#and when he has no more jewels he is thrown in the fire because he's no longer useful or beautiful | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bigtedbear · 2 months ago

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" 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 "

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭: 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐤𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭�� 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐣𝐨𝐛 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

content warnings: nsfw content 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 𝟏𝟖+, dom top male reader, bottom male character, mlm, gay sex, anal sex, anal penetration, implied mpreg, breeding kink, implied impregnation (there's existential dread washing over me as I write this wondering what my ancestors think), unsafe sex (i fear condoms don't exist yet), they're both virgins but blade definitely doesn't act like one, the reader on the other hand-, sub top reader kinda, dom bottom blade kinda hallelujah amen, they're basically just both horny losers, medieval alternate universe, monsterfucking, blade is a dragon, mating rituals, extremely brief mentions of religion/purity/chastity, i didn't tag this as yandere cause that's kinda just blade???, hey 🪷 anon,,, pov getting over blade's creepy tendencies because of his absolutely fatal face card

ADDED CONTENT WARNINGS: body piercings (nipple piercings), mentions of lactation (there's no real lactation sorry guys i have to stick to the timeline), HEAVY talk of mpreg like that's the whole premise of this part, nipple play, reader is a FREAK for his wife, it came out way softer than I meant it to????, blade is still emotionally constipated but less than usual because he's also a horny loser

" new contact noted! caller blade has been added to your phonebook! - love, operator t-19 "

NOTE: hey guys I forgot about blades pierced nipples, both my heart and the hearts of my audience were broken

the public has spoken, I'm adding on more smut that's probably gonna basically revolve around his tits will update when this has been amended 🫡

SECOND NOTE: the section has been added in, you can read it as part of the entirety of the post of just a single drabble on foreplay with blades tiddies and HEAVY discussion of mpreg

" welcome back caller 🪷! connecting your line as we speak..."

‘The atmosphere swam around you like fish in a bowl; dark, dank, musty.

The strange tension in the air pulled you into an equally strange trance. Dazed, your perception seemed to fade in and out, in and out. Fully alert one moment, your eyelids were drooping as a wave of fatigue overtook you the next. You did your best to still the shaky sense of being that rocked the environment like a cradle, opting to try and break down the situation using your individual senses.

Sight: the air was cloudy and gray, thick like a curtain. You couldn't see it, but you knew there was a fire somewhere. It was shielded by the cold stone walls and the glittering mountains of gold and jewels.

Sound: the crackle of the fire and the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. Ominously, the quiet “drip… drip… drip…” of an unknown source tickled your eardrums.

Smell: sulfur and smoke curled and singed the tips of your nose hairs. The unpleasantness almost completely shrouded the warmth of the smoldering firewood. Some other smell, however, also permeated the area… something strong but hidden beneath the smell of smog.

Taste: akin to bile and equally nauseating, it crawled up your throat and threatened to spill past your lips. Infused with the noteworthy copper tone, the flavor in your mouth was disgusting at best.

Touch: there was a considerable weight in your dominant hand. It drew your arm down, down, down. Metal coated every inch of your body, but you were already used to that as a knight.

You forced your arm up, revealing to yourself what you had been holding. Of course, it was your own aged, well-loved sword…

drip… drip… dripping crimson.’

As much as your body urged you to sit up straight the moment you were awake, your lackluster sleep kept your body flush against your equally lackluster bed. Thrown together with what little blankets you could manage to carry, it was too thin and too flexible to adequately support your body.

Still, despite the recurring nightmares and terrible moral dilemmas, you forced your impossibly heavy body to sit up. The tiny wisps of sunlight that peeked through the openings of your makeshift tent forced you to squint. .Calloused hands met your face, trying to wipe the tired crust out of your eyes and bring some kind of sensation to your skin.

How pathetic. A Xianzhou Luofu knight afraid of a little blood.

It was a wonder you managed to retain your position, nonetheless become the unspoken “Chosen One” among your ranks.

Sure, you were tall, imposing even, muscular and sharp-witted. But even then, all that qualified you to be a top-rank knight was equally balanced with factors that should've barred you from the position altogether.

A pacifist, an outlander, and more than just uninterested, you were not only an oddity, but an exception to many of the hiring requirements. It was a shame your chosen profession as a botanist became a long forgotten dream you only seemed to remember when you weren't patrolling (never).

Combing your fingers through your hair served as a self-soothing gesture when you became lost in your thoughts. It'd first been pointed out to you by the Arbiter General. However, as you found yourself traversing the narrow, winding passages of inner conflict, you found it impossible to get into a rhythm.

It was to be expected after a few weeks of traveling. Your body was coated in soil and your hair was no exception. It was starting to get matted and knotted, more than just difficult but near impossible to comb through.

Of course you'd washed yourself during the prior few weeks, but continual travel and no access to good soap stunted what could be washed off your body in cold streams or still ponds.

The mountains nearby actually were known for two things; natural hot springs and… that other thing. While you might have originally intended to climb the mountain for one, the other served a pleasant add-on.

…

…maybe a hot bath would help ease your mind just a little bit.

However, deciding to take a bath in a hot spring was one thing. Then came the question of how you'd find a hot spring to take a bath in. You turned the query over in your head a few times before you came to a final decision.

‘I mean, they're everywhere, aren't they? It shouldn't be too hard to find one around here.’

With the decision made, you made the effort to stumble through your usual morning routine. Making breakfast, packing up your tent, and pulling on your heavy suit of armor, you prepared for another long day scaling the mountain.

With nobody to talk to, the only voice that cut through the sounds of the mountain habitat was your internal monologue. Crushing the twigs and branches under foot, the sparsely marked path was all but forgotten as the imagery of the strange visions from your sleep dotted your vision.

It was only when you'd nearly fell into a hot spring that you seemed to wake the fuck up and stop thinking about the nonexistent blood staining your sword.

Carefully, you propped your pack on a nearby tree, shielded by some shrubbery for safe keeping. Piece by piece, you began to strip the heavy pieces of iron armor that weighed down your fatigue worn body. They dropped to the hard, arid soil.

They looked as though they were smeared with red.

You blinked, rubbing your eyes.

It was just the same armor you always donned. Free of blood, free of stains.

You chastised yourself mentally for being such a wimp. All it took to make you crack was a task and a little sleep deprivation.

When the final piece of armor hit the sparse grass, you were left in the thin shirt and worn pair of trousers. Carefully, you unlaced the drawstrings at your collar, hastily tugging your shirt off to lay on the dirt. You kicked off your shoes and peeled off your socks next. Despite being all alone in the mountains, for fear of being watched, you crept closer to the water before beginning to unbuckle your belt.

The warm water on your skin was a luxury you seldom had the fortune to indulge in; one you hadn't indulged in since leaving. Sinking into the depths of the tide, your eyes fluttered shut. Finally, what greeted you in the darkness of your mind wasn't the visage of murder scene.

Originally, you’d chosen to bask in the warmth of the natural hot spring to clear your mind. Your task and the blood that would be on your hands… it weighed heavy on your conscience.

Observing the abundance of flora that decorated the banks of the water, you managed to strangle an eerie serenity you’d thought you’d lost. Sitting against the rocks and letting the soft slosh of the waves wash the muck and mire off your body, the tension building in your muscles finally seemed to release just a little bit.

Still, when your hands shook while brushing through the knots in your hair. Something unsettling resting at the bottom of your stomach told you not to get too comfortable.

Why did it feel like someone was watching you?

It took a day and a half to find the entrance to the cave.

For holding such a strong, looming beast in its walls, the opening to the nest wasn’t nearly as imposing as you’d imagined it to be. It made sense, thinking about it objectively. It wasn’t as though the dragon was trying to be found…

Still, you considered that perhaps it would’ve wanted to set up some kind of deterrent to all those that dared to enter.

With a heavy heart, you laid your possessions off to the side of the opening in the stone, taking the first few lumbering steps into the opening.

It was more than just eerie how similar the inner workings of the dragon’s den were to the visions you'd been having. Like some kind of prophet, the sights, the smells, the sounds, even the weight of your sword in your hand from your dream were like they were ripped straight from this moment in time exactly.

It was difficult to be quiet. The spilling piles of metal trinkets and gold coins littered the floor and clinked against the pieces of armor that adorned your figure.

Still, creeping in deeper to the cave, you came to a strange realization.

The dragon’s den was empty.

Despite knowing you were afforded the unique opportunity to have the upperhand in enemy territory, it didn’t seem to calm your anxious heart in the slightest. Instead, a new anxiety wrapped your pulse like a parasite.

You didn’t know why.

Up until this point, you attributed your nerves to fear of inadequacy. You were a head taller than the rest of the Cloud Knights, you worked hard for your position, but hard work did not equal competence.

Patrols were worlds away from dragon slaying. The worst you’d had to deal with was the occasional thief, a dispute in the squares, you weren’t killing mythical beasts on the daily. Relatively speaking, you were still at the very beginning of your life as a long-life species. You were a novice—a baby–in comparison to any of your superiors.

Stalking up the mountain, the weight of your sword was perpetually heavy in your hands because you felt you hadn’t earned the right to wield it.

But now, here you were.

There was a golden opportunity served to you on a platter, an ambush. You could sneak up on the dragon, free its head from its shoulders and return from the mountain a hero.

So why were you suddenly even more scared than before?

Why could you not just appreciate this blessing bestowed upon your shoulders?

As more and more doubts started to cloud your mind, you could feel your breathing start to pick up.

Aeons, this entire thing was becoming far too real.

You could pretend you were just going on some other trip while you were hiking up the side of the mountain. You could pretend this was just some training exercise when you laid down in your makeshift shelter at night. But right now? Right now, it seemed like reality was starting to set in.

You were inside of the dragon’s lair. You were inside of the den.

The light from somewhere deeper in the stone maze flickered and tickled the underbelly of the smoke and smog that hung heavy in the air. The shiny piles of gold that seemed to decorate every wall were almost mockingly bright. Even when you closed your eyes, the outline of the giant glittering heaps of extravagance traced the darkness behind your eyelids.

Rather quickly you came to the conclusion that you were hyperventilating. The grip on your weapon became harder to maintain as the influx of breath caused your vision to swim.

Still, when you heard a noise at the other end of the cavern, you ceased at once.

The shoddy handle you had on your sword suddenly became bone crushingly tight. You cringed at the noise of steel handguards scraping the metal handhold.

Soon enough, the shrill screech was nothing but a distant memory as the room was swarmed with the curious sound of rushing air. The thick, dark smoke that hung like a cloud was suddenly moving in a frenzy, rushing about like it had somewhere to be. Instead of clearing up, it seemed the moving smoke only further clouded your vision.

Your free arm came up to try and keep it out of your eyes. You screwed your feet to the sticking plate, remaining in stance and trying to figure out what exactly you were hearing beyond the opening of the dragon’s den.

The pit of dread forming in your stomach took a steep turn for the worse when you realized exactly what you were hearing.

The flapping of giant wings drew closer to the entrance of the cave and suddenly your previous courage started to dissipate into nothingness. You might have seen the dragon from afar when it came to ambush the treasury before, but the sound it was making now made it seem as though it was the size of the entire castle.

Taking a much stronger liking to your former ambush plans, you shuffled to one of the few exposed walls in the ever winding corridors of stone.

Good gods, the sounds were getting even closer now.

Both hands gripped the handle of your rather large weapon, the shriek of metal against metal all but drowned out by the louder and louder beating of your heart against your eardrums.

‘THUD!’

Your heart jumped into your throat.

The smoke began to settle again.

You forced your breathing to do the same.

You waited…

…and waited…

…and waited some more…

…but curiously…

…you didn't hear anything.

You realized something was wrong, but it took you a few more breathing cycles to actually solidify your resolve to check.

‘One…

Two…

Three!’

Cautiously, you peeled your back off the wall as quietly as possible. Despite your best efforts, there was a just barely audible scrape of stone against the back of your metal shin guards. Your face twisted with displeasure.

Still, nothing.

Waiting for another moment, you finally turned the corner and peeped just beyond the wall and back to the entrance of the cave.

The beast heaved through its nose as evidenced by the smoke billowing out of its nostrils. Its wings curled into its sides, but with the uncanny angling of the bones, the posture they had taken was awkward and forced.

It was about then you noticed the glaringly obvious problem the dragon had been confronted with.

A comically oversized crossbow arrow lodged where its ribs should've been. Grimly, you recognized the arrow to belong to the Zhuming. A clawed foot rested over the injury, most likely trying to feel for a solution of some kind.

Based on its current predicament, it was failing miserably.

Before you could even process what you were seeing, there was a blinding flash of light that forced you to shield your eyes. When you finally lowered your arm, you had to blink a few times to process what you were seeing.

In the previous position of the dragon, sat a man.

…but he was also obviously the dragon?

Long curled horns atop the crown of his head, a long serpentine tail dragging behind him on the ground, he heaved the same smoke and cradled the same injury.

Despite your reservations, you approached.

Sword heavy in your hand, you dropped it clattering to the ground.

That was when the man locked eyes with you.

Dragons were slowly beginning to die out.

Of course, that was only natural when their usual courting rituals involved pissing off every other species known to man. The larger the stash of gold, the more desirable a dragon would be to another. The more valuable the gold, the harder it would be to steal.

One would think this wouldn’t apply to Blade, a dragon with little to no interest in settling down. However, at his core he was still a dragon and he still felt the need to build his own little stash of gold for peace of mind.

What little dragons were left in the world had exactly zero appeal to him. The proud, strong ones had all been eliminated by technology and weaponry far beyond the capabilities of a singular beast. The only ones that seemed to be left were those that took to hiding and settling for paltry sums that served more as a courtesy than something that would draw a potential match in naturally.

He frowned upon it entirely.

Blade seemed to be the only dragon left in the Xianzhou with the upright morals that made up the core belief system of the species as a whole. But because of his own steadfast values, he also seemed to be the only dragon that refused to form a bond with one of his own.

He had never known the comfort of another, never.

Yet when he awoke, he found himself atop a nest of soft blankets. Blinking away the fatigue from his eyelids, he was greeted with the visage of a man at rest.

Half stripped of armor, a few meters away from him, a knight polished his breastplate while watching something roasting over a fire. Completely at peace in the tranquility of the silence, (e/c) eyes sparkled in the low light against the dreary atmosphere of the cave.

The smell of meat stunk up the corridor with an aroma enticing enough for Blade’s mouth to water. His clawed hands searched for some kind of purchase against the fluff of the comforters you'd laid him on as piercing red eyes swept his cave.

Your sword was nowhere to be seen.

Why?

Blade would've asked if he wasn’t already in an extremely compromised position.

You hadn’t even done anything to him, he had been incapacitated in his own home without you having to so much as raise a finger. You had been sent to kill him, even if you had chosen to do the exact opposite as of now, he didn’t know if or when you would feel the need to go back on your silent promise not to hurt him.

As he went to lay his tousled hair back against the blankets you’d laid out on the cave floor, embarrassingly, he misjudged the stability of his arms. With an even more embarrassingly loud–but muted–thud, his clawed fingers slipped against the fabric and his face hit the comforter just a second later.

The noise cracked the little moment you were having by the fire roasting meat over the open flame. Your eyes trailed over to where he was laying, basically completely still. He hoped that if he played dead, you wouldn’t comment on him falling back onto the makeshift mattress. Unfortunately, his prayers went unanswered.

“Careful,” you admonished him gently, “I just stitched up the puncture, if you strain too much, I’ll have to do it again and you probably won’t be asleep this time.”

Still, instead of coddling him like a baby, you turned back to the shiny piece of metal in your lap reflecting the impassioned red hues of the fire. With a damp rag, you swept over each and every scratch and dent with a special precision and care Blade was both unfamiliar and uncomfortable with.

Still, despite the idea being completely foreign to him and the soft nausea that rocked his gut with the unfamiliar trepidation, he found it difficult to pry his eyes away from your hands.

You used your fingernail to pick at the larger pieces of dirt, otherwise pressing the pads of your fingertips to the rag to wipe and wipe until the heavy armor shined. This, Blade wasn’t unfamiliar with. The gleam of the metal mirrored the mounds of spoils he’d managed to snag from the surrounding kingdoms. After you finished with the breastplate, the rag and the plate were set to the side in favor of grabbing a dagger strapped to your thigh.

To this, the man sprawled on the sheets visibly seemed to cringe and crumple in on himself.

He was increasingly vulnerable: you knew this.

You really didn’t want to infantilize him, he was a feared predator and someone who far outmatched you in terms of experience and wisdom. You brandished the dagger as you would’ve any other times, but avoided making any sudden movements.

You cut into the rather large slab of meat carefully, observing the color of the meat and the feeling of the muscle under the edge of the knife.

Satisfied with the hue and smell of the meat, you stomped a boot onto the pile of leaves you’d used to establish the fire. The dragon was visibly alarmed by the sudden loud noise, but you paid him no mind. Instead, you removed the stake you’d been using to roast the meat from the precarious stand you’d painstakingly crafted.

Using the dagger once again, the goat meat you’d be salting and seasoning for a couple days slid off the stick you’d whittled down with ease. You dropped the generous flank steak in front of the observing party. You sheathed the dagger in its holster on your thigh once again, dropping back onto the stone you’d turned into a makeshift stool.

It took Blade a moment to realize that the portion of meat was for him. His mouth watered at the smell, especially since the hide had been pierced and the true aroma of the seasonings began to mingle with meat. He poked at it carefully with a taloned finger.

You watched him prod at the food, crossing your arms in front of your your chest as you observed.

“...”

Finally, the other man pulled himself to sit up. Dragging the meal into his lap, he began to eat.

Once again, you watched him with a nonchalance that sent the hairs on the back of Blade’s neck standing up.

After he finished eating, you seemed to turn away from him once again to give him his privacy. Instead, you picked up the next piece of dirty armor to start to scrub off the accumulated dirt.

“Why?”

Blade’s cheeks simmered a baby pink upon the realization his voice had cracked. Instead of pointing it out, you skipped over it entirely.

“Why what?”

“Why are you helping me?”

You shrugged.

He blinked.

“...”

You hummed, “Perhaps I’m not cut out to be a knight.”

He balked at your response.

You bit the inside of your cheek, “The entire time I was climbing the mountain, I thought I was scared I wouldn’t be able to kill you.” You chipped away at the building dirt on the surface of your shin guard, “I eventually realized it wasn’t that I couldn’t kill you.”

“...”

“...Then what’s stopping you?” His clawed fingers gripped at the plush material beneath him, “You need to kill me, so why don’t you?”

You sighed, sweeping off the chalky remains of a particularly rough mud stain, “I don’t want to. I really don’t want to kill you; I don’t want to kill anyone.” You held the rag tight in your offhand, “If I can, I really want to solve this in a way where you don’t die.”

“...”

You swallowed the building lump of spit at the back of your throat,

“So, name your price. What exactly do you need in order to stop attacking Xianzhou?”

What did Blade want in return for not attacking the Xianzhou Alliance?

He didn’t know.

He was honest in not knowing what he wanted in exchange. You appreciated it… to a certain extent. He was honest and he didn’t lie to you when he said he didn’t know, but his indecision also put you in the precarious position of not knowing whether or not he was stringing you along until he healed and could properly fight you.

You were half tempted to put a deadline on his decision, but every time you looked over at his pitiful body lounging around on your blankets in his loose drapery, you decided against it.

It was around this point you learned his name.

You had what you liked to believe was a gentleman’s agreement. Even with the lack of any verbal acknowledgement, you would stay here and oversee his healing process. Eventually, he would make a decision on what he wanted in exchange for peace. Even if he decided there really wasn’t anything you could provide for him, he would allow you to walk away from this alive if you ultimately came to the decision to not try to kill him.

It was a little bit awkward to start with, neither trusted the other.

You were worried he’d grow tired of you taking up the space in his cave and slaughter you in your sleep. He was worried you’d do the same if you eventually grew tired of his indecision or some kind of outside pressure from your commander came up. Still, that was an awkward conversation to bring up so you opted to avoid it entirely.

After a week or so, the two of you seemed to grow a lot more comfortable with each other. It was about then you were starting to run out of meat.

While Blade had been unconscious, you’d been making trips to and from the closest water source to get your hands on some water for stew. You boiled some of the rabbit bones you’d held onto for broth, pulled out some salt and leftover meat you dried to make him some soup. He couldn’t chew while he was awake so that was the best you could do for him.

When you started running out of those ingredients, you went out and brought back a mountain goat for meat. While in the process of cooking yourself a nice, juicy flank steak, Blade had woken up. It’d be rude to hold a big hunk of meat in front of him without giving him some of the spoils, especially since he hadn’t been eating anything but bland rabbit stew while he was out of it. For the next few days, you cooked up what remained of the goat and shared it between the two of you.

Goats were not an infinite source of magical forever meat though, so you ended up having to go out to get more food. You left and came back with another goat, started cooking it. Around the time you came back, it seemed Blade was waking up from a nap and he fully came around when the cooked meat was basically being dangled right in front of his nose.

Once again, there weren’t any words exchanged between the two of you but the air seemed to be a lot more relaxed than usual. He didn’t seem to be picking at every bite of food you served him and you weren’t watching him like a hawk while you were clearing your own plate. A few more days went by before you actually started talking over your food.

You’d been the one to initiate the conversation, asking if he’d been thinking about anything that could possibly convince him to stop adding to his ever growing treasure hoard. He responded he had, but he still hadn’t come to any conclusions.

You didn’t press any further.

The next day while eating, you asked him again. Once again, he answered in the negative. Again, you didn’t press any further.

The third day, when he answered in the negative, you decided to press him further. You asked him, “Why exactly do dragons create hoards?” It was a long talk about mating rituals and explanations later that he seemed satisfied with his answer. You, also, were satisfied with this answer.

A few more days of asking went by before you would run out of meat again. At this point in the year, summer was beginning to come to a close and the peaks of the mountains were becoming colder and colder.

Instead of venturing out in just your shirt and trousers, you’d decide to pull on your armor before venturing out of the cave. While it was definitely warm inside the stone walls of the dragon’s den, the air outside the cave couldn’t say the same. In order to preserve your body heat, putting on more layers was the best course of action, even if the layer was made completely out of metal.

It seemed, while you were suiting up in armor that Blade watched you with a special curiosity he had yet to display before. For the first time since you’d stitched up his wound, he made the effort to approach you first. He gave you a once over in your suit, eyes dragging over the shine of the metal in the light of the fire.

You didn’t know why he was looking at you, but you’d made a habit of not asking too many questions about things you didn’t understand. He seemed satisfied after a little bit, nodding his head and letting out a grunt of approval. You nodded in response, holstering your sword in your belt.

Eventually, you would return with another goat. It really was the only option for food seeing as two grown men needed a little more food than a few rabbits could provide. With the goat over your shoulders, you made the long trek back to the cave and back to the warmth that came with it.

When you eventually found your way back to the same stone walls, Blade was at attention waiting for you at the door. You dropped the fresh game onto the ground, the dragon watching intently. It made you uneasy, but what could you do about it?

As you went to strip yourself of your armor, it seemed something about your hunting trip had caused something to change inside what you believed to be your temporary companion. Your hands rested on top of the large steel helmet, but before you could tug it off, there were clawed fingers fumbling with the hooks on the inside of your shoulder plates.

You jumped, startled.

Quickly, the same talons retracted.

You turned your head to face him, chastise him for sneaking up on you like that and putting his hands on you. However, your complaints were promptly swallowed. His expression hadn’t changed in the slightest, but he still managed to look like a kicked puppy.

Despite the stone cold nature of his face, his fingers clasped close to his chest like he didn’t know what to do with them. The long draconic tail was tucked between his legs and his head was painted a bashful pink and lowered just the slightest bit to avoid eye contact.

Your brows furrowed, really wondering if you should be letting him do this. The longer you looked, the more moved your poor, weak heart was. In the end, you huffed through your nose before going back to removing your helmet and turning your back on him again.

Slowly this time, the hands crept up your shoulder to unhook the heavy plate from your bicep. You didn’t pay him any mind the second time around, undoing the buckle that kept your metal handguards flush against the back of your knuckles.

He was a quick learner, especially once he'd gotten into the groove of helping you take off the amalgam of pieces that clung to your clothing. Soon enough, you were back in your shirt and trousers, turning to start a fire so you could warm up.

He trailed back over to the little pile of blankets you'd laid out for him. His eyes lingered as you started to skin the goat you'd brought home.

His home.

Something clicked in his brain as he observed. Despite the piles of gold that covered every other square inch of the scenery, he couldn't take his eyes off of you. He didn't know why.

When you were in armor he could write it off as another innate attraction to something shiny for his hoard. But at the moment you were in plain clothes, doing something he'd seen you do before already. Still, he watched with what he could only describe as bated breath. Mesmerized by the simple movement of the dagger cutting through the layers of fat.

As he tapped his nails against the plush fabric, he seemed to realize something.

His fingers stopped moving.

He blinked a couple times

'Yes,' he concluded,

... perhaps he knew what he wanted.

It was quiet, as it usually was for the majority of the time you would be eating dinner. Usually, you’d be the one to initiate the same conversation every single day. It was monotonous and predictable to the point that you could recite word for word what the two of you would say, the tone, and in what order.

“Have you thought about my offer at all, today?”

“I have.”

“Have you come any closer to making a decision?”

“I have not.”

If nothing else, you could count on Blade to be reliable.

Tonight however, your mind wandered.

Instead of striking up the usual conversation the two of you would have over dinner, you found your thoughts drifting off to your life on the Luofu. The temporary situation you found yourself in wasn’t bad, not at all even. If you were to make any complaints, it would be about how lonely you felt.

Even if you had a dragon to keep you company day in and day out, the dragon wasn’t all that good at being company. He didn’t like to talk but he liked to watch. Instead of having someone to pass comfortable silence with, it felt more like you were being observed by a camera.

Again, you really didn’t mind. You enjoyed your solitude and alone time. Today specifically, you reminisced on your home, your garden, your coworkers. You missed the privacy that came with living alone, you missed quiet afternoons on your days off tending to a low maintenance garden. Even if your coworkers annoyed you most of the time, they still made the effort to make you feel included.

Adrift among the clouds of memory lane, it completely slipped your mind to start up your usual conversation. Not only did you not pick up normal conversation, it seemed you were somewhere else altogether. You didn’t even notice the nervous fidgeting across the makeshift fire pit.

Blade’s long nails tapped all but silently on the cushioned ground. The long tail that trailed behind him swished back and forth quicker than usual. Instead of the same lethargic, languid movement, scales brushed over the bed haphazardly like the pendulum of a grandfather clock.

Tonight, he would be the one to initiate the conversation.

“I’ve thought about your offer.”

You blinked a couple times, taking a second to process what was being said.

“You have?”

Finally in the present moment, your hand reached forward for your own share of dinner laid out between the two of you. Absent-mindedly you raised the steak to your mouth, chewing and swallowing in the time it took for the other man to respond.

“I have.”

The tapping of his nails ceased, instead taking to poking and prodding his food.

You nodded, falling into the familiar lull of the conversation. “Have you come any closer to making a decision?”

“...”

A pause.

That was new.

“I have.”

“...”

That was newer.

You finally tore your gaze away from the slab of meat in front of you, making direct eye contact.

His expression was immovable and stone cold as before. At least, it appeared to be upon first glance. You were quick to notice the tension in his jaw and the tiny crease between his eyebrows. It seemed he was… nervous?

“...you have?”

Instead of responding verbally, he gave a curt nod of the head.

“...”

You tilted your head to the side, thoughts of eating all but abandoned the more and more the reality of the situation set in.

“What did you end up deciding?”

“...”

He folded his arms into his lap, swallowing the lump of spit at the back of his throat in the process. “I want you to stay here; permanently.”

“...”

You cocked your head to the side, “...as a companion?”

“...”

It took him a second to respond; his hand clenched around the hunk of flesh in his palm. Internally, you cringed at the noise his talons made tearing into the meat.

“...I suppose it'd be similar to that.”

You didn't grasp what he was trying to get at, still. “Similar? I… I'm getting the feeling that I'm not quite following.”

He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. You could feel a pang of anxiety nip at the corners of your pulse. Like always, it seemed he struggled to find the words to accurately articulate himself. He always paused before he said something, searching for exactly the right way to convey himself.

“Dragons collect hoards to draw in potential partners; I explained this to you a few nights ago.”

Then it clicked.

“...oh.”

Still, the man sitting across from you continued. “If I fulfilled the purpose of collecting a hoard, there wouldn’t be a need for me to continue visiting the Xianzhou.”

Your cheeks started to burn indignantly. “I-” you bit the inside of your cheek, “Wouldn’t you prefer help in finding a partner rather than just settling with the first person to enter the cave? It seems counterintuitive to collect such a… robust hoard and partner with someone such as myself. We wouldn't be able to produce any... offspring seeing as we're both men.”

Instead of his usual pause, Blade was quick to respond in the negative.

“I find you to be more than satisfactory.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but found it increasingly difficult to find the right words to say. “It’s just-” you stammered, “I’m not- I don’t-��

Your jaw snapped shut after a couple attempts to open a dialogue. Your brows crept down your face in an expression of exasperation. You flexed your hand into fists and then relaxed them again, trying to collect your thoughts.

Directly in front of you, the dragon sat with an unmoving expression.

You huffed a sigh, trying to ignore the painful flame across your cheekbones, “This would cause a few complications for me, is all. I’m unsure why you’re choosing this; I can’t seem to find the logic behind this and I’m frustrated. I want to confirm that this is truly what you want before I commit to fulfilling your request.”

Once again, he seemed to answer in the affirmative without a second thought.

“I am sure.”

You locked gazes with him. It almost seemed like you were challenging his resolve. Without any prompting he confirmed himself.

“I have thought on this matter for a period of time, I have confirmed this is the best option.”

You chewed on the inside of your bottom lip, seemingly going through the processes that would be required to actually fulfill the task set out in front of you. Without really thinking too much about your next words, you pondered to yourself aloud, “Isn't the purpose of mating to have children? You really wish to be married; married to me?”

The end of his tufted tail rattled in the air, seemingly amused, “Is that what the people of the Xianzhou call it? Aside from the issue of marriage, dragons have long evolved for both male presenting and female presenting partners to be able to carry children.” It was difficult to gauge what he was actually feeling, “...if that is the context you must view it in.”

Your face got impossibly redder, food completely forgotten by this point. “Well, that-” you made a gesture with your hands, “-That would require a ceremony–a wedding– because of my own pledges as a Knight.” Your hands fell into your lap, “I would need to assemble a dowry for a proper proposal, exchanging rings, vows…” In a much quieter voice, you all but whispered, “...and the expected traditions after the wedding…”

For the first time during the discussion, Blade’s expression shifted. His lips pressed into a thin line. There was an awkward silence that hung in the air.

“...”

Eventually, he sighed, “The Xianzhou complicates these matters too much for my own liking.”

You avoided eye contact, the flush on your face having long crept down your neck and up your ears. “...”

Once again, Blade’s expression changed. He closed his eyes to let out a sigh, raking a hand through his silky navy blue hair. “We can go through these rituals quickly, yes? I don’t see the need for a large affair, the agreement is between the two of us.”

You didn’t really have the mind to reject him, nodding your head slowly after a pause that felt a little bit too long,

“I suppose so.”

“I believe a fitting dowry would be your armor. You will be giving up your status as a knight to stay here with me, will you not?”

Despite the fact you’d already seen his upper torso unclothed in the process of stitching up the crossbow wound cutting across the bottom of his ribs, the new context of the situation made your face flush a bright red. Where there had been a deep puncture wound carved by arrow, lay a star-shaped imprint of the memory.

His dexterous fingers wound up your sides on top of your clothes, stopping when they came to grasp the draw strings keeping your collar closed.

You realized you could stop him from pulling on them any moment now, he even paused to make sure he wasn’t moving too quickly. Instead of grabbing his wrists to stop him, you laid your hands on his thin, lean waist. Leaning against the impossibly soft hug of the blankets he’d been sleeping on top of for weeks, you tried to stay grounded and slow down your breathing. While avoiding eye contact, your eyes trailed down to his chest.

They were pierced.

Ripping your eyes away, you suddenly were now very conscious of where you were putting your eyes. Instead of giving him any verbal encouragement, your hands gently squeezed his love handles.

His throat gave a pleased rumble, his hands pinching the ends of the drawstring not unsimilar to how one would undo the ribbon on a gift.

“I’ve amassed a plentiful amount of rings to choose from, pick two and we’ll exchange them now.”

With a healthy amount of trepidation, your hands found themselves tracing Blade’s waistband. The loose bottoms he usually wore were equally loose around his hips, displaying a navy blue trail of hair framing the center of his pale stomach.

Impatiently, he raised his hips so you could tug his pants off. You hesitated to follow suit, suddenly seized by a wave of anxiety. Still, it seemed Blade was less than happy with that outcome.

One of his hands moved from bracing his weight on your thighs to making a grab towards your chest. He leaned forward, all but hovering over your body. Despite being in such a compromising position, it was hard to not be a little intimidated by the constant look he had in his eyes. It was almost like he was constantly planning a murder.

With his non-verbal request to go a little bit faster, you finally pulled his waistband down below his knees.

“Vows aren’t a complicated matter, it’d be much easier to speed up the process here. We can say our vows while consummating the marriage, can’t we? I don't want to delay the mating rituals of my own kind either.”

Like he was following a rhythm, little huffs and panting fell past his open lips. His eyes were wrenched shut, hips falling back onto your lap with each little movement he made. His thighs shook as you tried your best to stretch him out. He wasn’t making it easy, long clawed fingers digging into your shoulder blades the deeper your fingers were reaching.

He let out a particularly loud whine as your fingertips just barely grazed the little spot inside him that made him see stars.

His grip on your shoulder tightened, hips shifting impatiently to inch closer to your knuckles. You hissed, feeling the very tips of the talons start to break the skin. You started to draw your fingers from his hole, chastising him for not being more gentle. “Careful, I’ll bleed if you squeeze that hard.”

When confronted with his lack of self-control, it seemed Blade retreated into himself. With the two of you sitting up at this point, it was difficult to shy away from your eyes. His face transitioned from a sweet pink to an embarrassed cherry red. He didn't answer your admonishment verbally, but it was clear he heard you.

He stopped squeezing your shoulders, winding his arms around your neck instead. Avoiding the shame burning up his skin, he hid his nose in the crook of your neck.

You tried to give him a little grace period, but your offer was entirely unwanted. A few short seconds passed before his sharp canines were nipping at your collarbones, painfully hard leaking cock grinding against your still clothed thigh.

No words were exchanged, but the things that needed to be said were clearly communicated.

His neck was right in front of your waiting lips, tempting you really. Before going back to stretching him open on your fingers, you laid an open mouthed kiss on his jawline, dripping with a sweet taste like honey. Still embarrassed, he bit back the whimper that threatened to spill forth from his lips.

He let out a shaky sigh as he could feel your fingers start to hollow him out again. Almost immediately you were jabbing at the little lump that was his prostate. He keened, pressing back onto your fingers with shaky legs while he balled up his fists. His long nails dug into his palms this time, leaving your shoulders unblemished. You were particularly aware of the movement with the way the cold metal nipple piercings rubbed against the front of your torso.

If he was this excited you reasoned, he was most likely ready for a third finger. Slowly, doing your best to be gentle, you finally added in the last finger. He let out a little groan of discomfort, but ultimately didn't make any moves to stop you.

You continued to try your best to make him feel comfortable, gentle and slow as you could manage. As another moan slipped past his lips, you curled your fingers against his insides for the last time before completely pulling your fingers out of him.

You didn't know how you could tell, but you could feel a brewing sense of frustration wafting off of Blade. Your suspicions were confirmed when he all but lunged for your belt buckle.

He fumbled with the leather for a moment before you grabbed his wrist, stammering, “Wait, wait-” You swallowed some spit to wet your dry throat, “We, We haven't said our vows yet. We haven't officially been married.”

The dragon situated on your lap didn't seem happy when he was stopped. Instead, he hesitated to let go of your belt for a few long, awkward seconds before finally sitting back on his burning loins.

“Go on, quickly.”

He stressed the last word adamantly. It was extremely clear the speed at which his patience waned.

You swallowed more spit for a second, trying to rack your brain for the typical contents of wedding vows. “I-”

He watched you expectantly, tufted tail whipping back and forth on the blankets expectantly.

“For- For as long as I live, I swear to love and to cherish you as my wife,” the memories seemed to roll just out of reach, your inner monologue desperately grasping at straws, “With the lord as my witness, be it for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part I will fulfill my duty to you as a husband. To protect and honor you until my final breath.”

You held your breath for a second, trying to think of anything you missed. On the other hand, the oh-so “bashful” bride seated on your lap gave a straightforward nod. The next second, his clawed fingers were flying towards your belt again.

Reflexively, you stopped him, only further agitating what little patience he had left. “Wait!”

“What is it now?” His hands rested on your thighs, pointer finger tapping on your leg indignantly. Despite the accusatory tone of his voice, it seemed his eyes were trained on what exactly was hidden underneath your hand.

“You…” you paused, “You haven't said your vows yet.”

His brows furrowed, the first change in his expression the entire night. He sighed, grip tightening as he did his best to ignore the aching weight of his erection on your leg. “Fine.”

He sat back on his thighs to restrain himself, pulling his grip to sit lower on your thighs.

“As your wife, I swear to…” he paused, trying to recall your own vows, “love and cherish you for as long as I live.” He took a deep breath, trying to figure out what else to say. You had mentioned your duty as a husband, protecting and honoring him… what would his duties as a wife entail? Well, there was the obvious.

“I will fulfill my duty to you as a wife, bearing your children, honoring, and protecting you.”

“...”

He reached forward experimentally, testing to see if his own vows had been satisfactory.

You averted your gaze, moving your hand aside to give him full access to your belt buckle.

At this point in time, Blade was regretting his own lack of patience.

His thighs clenched with the exertion, flexing and unflexing while he tried to relax and sink a little bit further onto your dick. His breathing was labored, the flame of desire flickering and tickling at the bottom of his gut. You weren’t faring much better, fists gathering up the sheets in a vice grip. It took every fiber of determination in your body to not slam him down ass first onto your pelvis. Your jaw was tight, only breathing heavy out of your nose. You let out a particularly harsh breath the lower he managed to get. He was barely halfway down and you were already starting to see sounds. As a knight, you’d sworn yourself to abstinence your entire career. Was this really what you had been missing out on this entire time?

Without any warning, Blade’s legs completely seized up. His thighs squeezed together, clawed fingers suddenly scraping your skin. He braced himself on your chest, leaning his torso forward so you’d catch him. The change of angle didn’t seem to help him at all, a choked moan slipping out of his usually reserved lips the harder the tip of your dick prodded at his prostate. One of your hands moved from strangling the sheets to wrap snugly around his waist.

Despite your compulsions, your arm stayed draped around his midsection without applying any pressure. The sensations were overwhelming, so overwhelming you were struggling to keep any noises from sliding out. In the heat of the moment, you pushed yourself up from where you were leaning on your remaining arm to bury your face in the teal hair that framed his neck. Nuzzling your nose into his collarbone, you stifled what would’ve been a pathetic whine against his bare skin.

His hips nudged just a little bit lower, getting ever closer to bottoming out. Unlike yourself, he didn’t feel the need to try and be quiet. He pushed his neck up closer to your face, using a shaky hand to grasp the one you were still clutching the sheets with. He groaned, pulling your wrist to guide it onto his waist. You obliged him, fully cradling him between your large biceps. In return, his hands made their way up and around your neck.

They rested over your broad shoulders, still shaking when he finally managed to slide your dick in all the way to the hilt. He was breathless, feeling like he couldn’t breathe with how much room you were taking up in his guts. His core felt even hotter when you squeezed him tight in your arms, carving the imprint of your teeth into the side of his neck. He exhaled a shaky moan, hand trailing up the back of your neck to tangle his fingers in your hair.

In response, the clamp of your jaw drew tighter, a wave of heat surging over Blade’s entire body. Even with your impromptu gag, the sounds you were making were only further fueling his instincts. You huffed a raggedy breath through your nose, trying to hold back from bucking your hips up like an animal. You were a gentleman, you wanted your receiving partner to be the one to set the pace for fear of hurting him.

But you really were only human, and your blood was currently not rushing to your brain. Your heels dug into the mattress with how hard you were trying not to move, so it definitely wasn’t that you weren’t holding it in. But he was really warm and tight and sitting still was starting to get underwhelming and almost painful when you were this hard.

Blade let out a surprised noise when you pulled him in impossibly tighter, followed up by a punched out gasp when your hips involuntarily jerked upwards. Desperate at this point, you unlatched your teeth from the side of his neck, pressing feverish kisses up his jawline to his ear. In the process, you really couldn’t afford to try and mute any of your noises. Blade’s heart felt like it stopped when you whined directly in his ear. Suddenly very aware of his own dick rubbing up against the defined muscles of your abs.

You sounded like a kicked puppy when you whimpered into his ear, “Are you ready to move? Can I please move?”

Even if he tried to deny it, it seemed he wanted to move just as much as you did when a thick bead of precum dripped down your stomach.

Instead of immediately giving you the go ahead, though, he moved his arms from around your neck, grabbing at the hands wrapped around his waist. Pressing them back against the makeshift mattress, you took it as the go ahead to move, thrusting up slowly to start. He let out a drawn out moan, before putting his hand on your stomach, “Wait, wait-”

At this point, you could feel frustrated tears beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes but still, you stopped moving. You let him press his other hand on your chest, flexing and unflexing your hands to try and keep yourself from busting like a teenage boy seeing a pair of tits for the first time. You didn’t complain when he urged you to lay on your back, one of his hands bracing itself on your pecs, the other resting on the middle of your abdomen.

Experimentally, he rolled his hips. Instinctively, Blade bit down on his lower lip, feeling the delicious mix of pleasure and pain send an addictive shudder up his spine. Without even thinking, he rolled his hips again to get another taste.

And then another.

And another.

And then he couldn’t stop moving his hips, chin tilted up with his mouth hanging open. The movement was easy and the friction divine with the generous prep you’d done beforehand. The generous amount of precum sprouting from the end of his drooling tip made his dick slide across your stomach with ease, only encouraging Blade to move his hips even faster in search of euphoria. It really didn’t help his sanity when your large hands grappled his hips, serving to drag him up and down your length all while his legs seemed to grow weaker and weaker. It also didn’t help that it looked like you were equally lost in the fervor.

Saliva pooling in the back of your throat, you swallowed thickly when it seemed Blade’s arms gave out. He slumped against your chest, navy hair covering the lower half of his face awkwardly. Despite the harsh impact against your chest, you couldn’t seem to care less, finding a lot more frustration in the lack of movement. He used a shaky hand to brush the hair out of his face, chasing after your lips with his own. Before he could quite reach it, your hips seemed to develop a mind of their own, suddenly bucking up into his waiting insides.

The kiss ended up being teeth first, canines clacking against canines before your lips ended up locking. He let out a heavy groan when your hips still didn’t stop moving from behind. Combined with the new pressure on his dick from all sides, his piercings were dragging up and down the dips of your stomach every time you moved. His eyes fluttered open when the two of you finally parted for air, high-pitched whines rhythmically pushed out of him the harder your thighs hit his ass.

Drool trickled from the side of his mouth, leaking onto your shoulder before he tried to warn you, “Closer- agh~ really- mmmhmmnn close-” He really wanted to hold back for the sake of finishing at the same time, but the feeling of you rearranging his guts just about had him crying like a baby.

“I’m gonna cum, fuck, I’m gonna- Ouhhghh~”

His talons broke the skin on your shoulders while his orgasm cut through him sharp and intense, an echoing squeal resounding through the room as sticky white cum shot out of his angry red tip onto both of your stomachs. With the way he clamped down around you, you only lasted for a few more thrusts before you were cumming basically in unison. You bit down hard on your bottom lip, tasting iron on your tongue.

For a moment, the two of you lay in a sweaty pile of limbs. Focused on breathing and recuperating your energy, you didn’t think to pull out. Eventually though, you’d gone soft and the sound of your heart pounding in your ears wasn’t as loud as your thoughts anymore. Slowly, you went to pull out so you could start clean-up–that’s what couples normally did, right?--but despite his numb legs, Blade pushed back onto your flaccid cock.

Blearily, you looked up at him, blinking away the fatigue that crept in at the corners of your vision.

“Did you think we were only going to have sex once?”

What he said didn’t compute in your tired brain.

“...huh?”��

He hummed, you could hear disappointment in his tone.

“It’s customary for dragons to continue mating until pregnancy is guaranteed.”

"When you're pregnant, how exactly… will your body change?"

For the sake of Blade’s back and legs, the two of you decided a few rounds were enough to ensure he was actually pregnant. He lay splayed out on the thick stack of blankets, having made it his favorite place in the den long prior. He was on his stomach, resting his head on top of his crossed arms.

“Why? Did you not expect it to?”

You were a few feet away from him, sitting up cross-legged. Despite the two of you having been fucking minutes prior, you were still a little shy about sitting completely naked in the open expanse of the cave. For a bit of added modesty, you let your hands rest in your lap to cover up your dick at least a little bit.

“It’s not that I didn’t...” Your neck dropped at the miniscule creep of shame across your face. “I’m not versed in…” You fumbled with your words for a moment, rocking back and forth in an effort to get your blood from your dick back up to your brain.

“Pregnancy?”

You lagged for a second before nodding in agreement. “I haven’t spent much time around the women of the Xianzhou, usually it was with plants or other knights.” Your leg started bouncing when the air fell stagnant, “That isn’t to say I don’t know basic anatomy, it’s just… that I'm unfamiliar with some of the more intimate changes… not to mention, you’re also a man.”

To this, Blade raised an accusatory brow. “You say that as if you still don’t believe I can bear children.”

You held your hands up in front of your chest defensively, “That isn’t what I’m saying at all!”

Your partner let out a tired huff, not engaging in conversation further.

“...”

“I’m…just worried I’ll fail to support you properly while you’re carrying our child.”

Another silence hung, thickening into a kind of tension you couldn’t quite place your finger on.

“...”

“...come here.”

Immediately, you perked up.

Dutifully, you shuffled over to where your spouse had beckoned you forward. Watching him push up on tired arms and a strained back, you couldn’t help but admire the sheen of shiny sweat that gleamed in the warm firelight. He always tended to show things better with actions rather than words, cuffing your wrist in one of his hands. You let him guide your hand to rest on his stomach.

“The most notable change will be weight gain.”

Immediately, you fervently nodded your head, completely at attention.

“The weight gain won’t just be my stomach,” he continued, “the rest of my body will start to swell. Simple tasks like walking and bending over will become difficult, especially in the later stages of pregnancy.”

You nodded a little bit slower.

“Physical illness is also possible, but my ancestors didn’t struggle with it as commonly as other draconic lines.” He positioned your hand at his hips, “During the first trimester, I’ll likely become more sensitive to smells. That can cause symptoms like vomiting.”

His grip eventually guided your hand to his back, all but tilting your body to drape over him. “The added weight will stress the back. I’ll be relying on you to do much of the heavy lifting.”

You nodded again, even slower than the last time.

Finally, he moved your hand to rest on his chest. The rush of cold from the silver piercing sent a rush of red hot flame to your cheeks. For the sake of paying attention to your pretty wife lecturing you about what would happen when he gets pregnant, you wrestled any nasty thoughts out of your mind.

“Based on genetics, the chest will begin swelling around the end of the second trimester.” With the minimal amount of light in the room, you could just barely make out the pink hue on the usual impassive features of the man in front of you. “I’ll be unusually sensitive, at times I could start lactating.”

“...lactating?”

Suddenly, all your efforts to be a gentleman were forgotten.

You repeated it again, this time a little bit louder. “Lactating?”

Blade didn’t respond.

Unintentionally, your grip on his tit got a little bit tighter.

He grunted, his own grip around your wrist tightening. “How else would I feed the child?”

This time, you didn't answer him. Your free hand was moving from your lap to tickle up his exposed side.

The higher up his side your touch danced on his skin, the darker he could feel the flush on his cheeks. Now, he was the one to avoid looking you in the eyes. Even in his embarrassment, he didn’t stop you from pushing him to lay flat on his back. He didn’t stop you when you kissed the underside of his jaw, he also didn’t stop you as you kissed a line down his jaw to his collarbones.

Most importantly, he still didn’t stop you when your teeth clacked against one of his piercings.

“How long will that take?”

In this position, there were two things that seemed to jump out to Blade in particular.

One, your breath was fanning hot against his chest and especially steamy over the nipple you were hovering over.

Two, your hard-on was starting to leak on his leg.

Much to your dismay his lips pressed into a tight line. However, even in the face of a roadblock, you didn’t relent. Experimentally, you licked a stripe up the exposed skin in between his pecs, drinking in the explosive shudder that ripped through his body.

Trembling fingers all of sudden were tangled in your hair, unsure whether or not to push your head away or pull it in closer. In the thick of it, you almost didn’t catch him muttering under his breath.

“...pervert.”

In retaliation, you tugged on one of the silver piercings with your teeth. He let out a strained whimper, suddenly pulling your hair away from his chest. You pinched the other nipple between two fingers, listening to the whine that was forced out of his throat. Eventually, you relented with a lewd click of enamel against metal and the even lewder noise created by the spit accumulating on his skin. “What was that?”

Even if your sudden burst of confidence was out of the blue (and starting to make him nervous), Blade’s own pride didn’t allow him to take anything back.

“Pervert.”

You cupped his pecs with both hands, sitting up on your elbows to make a point. “Ah, but last I checked you like this just as much as I do.” To punctuate your statement, you rutted against the inside of his thigh, all but pointing at his own excitement with your cock.

He looked away, closing his eyes shut with furrowed eyebrows.

An amused smile pulled at your features, suddenly emboldened by the surplus of blood rushing to your dick. “So tell me, how long will it take until you start producing milk?”

“...”

“...6 months.”

You frowned, groping his chest with both hands. Only a little groan managed to slip past Blade’s lips. “Ah… are you sure? Your chest already seems sensitive.”

He nodded his head, still refusing to make eye contact.

You rolled one of his nipples in your hand, positively ecstatic when his dick twitched in tandem. “You’ll start lactating because you’re pregnant, right?”

Thinking nothing of it, Blade gave a hum of affirmation.

There was your opening. “I think I should test to see if you’re actually pregnant then.”

Before he could process your words, your lips were already suctioned around one of his nipples. He bit down hard on his bottom lip, failing miserably to drown out the whine caught in the back of his throat. “That’s not- HnNg~”

Obviously, you didn’t neglect the other one. While your tongue laved over one, you pinched and pulled at the other with a pair of fingers. You groaned when his claws started to dig into the back of your head, the tight pressure only serving to add another layer of intimacy to the moment. He gave a particularly high-pitched whine when you started to thrust your cock against the inside of hip dip.

“Mmhgn~ Wait- ahn~ Wait-” he pleaded.

Insistently, you hooked your canines around the piercing and continued to suck on his chest. That was enough to have him rutting against your stomach. At this point, you finally pulled off of his chest with what one would call “a shit-eating grin”.

“Hm, nothing seemed to come out… maybe I’ll have better luck with the other one.”

The hand he was using to grapple the sheets flew up to your shoulder, trying to push your head back, “That isn’t how it works!”

Despite his complaints while you moved your head, they all seemed to get caught in his throat when your lips wrapped around his other nipple. His chest shook with the effort it took to breath through his nose without letting out any more pathetic whimpers. This time you got nasty with it. After a moment of suckling on his hardened bud until it turned a cherry red, you pulled back to spit on it.

At the same time, you flicked his other piercing with two fingers. Drool spilling past your lips at this point, you watched with satisfaction as his head fell back against the comforter. His thighs started to rub together as you flicked the nipple that wasn’t in your mouth again a little harder the second time around.

Feeling a little extra mean, you locked your teeth on the soft skin before pinching the other abused nub hard. He keened, nails scratching bloody lines into your upper back. Ultimately, you took your mouth off of his chest in favor of starting to kiss up the center of his chest in between his tits.

In between leaving sloppy wet kisses on his collarbones, you smiled, hands trailing back down to his sides before finally hooking the underside of his thighs. You looped one of his shins over your shoulder, watching with glee the panic interlaced in the way he whipped his head around to look you in the eyes.

You leaned over him, basically folding him in half to put a kiss on his lips.

“Nothing’s coming out… I’m not really sure you’re pregnant yet.”

You hooked his other thigh over your hip, blowing on his ear when your hand wrapped around your cock. Alarmed, his hands braced themselves on your shoulder. “What are you-”

You lined yourself up with his ass, biting on his earlobe. “Well, I thought maybe we’d go a couple more rounds to really make sure you’re pregnant.”

there's a note attached to the side of the phone booth, read it?

" you guys have to promise not to make fun of me for writing this after making a bit about how much mpreg terrifies me "

to my dearest anon for whom this was written:

i hope you're doing better SINCE YOU TOOK YOUR MEDICINE

YOU BETTER KEEP TAKING UR MEDICINE OR I'M NOT GONNA START ON UR SHORT REQUEST AFTER THIS ONE

to everyone else:

mentioned briefly in my little posts between updates, it's been so long since I've written smut I had to like take a break after every other word to look over my shoulder and make sure nobody was reading it from behind me or something (I am home alone with two cats)

one of the most humbling experiences is going back and editing your own smut, like damn what position are they in I've gotta go back and write in more details 🏃

as of now, i'm planning on having my update schedule consist of a lot more short requests than long requests since they're going to be a lot easier to update consistently with

now that college has rolled in I have a lot less time to write the longer form content my audience loves me for so expect drabbles most of the time

i'm still planning book content but as of right now, I'm struggling with concepting and figuring out ideas that I can consistently stay motivated for

I might scrap the book I'm planning right now and go with something else in its entirety, but we shall see

a big thank you to all the lovely supporters who have stayed by my side through my inactivity, you will be rewarded one day when I graduate promise

love all of you, also love blades titties <3

incoming shameless plug: if you guys were wondering about my next follower goal (238/300) follow for clear skin and part 3 ayato fic (mpreg edition)

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gumbootillustrations · 3 months ago

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laurance's ref sheet!! it only took me a month and two different versions to finish lol

but yeah. backstory, lore, closeups, etc under the cut :3

laurance is the adopted son of hayden zvahl, a blacksmith, and joh zvahl, a jeweller, and grew up in meteli alongside his adoptive sister cadenza. cad's the reason why his hair is bright red when aph meets him en route to scaleswind - he's been dyeing it this colour since he was young so that he and cadenza could match and look more like siblings. as such, much of his colour scheme is based around soft reds and oranges, with some golds thrown in. additionally, his earrings (although u can't really see them here) were made by joh, alongside most of his other jewellery, before joh passed away a couple of years prior to aph showing up outside of phoenix drop. his armour is also a lot lighter than garroth and katelyn's due to his fighting style prioritising speed and mobility over strength and endurance - that, and the fact that he works around water a lot and can't let metal weigh him down too much.

after ungrth drags him out of the nether, laurance's colour scheme undergoes a major change - instead of being based around reds and golds, it shifts to be focused around greens and browns. laurance also dyes his hair back to its natural colour (brown), and due to the trauma of being forced through the realm barrier (and having his eyes cut out multiple times by gene), his eyes fade to a pale, milky green. there are other physical changes that come with being turned as well - his nails turn into talons, his ears become pointed, and, due to his now-undead nature, his heart stops beating. he also loses the need to breathe, although he keeps doing so to keep up the facade of being human (he really doesn't want to acknowledge the fact that he's undead now). however, around the start of season three (right before the main cast makes the trip to tu'la), he decides to dye his hair red again and return to the reds and golds that he loves (something something "reclaiming his fire" something something). it also doesn't help that his hair has started growing in a bright copper ever since they returned from o'khasis and xavier's relic had gone missing. surely these events can't be connected

not too many comments about laurance's out-of-armour/casual/tu'la arc outfit. his eyesight's dogshit now (due to the aforementioned events surrounding his turning n escape from the nether) so he technically needs glasses, but he never wears them unless someone (usually garroth) tells him to.

with laurance's shadow knight form, i rlly wanted to showcase how unnatural it is to him. it's big, and bulky, and covered in spikes n shit - it's entirely antithetical to laurance and his fighting style. personally, i think that a shadow knight's armour adapts to their fighting style and personality over time, but because laurance like. never uses this form it doesn't get the chance to adapt to him, although i added in a doodle of what his form might've evolved to look like had he used it more often.

uhh shadow knight lore stuff. shad is a psychopomp - at least, the fragment of his soul/essence/whatever that didn't get totally fucked up by the void is. however, the shadow lord (aka the fragment of shads soul/essence/whatever that did) tends to snatch souls that either a) die in the nether (like laurance n sasha) or b) are deemed to be useful to his cause of destroying irene (like gene and vylad) to make into shadow knights. different things play into how powerful a shadow knight is - gene, being part-mer'ai, being a descendant of kul'zak, and having memory manipulation magicks, is pretty powerful already, but when he's made into a death knell (aka a general in the shadow lord's army) his power can pretty much rival a relic wielder. laurance mayyyybe could've become a death knell if he wanted to, but unfortunately he has a stupid strong sense of justice so uh. yeah.

all shadow knights do get a boon from the shadow lord - it usually reflects their personality, their soul, or their past, and it always centres around blood, fire, or shadows (or a mix of some or all of these - for example, zenix's boon is that his blood essentially acts like napalm). laurance's reflects his childhood in meteli, a town built in a saltmarsh/estuary - his blood is stupid acidic (like acidic enough to melt through flesh, bone, and metal if he's not careful). however, for a long time, he assumes that his boon is being able to alter the temperature of metal (as sasha has told him that all shadow knight's blood is poisonous on some level - he just doesn't know that his blood is particularly poisonous) until vylad tells him that it probably isn't metal related.

uhh more lore stuff - this time regarding xavier, his relic, and plot stuff.

zane absorbs xavier's relic (sort of unwillingly?? like he wants power, and he wants to try and push back against his father's influence, but if he's being honest he would've preferred to take on esmund's relic (which is missing. weird.) but beggars can't be choosers so eh it's whatever), but because not everyone can wield a relic and not every relic can be wielded by every relic-wielder it sort of starts to eat away at his soul and fuck him up. this leads to the climactic battle of s1 in irene's cathedral dimension, which ends when garroth (who gets possessed by esmund's relic) kills zane by ripping xavier's relic out of him. when they get back to the overworld and realise what exactly that weird fuckoff hunk of metal that garroth yanked out of zane's chest is, they decide to give it to garroth for safe keeping - only for the relic to go missing when the main cast breaks into an occupied o'khasis to rescue zianna, although they don't realise it until they return home to phoenix drop. it's around this time that laurance travels to new meteli to catch up with cadenza and get her to dye his hair orange again, only for cadenza to discover that his hair is growing in a bright copper. they... sort of brush this off as a weird shadow knight biology thing until laurance gets into a fistfight with gene and transforms for the first time. it's a bit of a mess but hey we got there in the end.

but yeah i decided to tweak his design a lil bit from my lineup of the second war of the magi's divine warriors because i wasn't suuper happy w how his chestplate turned out n i wanted to tutu w it a bit.

anyway. laurance's ref sheet is fucking finally done. the next ref sheet will probs be either katelyns or an updated ref sheet for garroth since ive tinkered w his protector form a Lot and i probs need to add in a cold weather outfit (laurance doesnt need one bc shadow knights r weird n basically space heaters anyway) and his juror form.

as always, let me know if u have any questions!! :D

#rip in pieces my back lmao #worth it tho #aphblr #aphmau #mcd rewrite #minecraft diaries #laurance zvahl #laurance mcd #laurence zvahl #laurence mcd #shadow knights #divine warriors #xavier the admirer #ashes ashes mcd

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green-eyedfirework · 6 months ago

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To say this is a surprise is an understatement.

Slade made the offer in seriousness, though perhaps not fully. It’s the first offer he’s made since Adeline’s passing and while it’s been four years, long enough for the grieving period to be over, he hasn’t given full thought to remarrying. He has his hands full, with Grant’s sullenness and Joey’s muteness and then the addition of Rose, and the idea of finding a new mate was a distant one.

Richard Grayson is handsome, to be sure, and charming, a jewel of the Wayne pack with no shortage of admirers. His introduction to society was unfortunately followed by his father’s disappearance and the flurry of a mourning period it prompted, cutting off courtships for a few years. Lord Wayne was thankfully found a few months ago, but it appears he’s not quite all the way well, because Richard and his siblings arrived in London on their own this season.

They’ve been fawned over at every turn, a sickening display that Slade’s mostly avoided, but he ran into Richard quite by chance when Rose went missing on an outing at the park. He found her with Wayne’s little brat of an heir, both kids shrieking gleefully under Richard’s fond supervision. Once the children made friends, there was, of course, no escaping the interactions, and Slade watched with increasing desire as Richard calmly and evenly handled two sets of hellions with admirable ease.

The omega is young but mature, gracious and kind but also stubborn. Protective of his packmates, of children no matter who they are. Pretty. Rich. Enough hints of fire to pique Slade’s interest.

When Joey all but clambered into Slade’s lap to solemnly demand that Dick join their pack, his interest finally solidified into an offer. Even Grant only made a huff at the proposition, a ringing endorsement from the sullen teen, and Rose was willing to do anything to ensure she keeps her playmate.

So Slade sent his offer, serious but expecting nothing of it. For all the reasons Slade wants him, Grayson has a hundred admirers, younger, richer, belonging to more powerful families. Slade is a widower with three children and Richard is the eldest omega of the Wayne pack, he didn’t imagine it would be taken seriously.

“Forgive me, but I have to be blunt,” Slade said, crossing his arms on his desk and leaning forward. “Why?”

Richard is sitting in the seat opposite, straight-backed, shoulders relaxed, hands resting in his lap. He radiates tension despite it.

“You were the one who made the offer, my lord,” Richard says evenly. “Are you rescinding it?”

“I’m asking you why you’re accepting it,” Slade says flatly. He has no patience for games. “I’m nearly twice your age, with three children. I cannot possibly be your best offer.”

“If you’re so certain I wouldn’t accept, why did you offer at all?”

Yet another question answered with a question. If he wasn’t already suspicious, the deflections would cement it.

Slade narrows his eye. “Don’t play naïve, boy, it doesn’t suit you.” Something flickers in Richard’s eyes, there and gone. “If I’m your choice, then there’s something you’re hiding.” He drops his voice to a growl, “And I don’t like secrets near my family. Not after what the last one did.”

Richard drops his gaze and swallows, shoulders hunching, giving into the anxiety hovering around him like a cloud. Slade gives him a minute. If he still won’t speak, Slade will have him thrown out. The children will be unhappy, but better unhappy than maimed.

“I—I was—I am,” Richard swallows, tries again, swallows, tries again. “It’s just—I wasn’t—I—”

“Just spit it out,” Slade snaps.

Richard doesn’t flinch, but he does draw in a deep breath, and when he exhales, he looks up to meet Slade’s gaze. “I know that your lordship already has three children. I was hoping that someone of your position, with an assured line of succession, would be more amenable to taking a mate with prior engagement in behaviors that might threaten the parentage of any heirs. If I was wrong, I hope we can resolve this amicably and restore the goodwill between our packs. It was never my intention to bring any harm to your pack.”

Slade takes a moment to sort through all of it. Richard is ashen, but still keeping Slade’s gaze, sitting prim and proper as though he hasn’t just admitted to being ruined.

“You’re not chaste,” Slade says finally, leaning back.

“No,” Richard says. His hands are clenched in his lap.

“Who?” Slade asks.

It’s not precisely idle curiosity, not with the darker parts of him wanting to shred to pieces anyone who dared to taste the omega. An earlier courtship, maybe, one cut off by Lord Wayne’s disappearance and never resumed? Slade knows that betrothed omegas and alphas will fool around, hiding away from their chaperones, not thinking about the consequences should the agreement be broken off.

“Does it matter?” Richard’s jaw is tight.

Slade raises an eyebrow. “If you want to reach an agreement, yes.”

Richard takes a controlled breath and looks away. “Lord Desmond,” he says sharply. That isn’t what Slade was expecting. “It happened years ago. It will never happen again, I swear it. There was no one else.”

#my snippets #sladick #nobility au #omegaverse #political marriage

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the-desilittle-bird · 1 year ago

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Can u do a pt. 2 of the fic whit female Lucerys Velaryon? It would be wonderful see a description of their wedding nights (smut pls if u feel comfortable, if not avoid ❤️❤️

AN- This is the first time I am writing smut so pardon me if it's not upto the mark. Also, I went quite filthy I guess but it's Aemond we are talking about...

Being Rhaenyra's Daughter and Having to Marry Aemond...

Part 1

Warning- Smut [Non-con to Dub-con, Fingering (fem!receiving), Breeding Kink, Pinning, Loss of Virginity, Choking, Dirty Talking!], Forced marriage.

GIF Credits to @terendelev

You woke up with sore muscles and to a strange chamber. The bed was fluffy and soft; pillows fluffed and cozy.

What caught your eyes was the colour green; everything from the bedsheets to the curtains and the few tapestries which depicted Aegon the Conqueror and his wives.

The panic was setting in your bone and before you could do anything, the door opened and in came the Green Queen. Alicent Hightower.

"I am so glad that you are awake, my dear."

The panic turned into anger which soon turned into desperation of freedom when she decided to speak again.

"The Small Council has decided that it shall be perfect to marry you to Aemond; to try and unite your family with ours."

Only three days later, you were sat on the vanity; being pampered by the handmaidens, decked in dozens of jewel and hidden behind the silks of green.

The marriage took place in the throne room, with all the houses favoring the Greens present.

Otto Hightower escorted you, walking you down the aisle, to the boy you had once maimed.

Only then you were regretting not slashing both of his eyes.

But it was too late.

The marriage took place as is accepted in the Seven; instead of the traditional Valyrian marriage sealed in blood and fire.

But you were glad it happened that way.

Because a marriage in the Seven can be annulled.

"I am his and he is mine, until the end of his days."

No body but Aemond noticed the modulation in your vow.

The feast following it was small.

And it ended with Aegon drunkenly announcing the start of Bedding Ceremony.

"No man shall touch my wife except for me."

You were escorted to your new chambers by your new husband.

Once inside, the seriousness of the matter heightened until his fingers found the lace holding your dress together.

You had squealed, trying to escape the tight grip of his hand on your waist as he unlaced her dress.

"I am not going to bed you!"

"No one asks for your permission."

Once in your chemise, you were thrown on the bed, with his weight caging you between him and the bed.

You tried to push him away but his hand quickly found yours, pinning you down either your hands above you.

His empty hand raised your chemise to your waist, revealing your lower body to his prying eyes.

Long fingers found your core, a long stroke evoking a sharp breath and a choked gasp.

"Stop!"

"If I did, then the deed would be even more painful."

Rubbing the center of your pleasure, unwantingly moans escaped your throat, pleasing Aemond a lot.

His finger dipped inside you, burying it in your heat and stretching your tight hole.

"Relax yourself and you might like it as well."

As much as you wanted to remain unfazed, it was hard with a burning pleasure coiling inside your lower stomach.

The add of his second finger burned, his thumb continously rubbing her clit; pulling out moan with every single thrust of his fingers.

You came on his fingers; ashamed of yourself.

And then, you saw Aemond undress himself; a perfect chance to run if you used your agility

But the immense pleasure left your body exhausted and granted your lower body inability to walk.

The struggle returned to your body when you realized what was to happen.

And noticing it, Aemond's one hand pined you to the bed with a hand around your throat, which applied enough pressure to cut of half of your breathing; getting rid of his breeches quickly.

Your body tensed as the pain coursed through your veins, only for you to realize that the true torture has just began.

He was big and hard to accommodate.

"You are mine now."

Your virginal blood coated his cock; forever spoiling you for any other lord.

His thrusts were slow and calculated at the start and quite uncomfortable for you.

But soon the pain turned into pleasure and moans spilled from your lips before you could catch them.

And Gods! Did your husband had a dirty mouth.

"I will make you mine. Spoil you for any lord."

"My sweet little whore, aren't you like your mother. So wet, even for your enemy."

"What would your family say when they see you, carrying my child."

"Gods, you are so tight for me. Just perfect. And how beautiful, befit for a prince like me."

His fingers balled in your brown hair, pulling them ever so slightly as he forced you to look him in his eye.

The eyepatch wasn't present and you were met with the glistening sapphire.

His lips groaned and grunted near your ears, speaking filthy words which only seemed to turn you on.

"I will spill in your sweet cunt."

"You will give me heirs and let me fucj you as I see fit."

"I will make such a good whore of you that your mother would be proud of you."

That night when the boy was done, you were barely able to speak and a limp in your walk for the entire week that followed.

And soon enough, you were indeed with a child.

#house targaryen #hotd imagine #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond headcanons #aemond targaryen headcanons #aemond x y/n #aemond one eye #house of the dragon aemond #aemond one shot

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girlymatsu · 7 months ago

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is there any more lore surrounding villainess!erina? because i'm obsessed with villainess comics ( and erina tbh ) so i'd love to know more about her in that au. 👀✨️

AHH yes!! Nothing concrete or super fleshed out but I’ve thought of a few things… apologies for ramblings it may not make sense or sounds cringe/cliche/too edgy eep 😭

Villainess Erina is a lady in waiting for a female lead character (either totoko or just a generic y/n character)

She used to not be a noble but a peasant and used to play with Osomatsu when he and his brothers snuck off to play with commoners as kids… so she has memories of being with Osomatsu back in the day

Erina made a deal with cursed magic artifact to replace a noble girl and take her position and links with royalty. The family she ended up being with has plans with infltrating royal families and stealing their magical crests because I like the fun magical medieval world where villainess novels take place in lol, and use Erina to do so.

She is hoping to be in a better life and feel beautiful… have a fantasy happy ever after. She falls in love with Osomatsu through being with the mc princess who is supposed to marry one of the brothers etc it’s like an otome story… Osomatsu doesn’t recognize her ofc, and is amicable to her… but his focus is always on other people and shenanigans and is oblivious to her feelings… Ends up unknowingly being inconsiderate to the her who wants to be closer to him. She goes back to the cursed magic artifact to make things go her way secretly but ends up causing havoc and make her go a little crazier each time. It goes from accidentally cursing people with bad luck and memory loss in her favor, to her anger making her blow up and set a festival on fire.

She even uses corrupt magic to force an arranged marriage to happen between Osomatsu and her… but even then she feels unfufilled and not really loved because she forced it to happen… and feels no one really know her to ever love her.. and when Osomatsu find out how she’s like he will hate her…. Assigned unlovable at birth

Erina had always thought her life would be better living like a princess but is not the one chosen to be loved, she is still longing, and miserable. She thinks no matter how much she tries to slither her way into this world, she is still insignificant with fake beauty and fake jewels.

And yadda yadda she causes a lot of bad ends , one being that she kills Osomatsu and kisses him to see if true loves kiss would bring him back to life (it doesn’t) and as a result kills the rest of the brothers in a crazed state of mistaking them all for him.

And these bad ends timelines keep replaying and start blending together and erina will wake up remembering how much pain she has been in and harm she cause.. feeling no hope for herself </3 and she would call off her arranged marriage and give up completely until Osomatsu is like so thrown off by her change in demeanor and start to chase after her 🥺 like wait don’t u like me why r u leaving .. changed the narrative the story forced her to be in.. and that’s when love story happen.. but it must happen after all that tragedy

Anyways that’s it ok bye

#osoart #erina #osoeri #asks #this is an old au I had to try and remember the core elements

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themidnightcircusshow · 1 year ago

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Richard's portrait used to be in the dining room, a grand display of his wealth and power. When Henry took the house from him, he made a declaration that he would burn the painting and reject all that it stood for. Except before they could, he ended up stealing the painting away. Now it doesn't matter what he does, how strongly he acts: he knows he's too weak. The painting tells him every night. When he's a teenager, Hal grows his hair a little longer. From a distance, he even tricks himself into believing he's Richard. Up close, he can see every one of his mother's features, more clear than any picture of her in his memory. And the worst thing is that it's the only time Henry looks at Hal with something that resembles love. They've all had death hovering over them since the day they were born. Hal, so sick and feeble, meant to die a baby free from sin. But that day he chose to spite God and keep on breathing-- he's known nothing but sin since. Thomas, named after a murdered man, refuses to die smothered in his bed. He'd rather a hail of bullets than that. A hero's death is better than a martyr's (but it's a fool's death in the end). John, so silent that sometimes he doubts people remember he was born at all. He meets a girl one day claiming to be God's chosen-- he's terrified that she may be right. Humphrey, born when his father was at war, with no head for it himself. He doesn't need it. His brother's will keep him safe. Blanche tries to get out as soon as she can, but finds that the curse followed her, and can only hope her son (too small, growing on the few nutrients she could give) will live long enough to succeed his father. And Philippa, so brave and so wise, unable to ask the one question that her scares her the most: would her family have things the same again, her living and their mother dead, if given the choice? Hal doesn't know how to love, so he thinks he chooses not to love at all. Sex weighs on him, more than it does Thomas or Humphrey or even John. He likes to imagine he doesn't have a body at all, until he learns how pain traps and frees you from a body all at once. So he kisses Courtenay beneath an old willow tree, where three lovebirds had carved their initials only weeks before one was beaten to death by Hal's forefathers. It's funny how sin repeats. When Margaret moves in, she doesn't believe her husband's stories about his house being haunted. All orphans believe such stories. It's not until she's kneeling on the floor next to her husband who sees nothing and hears only what it isn't there, heavily pregnant with a baby she thought she would never have, that she begins to see the emaciated woman herself. The Witch of Lancaster-- one of many-- whispered promises in her ear and listened while Margaret spat curses she had never before dreamed herself capable of. Maybe, she thinks while cutting off a man's head, being a witch isn't such a bad thing. They say it's the Lancasters who damned themselves. And then that the Plantagenets are a cursed family. But even when the plaque on the front gate is turned to 'Tudor', the lady of the house knows better. She knows her little brothers are buried somewhere in the walls. She hopes they will take care of her son.

You make one joke and suddenly you can't stop thinking of a gothic retelling of the Lancasters

#Lancaster Gothic au #Hal and Richard would both be OBSESSED with Oscar Wilde's The Happy Prince #a statue of a prince is gradually removed of all his jewels to feed the townspeople #and when he has no more jewels he is thrown in the fire because he's no longer useful or beautiful #but they take entirely different meanings from it #also I wrote a thing last year where Henry thinks Hal is possessed by Richard #and cuts up Hal's face trying to prove it #I feel like that would definitely happen in a Gothic au

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jabbage · 2 years ago

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#Letters from Watson #lettersfromwatson

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birdingandreading · 2 years ago

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Review: All Good People Here

All Good People Here by Ashley Flowers

Synopsis: Margot returns to her very small, rural hometown when her uncle's health deteriorates. During this homecoming, a little girl's disappearance brings back memories from her childhood friend January Jacobs' murder 20 years ago. Could this new disappearance be connected? What happened to January all those years ago?

Rating: ☆☆ / 5

One word to describe this book: Ridiculous

Would I recommend it? No.

Alternative recommendations: Sally Hepworth, Lisa Jewell, Lucy Foley, Ruth Ware, Rachel Hawkins, Tana French, and Agatha Christie (to name a few.) If you want to read a book loosely inspired by a real case: These Violent Delights by Micah Nemerever is fantastic.

The good (+): The plot was cohesive, and you could follow the threads through the time and perspective changes. The voices were distinct enough between characters and I appreciated that there was no rushed or forced romance thrown in.

Critique (-):

Spoiler-free section:

My initial feelings upon finishing were: this book is ridiculous and "I can't believe I listened to a JonBenet Ramsey fanfic." Going into it, I did not know who Ashley Flowers was or the JonBenet aspect of the book.

Usually, when you read a thriller/mystery book you have one or two red herrings, right? Like you're reading along and you're thinking, "this is too good to be true" or "something doesn't quite add up." Well, in this book, you have a ridiculous number. The book does not let you sit with them and actually think for yourself about whether things fit (which if you do think about it, they do not.)

For example, the main character, Margot, will believe 100% with her heart and soul that person A did it. She has talked herself into it, is making all the evidence fit and is trying to tie this new disappearance to her theory. Then she will have one single conversation with someone and do a complete 180 to believing that now Person B is certainly a murderer! No reflection on what led her to believe that Person A was her 'guy' so to speak. Now imagine this process happening many, many times. I was cackling by the end of the book every time she just changed her theory on almost a whim. I feel like the most enjoyable thriller/mystery books let you sit with a kind of uncomfortable, seeping recognition of something that the main character has yet to realize.

Oh, she sees that someone has a copy of Lolita and is like "that is such a gross book omg. Only the sickest mind would read that book." Uh ok lol.

Another key element throughout the book is Luke, Margot's uncle, and his recent diagnosis of Alzheimer's. I don't think that the book ever outright states that he has Alzheimer's, but that is the impression that we are supposed to get. I did not particularly enjoy the depiction of that disease in this book. It's unusual for someone so young to develop it and there wasn't much attention paid to that fact other than to lament it (unlike say, in Sally Hepworth's The Younger Wife.) I don't think that it needed to be a huge plot point, but maybe a mention of a family history would have helped make it seem like less of a plot device especially later in the book. The depiction itself just seemed like a caricature of someone with Alzheimer's or like if you wrote a character based on watching TV with a character that's supposed to have dementia. The severity of his dementia is very plot dependent, which is convenient. Given his symptoms, I would be more willing to forgive it if he'd been diagnosed many years before (which would be all the more ridiculous given his age.)

There's a small subplot where Margot gets fired from her publisher because her writing was so subpar and inconsistent. She decides to write about the new case in her hometown and tie it to January's case. She ends up writing this new piece that is just so good that her boss not only re-hires her, but is like "yeah, sure negotiate a higher pay. that piece was so great we think it'll go viral." Another part of the book that made me laugh, and not because it was just that funny.

***

Spoilers:

At least six suspects! Really? She even seriously suspects her uncle at one point with almost no compunctions.

The vast majority of the book spends its time on the theory that "a stranger came into town and killed January", which is laughable. Margot never seems to really question or critically think about this town theory other than to briefly mention it or fully believe it.

Also, with all of the people she suspects it is absolutely ridiculous that she doesn't even give the husband a second thought. It's always the husband!

The new piece she ends up writing makes a 'convincing' case about the wrong guy lmao. Wonder if she got that raise.

#book blog #reading #books and reading #book rant #book review #book #thriller #mystery

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hanjinstant · 3 years ago

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ָ࣪ if bts were macaroon flavours ♡ ָ࣪

taehyung

obviously he's caramel/salted caramel. i've said before he radiates beige aesthetic energy and further proof has been collected from the fact that he made his merch bag brown too. (it sold out in less than a minute which is absolutely mad). he's the human version of mostly sweet with a little bit of a lot of hot and spicy thrown in for good measure. or v for victory could also be... um these tata macaroons i found on pinterest?! ....(i want one. or five)

jimin

whatever food jimin could be, it would have to be a vibrant and flavourful one. jimin is one of the most (beautiful) and lively people i have ever become to know of. + the colour pink is psychologically associated with love & kindness too. with the addition of the whipped cream, because everyone's whipped for mr park jimin, it also represents the wonderful mix of his skill and humour. yeah and i'm gonna be honest he probably tastes like strawberries when you kiss him 🥺🥺🥺.

hobi

there's a reason he's not only our hope but also our sunshine; he is 💯% the star that shines the brightest. what's underrated about j-hope? his laugh. that man's laugh makes me laugh on its own! it's music to my ears and everytime he laughs i can picture the happiest grin on his face and it makes me happy. i feel like these macaroons resemble him to a t, and would also give me very slight hope world vibes

namjoon

this man.... i have unlimited respect for him. truly. i admire his mindset in the way that he seems like a very chilled person to be around, and he appreciates the little things, like thunderstorms and paintstrokes. his taste is EXQUISITE, and as i named him already as a pistachio macaroon in my bts as desserts hc, we are keeping the theme alive here. he is exquisite, expensive and well-valued. so are pistachios. and green is just the colour of nature and peace. i rest my case.

jin

jin would be a very extravagant flavour with even more extravagant decorations. i can see his macaroons being served in fancy gold boxes that look like they're from a jewellers. obviously, exterior isn't everything, so there would be some super expensive ingredients like black watermelon extract and sea cucumber sprinkles or something like that. the idea here is that eating one of these macaroons is a economical statement. oh, and they're always sold out because everyone loves them.

suga

min yoongi has this indescribable air of simplicity but complication simultaneously around him. hearing him talk about his and the boys' songs is so inspiring and relaxing to me; it's incredible to see how passionate he is! i think he would a flavour like plain almond or coconut because whenever i think of him the colour white pops into my head. it's peaceful and serene. he's the classic flavour that is indispensable and it always the bestseller in each macaroon parlour, for sure.

jungkook

toasted marshmallow, without a doubt. jk is a more adventurous flavour then perhaps some of his hyungs - even though he's been in bts for as long as the others, i imagine him of all members appreciates the novelty of being a performer most; while the others always cherish it and adore it (clearly through they way they've spoken about missing touring during the global panorama), i think he still feels butterflies when he really stops to think about the extent of it all. there's a fire that's ignited somewhere in him every single time he stands in front of a crowd of thousands and thousands.

a/n: thank you for all the love on my writings so far, it's so fun to think of things like this and materialise them for others to enjoy! (especially when it's food-related).

stay a while! bts as desserts ; bts as ice cream flavours ; masterlist

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missgeniality · 4 years ago

Text

A Work Of Art (m)

“In our life there is a single color, as on an artist’s palette, which provides the meaning of life and art. It is the color of love.” - Marc Chagall

➺ Banner: The lovely @dee-ehn 💕

➺ Pairing: Jimin x Female Reader

➺ Genre: PWP, Smut, Slightest Angst

➺ Rating: 18+

➺ Word Count: 7.3k

➺ Summary: You surprise Jimin with his Filter outfit; and then some.

➺ Warnings: tongues get tired in this fic, dom!jimin, we talk about spit, some biting, jimin loves praise, lingerie n stuff, nipple play, oral sex (m&f receiving), we talk more about spit, some bondage is involved, degrading names, blindfolds, spanking (maybe too much, don’t look @ me), light choking, light face-fucking, cum eating, we talk even more about spit, hickeys galore, some edging?, unprotected sex (don’t do it kids, not even for Jimin)

➺ Author’s Note: (repost bc tags, you know how it is) huge s/o to @ilikemesometaetaes for making time to beta read this monstrosity 💜 thank youuuu! Also thanks to @honeiibeehobi, @kithtaehyung for helping me with the many many details & @ppersonnafor hyping up this idea or else it would have never seen the light of day ;_; lol i will come back to edit this cuz this didnt let me focus on my paper due tonight so if you see a spelling mistake or tense error umm no you didnt 👀

do let me know your thoughts!! the smallest feedback goes a long way! 💛💛

This is the first part of my Dress Down series, find more at it’s masterlist!

Y/N: soooooo, I did a thing. JM: is the dishwasher flooding our kitchen again? Y/N: -_- i’ll give you two more guesses. JM: oh no. you picked up a dog from the street again. Y/N: come onn!! JM: y/n, last time you picked one up, HE HAD AN OWNER Y/N: you’re down to your last try, or else i’m taking this off. JM: … JM: so its something you have on? 😏 Y/N: pic_210124.jpg JM: holy shit JM: wait wait fuck JM: keep the door unlocked.

“You like?”

The bob in his Adam’s apple wordlessly conveys the answer you’re looking for.

A crisp, white, button down shirt, tucked into black trousers, topped off with a panama hat that matches your top half is the view Jimin comes home to. Your dress pays homage to Jimin’s Filter outfit - actually, the exact one - the one that showcased his immaculate dance moves, the one that exposes his delicious collarbones, the one that brings the irresistible urge to bite your way up his neck - the one he eventually rids.

If you had to pick a color, he is a flustered orange, bright and blushing, turned on by the indecent implication of your very decent outfit.

You’re on the counter, one leg crossed over the other, accentuating the swell of your ass. Landing on the pads of your feet, you take a few steps towards the man with the unhinged jaw.

“Babe.” a mellow croak - Jimin can’t get a whole sentence out without saliva pooling and obstructing his speech. “You, in my clothes… fuck.”

Chuckling at his very obvious loss of words, you give him a twirl, allowing him to fully soak in your outfit.

“Was waiting for you.”

Three long strides and you were in his arms, a pair of lips desperate to invade your space and claim you. An Angel on your shoulder tells you to give in; after all, this is the end result - what you both want.

However, the Devil on the other side, no no no. It wants you to make him suffer. To get revenge for all the times you were taken control of. It remembers all the days he turned you on with shoot photographs and all the nights he brought you to the brink only to stop you from tipping over with a cocky smirk and a cheeky wink.

The Devil was created from the moments when you thought you would actually erupt, begging for release, only to be shoved aside with a single growl of ‘don’t you fucking dare.’

Your desire to please him effectively silenced the Devil and kept it at bay. But no more. All those times built up and gave your Devil the power to force its way against your will to restrain it, causing it to rise to the surface.

You will have the upper hand.

So you push him away, keeping him at an arm’s length for your safety to have him on his toes. Forlorn eyes meet your steely ones, and you physically stop yourself from giving in to his puppy gaze - those eyes can turn icy and sultry when nailing you into the bed like his rent depended on it.

“Sit there. I have a-” You turn to switch on some music, “-small present for you.”

“If the small present isn’t me folding you in half and fucking you till sunrise,” He sits with visible reluctance, irises slowly transforming into magma orbs, “I don’t want it.”

“Well, we’ll see… Depends on how you behave.”

On a normal day, this comment would have lit your ass on fire, pronto.

Today isn’t a normal day at all.

You stride on, every noiseless step you take leaving a wreckage of nerves behind, ignoring the smoldering gaze he has locked on you- you are unsure whether he is deciding your punishment or simply admiring how his clothes fit on your body.

You stand on the side, drinking him in.

From your viewpoint, this is ridiculous. Those cursed jeans, vacuumed onto his thighs, ensure your eyes don’t miss a single ridge. His legs are spread out, beckoning you to have a seat, and the Angel once again begs for some reprieve. He knows what he’s doing; knows you inside and out- knows you couldn’t miss a chance to ride him like this. The wicked smirk flashing back at you is confirmation.

But you stymy that thought at its root. Walking behind, you wrap your arms around him to faintly buss his cheek.

“Sooo I was watching Filter…”

Jimin hums against your feeble touch. He wants more. The soft wind of your breath routing through his jeweled ear sends a wave of goosebumps down his spine. From behind, you run your hands over his sinewy biceps, taut in restraint - holding themselves back against the suffering you are putting him through.

“You do know how fucking hot you looked, right?” You playfully let your tongue toy with the hanging ornament, the briefest of flicks causing Jimin’s shoulders to push back, trying to connect with your bosom.

With a crooked finger under his jaw, you bring him to meet your eyes- eyes that are adorned with layered shadows of deep maroons, a variety of colors blending into your skin tone, eyelashes piqued up and ready to reach the clouds.

“So pretty…” He whispers out as you place your hat on its rightful throne - Jimin’s head.

A lone digit traces the lines of art you etched for him, appreciating every single stroke you put in to make a memorable time. Warm merigold rays bloom in your chest in response to his gaze, with him looking at you like you invented the sky. Pupils are dilated, and the only reason you can see each other is because of the practically nonexistent distance between you.

His eyes pick up on your tapering resolve to keep him in line. A light quiver of need passing your lips as you hopelessly vie for dominance is what most likely gives you away.

Grabbing you by the neck, he pulls you into a deep kiss, plunging his tongue into you with reckless abandon like he was a nomad all this while and your mouth has finally claimed him home. Your neck strains at the awkward angle and surely even his is hurting, but the pressure of his hand is unrelenting.

His tongue searches and searches, desperately looking for a part in you he has not yet explored. You’d think the years of togetherness would have diminished this fiery attraction but no, he comes onto you like he has a mission to prove - to validate his love for you, to plead you to be his. You would happily accept this shower of affection, returning it with due interest.

With great difficulty you part, a string of spit still connecting your lips because he has not let you move far enough. “Uh-uh. Be good.” You pout a little, breaking character.

“You’re here. In my clothes. A walking dream. How the fuck am I to be good?” He pulls you back in to continue what you cut short but you break the line of spit and his intention with a hand wedged between your faces.

“I asked you a question, Mister.” Back on your cocky nature, you graze your lips against oh-so-lightly, barely giving him anything to feel, but the tingling on his skin shows he can feel it all.

The adoration moves into a competition, “You tell me, sweetness - how did I look?”

It’s always the praise. He loves it when you struggle to tell him his dick was crafted by the heavens when you’re choking on it, but he still makes you do it. You stutter and stumble your words when his lips smack against your cunt, devouvering and digging for the treasure of your cum, but he forces you to tell him. When you sit on his dick, your brain has no sense of diction or direction, only chasing the high at his mercy, but he makes you scream it out loud, letting everyone beyond the pearly gates know, between moans and wails, that only he can break you down this way.

“This shirt, sweetie.” Your nose trails the path between his collar and the ends of his hair, basking in the sweet vanilla scent, “You’re all covered. Why, pray tell,” You dig your teeth into the point where his shoulder meets his neck, “does this sole patch of skin turn me on so bad?”

He sucks in an inhale through his clenched teeth, his stunning visage devoid of any virtue. His head is thrown back, hat toppling over in the movement and giving you a larger canvas to mark, an opportunity you happily grasp. The mellifluous tones he is producing is recorded in your mind for lonelier nights to come.

“And the red suit? Fuck, your corseted waist?” At the corner of your eye you see his fingers clenching into a fist, your lush voice making it harder and harder for him to breathe.

You slowly stride forward, painfully slow, letting him notice every single muscle of your body curving to his unspoken command, undoing one button at a time until your torso is revealed- and shows the true purpose of your scarlet eye makeup.

A deep burgundy camisole, ribbed at the waist to accentuate the way your hips flow has Jimin salivating to no end. The strappy number, with carmine ribbons flowing into your yet to be removed bottom half- a deed Jimin intends on rectifying very, very soon- calls to him sinfully. The lingerie twists and ties in incomprehensible ways, but the amount of cleavage it gives you is ungodly.

If they weren’t already, Jimin’s eyes are now wide open.

Time comes to a standstill as he checks out your whole figure, taking in every embroidered pattern on the lingerie and every embellishment on your breasts. Before, you were already a five-star meal, but now? An emperor’s feast.

The little flower right on top of your nipple has Jimin’s attention. His thumb comes up to trace the bedecked rose, following the stitched line of stem that takes him to the peak, then drawing over petal by petal. Each time he reaches close to your hardened nub, he abstains from crossing over it, making your nipple hardens imperceptibly under the presentiment of any relief and the disappointment when nothing arrives. His other hand, sitting on your waist, coaxes you to straddle him while he plays gardner on your bust.

“Jimin…” Your nipple, finally finding solace under his thumb, is not faring too well under the attention. Your plan of teasing him is slipping through your fingers like sand.

“Tell me baby, what do you want?” His finger is now tracing the seams of your lingerie cups, admiring the way they frame your ample bosom. Things are progressing too slow for your liking, and you come clean with your ignoble intentions.

“Please, I just want to suck you off.”

A wad of spit lands directly into your cleavage, followed by two thick fingers penetrating the lubed entrance.

“Nope.” His fingers continue to shallowly fuck your cleavage. Neither of you are being touched in the erogenous zone, but why does it feel so good? Your valley is inundated with his dribble, coating your ensemble and shifting shades to a deep cerise. Every pump of his nimble fingers between your breasts is like a promise of what your pussy is going to go through. Will he fuck you hard and fast with your voice echoing across the room, making every neighbor privy of your sexual escapedes? Will he be slow and gentle, penetrate you with utmost care, soft gasps and whines only sounded to the two of you? You can never guess.

In the aphrodisiac moment, you forgot that you were supposed to take charge.

“Please, please, please! I did so much,” You take the guilt route. If Jimin was anything, he was a just and fair man. “Can’t I get that much?”

Jimin’s gaze has not left your wet cleavage. A flit of his eye makes contact with yours and goes back to the fucking - that is enough language for you to understand his needs. You bend low, and spit out a fat glob onto your chest to add to the mess he has already made. The groan that leaves him is ungodly, and he licks the spit you unloaded onto yourself, spreading it all over your expensive wear. He slurps like you released sweetened water to a parched traveller, your bosom holding all the sweetness to itself.

Gathering your thoughts is more difficult than you could ever imagine. The cloth over your nipples is completely soaked, bitten into and sticking to your skin thanks to the vacuum Jimin pulled on them. Your back has had a workout, every vertebrae bent to its maximum possibility. Chiropractors are so last year, you just have your boyfriend ravish your breasts.

“Once I’m done, you can do whatever you want.”

All of your five brain cells had to be put in action to form that sentence. The moment the words left your lips, the pressure your breasts were on had been released, but you could still feel lips against you, stretching into a snarky smirk.

“Whatever?” His grip on your waist tightens, seating you more firmly onto his taut thighs.

Whatever. That stupidly amazing word.

“Saying ‘whatever’ always lands you in trouble. Have you forgotten?” His damp lips are tracing your collarbones, nibbles whenever he felt appropriate. How does he expect you to form a damned sentence like this, the Devil on your shoulder indignantly asks. The Angel on the other has gone back in time to fetch memories filed under the term ‘whatever’, strictly saved for your quality alone-time.

The first time you told him to do ‘whatever he wants’ was fairly early into your relationship. Sex was as vanilla as the ice cream tastebud-less people liked, and none of you ever pushed it too far. A happy, drunken night with a loose-lipped confession from him.

“God, the things I want to do to you…” he had muffled into your hair, maybe not even intended for your ears to pick up.

A cheeky giggle had bubbled out of your tipsy self. “Like what, tie me up?”

If Jimin then were a color, he was a pantone pink. Blushed cheeks from the alcohol and the realization that you had caught him, airbrushed with a depth you weren’t able to put in place that early in the relationship. Wide-eyed horror was shown in its place, possibly exaggerated to add to the denial he had landed himself in.

“No no, of course, I don’t mean it like that, what ar-”

“Why not?”

The animal that awoke after confirming with you fifteen times was a force to be reckoned with. Your bra had turned into rope, wrists bound behind as he roughly squished your helpless cheeks.

“You will tell me when to stop, right?” His tongue peeked lightly, brushing your top lip, taking the perspiration away.

“Uhmf-yufh!”

“God, you’re gonna regret this baby.”

But it was exactly the opposite. You got the railing of a lifetime, heard the filthiest words that could leave the lips of such a courteous man - a side you had not expected at all. You couldn’t possibly recollect every single move he made, but what you can recollect with excruciating detail is every feeling you felt that night. It was filled with lust, with revelations of the new ways your body could bend, a night of puppetry where Jimin played you like the master your body craved. The following day was Jimin taking care of you, big puppy eyes wondering whether he took it too far. In his daze of letting go of control, he couldn’t take in your lidded stare, heaving with satisfaction - so you made sure he could witness them when he took you the next time that morning.

The other time the wretched word was mentioned was during an argument. You’re not jealous of Jimin on stage - it’s his career and you were one of the girls offering one of their kidneys to be able to catch a glimpse of him.

But your workspace? That’s where you draw the line.

She was a random worker. Some third-floor low-lying soul. You were eighth-floor premium material (the floors didn’t decide shit, but no one can tell you what skyscraper semantics you can craft in your brain). A lifeless party that even Jimin’s colorful locks couldn’t color up.

This random worker was very enamored by Jimin (as she should, the man is a whole nine-course meal). Supportive fans are not what get you jealous either.

But the limit is when placed her scrawny fingers on Jimin’s hand, drawing the glass in his grip to her lips and took a sip from it. If her lashes were fanned they could blow a man away (which is probably more than what her puny mouth could possibly do). The fume exiting your ears could have been in bright red for all you care, because every office member had been rightfully annoyed.

The whole car ride back was filled with your drunken blabbers about the different ways you could skin her. The actual victim beside you was not making a nearly big enough deal out of it, intending to let you get rid of your temper.

“She fucking knew!” Your normally clean disposition had taken its leave after the fuming temper took real estate in your brain, and you aimlessly threw your heel at some corner of the house - hungover self shall have to deal with this angry mess you’ve made. Wait, you’re an angry mess too.. “The gall she had, I should jus-”

You march towards the door, in hopes of what, you don’t know. But if you didn’t take action you’ll probably explode. Any action, just anything. You never find out though, because a strong arm slithered around your waist and halted your expedition.

“Calm down, feisty. Where are you going now?” His soothing voice, punctuated with a mocking chuckle almost quelled the fire in you. Almost.

But you’re not done being an idiot.

“To go find her for you. You’d fuck the living daylights out of her, right?”

The loudest silence you have ever encountered. Jimin’s grip on your waist tightened to the point where it could have hurt. Like he was trying to push every iota of that thought out of your body. From behind, you can hear a deep breath dragging, and somewhere in your irate head you knew you had struck a nerve, a bad one. Jimin is forced to expel any anger bubbling in him, trying to use reason with an unreasonable recipient.

“Princess, you don’t actually think I’d do that right?”

“I don’t know!” Your misplaced anger had reached the rooftops. Jimin had done nothing wrong here except try to calm an increasingly livid girlfriend. “Maybe you’d love that. Her itty-bitty waist, that whore’s outfit she had on. You call me a whore right? Maybe she’s more worthy of you!”

“Y/N.”

The timbre of his voice had completely changed. The breathy, airy aura had completely departed from your name he had just called. The lack of nicknames raised some hair at the nape of your neck, but you’re a stubborn one.

“Ugh, I don’t care.”

You tried to walk back to your room, head still reeling in a palace of inferno, burning everything that dares to intrude your path - but somehow, you had been pushed to a wall, and the eyes of the man you loved had turned feral.

If Jimin was a color, he was green - igniting with fury, anger repressed in dark shadows that never made the light of the day until pushed - but you pushed all right. And now released from its shackles, it has surrounded you and slammed you against the wall - and you have nowhere to go.

“You’re my whore. Is that a complaint from my stupid, stupid whore?”

The only joint you’re free to move is your neck, and your gratuitous self decided to rebel with whatever degree of freedom you have. Turning your face away to not meet his seething eyes, you continue your rebel-without-a-cause tantrum.

“Whatever.” you carped out.

Again, with that stupid word, you had signed your fate for the night.

Usually, you can express your feelings. Be it pain or pleasure (sometimes the two packed in one), you could wail it out to the heavens and respite would follow.

Usually, you can see the torments laid out on you. Jimin’s lithe body performing every obscene spell he invoked is a treat for your eyes. He treats your body like an artisan, using any medium to paint his art on you.

But that day, you were stripped of them both, and made to realize what a privilege they were.

Mouth stuffed with your bunched up panties, eyes blinded by his tie of the evening, you could only rely on the sensors on your skin to somehow predict what was going to be done to you. And you failed. Every single time. Every thwack fell on a new area. Every teasing touch tickled you at a new place. Nothing could begin to prepare you for his next move and you couldn’t keep up with his tameless pace.

He made you beg through the makeshift gag, beg to let you come, then beg to stop coming, beg for every orifice of yours to be filled by his seed and then beg to get cleaned by him. With the first rays of morning sunlight, language was an illusion, time was an out-of-reach concept, and all you knew was the worshipping of last night.

Whatever is a word. Whatever is mean. Whatever is filthy. Whatever is nailing you into the bed and rendering you immobile for the entire day. Whatever may just be a word to anyone, but to you it is what has you losing sense of reality, giving in to a phantasm of your wildest dreams.

A wet tap on your cheek brings you back from you imagining the past - the fingers that were fucking your cleavage are squishing your cheeks, bringing your attention back from all your dirty memories to the present - to create another memory to add to your folder.

If Jimin is a color, he is the darkest of all blacks. This is where everything pious comes to meet its sordid end. His sultry gaze is reading your eyes, searching for where you got lost, which shared memories of passed time made you melt into the puddle that you are right now.

“I said, don’t you remember? ‘Whatever’?”

Let’s see. You don’t have work tomorrow. You don’t have any commitments. You don’t have to meet anyone.

So there is no reason for you to be able to move.

“Hmmmmn, I don’t seem to recall - you could remind me.”

Dark, dark chuckles from such a cherubic face. You flounder off his lap to shuck your (his) pants away, revealing the matching maroon garter belt set. The whole outfit is an ode to Jimin’s mid performance transformation, the one that made many people’s hearts skip a quick beat. His slim, cinched waist, the flared pants flowing down his frame were one for the books, and you’d like to think your rendition has its place too.

Giving him a quick spin, you attempt to get down to business - but Jimin pulls you back on his lap. Without the pants, you can feel it - his hard, thick cock straining against the tough jean fabric and still making its presence known.

“Tell me more, baby. What did you like?”

The man was a sucker for your praise.

You were a sucker for the whole man.

But the sucking will probably have to wait.

“I loved your expressions. You’re so sexy on stage, fuck. Going around and giving bedroom eyes to the world.”

His hand gripping you ass gives it a quick pinch, but voice just let out a lazy hum to get you to continue.

“The choreography,”, your whisper is strained, “you dance like you fuck baby. So sensual, so sexy.”

You lick a stripe up his neck, from his artistic collarbones to the back of his ear, the sensitive spot that makes him hiss is arousal. You stay there, wanting to whisper the next few lines. The world didn’t need to know your thirst for this.

“You know my favorite part?”

“Oh, tell me.” His voice is hitting lower and lower in pitch, much like it’s hitting you lower and lower in your body.

You place the hand framing his face on his neck - the same one you want to cover in blooms of purple and red, lightly squeezing, letting him preen under the pressure. The tightness has Jimin’s head falling back on the headrest, and you can feel his pulse hastening to accommodate for the lacking oxygen in his stream.

Letting go of his throat, and pleased to see the lightest indentation on his beautiful pale skin, you snake your hands downward.

“Na, na, na,” Inching slowly towards your end goal, you whisper the tune into his ear, “na na na, na, na na”, covering every part with an indulgent languish, “pick your filter”.

Your hand finally reaches its destination - you grab his bulge and squeeze the hardness, making Jimin buck his hips against your palm.

“Namaneul damabwa.”

It’s a low whisper from his lips, but even in the gravelly sound you can hear how melodious he is, how the song rolls off of his tongue and was made for his vocal color. The whisper is laced with lust, with want, with desire, all the feelings you portrayed for him in his performance.

That, and in life in general.

You shuffle and sit to the side, simultaneously unbuttoning his jeans to get him some relief for the ache he had going on. Finally, you acquiesce and free his dick from its cages.

Every time you see him is a wonder to you. Hard, ridged, the right amount of veins to stimulate the walls of your cunt. Head leaking from the eons of teasing you’ve been doing, right from the text you sent to seconds ago. You bend down to clean him up, tasting the saltiness of his seed that has coated the head. Jimin’s lips are facing the brunt of your deeds - his teeth have found near permanent residence in its plushness, digging deep to keep from moaning too early, from giving you the pleasure. He is going to make you work.

Well, you must get to work.

Slowly, slowly, you dip your head in further, sucking lightly with each move, tongue tracing every vein on his dick. As you move your head back up, Jimin’s hand pushes into your back, making it arch further, and then you go down on his dick. His finger lightly follows the curve of your back, from your upper back all the way to the band of your lace panties.

Hooking a finger underneath the lace fabric of your panty that had disappeared in between your mounds of flesh, he pulls at it - hard. Your throat revolts against the intrusion as you gag, and the fabric presses into your clit. The concentrated abrasion turns into pleasure - he uses it to arch your back further, and bring your ass closer so that he can-

Smack!

The spank sends you forward and you choke on his dick further, throat giving in to his hardness.

“So good for me baby. Look at that ass.” He grabs one cheek, bubbled with the way your panties are now, squeezing and testing the firmness of your glutes.

Your plans of torturing him are shot; the Devil on your shoulder is strangely mute. Awakening the brat, you slip a hand under and toy with his balls, pulling back to provide your throat some recess. Your saliva mixed with his precum is an gushing mess, glistening on his balls and now coating your palms as you play with light squeezes - the existing stiffness caused by your teasing arousal mixed with your playful fingers make Jimin buck into your mouth, releasing a delicious groan in the process.

A second spank is a warning, either you increase your pace or reap some serious consequences. You consider the consequences; they are very compelling. You could end with delicious marks of ownership from this delicious man. But he deserves the best suck of his life, and you’re going to do just that.

Hollowing your mouth, you go further down, till his head is poking an uninvaded point in your throat, and Jimin lets out a surprising note. A groan, no, a roar, but a tinge of whine mixed in it, like the pleasure is too much for him.

You continue to swallow around, hand pumping the length you couldn’t take in, interlarded with swipes on his tight balls, leaving Jimin to be a heaving mess. Your ass is not faring better, bearing the brunt of his replies. You’re positive his fingerprints are imprinted on your asscheek, and one sit on his phone can unlock it. The line of your panties is drenched with your sopping wetness and lodged between the lips.

“God, I’m so close baby, just a little more.”

You would fervently nod in acceptance to whatever demand he places; in this position, he could ask you for the world and you would have it at his disposal. But what stops you are his ringed fingers lodged in your hair, pushing you in further, determined to spill deep in your throat, to the point where you don’t even have to swallow to get everything down.

“Fuck, such a good girl for me.” Jimin appraises how deep he is going, how your throat is accommodating him and quivering around his length. Bunching your hair up into a makeshift ponytail, he stops them from obstructing his vision - the view of you struggling to take him in, toiling to keep the need to breathe at bay while you tend to his needs, worshipping his dick like its the last meal you’ll ever get - your desperate adulation takes him over the brink.

Jimin erupts into your mouth; an ungodly amount at that. It is the hardest he’s come in a while, and given your lifestyle, that’s saying something. Even a cum-hungry whore like you can’t possibly swallow that much in one go, and you are forced to let the globs dribble down his now-softening member. The two of you are heaving, catching a breath - completely different circumstances but the same result.

The way you’re looking at him right now; his dick is already twitching to go for a second lap. Dilated pupils staring back, like you were at the receiving end of the orgasm - you are staring at him like he hung every star in the sky. Strings of cum are leaking out of the corners of your lips, ones he really wants to lap up with his tongue. Instead, you daintily dab it away - as innocent as pecking stray drops of ice cream off your mouth.

You look at him with teasing eyes. “Want a taste baby?”

Running your tongue along the mess you (or he) made, you gather the remnant cum that didn’t go into you, and instead flooded his groin. Straddling back onto his lap, you go in for a kiss but stop halfway.

Jimin is looking, waiting with lust hungry eyes. Slightly pained by the pause, he whines.

“What?”

“Open your mouth.”

From a height, you let his cum and your spit drop into his mouth, a groan of satisfaction emanating as Jimin’s tongue accepts it with great delight. He tastes his juices, they somehow feel sweeter coming from your mouth. He pushes the glob you dropped on his tongue against the roof of his mouth, letting every taste bud bathe in relish. When he’s sucked all flavor out of the globule he swallows it. On opening his eyes and landing back from heaven to earth, he sees you admiring his adam’s apple, the way it bobbed when he swallowed your offering.

Jimin’s eyes trace your current state; you look beautiful. The strappy red lingerie wet from Jimin’s treatment perfectly showcases your peaked nipples, ready for another round of torture. His shirt, through all this has managed to stay hanging on your shoulders. The curves of your sinful waist accentuated by the ribbons of the wear, like roads down a windy path, every ribbon vanishing into their destination, between your curvaceous thighs.

Slipping his fingers under the band, he decides he has not played with the lingerie enough, tugging it up once again - a sharp inhale and you’re moving along with it, upward to balance between the point of pain and pleasure. Jimin makes sure you don’t tip in favor of one. Grabbing you by the neck, Jimin harshly pulls you down into a deep kiss.

He’s done waiting, done watching you take the reins. His tongue tells you that you now can only react to his doings. Deepening the kiss, you let your mind walk places. Back to his performance, his stage presence, the aura he exudes when he is in his element. His sinful body melding to the flow of the beat, like the music was made to his movement - his piercing gaze that could leave an insentient camera with blushed cheeks - but a sharp bite pulls you right back to the present to remind you that this is also Jimin in his complete element. Pillowy lips, incandescent with every brush, sucked and nipped with fervor. But it still didn’t satisfy. It wasn’t nearly enough. Starved, you wanted to scream at every imperceptible air pocket between the two of you - as if you knew in your soul they were guilty of keeping you away.

Jimin pulls away, and his words shut you down before the whine leaves you.

“About that ‘whatever’…” his sinister eyes are a window to his brain churning something unimaginable to close the night - sinister in uppercase. Make it bold. Underline that shit. That’s him.

In the bat of an eye, you are face down on the sofa - Jimin’s rock hard thighs are straddling you, making sure you can handle his weight. In all the coarseness, he takes care of the smallest of things. An untimely smile creeps up on your face at the thought, the tender show of affection amidst the rough push and pull affecting your immersion, but you can’t say you don’t like it.

Feeling a rough jerk on your shoulder, you try to look back, just in time to receive Jimin’s ravenous gaze; he looks at you like he will eat you alive, and by the end of the night you plan on having just that. Pulling back your now-unbuttoned shirt and bunching its ends, he anchors you to the position of his choice by tying your hands behind.

Smelling a line up your neck all the way up to your hair, he briefly pauses to ask “Okay?”

Your tiny nod is enough for Jimin to carry on with whatever godless plan he has chalked out for you.

“I hope you had your fun. Because I’m not going easy on you.”

Light banter could cause no trouble. Atleast, not more than you already have. “When have you ever?”

Flashbacks of the blossoming days of your relationship flicker in Jimin’s mind, their fugacious presence a telling sign of how long it has been. Looking downward, he can only thank his alcohol-induced blabbering of that night as that is the reason he can enjoy the view he has right now.

“Maybe I should take it easy?” His tongue flits across your neck, too soft for your liking, torturous like his liking.

His fingers are playing with the straps and your now exposed upper back. It’s always been a favorite place of his. The whole expanse looks resplendent when he is done tasting you. Maroon and purple florets on your beautiful, glowing skin. And then you purposely wear dresses to show it all off, to show who your heart belongs to. He loves that about you.

You gyrate lightly, snapping him out of his daze, begging him to take you hard and fast. “Jimin, please.” a low drawl leaves you as you try to not slobber all over the cushion.

Jimin shifts lower to straddle your thighs. Snaking his hand between your legs, he finds your clit and plays with it, every press releasing a different sound from different depths of your throat. A particularly low grunt appears when he slips two fingers into your channel with smooth ease, and pushes you up from the inside.

“Ass up for me.”

His fingers stay lodged inside as you raise your hips to obey him, pulling you up further and further till he is satisfied with your position. God, your pussy looks wrecked. With every pump of his fingers you gush our more liquid, and Jimin gathers the escaping drops on this tongue.

“So perfect for me, this hole.” You can feel the cold metal of his rings drawing circles inside you as he prepares you to take his cock. His tongue, drawing completely different characters is too slow for your liking - he seems to be more satisfied in drinking your cum dripping from his fingers instead of paying attention to your throbbing clit. Seconds go by, several hinting moans of dissatisfaction go by, but the Devil on your shoulder seems to have returned and is asking for more. A hip raise, that’s all. His tongue will be right where you want.

What you got instead was a sharp bite on your already battered ass - Devil, hey, where did you go? “Behave.” He grunts against your pussy, and a fresh wave of arousal escapes you with a third finger making its way in. “Don’t like it? Too,” Smack! “Fucking.” Smack! “Bad.”

The last spank hit you hard, leaving your cunt soaked to the core. He is trying to get a rise out of you, and you are falling for it. Your smarting skin is at its breaking point, but let’s not pretend like you don’t want this either.

“Baby please, I’m so close.” You’re close to tears with how long you’ve been this turned on. Maybe Jimin will have a change of heart seeing you like this.

“Don’t.”

Well maybe not.

He’s using your hole like playdough - for his fancy, with no end goal in sight. He doesn’t seem to want you to come anytime soon and it is bothering you to no end. The tightening coil in your belly is almost painful at this point - but he doesn’t seem to want to let up anytime soon.

“You taste so sweet baby, almost don’t want to let you come, so you keep dripping like this.”

His fingers curl into you to hit that spot, and God, you’re seeing stars right now. Curling up your fists into a ball and trying to keep the threatening tsunami at bay, you jerk into his mouth and continue to sway to the tune his fingers play inside you. If desperation had a poster girl, they could take your photo right now.

“If you let me come I -ohhh- I will- I will give you more.” Your words are broken, every push into your cunt halting your flow of speech.

A split second later you are empty. He’s pulled away from you, and you think the finger-fucking torture you were going through was almost better than this. Your walls flutter in empty anguish.

“Better keep your promise then.” Finally, you hear Jimin shuffling behind, but your muscles feel too alive and too dead at the same time. At crossroads, you are unable to get yourself to move, to twist or turn and witness the glory of him, the scrunch of his features, the grit of his pronounced jaw, his lips heaving a sigh as he pushes his girthy self into your leaking hole.

Jimin’s forehead is lined with sweat, jaws hurting from the tight clench he had trying to not nut into you too soon. Now they revolt in pain, ready to pass on their trouble to his dick and release into you the moment he fits himself in. But he held off; he had plans for you - long plans.

As he slowly pulls himself out, you can’t help but mewl at the pleasure your walls are feeling, with every ridge of his cock pressing all the right spots inside you, the snug fit when he’s pulled out all the way only leaving the head inside you. Then, you can’t help but yell, expressing a mixture of anguish and pleasure when his hips snap to push into you in one swoop, hitting deep inside you. With your ass high up in the air, his balls smack your engorged bud, sending shockwaves throughout your body and clenching the hold you have on his dick.

“Fuck baby, you feel fucking tight. You’re so close?” Jimin’s voice is strained as well; the lack of mocking in his tone tells you he is close as well.

“Ki-Kiss me, please.” The voice that leaves you is so foreign, so unknown. The fucked out woman speaking in your stance has no spatial or temporal comprehension. You don’t even realize how you are put on your back, now a lucky witness to Jimin’s nimble figure pushing back into you as he leaned over to slot his lips on yours.

The kiss was explicit, it was rough, it would put to any kiss you’ve shared before to shame. Deep in throes of pleasure, his mouth is chasing yours. Your hands are still bound; a light fight against the restrain tells you you don’t have a chance. Instead, you suck his plush lip in, swiping your tongue across his cherry petals that are rushing with blood because of you. Dormant volcanoes across the world could erupt with the blaze of your merging lips, it is scorching hot.

If Jimin is a color, he is a rich wine - deep and passionate. He puts his one hundred percent into whatever he does, be it skilled singing, adept dancing or simply fervent kissing. He gives it his all.

Jimin’s skillful hips move in every way he wishes - and your pussy is thankful for that. Rolling in deep, he tests the stretch of your walls, before pistoning into you with zeroed-in precision, sole focus to get you to come with him. The effort he was putting in could be seen in his abs - they have tightened with exertion, and with a light sheen on sweat, look absolutely delectable.

Letting your hands roam, you bring Jimin’s face into your neck where you can hear every single breath, every hiss, every groan - that you could record and keep in your memory. With one hand tugging his tresses, and the other hand drawing paths on his back with your nails, you hear the sounds you want to. Jimin sharply bites your ear, and the shockwaves of pleasure send you tipping.

There’s layers to the pleasure you are experiencing right now, your orgasm hitting you in ebbs and flows. Right when you think you can finally return back to ground, the high tide pulls you back into the water for another stream of pleasure. It feels like eternity when you finally hit the land, and even then the loose sand makes you falter, threatens to send you back into the ocean.

Jimin’s pace is faltering, and he spills soon after. Hot, heavy breaths tickle under your ear, as both of you feel the sheer intensity of the orgasm. Him on you, your hearts are aligned, and you can feel the beats fighting each other for dominance until they soften down.

Ripples of energy flow out of the both of you, elevating the temperature around the two of you. If you didn’t have your eyes closed you’d say literal rolls of steam are emanating from the way you both are heaving. You slowly regain your senses, twitching hands trying to remember what it is that hands even do.

A shiver runs through your spine when you hear a grunt so close to your ear, only to realize Jimin is in the same position as you are in. Even without looking, you can guess what his expression is. Void of any edge, the softness of his facial features must have made their return, with crinkled eyes and a light frown on his beautiful pouty lips, he probably looks like an innocent caricature of the man that stood behind you moments ago. Letting your palm rest on his head, you beckon him to get up.

If Jimin is a color, he is the pinkness best portrayed by his puffy cheeks at this moment. A childlike glow, a guileless visage. He looks at you with such adoration, like you are the only desire in his world, and everything else can be damned.

You don’t want to break this silence but you cheekily add, “You didn’t even get me naked. Like this a bit too much eh?”

Dark clouds mar the pink and turn it into a deep, sultry carmine - the shift in his color noticeably brings your temperature down by a few degrees.

“Cute. You think I’m done with you.”

He is the whole palette, and you can pick your filter.

Thank you for making it to the end! Let me know what you think! And you can find more of my writing at my masterlist here!

#bangtansorciere #bangtanhq #bangtancentralstation #ficswithluv #bangtaninn #bts smut #jimin smut #park jimin smut #bts fanfic #jimin fanfic #bangtanuniversity

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sopxhiea · 4 years ago

Text

Lush

Alfie Solomons X Reader

Summary: Alfie finds himself in a party thrown in a finishing school that teaches ladies how to be proper in all senses of the world but a rare jewel of a wild young woman catches his eye.

“Sorry, is that supposed to impress me?”

Gold and silk.

It’s on the walls, coated in layers of sparkly paint as light reflects to the silk curtains. It’s on the tables, dozens of champagne bottles resting on top of the finest silk material while the sweet classical music fills the marble walls. The place reeks of the posh and their extravagant perfumes.

Alfie’s forcefully brought to the occasion.

Miriam, the old woman who’s appreciative of Alfie’s donations to the community, had decided that it was time for the man to make more public appearances. She’d forced the grumpy man into the crowd and the fancy outing as a way of branching out to the rest of the community for the Jews.

The night is organised by a bunch of English community elders for the new women’s school opened up right around the corner. It’s easy to recognise their pupils, all of them dressed properly as they greet as many guests as they can. Young ladies are all over the room, their lavish dresses flowing around their legs as they flash their kindest smiles to the people around.

Except you.

Accident, fate or bad luck. It was one of the three that had caused you to end up in the said school. Apparently, you weren’t a proper lady and also happened to lack the ability to act your age, or so you had been told after climbing a tree with your friend to get your hands on the fruit it so graciously had blessed you with.

It didn’t bother you in the slightest but there you were now, standing in a room full of bourgeoisie in a slim dress tailored by one of the maids who worked for the house you stayed in. Unlike all your other classmates, your face is absent of any smiles and the only thing that leaves your lips are snarky remarks.

Annabelle, who also happens to be your etiquette teacher, pinches your arms every now and then to either get you to act properly or to shut you up but it doesn’t work. You know her harsh movements are bound to create bruises on your arms but you don’t care, you hate every moment of the forced event.

You’re the odd one out, naturally.

Although you’re dressed properly with fine jewels and silk gloves, your fake laugh does not fill the air. You’re sulking, almost, as you listen to one of the elderly man talk about his business to your friends and you while you stand around.

The crowd is made up of women with rich men on their arms, just what your uncle wanted you to be when he had put you in the school two months ago. They’re wearing their finest dresses, most of their hairs are kept in a short form as they plaster smiles on their paint covered faces, nails painted with vibrant colours while they laugh at a stupid joke the rich makes.

And there’s him.

He doesn’t stand out per se, just when you manage to observe him for a while. He’s wearing a suit much like everyone else in the room but there’s something rough about him, something rugged as you stare at the broad man. He has an elderly woman on his arm, she’s talking his ear off while his eyes roam around the spacious room.

You don’t look away when his blue orbs meet yours.

He’s watched you all night and although you’d been sulking for most of the time, he still thought that you were the most beautiful woman he’d seen in a long while. He’d seen you make smart remarks towards some of the gentlemen, putting them in their place before you would walk to the bar to get some relief.

But this time, there’s a gentle smile on your lips.

He feels his breath get caught on his throat but he’s quick to recover while your gaze returns to the boring old man in front of you. Your dress is similar to the ones the girls are wearing but it hugs your body a little tighter, a fine pearl necklace graces your neck. Your hair is not short, opposed to most of the women around, but kept in wavy shape as it creates a frame around your soft features.

You seem like the youngest of them all.

But you also happen to be the wildest. In the last two months of you being there, all you’d caused was trouble. You’d not sleep and climb out of windows to disappear for a day or two. Your uncle would bring you back with a frown on his old face but you’d find a way to make trouble and piss the ladies off again. It was the only fun thing to do around the house you were kept in.

“It was very lovely to talk to you about your boring business.” you speak to the elderly man who’d been talking for the past hour with you and your friends, a smile rests on your painted lips. The man frowns at your words and is about to speak up when you wave at him and disappear towards the bar once again.

Alfie watches you as you move.

Your painted lips that had just been faking a smile now greet the transparent material of the crystal that holds the liquor you so badly need. You take a couple sips, a sheepish smirk on your lips as you feel someone approaching you from behind. You can tell who it is, his steps aren’t the most subtle or rhythmic.

Your small figure turns around swiftly turns around to face the pleasant stranger, a contagious smile on your lips as you look at him from head to toe. He sees the glint of wickedness swimming around in your orbs and he’s sure you’re the girl every cockney has been trying to get their hands on.

Alfie’s heard of a young woman who just won’t behave. As far as he’s concerned, most people think she should be married off to some boring bloke but the uncle won’t let them do it and he’s the only family she’s got. He’s heard of the wild dancing, the kind of moves that are nothing but filth and also the countless times of the escapes she’s made.

And there you are, the infamous wild lady, standing right in front of him.

“Hello, Mister.” you say, amused as you giggle at him. He copies your expression, a low smile on his lips while you feel his smell take over you, vanilla and rum.

“’ello to yourself, Miss.” he speaks, accent dripping from each word as you watch him, he’s even more handsome up close.

Your eyes drift along his tall form, he’s still tall even though you have your heels on. Your gaze lingers on his white shirt, it’s not as smooth as it was when he came in, or so you figure. He’s dressed sharp, his facial hair kept in a nice shape as the golden wires glisten underneath the many candles and chandeliers around. You don’t bother and be subtle as your eyes drink him but he’s doing the same to you.

You chuckle lowly as he takes a sip of the drink you’re holding, it’s much too strong but you’re only getting started.

“You, yeah, are makin’ quite the noise today.” he speaks, not a swear word within the sentence since he’s being proper for the occasion.

“As per usual.” you say, a sweet smile on your lips while you lean on the wall and he hovers tall above you, his face inching a little closer each time he speaks. “Interested?” you speak, wanting him to say yes because he seems to be the only one worth spending time with around here.

“I ain’t answering to that, love.” he says, head shaking at his own words and you watch him under the pleasant light as they create shadows around his face, he’s far too good looking for a bloke with his reputation.

Your eyes drop to his hand, decorated with lines and bands of rings and a crown tattoo, the rough skin makes you smile as your soft fingers trace his. His eyes flutter, the slow song filling the night and flowing out of the spacious house you’re both standing in. You blink a few times, seeing the glint of thrill in his eyes as you stare and stare, the night is long.

But your patience is non-existent.

“You’re no fun, Mister.” your words are barely audible as they leave your lips and he knows you’re teasing, his eyes flutter once more as a small whine leaves your lips and it’s all it takes for him to be envisioning your naked frame, although he’s already done it multiple times up until that point.

You try to be sweeter, appeal to his good nature to get what you want. You know that if a lady from the school is to leave today, with a gentlemen on her arm, it is allowed and you see it as your exit ticket to never return to the hell of a place. Your hands trace the head of his cane, feeling the cold material contrast the warmth of his hands. “What shall I call you?” you ask, danger swimming in your orbs.

“Name’s Solomons, luv.” he speaks, knowing that he needs to be proper and that means saving his name for the more intimate part of the conversation but you don’t seem pleased with the consideration from his part.

“No.” you speak, like a whiny girl and he thinks you’re the most charming whiny girl he’s seen but he waits for your painted lips to part and the sound of your sweet voice. “I knew that. Tell me what you like to be called.” you speak, voice smooth as silk as it delivers the words. He wonders what your voice would sound like if his head was between your soft legs.

There’s evident evil in your eyes but he’s drawn to it, like moth to a flame.

You half expect for him to tell you something absurd. This isn’t something you ask other people but in the rare occasion that you play with fire, the answers have been nothing but disappointing. They’d told you to call them baby, husband or sweetheart.

How pathetic, you thought.

“Alfie.” he speaks, voice low as his eyes don’t leave yours. A smile finds your lips and he stops himself from leaning in and kissing them.

“That’s a very good name.” you speak, satisfied for the first time in a while with a man’s answer. They seem too dull to you, most men are shallow and simply daft but this one seems to shine on you.

“Fuckin’ flattering old me.” he speaks, amused as he shakes his head and clicks his tongue. You’re far too young for him but that doesn’t seem to occur to you as you ogle him.

“Old?” you speak into his face, your perfume surrounding him as you play with his crisp shirt. He’s close to kissing you senseless but he figures Miriam wants him to act proper for the event. “I don’t think so.” you speak again, answering your own question and he watches the light flicker on your face.

“What is a pretty little bird like you doin’ in the corner?” he speaks, breath almost fanning your face while you almost lose yourself in the smell of him. He seems promising thus far.

You look up at him with an open mouth, seeing as he’s interested. Your agape mouth turns to a smile soon after, this victim of yours seems like a proper gentlemen. The truth was, you didn’t really belong there from the start, it was your uncle’s masterplan since your deceased parents were far too gone to do anything. You’d be a proper lady and the school would tame you down, get you a goodie two shoes husband and let you be on your best way.

But you weren’t the little gentle kid they were expecting.

Trouble made life worth living, there was no fun in the four walls you slept in most days and occasions like these were your ticket for the exit. You knew you’d have to tell the head of the class that you’re leaving with a gentlemen but that’s the point of the occasion, to make sure the girls get to know the people around and maybe even snag a husband of their own.

“Talking to you.” you speak, eyes looking up at the tall, handsome man as he sizes you up. He’s already made up his mind to donate a good amount of money to your school solely because of you.

“Ya’ know who I am, lass?” he speaks, no swearing induced with his words because he sees just how young you are, even though you look younger than you are.

“You just told me. Mr.Solomons.” you whisper against his face, voice breathy as his eyes threaten to flutter.

But you barely have a clue.

“I, yeah, am a bad fuckin’ man, luv.” he speaks, eyes locked into yours as his face moves. You watch the way his lips shift with each word and a blush rises on your cheeks. You giggle against his face this time, the music in the room constantly changes its melody.

“Sorry, is that supposed to impress me?” your voice is filled with amusement and laughter. It’s not like you’ve asked him to fuck you or take you home, not just yet.

He looks at you with wide eyes, taken aback by the bravery of such a little thing. You don’t have an ounce of fear in your eyes as you smile up at him and he speaks before you can.

“I don’t think, right, you want to be seen with me, luv.” he says, very aware of the fact that half of the room have been watching you and Alfie for the last hour. But you’ve already been seen with him, so you see no sense in what he’s saying.

“Nonsense.” you speak, the reply is almost automatic and you don’t break eye contact.

He chuckles, it’s low and you’re sure it would be impossible to hear if you weren’t standing so close. You hear his deep voice as he shakes his head. “Fuckin’ hell.”

“You’re the only one worth talking to in this goddamn party.” you whisper without realising it. You don’t intend on telling the gentlemen that but the sparks in his eyes when you change your mind.

Fancy events like this did not interest you, you wanted something real. It didn’t excite you that the carpets in the venue were brought from Milan or that the fine silk curtains were hand-made, you wanted things to be real, raw and not pretentious like all the posh souls were making it out to be. Alfie saw that, mostly because he felt the same way.

You wanted to run away from this place, to talk with someone about the possibilities of what the night had in stock for you and walk on the pavement with bare feet and listen to their laugh and ask them what they really thought of the place they were put in.

Alfie saw that in your eyes, you were young after all.

While you fiddled with your freshly painted nails and tried to ignore the obnoxious color the maid had chosen for you, you let him size you up. You were dangerous in the most complex ways but he liked that, he worked inside danger anyway.

“Say, luv..” he spoke, the pet name making your eyes flutter as he looked down at your small form. You didn’t look out of place here in the fancy venue but it was clear to him that you felt that way. “Do ya’ dance?”

Alfie didn’t dance, that was easy to tell and you weren’t a big fan of slow dancing either, too much intimacy was packed up in it for you. “Only If I like the gentlemen who asks me.” you spat out, true and honest as he watched you like a hawk.

But before he could even get to say anything, Miriam appeared out of thin air. She had been watching Alfie for the past hour as he made conversation with the one girl Miriam hoped he’d stay away from. Her eyes were glistening with excitement and anger, all packed up in giant orbs as she stared at you with a smile.

Alfie cleared his throat when he realised the lady had come in and needed to be introduced. Your posture clearly straightened while he started to speak, uninterested but the deed had to be done so she would leave.

“This is Miriam.” Alfie muttered, almost like a little kid who didn’t want to do it but he soon realised you hadn’t told him your name. His eyes met yours as you looked at the lady next to him and she spoke up at last.

“And who is this lovely lady?” Miriam spoke, voice a little deeper than you’d expect but it suited her. You smiles and took her hand, shaking it like how businessman shook each others’ hands and Alfie smiled at your tomboyish attitude.

“Y/N.” you spoke softly, subtly looking at Alfie direction when he muttered your name under his breath. It sounded right.

“Oh! What a lovely name!” she exclaimed, making you giggle at her excitement for such a normal part of the conversation. You nodded at his words and thanked her like you’d been taught to do.

“Thank you. That’s very kind.” you spoke, a fake smile plastered on your lips while Alfie watched you under a heavy stare, you were perfectly conversing with the lady but it was obvious you wanted to be your own self.

“You two have been talking for quite a while. You don’t mind if I steal Mr. Solomons for a while, do you, dear?” she spoke, almost testing you but you had been trained by the best to not show any emotion. You nodded and smiled, realising that you were a little further down from the bar.

“Of course not.” your words were forced but the lady wouldn’t notice. You shot Alfie a charming smile before the lady dragged him to meet a couple new investors for the Jewish community. It wasn’t like they needed them, but Miriam thought that it was only natural for him to meet people who’d do the same thing as he was doing in terms of donations.

------

The venue was now filled with music, the lively kind. All the couples were tired from the endless slow dancing with the music they had put on so you had finessed the perfect plan to seduce the man who handled the live musicians and although all you had given him was a precious smile, he had started playing tunes you could easily dance at your request.

Most of the girls from your class were now on the dance floor, dancing the day away in the most proper way possible with more than two dozen young men around. No matter how big the opportunity was for them, most of them looked stiff as they moved to the music. They didn’t quite know how to move their bodies in a way that would make men their slave yet and seeing as that was what you were currently doing, you grabbed one of the girls and began teaching her slowly.

Alfie had been talking to a businessman who owned a few casinos up town. He was new to the world of being a gangster but the man seemed speakable enough for him to endure a fifteen minute conversation before he heard familiar giggles overlapping with the music that was being played.

And there you were.

You were an expert at getting yourself in trouble as far as Alfie could tell and the way you moved to the music was the sole proof of the fact. Your body moved to the rhythm, the kind of sways coming from your hips that would be enough to have any man floored if only you’d ask. Miriam watched as Alfie gulped at the sight, he was in deep trouble.

But one tug at his sleeve and he was back to normal.

He ignored the smile on your lips as your drunken state moved to the upbeat song, you were a little too fragile for any man around that night. Tonight was supposed to be about everyone getting to go home with a man on their arm, the sole purpose was to find the grown girls someone to tie their knot with so that the school could invite younger ones.

But you were sure you’d be the last to go.

Men liked to look at you, there was the innocence of a doll mixed with the deadly sins inside your small frame and that was enchanting but it wasn’t enough to keep them interested for the rest of their lives. You were stubborn and didn’t behave like a proper lady should, or so that was what you’d heard since you were a small girl.

So you found no point in trying to act like one.

An hour passed in what felt like the blink of an eye and you stumbled on your way to the big sofa in the corner of the room. Some of your classmates were already gone with men in their arms to keep them company through the night and you had a look around to see who you could entice.

And to your surprise, the pleasant stranger was still here.

He had been watching you for the last hour with the old lady in his arm. She usually talked about giving back to the community and Alfie was all for that but there was something that kept pulling him to you. He had watched as you eyed every person in the room until your eyes landed on him, a small smile playing at your lips and he realised you weren’t as drunk as he thought you were.

That wasn’t you being drunk, it was you being nothing but trouble.

“May I?” your voice was soft against the air while you tried to get to the whiskey on the table but Alfie was blocking your access. You had walked graciously towards him before that and he was sure you wanted something.

“No fucking way.” he spoke under his breath and your eyebrows shot up at the words. He was amusing after all.

While he blocked your hands from reaching the whiskey bottle, you shot him an innocent look and he felt as though he was playing with something a little bigger than himself.

“Why?” you asked with a dash of threat lying under. You could make this moment very difficult for him but it went both ways.

“You, yeah, are too fuckin’ young to even be here, luv...” he speaks and you watch the way his eyes drink you up. You’re too young for drinking but now young enough to keep his eyes to himself, apparently. “...let alone be dancin’ the way you were.” he finishes his sentence and your amused chuckle fills his ears. It’s not what he expects to hear.

“Liked something you saw?” you ask, daring as you look into his eyes. He chuckles, he’s clearly taken aback.

He shakes his head instead of answering. Most of the people around are gone with their gentlemen and the party will be over soon, you figure you’ll be going to the cold bed you woke up in. He catches the faint sign of disappointment on your face and he’s smart enough to put two and two together.

But you seem far too dangerous for a man like him, he thinks.

Before he can answer your question, Annabelle comes around with a plastered smile and starts speaking in the tone you hate so much.

“Y/N! The party is over, dear. You best be on your way to your room.” she speaks, sizing Alfie up along the way. You huff and stare at the old lady. You didn’t think the party was a grand idea anyway.

“Alright.” you speak, knowing she won’t like it and Alfie enjoys the way a hint of smile plays on your lips while Annabelle turns furious for a second.

“What have I taught you?” she says, composing herself in front of the guest and Alfie watches the whole thing play out.

“Yes, Miss.” you say with a fake smile but you’re far from done. They both hear the words as you mutter them under your breath. “Your wish is my command.”

Alfie can’t help but laugh.

You know Annabelle won’t let this go but she smiles at the guest as a sign of kindness, something she hasn’t shown you in your time around here. Alfie turns to you to see the horror in your eyes and he can tell it’s because of the old grumpy lady who keeps bugging you.

And he decides to be the gentlemen.

You’re about to say goodnight and go to your room but he speaks up first to Annabelle, you don’t protest when his hand grabs your small one and caresses it while speaking.

“Actually, this one right here, yeah, will accompany me for the rest of the evenin’..” he speaks and catches the way your eyes light up but he’s composed while the old lady looks at you first and then looks at Alfie.

She’s sure it’ll be a disaster.

“Of course.” she says, wanting to get rid of you as fast as she can.

You watch her leave and Alfie’s hand engulfs your small one in the process. With stars in your eyes, you return to the kind gentlemen but he’s fast to speak before you can thank him. “We best be on our way, lass.”

And he leaves with you on his arm, unaware of the things the night has in stock for the both of you.

----

Tagging: @clairecrive @parkbearum @sourirez @vetseras @mollybegger-blog @babylooneytoonz @peakascum

a/n: I know i have been inactive but i have one more week of school before the winter break so i’ll be better, I promise!! and please let me know what you thought or/and if you’d like to be tagged!! <3 Happy december!

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