his tongue directly inside as you begin to come down.

“Oh…” you moan, your body relaxing into his touch as he prolongs your post-orgasmic bliss.

He then shifts, his curved nose lightly pressing against your entrance. Oberyn lightly inhales, sighing contentedly as he closes his eyes at your tangy scent.

“Oberyn!” you giggle, feeling his warm breath on your sensitive skin.

“Let me savor you, sweet thing!” he groans, chuckling mischievously and smiling brightly against your sex.

Oberyn’s strong arms wrap themselves around your waist, pulling you further against him. The prince’s gorgeous face then dives back in, licking and smelling every inch of the sensual space between your thighs. The intimate area between the prince’s thighs is also still very much aroused, and even further than when you began due to his current actions.

“Let me bring you bliss, my prince,” you beg, looking back at him from over your shoulder.

“Hmm…” he hums happily, overjoyed at your willingness to please him.

Suddenly, you hear a voice. Someone from the royal guard has entered the library, calling out for the prince you’re currently riding. You look up, your face running red with nerves. Oberyn sees this, chuckling lightly and placing one last kiss on your rounded cheek before folding your dress back down. You roll to your side, grabbing his waiting hand and allowing him to pull you up just as a man ascends the spiraled steps.

“Prince Oberyn.” He says, bowing before him. He also chooses to address you before continuing to speak.

“I’m here to inform you of tonight’s schedule. Both of your servants are ready to dress you for the Dornish festival, awaiting your arrival within your respective chambers.”

Oberyn responds with a short statement, waving the knight away before thanking him. You look up at the prince, and he looks down at you, your loving eyes sharing a tender moment. His face still glistens with your slick, causing you to blush and giggle below him.

“What?” he asks, his eyebrows furrowing.

You reach up, standing on your tippy toes in order to access him. Your tongue peaks out between your lips, lightly running over his wet skin.

“Such a messy boy.”

Oberyn led you down the staircase and through the palace halls. You were each due to be refreshed and prepared for the meeting of his people, so off you went, momentarily parting ways as you strolled to your private suites. Amabel was already waiting for you once you had arrived, eager to do your hair and makeup for the night’s event.

“Beautiful, as always.” You express, looking at her with genuine gratitude. “You have a true talent for this.”

“Oh,” she blushes, “Thank you, madam.”

“Am I set to be off then?”

“Yes, Ambrose is waiting to greet you at the front entrance.”

“Perfect.” You reply, standing and leaving, but not without thanking her once more.

You’d rather not arrive alone, so instead of going directly to the front entrance, you take a detour, happily striding to your lover’s door. Small spikes of adrenaline shoot through your veins as you imagine the activities yet to come. Your excitement grows at the prospect of meeting new residents and dancing the night away once more in the land of Dorne.

Your thoughts are interrupted, though, as you near prince Oberyn’s door. There’s a rhythmic sound coming from behind those large, wooden doors. It grows louder as you approach, slowly stepping toward the royal chamber’s entrance. It sounds like… smacking. The all too familiar noise of skin against skin echoing through the stone walls of prince Oberyn’s room. The worst immediately comes to mind, but you do your best to push those thoughts away. Your efforts are useless, though, as soon as you hear the pleasurable song of prince Oberyn’s moans.

Your heart races, leaping into your throat as your nerves go wild. You place a hand on one of the handles, gently pushing it open. You do your best to not make any noise as you enter the room, your eyes curiously scanning the familiar space. Off in the corner stands Oberyn, completely naked with his back turned to you. You’re immediately relieved to find the absence of another, the room entirely empty aside from you and the prince.

A small smile washes over your lips as you approach him, watching his muscles tense and flex with each pump of his hand. One strong hand is placed against the wall, while the other eagerly tugs at his full erection. His head is hung low as he moans, eagerly pleasuring himself.

“Oberyn,” you coo, causing him to jump with shock. He looks back at you, chuckling slightly.

“What are you doing?”

He stares at you as you ask this, turning to face you while watching you step closer to him. You lay a hand on his chest, the other falling to his stiff cock. You lightly shove his hand out of the way, gripping him in your palm.

“Is your hand better than my mouth, my prince?”

“No…” he sighs out, shaking his head. He’s breathless as you lower yourself before him, holding your gaze with lusty eyes.

“Are you sure, my love?” he asks, his voice full of genuine concern. “I know how I’ve tired you so.”

You laugh at this, shaking your head. “I’m sure, lover.” You then look to him as he rests in your hand, his clear precum leaking from his slit.

“I can never have enough. But, if you don’t want me to…”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he retorts, his hand moving to rest on the back of your head. “Pleasure me, sweet thing.” He requests, smirking down at you as you rest on your knees below him.

You smile, more than eager to please him. A small part of you feels grief, guilt sitting heavily in your stomach at the thought of Oberyn thinking he’s too much for you. He’s never too much… he’s everything you’ve ever wanted.

You lean in, angling your head to lick a long stripe up the bottom of his shaft, provoking a relaxed sigh from the older man. Knowing he was already fully aroused when you had entered, you move quickly, widening your lips and taking him in your mouth. His hand guides you, hurriedly thrusting his hips against your beautiful face.

“Yes…” he sighs, throwing his head back in bliss. “You’re so good at this, sweet girl.”

His praise makes you hum, the vibrations only adding to his euphoria. Your soft hands rub up and down along his thighs, bobbing your head in unison with his fervent hips. You realize how hard his muscles are working, and you remove your mouth at the realization.

“Oberyn, please,” you request, “Sit my love, relax while my mouth brings you pleasure.”

He stares down at you, a wide smile appearing across his mouth, his tongue barely poking out to wet his bottom lip. You look over to a chair seated near his desk, and rise. With his hand in yours, you lead him to it, seductively swaying your hips as he follows. He allows you to guide him, sitting him in the wooden chair and spreading his legs wide. You resume your position, now fully resting on your knees as you take him back into your mouth.

Oberyn pushes away any strands that fall from behind your ears, always yearning to see your pretty face. You bob up and down on him, eagerly sucking and licking as you push him further and further toward the back of your throat.

As if the gods live to torment you, you hear Doran’s voice. He calls for Oberyn just outside his chambers, pounding his fist onto the wooden doors. You lift from his lap, allowing his length to rest against his toned stomach.

“The gods have a sense of humor, indeed.” You mutter, glancing up at him. He chuckles while looking down at you, smirking as his enticing eyes scan yours.

“Keep going, my love.” He coos, “Keep going…” A single large hand running over your long hair.

“But –” you begin, only to be stopped.

“Keep going, my pretty thing. Give me what I want… deliver me my release.”

Your face slackens at his tone, utterly entranced at his lovey voice as he asks for more. You’re obedient, utterly submissive to the prince of Dorne. So, you continue, quickly urging him further toward his high. His command makes you shiver, the tantalizing tingles stimulating your core once again.

Doran continues pounding on the door, demanding that Oberyn let him in. The prince sighs above you, clearly annoyed at his brother’s intrusion. His hand then moving to the back of your head as he lightly guides your actions.

“Come in.” he responds, his baritone voice laced in that beautiful, Dornish accent.

Debilitating amount of adrenaline fire throughout your limbs, your excitement heightening at the lack of Oberyn’s shame. Although you figure, if he wants to come in so bad, then he can.

Doran enters, loudly stomping inside and slamming the door shut. He immediately looks to the right and over to the two of you, fully realizing why Oberyn wasn’t answering his demands. He quickly looks away, muttering a curse he dare not repeat.

“What is it, brother?” Oberyn inquires casually, looking over to the Lord with his hand still resting on the back of your head.

The Lord’s presence only encourages you, your modesty vanishing at the prince’s request. You do your best to suppress your giggles, though, and focus on pleasing the prince. You suck even louder as spit drools from your mouth, cascading down his thick length and over his full balls.

“Oberyn!” He shouts, his expression full of shock and anger even from the side.

“What is it?” he asks, slowly rolling his hips upward as his breathing picks up.

Doran stutters, his tan face turning red from both anger and embarrassment as he continues to look away. He steps back toward the door, stalling his movements once Oberyn calls out to him.

“Doran, you insisted upon entering.” He states, “What is of such great importance?”

The Lord of Sunspear sighs, clearly aggravated by his younger brother’s remarks. This is nothing new to him, though, he’s fortuitously witnessed Oberyn’s sexual acts many times. They were easier to brush off when they were with common whores, but not with his honored guest. If Doran wasn’t so small-minded, you might’ve felt shame, or even guilt as you continued your sinful acts before him. Oh, how exhilarating it is to own your sexuality in front of such a misogynistic man.

“Isn’t she gorgeous?” Oberyn asks, turning his head back to you as he grabs your jaw.

He lifts you from his cock, forcing you to look up at him as he smirks. You’re trying to calm your breathing, to steady yourself below him as he stares deeply into your eyes. Oberyn’s gorgeous face then contorts in pleasure as his hand leaves your jaw to find himself, urgently jerking himself off onto your chest.

His warmth blossoms over your skin, the pearly liquid shooting out over your chest and dripping down over the swell of your breasts. He groans loudly as you push them together, placing a hand on either side of your tits as he continues to cum. His hips jut forward as he continues to fist himself, his throbbing cock finally finding its release. You moan out, the warm liquid feeling heavenly as you’re coated in the prince’s spend.

Oberyn sighs loudly as he finishes, lolling his head backward as his hand relaxes. You let go of your breasts, your slender fingers roaming across your chest and dancing through the sticky liquid.

“Oberyn, this is ridiculous!”

“You wanted to come in.” he immediately responds, his voice calm and casual as he steadies his breaths.

Oberyn turns his head to face the man once more, but you continue. You can’t help yourself as you rise, climbing over his lap and mouthing hotly at the corded muscles along the prince’s neck. Oberyn reaches to the side, grabbing a cloth from the stack on his desk. He lays it over your chest as you kiss his neck, gently wiping you clean.

“Your caravans are waiting.” Doran finally huffs out.

“Really?” Oberyn inquires, lolling his head to the side to give you better access. He innocently raises his eyebrows as he asks, “Is it that time already?”

“Yes.” Doran spits, absolutely furious and entirely awkward as he continues to stand at the room’s entrance.

Oberyn then sighs, rolling his eyes before lifting you from his neck. You find his eyes focused on you once you meet his gaze, something between lust and love filling them in their entirety. He smirks at you, chuckling slightly as you return his humor. Then, you lean in, reaching out and biting his lower lip. He smirks once you release it, trailing his hand down and smacking your backside.

“Naughty.”

Detailed Chapter Summary

Oberyn displays his knowledge of battle skill and his strength and technique, training while you watch from the sidelines. As always, he impresses you.  Afterwards, you bathe together, discussing his daughters again.

When Ellaria left, three of Oberyn’s eldest daughters left with her. So, he decides to introduce you to the two oldest that remain in the palace - Sarella and Elia. They take quite a liking to you; they’re incredible kind and talented girls. 

Afterwards, the two of you return to the prince’s chambers, with Doran soon interrupting your affairs. But neither of you stop what you are doing, prompting his shock and then eventual exit. 

Chapter Six: Let Me Keep You

Insatiable Taglist: @pascalslittlebrat @serenaisavillain @yourwonderbelle

General Taglist: @anaaaispunk

[garrickxvelour]

When Garrick had urged Vitus to hold Darcy with caution, he anticipated one of a few things. Vitus, grabbing his kitten very gingerly and touching him with only his fingers, avoiding any possible scratches from tiny claws. Vitus, rolling up the sleeves of his nice button down to keep the fabric out of reach. Vitus, throwing caution to the wind and grabbing Darcy anyway, without a care of what would happen to his outfit.

But instead, Vitus surprised him. Opting to strip off his top layer of clothing and place it on the table beside him, near the collection of mail. He was left clad in just a tight white tank top, and Garrick found his eyes drifting of their own volition. Slipping down to the dark flecks of hair that peaked out above the neckline of his shirt. The curves of muscle over his chest and the slope of his biceps where he had Darcy settle into his arm.

Vitus cradled Darcy with a gentleness and reverence that one would a human infant. Delicate fingers brushing over soft fur, tickling his belly and allowing him to gnaw and kick at his hands. Darcy mewled and cried out, an ever-enthusiastic sound that seemed to echo on repeat in Garrick’s new home. And Vitus curled into the kitten more, their noses brushing. Garrick watched small tears glisten and plop onto Darcy’s fur, Vitus’s voice melting involuntarily. 

Without judgment, Garrick smiled at the sight, moved that Vitus—a near stranger—would be so expressive within minutes of stepping into his home. So overwhelmed by bonding with a young animal that there was nowhere else for his emotion to go but out. It was sweet. Endearing, even. 

“Oh.” Garrick blinked. Refocusing now that Vitus directed his attention to him again. His smile lingered, a low chuckle behind his words. “Yes, yes, precisely. I love that you caught it and didn’t assume I was strange for naming him a girl’s name.” He lifted a hand to comb through his hair, shoulders shifting with a shrug. “I’m shamelessly an Austen fan, too. And when I was debating a few names for him, Darcy’s first name of Fitzwilliam definitely didn’t have the right flow for a kitten.”

The ball in his throat nearly choked him as Darcy went belly-up in the crux of Garrick’s arm. At his warning, Vitus nodded and began undoing the buttons of his shirt. (This was one of his nicest new shirts, delicate red fabric that couldn’t even go in the dryer. No shot it could withstand the micro-daggers of a kitten’s claws.) He draped it over the credenza in Garrick’s hall, abandoning it for now, preoccupied with Darcy’s squirming. With all the tenderness of someone accepting the responsibility of a human baby, Vitus scooped Darcy out of Garrick’s arms and folded him into a cradle.

Darcy’s plush fur brushed over his skin, tickling but not raising any gooseflesh. Quite the opposite. Warmth blossomed, spreading from the playful kicks of the kitten’s feet, washing over Vitus, and sinking him deeper into the pit of emotion he always fell headfirst into when he held a baby animal. 

“He can be as bad as he wants. God. Look at him.” 

Darcy squirmed and nibbled at his fingers and let loose another quintessentially kitten scream, and Vitus’s core finished melting, pooling in a puddle at his feet. At this rate, he wouldn’t even make it into the kitchen. The cat was just so small. It was never lost on Vitus in moments like these—that he held a whole life in his hands, heartbeat and rush of blood and flexing muscles and all. A little bundle of breath, that could be snuffed out as easily as nurtured. Vitus tucked the cat closer to his chest and nudged Darcy’s nose with his own, and the tears spilled over, then, as the fine thread of his whiskers brushed through the scruff on Vitus’s jaw. 

“You’re so tiny. Just a little guy,” he said, to which Darcy answered with another squeak. A laugh floated free of him, featherlight despite the crater in his chest. Vitus remembered himself, then, remembered Garrick, another living being in the foyer, with his own drumbeat heart and molten core. He shot the taller man a sniffle and sheepish smile. “Darcy, huh? Like the character? I love Pride and Prejudice.”

[pasteljeon]

sincerely, yours (m)

summary: in which you return to an apartment full of 7 horny boyfriends.

pairing: ot7 x reader

warnings: pining, dirty talk, heavy petting, sexual tension

length: 2.9k

notes: this is another blm commission written for the amazing @/himbeaux-joon. thank you so much for your support and donation! i hope you enjoy n forgive me for the wait.

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“You’re fucked.”

You pull your phone away from your ear out of pure disbelief. Squinting at the screen, you’re assured you’re speaking to the right person when your friend’s name peers back at you.

“Sorry?” 

She said it so casually and offhandedly you do a double take. Your luggage rolls noisily behind you, a hefty and rather rickety thing, though you don’t quite have the heart to rid of it just yet. It has character, stickers and stamps collected from your various travels scattered on the cover. Some are fraying and others greying and half-peeled. Some are new, recently added to the collection and sparkle almost obnoxiously next to your dying ones.

“You are so fucked,” she laughs. It’s less of a laugh and more of a cackle. You check your phone again. Still her.

“Are you going to elaborate on that?” You say dryly as you finally wheel yourself out of customs. The last month has been hectic, your job and position requiring you to fly overseas for the past three weeks. You would think your boys would have been used to the asynchronistic nature of your schedules considering how busy they usually are, but they did finish the last leg of their tour just as you left. Your company offered another two weeks of paid vacation is a thank-you for the generous contract you just signed. Your boys protested and pouted but you took it, adamant about finally taking that much needed break.

They reluctantly let you go, faking tears but understanding, their jobs equally as, if not more, stressful.

“Nope.” She pops the p with some dark sense of satisfaction, and you repress the shiver that crawls down your spine. “But I can say it’s a good type of fucking. You know, the one where you bend Jungkook over the—”

“Okay, got it, thank you,” you cut her off hastily, holding a hand over the speaker to muffle her voice that rises into a sing-song, glancing around discreetly to ensure no one’s eavesdropped over your rather scandalous conversation.

“You ever notice how whiny your boys can get when you’re away?” She teases when you return to the line. Rummaging in your purse for some change, you scan the airport café for some iced coffee, chuckling, “Yes. You have no idea.”

“You know all the boys have a chat exclusive for their very not safe for work thoughts?” she tells you. It makes you choke and laugh simultaneously, the cashier eyeing you strangely as he takes your order.

“I don’t know how they make it sounds so hot,” your friend continues blandly. “Normally it sounds so greasy. But they’re usually so well-behaved and polite. I was so shocked. I had no idea that Jimin liked—”

You yelp, staring down at your shirt. Luckily, it’s dark enough to hide the stain, so you mop it up sheepishly, thanking the server who offers you some napkins, clucking sympathetically.

“What?” You hissed, pulling to the side. You’re whisper-shouting into your phone now. “They did what?”

“Oh, you didn’t know? Didn’t Rhys tell you? He was rolling all over about it,” she snickers. You splutter. Rhys is a close friend to the both of you, and often spent nights gaming with Jungkook and Taehyung. You knew your boys had a group chat with your other male friends but … “But they’re usually so polite,” you exclaim.

Your friend clicks her tongue. “Cue exhibit A. Anyway, good luck girl. You’re gonna need it.” Without waiting for your reply, she ends the call, her cackles cutting off into an odd ringing in your ear.

“Oh dear,” you say to yourself, staring down at your drink. “What am I walking into?”

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Your friend’s call is lousy warning, if you’re going to be honest.

Only the maknaes are able to pick you up from the airport, with the remainder of the boys caught up in the photoshoot. They were able to wrap up before your flight landed.

They’re a ball of hazed energy. Dressed casually, face masked and caps donned, they somehow manage to blend in with the crowd of receivers. Your breath catches. In the short time away, you’ve forgotten just how little justice pictures and videos do for them. They’re beautiful.

They watch you like hawks, glazed eyes dark and you’re genuinely a little concerned for Taehyung. The outline of his length presses insistently against his black slacks, but he pays no attention, half-lidded as he peers at you through thick lashes. You’re shocked no one’s carded him for public indecency yet. The image alone is enough to make your core to clench.

There’s no fanfare, no glee, no innocent excitement, no cheerful, “noona!” you expected from the youngest. Instead, Jungkook silently reaches over to relieve you of your luggage, fingers grazing your palm. He pulls down his mask to kiss the corner of your mouth. He visibly tears himself away, and you can see the way his veins pop under the pressure, jaw clenching hard. Electricity sparks down your spine, making you shiver.

“Heart. Welcome back,” Taehyung rumbles as he tips your chin up. His voice is more of a growl, the sound reverberates from his chest, low and incredibly sexy it makes goosebumps rise on your skin.

“I missed you,” Jimin pushes his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. He catches your hand when you reach for him, steadying your shaky knees. You clutch at the sleeve of his turtleneck, his palm cupping the back of your head as his nose skims the column of your throat.

“G-guys, we’re in public,” you manage in a faint whisper, and Jimin’s grip tightens briefly before he reluctantly pulls away. Jungkook takes your other hand, Taehyung leading the way to the car.

They brush your concern off easily, not even bothering to scan their surroundings in case anyone’s recognized them. You do a cursory sweep anyway, but find the airport still relatively empty, the crowd occupied with their own arrivals. Suddenly, you’re once again struck with a profound sense of appreciation for Namjoon’s forever careful scheduling of your flights so this could be possible.

The underground parking lot is quiet, and you exchange no words as Jungkook’s Mercedes comes into view.

The sexual tension is, as they say, palpable.

You move to follow Jimin into the backseat, but Jungkook grabs your wrist, twirling you around. The cool metal meets your heated skin for a brief moment before he pulls you close. “Noona,” he murmurs, bringing your arm to his lips. He fastens his mouth over your pulse point, suckling gently. His lashes tickle your inner wrist.

“Jungkook,” you say breathily, his leg coming to push your thighs apart. You nearly collapse onto him, and he releases you with an agonized sigh. The mark blooms darkly, and he lets out a long exhale.

“Gguk.” There’s a warning in his tone.

“I know,” the maknae bites back. He lets you down slowly, hungry gaze raking over your form one last time before he lets Taehyung help you into the car.

He walks to the driver’s side, forehead pressing against the hood fleetingly before sliding into the seat. It does nothing to settle the heat stirring in his stomach. He can’t bring himself to regret it, though, despite the way his pants dig into his hard cock.

Just a little longer. His fingers grip the wheel tightly, knuckles whitening as he pulls out of the lot.

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They can hardly keep their hands off of you, glued to your side the entirety of the ride back.

Jungkook wants to scream out of pure frustration. He can hardly concentrate, though it is the crack of dawn and traffic is sparse.

He can hear the lewd shlick shlick shlick sounds of your makeout sessions. He resists the urge to check the rear-view mirror for the nth time. He knows one glance is enough to make his thighs clench.

He hears your soft, melodic sighs between kisses, lips likely beautifully swollen and plump from their coaxing. He knows that Taehyung is sweet, and that Jimin is eager, a little rough. It's downright pornographic. His eye twitches.

“Mmm, Chim,” you mewl.

That's it. He growls. “Guys, knock it off. Otherwise we’re taking her in the back of my car.”

“Wouldn't be such a bad idea,” Taehyung murmurs, and Jungkook risks a glimpse, only to see Taehyung mouthing at your neck, one hand down your pants. You're a vision, sprawled on Jimin's lap, head tossed back against his neck. Back arched, shirt halfway unbuttoned, bra peeking out and hair disheveled.

“Taehyung,” Jungkook barks. He’s a second away from breaking the wheel. Red light. He watches Taehyung suck a blooming flower against your neckline. He pulls away reluctantly to admire it.

“It's fine,” Jimin pipes up, and Jungkook swears he pops a vessel with the way the older slides a hand up to cup your breast, thumbing your peaks from under the silken material. “We're here.”

The maknae parks the car hastily, all too relieved to be home. He practically yanks the hinges off the passenger door open. Jimin groans, almost falling flat on his ass at the sudden momentum. “Jeon!”

“Sorry,” he mutters, stepping aside for Jimin to step out. Jungkook catches you, stumbling with trembling legs and poorly adjusted shirt. He sweeps you into his arms without another thought, moving briskly towards the entrance. His strength makes you squirm in his hold, clutching his tensed bicep.

“Smell so good,” he groans, and he has to pause at the door, letting you down only to pin you against the glass, kissing you hard.

“Taste so good,” he pants, unable to stop himself from grinding against you. He wants you close, craves you. Your hands snake under his shirt, pushing it up impatiently to flatten your palm against his toned stomach, the other fumbling with his belt.

The sound of the leather and metal coming undone makes him hiss, hips jerking. “Sensitive baby,” you murmur teasingly, fingers digging into his v-line. Jungkook’s breath stutters, cock throbbing unwittingly.

“I’m going to lose my mind,” he moans, slumping onto you as you give his clothed length a tentative squeeze. He’s so incredibly hard it’s painful. The blood rushing to his dick is making him dizzy, a little breathless.

Before you can reply, the door is abruptly wrenched open. You gasp, Jungkook nearly toppling over, but he braces you under his arm, catching you easily.

“Told you he wouldn’t make it in before he succumbed.” You look up to see Hoseok gazing down at you with those strong brows of his, studying you with an intensity that has your body flushing with heat again. Even upside down he’s gorgeous beyond reason.

Jungkook flips you back up, and Hoseok���s lips quirk when he catches you floundering.

“Bet he came in his pants.” Namjoon walks forward, hands in his pockets and his tone is casual, like he’s discussing the menu from your favourite diner.

“Colour me shocked the neighbours haven’t carded the two of you for public indecency,” Yoongi drawls, smirking when Jungkook blushes darkly.

“I’m going to develop abandonment issues if you keep forgetting about us like that.” Jungkook rubs his neck, embarrassed, as Taehyung and Jimin step in with mirroring looks of disgruntlement. Taehyung walks over, lips quirking wryly as you slide your arms over his neck.

“Don’t tease,” you chastise, but he ignores you in lieu of pulling you close, swaying slightly to the sound of his quiet humming. His hands are hot, burning through the thin material of your shirt as he presses you flush against his body.

“Romantic,” you whisper, smiling. Taehyung smiles too, eyes still closed.

“Welcome back, beautiful.” You startle at the sound, but smile at the familiar voice, leaning into his touch. Taehyung allows you to slip from his hold, the newcomer twirling you around.

“Hi, Jin,” you say shyly, biting your lip. Seokjin beams, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“Missed you so much,” he says softly. “Was about to lose my sanity if you were away any longer.”

You laugh aloud, and Seokjin looks a little awestruck at the sound, watching you with that soft, adoring look in his eyes. “I thought you would’ve enjoyed the peace while I was gone.”

“Hardly. I was left in a house full of horny kids. The testosterone levels were crazy,” he sighs dramatically. “Pass.”

Somewhere in the background, Namjoon snorts. “Please, hyung. You act like you weren’t jacking off three times a day to her pictures.”

Seokjin squeaks, Hoseok roaring in laughter. Jungkook claps a hand to his mouth, trying and failing to hide his mirth, sexual tension momentarily forgotten.

You loop your arms around his neck with a coy smile. “Is this true, Jinnie?”

“Don’t tease me,” he mumbles into your neck. He feels the shaking of your silent giggles and groans. “I hate you, Joon.”

“If it helps, I’m flattered, you know. And the feeling is mutual, in case you were wondering,” you whisper to him.

“It wasn’t just that,” Seokjin grumbles, glancing away as the tips of his ears darken. “I always want you around. You’re my home, you know.”

Your heart swells, fingers tingling. “Jin,” you say softly, cupping his cheeks. He looks everywhere but at you, complexion mirroring a tomato alarmingly fast. Seokjin, who can dish out sweetness but never take it, mood maker but so shy. Seokjin, who is kind and charming and gorgeous and has a big, beautiful heart.

“I love you so much,” you whisper. He looks at you wonderingly, as if mystified by such an all-encompassing sentiment.

“___ … You have no idea how much I adore you,” Seokjin breathes, a little giddy, a little lightheaded by that fond, warm expression you’re regarding him with.

“Not more than me.” The two of you jump at the sound, jolted from your secluded bubble, to see, shockingly, Yoongi pouting behind the eldest. The composer has his arms crossed, brows knitted and cheeks puffed out.

“Did you forget about us again,” Yoongi says, petulant. You and Seokjin look at one another, stunned, before bursting into laughter.

Namjoon and Hoseok join the rapper, crowding the two of you from the sides, sporting similarly roguish grins. Taehyung, Jimin and Jungkook share a mischievous look, squishing in close.

“Guys,” Seokjin complains, broad shoulders being quashed by the sheer force of Jungkook’s biceps. Your face is pressed uncomfortable tight against his – impossibly solid and strong – chest.

“Can’t – breathe,” you yelp, voice muffled. A hand grabs your wrist and pops you from the throng.

“Hello again,” Hoseok grins.

“Hoseokie,” you gasp, a little winded but still incredibly grateful for a breath of fresh air, something the dancer himself seems to embody.

“Sunshine,” he says happily, reaching for you. Before he can wrap himself around you, Namjoon comes slamming in, dimples and all.

“As much as I’ve enjoyed our little reunion, my dick is hard and throbbing and the obscene amount of times I’ve simultaneously cried and jacked off to the sound of your voice is absurd, my cock should’ve wilted at the pure ferocity and angst I’ve poured onto the poor thing, and I am beyond ecstatic to have you back – so much so that I need to rail you against the our skyline balcony, lest I implode within the next two minutes. So! Let’s move to the bedroom, shall we?” Namjoon says matter-of-factly.

“Good idea,” Hoseok beams, completely unfazed by their leader’s rather lewd confession as he scoops you up easily, your boyfriends quickly following suit.

Hoseok sets you down onto the centre of the king-sized bed, silk sheets bunching beneath you as you sprawl over them. You move to sit up on your elbows, but Jungkook hovers over you, pressing you down instantly.

His dark eyes rake over your form unabashedly, one hand popping the surviving buttons of your top and the other pulling off his shirt.

“Greedy maknae.” Jungkook readily ignores Seokjin’s disgruntled mutter in the background as he leans down kiss you.

“Missed your taste,” he murmurs. Your hand trails down his bare chest, retracing every memorized groove and dip of his unfairly gorgeous body.

“Jungkook.” He tears himself away, panting heavily, to glance at Namjoon, who sends him a warning look.

“Don’t be selfish,” the rapper chastises. Jungkook drops his gaze to where you lay splayed out beneath him, hair mussed and lips swollen, chest heaving as you recover from his ministrations.

“Sorry.” He doesn’t sound apologetic at the least. He runs a hand through his hair in frustration, growling once before he slides off.

“You’re in for a long night, beautiful,” Hoseok tells you, cupping your face and thumbing your cheek slowly, revelling the heat that tinges your skin. “You have no idea how much we’ve missed you. And not just this.”

“I missed you all too,” you whisper, smile soft.

Yoongi closes the door.

Your phones blow up the entire night, left collectively buzzing beneath the couch cushions.

[03:21] rhys: damn, y’all still banging? it’s been 4 days

[04:28] rhys: i need a gf

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“Mmm. Tickles.”

“Good morning, gorgeous.” You smile into the pillow, eyes still closed, turning your head to the side expectantly. You know your expression is a little blissful, and you hear his fond chuckle.

“Love you,” you mumble. Someone presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

“Love you too, heart.”

[teletraan-meets-jarvis]

A Girl Like You

AO3 Link

Pairing: Little bit of Wolffe x fem!Jedi Reader

Summary: You end up having a lightsaber sparring match with Anakin and the clones watch on from the sidelines. Wolffe admires the view.

Warnings: 13+, Wolffe eyeing up the reader.

Word Count: 2k

Author's Notes: This is my first attempt at writing some sort of battle scene, I hope I pulled it off alright. This is mostly a fic about the Dathomiri/Mandalorian reader in order to help me practice writing battles, but I have thrown in Wolffe being cheeky because I couldn't resist. Any feedback is always appreciated, as are reblogs! Fic is below the cutoff, thanks very much for reading x

You’re not entirely sure how you got yourself into this situation. You’d been sitting among a few members of your battalion, the 104th, along with General Skywalker, Commander Tano, the usual suspects from the 501st and a few of the Coruscant Guard commanders, getting yourselves ready to head out for a night out among the lower levels of Coruscant. While you’d been waiting for the last few stragglers to get some fresh armour on before heading out, Anakin had somehow dragged you into some pissing contest about lightsaber designs and which were the most effective in combat. You carried a double bladed weapon, and Anakin had been poking you about how ineffective he’d found them to be in battle. You know he was just trying to get a rise out of you and you hated that it worked.

So that’s how you ended up here, with the challenge of a sparring match presented to you by Anakin. He wanted to test his theory as to what weapon was superior in battle.

“Loser buys the first round at 79’s for everyone” The General suggested. You looked around, there must be at least twenty of you heading out tonight, would your credits even cover that?

“You’re on.” Guess you could always get a few waters and lie to the men. Fox could probably do with a slow start to the drinking anyways.

The three Jedis present used the force to clear some tables out the way, creating a space for the fight. Ahsoka outlined some rules before the event began, which were; no force use on each other, no dirty tricks and please don’t actually hurt each other. Should the latter happen, at least they had Kix there ready to fix them up, even if he was supposed to be off duty.

Once the space was cleared, you got up from your spot amongst the Wolfpack who were hyping you up like you were some pay-per-view sports person about to head into the ring. The 501st boys were cheering for Anakin as Rex gave him a pep talk before sending him off into their makeshift battle arena.

The two of you took your spots opposite each other. You were both still wearing your usual battle clothes, just clean alternatives. Anakin’s fresh, dark coloured robes were neatly wrapped around him, his growing hair hanging just above his eyes as he readied himself for the fight.

You yourself were in a form fitting grey and white jumpsuit which flared slightly at the leg. The sleeves were short, showing off the grey Dathomiri markings on your arms which were dotted across your fair Mandalorian skin. Your whole ensemble was finished off with a single, battle-worn shoulder piece which carried the Wolfpack insignia. Your short blonde hair was in it’s signature half up, half down look, keeping it out of your way.

You both readied yourselves and your eyes met. You could feel the confidence radiating off of him and you knew exactly why. Despite being the same age as Anakin, you were still a Padawan under Master Plo. However, from your Master’s recent suggestions, that wouldn’t be the case for long.

You took a moment to calm yourself. Remembering your training, you let the audience disappear until it was just the two of you. You opened your eyes and readied your lightsaber. You took the handle and held it out in front of you, the space for the two blades coming out either side of your grip. You clicked the weapon on and it buzzed to life. Two green blades in perfect unison. You twirled the weapon around your fingers, pulling it to your side as you got into your initial stance. Leaning back on your right bent leg, your left outstretched in front of you, one half of your weapon inches away from the right side of your head, ready to go.

Anakin had done the same and with some flare, had gotten into his stance. You were both ready.

“After you, Skyguy” and with that, Anakin took the first lunge. You brought your lightsaber up just below your chin, holding it sideways to block his straight swipe down across your head. Your faces inches apart before you both pushed off of each other and started stalking around in a circle, waiting for who would make the next move.

An unspoken understanding in the air between you both, the knowledge that you could push each other to your limits, in a way the Jedi wouldn’t normally encourage in training. The thought sent a slight thrill through your body, you always went into every battle with utmost control, always trying to be a model Commander. You always had to prove to the council that you weren’t a threat, that you could the resist the dark side that came so naturally to your kind. But right now, for the first time, you could really let loose and trial your power with Anakin as you knew he’d be doing the exact same.

The tension in the room was thick, the focused stares between the Jedi entrancing everyone present as they danced around one another.

You both rushed to the centre of the space, sabres clashing right in front of your faces. A cyan glow lit up your features, both sporting wicked grins. The power you both held evident among the spectators. You thought you heard a few gasps from the crowd, but all your focus was directed at the Knight in front of you. His feral smirk held as he spoke from behind the clash of your weapons. “Don’t get too flustered now, I know I look great under blue light”

“Don’t flatter yourself, General” You chuckled as you pushed off each other. Stalking once more.

When you clashed again, it was all a blur. Hit after hit. He was relentless. Your weapons created a bright light show as you kept up with Anakin’s offensive. He pushed you further back, the wall behind you growing closer. You blocked his next hit and took a moment to plan. He was getting confident, too confident. You could use that to your advantage.

You ducked below his next swing and went for his legs, causing him to do a backflip back to the centre. Finally, some breathing room. Now it was your turn to go on the offensive. You charged forward and restarted the fast pace. Delivering blow after blow to Anakin’s defence. Your double blades keeping him on his toes as you made sure to never favour one side of your weapon.

You were both high from the strength you put on display, you don’t remember the last time you let loose like this. You were both sweating slightly, grinning at the enjoyment of such a challenging fight. One strike from Anakin had you swinging your lightsaber over you shoulder to guard your back, as you blocked a particularly dirty move from the General. From the sidelines, you heard Ahsoka reprimanding her Master and reminding him that this was only a sparring match. You raised your eyebrow at the General who just shrugged, still sporting a confident smirk on his face. It was on.

—————

The clones were mesmerised. Of course they’d seen their Jedis fight hundreds of times in battle, but they never had the time to just watch and appreciate. The pair were so different, where Anakin was like a controlled tornado, skill and strength on the brink of being unleashed. Your approach was measured, plotting, more like a slow song building up. Every move you made was calculated, as if you were playing a game of chess.

Wolffe couldn’t help but appreciate the view as you lunged an attack at Anakin. You and Wolffe had been fighting alongside each other for years now but he’d never really seen you like this. Your orange eyes sharp, body tense, feet light as you danced with Anakin. Green and blue clashing. Your moves so smooth and flowing into one another yet contrasted by displays of dangerous power, reminding him of the waters back on Kamino. You looked incredible and he couldn’t help getting pulled into the atmosphere, cheering alongside the rest of his brothers. There was a new feeling in his chest as he watched you battle. Their Jedi. His Jedi.

He continued to stare as the fight raged on. He bloomed with pride when his eyes found your Wolfpack insignia on your shoulder, which perfectly matched your battalion colour-scheme outfit. Speaking of, his eyes couldn’t help themselves as they drifted along your body, finding all the places where that jumpsuit hugged your small curves just right. The way your toned arms strained as you swung your weapon. The way your skin markings lead beneath the v-neckline you’d left at the front of your jumpsuit from the zipper, teasing almost. You were a vision. Maker get ahold of yourself. He shook his head, as if it would clear the racy thoughts from his mind. It didn’t.

Back at the event, there were lulls and peaks in the fight, moments where you were studying each other and others where your lightsabers were in near constant contact as you fought to keep up with the other’s moves.

“You’ve got this General, take her down” Jesse shouted from his position in the sidelines.

“Commander, kick his ass!” Boost piped up in your support.

———————

The crowd getting involved seemed to spur Anakin on further, your next clash resulted in him being able to swing your lightsaber from your grasp. Kriff. Suddenly you felt the tell-tale heat radiating off his weapon onto your throat, only a few millimetres separating them. The 501st were cheering in support of their General while Anakin looked over to his adoring fans, soaking up the praise. You just smirked from your defenceless position.

“You shouldn’t get so cocky, General” you stated casually, pulling him out of his moment.

“What?” Before he could react, you knocked his weapon away from your chin as your right leg hooked around the back of his and sent him sprawling onto his back. You used the force to grab his weapon as you went to kneel on his chest, his own lightsaber now readied towards his throat.

The crowd watched on in shock for a few seconds before the Wolfpack jumped out their seats and started cheering. You’d officially just defeated The Chosen One in a sparring match.

You chuckled at their reactions and Anakin’s pout before helping the General up. You returned his weapon and watched as he stalked back over to his battalion, his pride in tatters. Looking over at your own squad, Comet and Boost were winding up Jesse and Fives over how their Jedi was superior.

As you made your way back over the 104th troopers jumped on you chanting “Wolfpack! Wolfpack! Wolfpack!” some of them even started howling. You just laughed and pushed them off you.

“You’re such dorks” you chuckled, ruffling Sinker’s hair as he walked back to his seat.

“I believe you dropped this sir” Wolffe came over and extended your weapon out to you. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to retrieve your weapon from wherever it’d be thrown in a fight.

“Thank you, Commander” you said with a smile. You were both standing slightly away from the others who were still teasing the 501st, with help from Commander Thorn. Wolffe had a strange look on his face, like he was contemplating something.

“You looked good out there” he piped up, his usual bravado replaced with something more unsure. However, his walls were back up before you could tell what it was.

“You telling me I look good, Wolffe?” You teased, hoping to wind him up a little bit.

“Maybe I am” he replied with a smirk, his eyes giving you a once over boldly in front of you. You blushed at the sudden attention. Well this was new.

“You two Commanders done flirting or can we go now? There’s a free round waiting for us!” Ahsoka shouted from across the way.

You and Wolffe looked at each other for a moment longer before you chuckled and nodded your head in the direction of the exit. “We should head off”.

As you walked side by side with the clone Commander, you thought back to the way he looked at you. There was something in his eyes, admiration, maybe even want? You couldn’t tell, but you definitely wanted to find out. Maybe a few drinks would loosen him up enough to see what was going on in that handsome head of his.

Back to Masterlist

[quartzwriting]

Green and Gold

Pairing: Doctor Strange X Fem!Reader

Description: During a visit to Asgard, Stephen is protective over you since Loki always seems to not be able to take his eyes off you. 

Warnings: Non

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: Originally posted to Quotev / I like this one :3

Masterlist | Fic Reading Recs | Ao3 | Quotev | Coffee

The frantic rainbow lights disappeared and you stumbled to get your balance on the solid ground that you were thrown on. Stephen was there to help steady you, at hand at your waist with the other at the ready to prevent you from falling over. You wondered why you all could not just travel here through a slingring portal. But Thor insisted you take the Bifrost. To 'get the experience' he had said before he called for it. The knowing smirk on Stephen's face in that moment told you that you might regret this.

In little time you found yourself in Asgard.

Stephen would come here occasionally to discuss relations between mystical threats and threats to the realms. You came along this time. You wanted to see Asgard, Thor wanted you to come along, but Stephen was hesitant to let you come. He told you that someone needed to watch over the Sanctum while he was gone, you made Wong do it instead. He said Asgardian magic is hard to understand, you reminded him that you were advanced now in your mystical studies that you could keep up. He said that it would only be a night or two, you said that you did not want him to leave you for a night or two.

You won and had convinced him. So now you were at the entrance of Asgard, having just experienced being magically thrown across the universe with possible whiplash and your lunch threatening to come up.

Thor, holding his beloved hammer in one hand, looked over at you. "What did you think, Lady (Y/N)?"

"I think I'm gonna be sick." You mumbled.

Stephen patted you on the back, "You'll be alright." There was a slightly amused tone in his voice and that gave you a sudden urge to kick him in the shins.

You had ended up in the middle of a room that was golden and shaped like a dome. There were circular patterns on the walls and in the centre golden steps that lead to a little pedestal that held a sword. Someone was holding that sword, and you were introduced to Heimdall who was the protector of the Bifrost. He bowed to you like you were important and you returned with a bow of your head. Just outside the room, you could see the bridge sparkling with the same rainbow colours as the way you had gotten here. Beyond the long bridge was the castle in the distance.

Thor gestured for you to follow him, so you fell into step beside Stephen as you exited the small structure. You were now walking on the Bifrost bridge. The view you saw before you was absolutely breathtaking. The glittering bridge was just the beginning. Underneath it was a roaring river of clear water. The palace was beautiful, the structure standing as tall as the mountains in its background. The buildings of the surrounding city were sparkling everywhere. You have seen so much since becoming a sorcerer, but this was something else.

Stephen saw the smile on your face and the look of awe in your eyes. This made him smile, and he was suddenly glad he brought you here. He always loved showing you new things, fueling your curiosity and experiencing new things with you. But there was a little worry in the back of his mind that would not go away.

There was one reason, above all others, that Stephen did not want to bring you along.

Loki would be here.

He hated the way he looked at you. He hated his very being because of it. And the knowledge that you and him would be in the same place made his blood boil. Ever since that time Loki showed his face in New York and he had to take him to prevent him from doing anything, and he looked at you up and down like that, he disliked the god so much. And he was so nice to you, and you were nice to him. Whenever Stephen went to Asgard and ran into Loki, he would ask about you. Stephen did not like it.

But your reaction to the city and planet, and you had just gotten here, made the worry go away a little. He would be by your side anyways, to keep Loki away if he was going to try anything. He would throw the cloak around your shoulders to have it hide you away if he needed to. But at the moment he focused on being with you for your first impressions of Asgaurd and not worry too much.

~~~

You were awoken by a light touch and someone softly shaking you awake. The sleepiness was not shaken however, you groaning in protest as you cuddled up even more into the covers of the soft, silken sheets and thick comforter.

There was a chuckle and you new who it was from the deep tone. You lazily opened your eyes and saw Stephen looking down at you, already dressed and seeming wide awake. The sun was shining through the large window with the beautiful view of Asgard. It looked like the world was awake, but you were not ready to drag yourself out of bed.

"I have the first meeting this morning. Thought maybe you would want to come along but looks like you don't want to get out of bed."

You simply let out another sleepy groan.

Then you did a double take, noticing what he was wearing.

He had on his Cloak of Levitation, but underneath that was something different. He had swapped out his regular blue robes for an Asgardian version. It was made in a different style, but it still resembled his old robes. The blue was more rich in its colour, more royal and regal looking. The wrappings were lined with a golden fabric on the edges, it went really well with his signature red and blue. It was a very stark contrast between the one you were used to seeing him wear verse this new one. But you loved it. Seeing all the beautiful clothing everyone wore here made you happy, and seeing a piece like that on Stephen was astonishing.

"You like it?" He caught you staring.

"I love it," You said groggily but happily, running a hand through your hair and sitting up in the bed.

Straightening the cloak over his shoulders, he leaned over and kissed you on your forehead. "I should head to the meeting now. We'll be done before lunch." With that he left your shared guest room, closing the large door behind him.

You wanted to fall back asleep, but it did not overtake you. It was one of those moments where you just laid there cause you were already awaken. But you wanted to sleep. But you couldn't. So you stared out the window, looking out at the pretty mountain peaks and wondering what that first meeting was about. You also wondered about the other things you were going to do while on this foreign planet. Tour of the scenery, trying more of that delicious food (you were dying over it last night at dinner), learning about its history. Maybe you would learn a little Asgardian magic while you were here. The idea of that gave you a little excitement.

A little while later, while you were lost in a daydream, there was a knock on your door. You got up and grabbed a silk robe that was on a chair by your bedside. "Come in," You said, wrapping and tying the robe over yourself. Two women came through the door, maids of the castle you assumed.

One was holding a pile of neatly folded up fabric in her hands. You got excited.

The two introduced themselves and said that Frigga sent them to wake you and get you ready for breakfast. Since the meeting was going on between Odin, Stephen, Thor, and a few others, Frigga decided to have a little breakfast gathering for you. The women were so sweet, making small talk and asking you about Midgard as they prepared you a hot bath and did your hair in a fancy braid down your back that resembled a French braid.

The moment you were anticipating soon came, and they helped you get dressed.

The dress you were presented with was a deep forest green with golden embellishments. Silk fabric sat in long layers down the skirt, trailing out longer at the back. The neckline did not dive too deep down your chest, just enough for subtlety. The  short sleeves clung to the sides of your upper arms, shoulders exposed above the folded layers. The gold piece wrapped around your waist as a belt helped bring out the details. The length slightly dragged on the floor, looking elegant and glittering in the sunlight. You felt like an Asgardian princess wearing it.

It reminded you of someone. Then you wondered who had picked it...

One of the girls topped off your look with a golden pin in your hair, shaped like a flourishing lily tucked above your right ear. The two admired their work and you thanked them from the bottom of your heart. The girl you saw in the mirror was so different then yourself. You saw an Asgardian goddess, not a sorcerer.

You asked them for directions after thanking them a second time, knowing you would get lost in the giant palace. They told you where to go, curtsying to you as a goodbye. You did it back, pulling up the fabric of your dress to feel a little more into it. With one last look in the mirror, and pulling your shoulders back, you made your way out of your guest room and down the correct hallway.

You were directed to a drawing room that was down a tall staircase and a few doors to your left. There was a guard in front of the wooden door, but upon seeing you he bowed and held it open for you. The room inside was not too large, but the big open window gave the impression that it was. Decorated just as nicely as the rest of the place, this room was no exception to the royal aspect and medieval aesthetic to the palace. There were a few comfy chairs surrounding a low table, where Frigga greeted you with a warm smile.

Sitting in the seat beside her was Loki. You had not seen him yesterday when you had arrived. This made you wonder why he had not said hello to you then along with everyone else. He also was not at dinner last night. Weird. He held a tea cup in one hand as he leaned back in his chair, cradling its saucer in the other hand. Seeing Loki sipping tea from a pretty cup with his pinky finger jutting out was a different sight, a contrast to his darker persona you knew was hidden beneath.

You hugged Frigga, which she insisted on, and you sat down with them. You all chatted over breakfast and you sparking up conversation with Loki was a little awkward at first, but once you opened up a little it flowed easily. The tea was amazing and the little pastries laid out on nice platters were absolutely delicious. Frigga asked about your magic skills, and you both began to exchange stories about magic. You had a great time and you were glad you got out of bed for this. Soon Frigga had some business to take care of and had to cut this little gathering short.

When you left Loki caught up with you in the hallway.

"It has been a while since we have seen each other, Lady (Y/N)."

A lot of the people here were calling you that. And people you did not even know knew your name, which always kind of threw you off for a second or two. That told you that you were known here, from either Thor or Stephen talking. The whole 'Lady' thing was out of respect you assumed, and you did not mind.

"It has." You replied as you both walked down the hall together, "It was nice to see you again, Loki."

"How are you liking it here?" He asked with a smile.

"I love it!" You beamed, "It's beautiful, the food is amazing," You then gestured down to the dress you were wearing, "and the clothes are stunning."

He chuckled, "Green looks good on you."

"Easy for you to say, it's your favorite."

"No no," He sputtered, and you thought he looked a little...flustered? "You genuinely look beautiful in green."

A little heat ran up to your cheeks. "Oh, thanks."

There was a balcony up ahead where you saw sunlight streaming in. You picked up your pace to go look out of it, Loki right behind you. It was overlooking the back of the castle, where you could see a beautiful garden down below, before the landscape stretched out into more of the city and the mountains beyond.

For a second or two you wondered what was past those peaks. If the planet simply stopped there, or if there were forests or towns or lakes or anything else that you wanted to discover. This whole place was full of beauty and the idea that there was a possibility for more was just a little overwhelming. But you loved it.

"I'm happy you like my home." Loki leaned on the railing, looking out at the city with you. "Although it was not always considered my home."

"What do you mean?" You asked. You noticed a sadness in his eyes now.

"You know my history."

At that moment you realized what that sadness was. Probably memories flashing through his mind. You did know his history. Lied to all his life, being overcome by the sadness and anger and wrath and desire for revenge. You knew what that lead to, the New York event and everything that came with and after that. Right now, he was allowed freedom back in his home for 'rehabilitation' of sorts, offered a second chance. Not knowing what that was like, you could not relate, but you knew he had gone through pain. It was even painful to see it in his eyes.

"So do you consider it home again?" It was all you could think of to say.

He shook his head in a light nod after a second to think, the look on his features exchanged for one with a small smile. A weird thought crossed your mind, you had not seen Loki smile this much before.

The two of you stood there looking out at the city below, watching the people of Asgard go about their days. It was a calm silence that fell, not a line of tension or heavy weight of awkwardness at all. Just a calm.

"Hey," Loki said out of nowhere, and you turned your head to look at him as he spoke up, "your outfit is missing something."

You raised an eyebrow at him, coming off as almost sarcastic. "Oh?"

A smirk sneaked up on his face and you knew he was going to do something. You braced yourself for whatever it might be, good or bad or a mix of both. With a flicker of green magic, an object materialized in his hands. It was his helmet, shining gold with the curved horns. It was so polished that you could see your reflection in it.

Then he was holding it out to you.

"Oh no, I couldn't."

Loki cocked his head to the side and shrugged with a smile, again with the smiling, "Why not?"

A pause, you did not say anything because you had nothing to say. Something about it was very tempting, but it also felt forbidden. Like if you were to put it on you would be overcome by some spell or just a wave of emotion. Or just the thought of wearing something that was considered 'crown-like', because you were not royalty or a goddess or someone with high power. But it was all calling your name, with a glint of gold.

"I insist." Loki added.

After another moment's pause, you let him put the helmet into your hands. It was lighter than you expected it to be, with pure gold usually being heavy. Probably not made of pure gold then. Just a trick of the eye.

Without waiting anymore, you slowly rested the helmet on your head. Right away you noticed it was a little big on you. It was not made to fit your head, obviously, but you felt something while wearing it. Maybe honour, or pride. Or maybe just pure 'slyness', the same energy that Loki often channeled.

"Looks good." Loki beamed.

"I'm dressed like you," You snapped jokingly, "that's why you think I look good."

He laughed and you did too. Maybe I should wear more green, you told yourself.  

As you both continued to watch the city below and make small talk, from down the hall you could hear footsteps. Maybe guards or other people of the palace, you presumed. But as they approached, they got louder. And they got quicker. Heavy boots, you deduced. But suddenly they stopped.

"Nice view."

You nearly jumped out of your skin as Stephen had suddenly appeared right beside you. So those were his footsteps. You had not expected him to be out of the meeting for another while, but there he was. Him and that damn short-range teleportation spell he just loved to use for some reason. There were too many instances of him appearing out of nowhere back home and it resulted to you being more jumpy nowadays. He had positioned himself between you and Loki you noticed. Loki looked just as surprised as you were, the trickster being tricked.

"Where did you come from?" Loki scowled

"Down the hall." He answered blankly. You stiffed a laugh at his demeanor, sly and confident, when realization hit you that those were aspects of his jealous and protective side coming out. Oh boy, here we go...

"I'm surprised you're out of bed," Stephen looked down at you with a raised eyebrow, which made you chuckle. You saw a tiny twitch in the corner of his eye, and something told you that it had something to do with the god opposite you and the headpiece you were now wearing.

Stephen reached forward and gently lifted the gold helmet off your head, care in his eyes and shaking fingers. Once it was off, he (not so subtly) aggressively threw it at Loki's chest who stumbled to catch it, all trace of gentleness gone. Loki gave him a mock offended look, but Stephen's own hard expression was not phased. Your eyes quickly darted between the two, seeing the tension that had now thickened the air.

"Should't you be at a meeting with Odin?" Loki said. You noticed he did not say my father.

"Oh we finished early," Stephen replied in a light tone, trying to one-up the god while bringing out his ego's confidence. "we're having another one this evening however."

Loki looked like he did not know what to do, which made an amused smile spread across the sorcerer's face. Then he straight up asked, monotone voice dropping to sound flat and serious, "Why was she wearing your helmet?"

"Because...it matches her outfit?" The god struggled to find and answer only to come up with a question instead.

"Yea, sure." Stephen mumbled, "Wonder where she got that outfit."

"Some palace maids dressed me," You chimed in, but it felt like you were invisible at the moment. There was too much testosterone in the air that was covering your existence, which made you roll your eyes.

"Green and gold are nice colours." Loki said while trying to sound convincing and innocent.

"Coincidence she's wearing them?" Stephen shot back, suspicious.

"I had nothing to do with it, Strange."

"Oh sure."

"Oh my god." You slumped against the railing and rested your face in your hands. The two went on to snap at each other and argue for a little, but it felt like an eternity. after a period of you just standing there listening helplessly, the heat started to die down.

"If you'll excuse me, Sorcerer Supreme," Loki enunciated Stephen's title like it was a forbidden word, "I should be headed to attend some business."

He tried to walk off but Stephen cut him off, "Oh what kind of business do you have to do?"

"Business that does not require a mere mortal sorcerer to stick his clever nose into!"

"Well, it looked like it was no more important then taking my girl somewhere to be alone with!" The low rumble in his voice made it a little more threatening.

With that, Loki rolled his eyes so hard it looked like it hurt. And he walked away without another word, flipping his helmet over in his hands before jabbing it on his head with visible frustration.

"Well that was a show." You said, having stood there watching the whole thing like it was a theater drama.

Stephen shrugged, "I try my best."

You laughed, "Your jealousy gets to your head."

His facial expression recoiled, "Do you enjoy my jealousy? Do you enjoy his company?"

Your jaw dropped for a second in offence, "God no, why would I enjoy making you upset?" At that you shrugged, "Although it can be amusing."

You felt a pinch on your arm which made you let out a sound of distress. Stephen chuckled, and wrapped an arm around you lovingly as you leaned against the balcony railing together.

"He was just trying to be nice, Stephen."

"I don't think he can be 'nice',"

"He was nice at breakfast,"

"You had breakfast with him?"

"I was with Frigga. He just so happened to be there."

"Okay fine."

You laughed and he gently kissed the top of your head. After a moment of quiet and peace, you felt his softly shaking hand fiddle with the sleeve of your dress, "You look very beautiful."

Blushing, you looked up at him with admiring eyes. His expression mirrored yours. He was still wearing the new robes you last saw him in, the gold linings glittering in the Asgardian sunlight. You were about to say the same thing he said to you, when his expression changed. It was his thinking face.

"What?"

Stephen must have realized something as raised an eyebrow, "There's magic in your dress."

Before you could react, Stephen waved his hand in a quick motion. Suddenly, green waves of energy flowed out of the fabric of your clothes. But they soon changed to orange sparks, Asgardian magic to Earth sorcerer magic. As they flowed over you, the colour of your dress changed. The green was replaced with blue and the gold was replaced with red. There was still a little gold here and there, lining the edges in a familiar way.

"I knew it. He must have tampered with it." Stephen grumbled.

Now your dress mimicked the colours of Stephen's clothes, their original colours. You laughed a little, the person who made your clothes thought they were clever. But also Loki thought he was clever to change it to his colours. You wondered when and why he did that, but you shrugged it off and instead admired the dress in this new perspective.  

"That's better." Stephen said, a little proud of himself for some reason.

"I like this more." You giggled.

"Me too."

The dress felt lighter and the fabric shined a little more. It was made for you, perfectly tailored to your body and with the perfect colours to match. It was perfect. And it reminded you of him so it made it all the more special. If they would not let you keep it, then you are just going to bring it home with you anyways.

"Well since the meeting was cut off early, lunch is not for another half an hour or so. What should we do till then?"

"Well~" You drew out, a smile creeping up your face, "I was looking at the gardens from here and I wouldn't mind going to see them."

Stephen smiled. He offered his elbow to you, "Then do you care for romantic stroll, Lady (Y/N)?" He put on his best English accent (which was surprisingly flawless), his naturally low voice making it all the more amusing.

With a giggle, you took his arm. Together you made your way through the castle in a swish of red and blue fabrics.

"Although," Stephen started as you both made your way down the last set of stairs that lead to the ground floor, "you did look good in the green. Even though I hate to admit it."

"Hate to admit it?" You looked up at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Well it was Loki's trickery, but you look good regardless. As always."

[fuck-goes-on]

How about Whiskey seeing you dressed up in an evening gown for the first time but he hasn't admitted his feelings for you yet and you literally leave him speechless/breathless and he just asks if he can kiss you?

Really low cut midnight blue gown because it brings out the green in your eyes now I'm getting carried away

OH MY, I love whiskey, thank you for giving me a reason to write a fic for him anon 🥺💖 I’ll be as gender-neutral as possible with this btw!! I don't like the ending but at least I finished it HHH

masterlist

Jack was sitting in the living area of the hotel suite Statesman booked, decked out in a dark grey suit and tie with his stetson resting on his slicked-back hair. He was nursing a glass of whiskey on the couch as he waited for you to finish dressing up for the formal gathering the both of you were supposed to attend.

The two of you were sent out to gather information on a high-class woman who made her living off of stolen artworks. She was reported to be attending the party, so Champ had you and Jack team up and go undercover as a married couple who were interested in buying her recent steal. 

Jack loved partnering with you; You were funny, always making him laugh with your dry and witty humour; You were diligent in your work, rivalling him in fieldwork with your astute thinking and fighting; You were blunt, so honest about your thoughts and opinions, but also so understanding and considerate. He loved a lot of things about you, learned everything you told him about yourself and appreciated everything you did for him.

Lord above, did Jack love you.

Although he hadn’t confessed how he felt for you, he wondered if you already knew. It wasn’t a secret to the agency that their top playboy agent had stopped his obnoxious flirting since you joined, and it certainly wasn’t a secret to Champ, who paired you up at every given opportunity to encourage Jack to confess. But, alas, he was too anxious to tell you so he kept mum.

“Whiskey?” He heard you call out from behind him, perking up at the sound of your voice. He stood up from the couch and patted himself down. He knew he looked good, but there was that underlying insecurity that made him want to look his best for you. Turning around, the signature smirk that he wore at all times fell open as he took in the sight of you.

You were completely, utterly, and perfectly gorgeous. The dress you were wearing hugged your figure deliciously, the midnight blue colour complimented your eyes and skin. The cut of your neckline was deep and ended in the middle of your sternum, exposing the smooth expanse of your chest. Tiny rhinestones were scattered on the lacy mesh fabric of the top of the dress, running down the long sleeves on your arms. A thin silver chain hung from your neck ran down the middle of your torso, black heeled boots peaking from the bottom of your skirt, and your hair framing your face beautifully.

When you twirled around, Jack felt his heart stop. “Do I look nice?” You asked, looking down on yourself as if you weren’t made by God Himself. He approached you slowly, letting his eyes roam all over you and reaching out to hold your waist in his hands

“You look absolutely stunning, sugar.” Jack couldn’t take his eyes off of you, and maybe that wasn’t a bad thing at all. He pulled you closer to him, making your cheeks blush and avoid his intense gaze. Tilting his head to make you look at him, he said with a soft voice, “May I kiss you?”

You made a small noise at the back of your throat before nodding eagerly. Jack relaxed and smiled brightly, leaning his head down to brush your noses together before capturing your lips with his. He cupped your cheek in his hand and deepened the kiss, holding you and feeling you all over his senses.

Pulling away from you was hard; Now that Jack had gotten a taste of your pink lips, he never wanted to be parted from it again. But, alas, you had a mission to do and the night was young. There would be enough time for that later, he thought to himself.

“We’ll talk about that later, yes?” He asked, almost begging, because he wouldn’t let you get away from him now that he had you so close. You smiled softly, turning your head to kiss the palm of his hand that was still holding your cheek. “Well then, shall we go, my lovely spouse?” Jack playfully offered you the crook of his elbow, where you slipped your hand around, curtsying slightly with a big grin.

“We shall, my dashing husband.”