#grace sofa

[graceentertainment]

ESG – BUZZWORD OR TOWARDS TRUE STEWARDSHIP BY NIRANJAN GIDWANI

[dreamsandscenes]

Ada, when she went back home after 2x05 and saw the state of her settee after Tommy and Grace were there:

[stromuprisahat]

William is actually just a huge anti.

All decent and prim, shaming Logan for enjoying less savoury sides of fiction, but in the end much worse than him, hurting REAL, LIVING people.

[expatesque]

Referring to your recent post, would love to see some of the fun things you’ve bought! You have the best taste 😊

Aw thank you.

So the main categories of things have been home stuff and fashion stuff. I do have a tag (of course) but haven't posted everything so to summarize...

Home stuff

Living room: The swan table (an icon, a queen, the inspiration for the room), the insane green velvet chair (we love her, gotta keep it eclectic), snake rug (hiss hiss), a fundamentally impractical sofa (Ikea, concessions had to be made somewhere. I'm going to restuff to make it look more fluffy and expensive). I'm keeping my vintage curio cabinet, 1960's referencing 30's circular bar cart, black arched lamp, and big rubber plant. The inspiration is somewhere between this 1930's Thorne miniature room and hummusbird. I need some paintings, a little table for under the window to display a great vase (got this one in ivory, tbc if it's the right size), and some big new throw pillows (I'm thinking dusky pink). Oh also I'm getting a fish to go in the bookcase (I wanted a white Betta but my dad has said that's a bad idea and suggested a gold fish instead).

Kitchen: An oval marble topped cast iron bistro style table. Keeping my black bistro chairs (2x) and will also use 2 of my armless ghost chairs (like these). Likely to get a small floating island to get a little more counter space. Also bought an insane copper kettle ala my man Rajiv recently.

Main bedroom: I've got a new headboard for my bed (this one), I'm getting rid of the wardrobe in there (using the one in the 2nd bedroom) and will replace it with a vintage dressing table and mirror (I do like this one but would rather not spend that given... everything else) to display my great great grandmother's silver mirror, brush, etc. Need some big Euro shams and perpetually looking for a navy woven blanket that's big enough (I want it like, almost duvet sized).

2nd bedroom: Currently is an office / video game room, turning into a proper 2nd bed. I'll use my meh existing bed, need bedside tables, maybe a new desk chair.

Fashion stuff

It's been a lot of big skirts (my love the Prada one, a really full white canvas-y one, this crazy pink one, a beige cashmere Theory one), a set of heavy ribbed tops with high necks in black and browns (for autumn, this is one of them), a few cropped cardigans (can't find any specific ones that I've bought right now, but short enough to wear with the skirts), a totally sheer cream colored top (that is proving surprisingly versatile already), two cheap Zara wrap vests that I'm waiting to arrive (one in cream and one in black, we'll see the quality when they get here), a Victorian gold charm bracelet (+ a charm of a monkey holding a pearl), a pair of really gorgeous silver and mother pearl earrings from the 50s, some rag and bone soft leather mules, some baby blue Mary Janes, and a set of tiny kitten heels that I really like but am not sure I'm keeping (they're a little narrow but I think I could stretch them). I think there's more but if I think too much about it I'll be stressed (rip my budget). Pro tip: Laura Riley has an incredible fashion newsletter that rounds up what's new and what's on sale -- I've gotten almost everything I've bought on 50%+ off.

[dirt-str1der]

Ocs can be so special and not reflective of yourself in any way

[cryingatships]

Because we're still stuck at the beginning of the tog wedding arc-

Baam is the only son and heir to the wealthy Grace family, one of most powerful in the land, but comparatively new in the aristocratic circle. He is engaged to marry Khun Maria, a daughter from the ancient noble house of Khuns, well known for their bloodline, but struggling from financial troubles as of late. During a visit to the Khun Estate, Maria introduces Baam to her brother, Khun Aguero Agnis, who had come from studying abroad for the holidays. Khun Aguero Agnis is everything opposite of Baam's betrothed. He's stubborn, sarcastic, with a vocabulary much too unsuitable for either the dinner table or the parlour, and has some rather controversial opinions about the world.

Baam ought to stay away from him. After all, the purpose of his visit is getting close to his future wife, and Khun Aguero plays little role in that.

But as he gets to know Khun more, Baam starts questioning his life too.

Maria is busy discussing fashion with her sisters, choosing fabric during the seamstress' visit, or taking walks to the town. There are too many moments when Baam is left in the sole company of Khun Aguero.

They start speaking. Long talks in the parlour about the new laws, discussions of love, and even on the forbidden topic of sexuality, long walk along the lake, through the garden where their hands brush each other's, and they stay quiet, savouring the solitary beauty of autumn.

As the day becomes shorter and cooler, the two men are forced to retreat into the parlour, lounge next to the fire during the evenings. The darkness of heavy curtains, light coming only from the fireplace and the few candles around the room, creates an atmosphere all too cozy, all too encouraging to the human heart to develop feelings of a romantic nature.

On a cold eve in late autumn, when Maria was busy writing a letter in her study, Baam kisses the blue haired Khun boy, who looks too much like his sister, yet all too different from her softness.

It is a sin, a crime, yet Baam's heart flutters with things he has never felt before. Why should something incriminating make one feel this winderful? "You have won." He mutters against Aguero's lips. Indeed, he has, Baam now believes his theories on human love and sexuality much more than he had before, perhaps even wholly.

"No, I think I've lost." He hears Aguero whisper back.

In the end, Baam breaks his engagement. Maria isn't mad, just a little worried about the future interactions and mockery she'll face in high society. But she still shits on Khun cause why not bully lil brother when she gets the chance ayo

khunbaam don't get married, cause same sex marriage isn't legally valid in the era this is set in. But they DO have a small ceremony with supportive friends and even a few family members and become 'partners'. Khun becomes an author well known many many ages later for his writings and theories on human sexuality, gender, equality etc. Baam becomes a very successful businessman during his life time and uses his money to give them the life they deserve (aka spoil khun) and also find orgs that help queer ppl in need of assistance. Historians of their time have documented these two as highly successful individuals, 'roommates' and has taken note of their 'great friendship'. >:)

[irlpretear]

100 trans/genderqueer musicians

Bands

Against Me! (rock, folk punk) (x)

The Oozes (punk) (x)

The Hirs Collective (metal, grindcore) (x)

GEL (hardcore punk) (x)

Urn (hardcore punk) (x)

The Black Dresses (noise pop, hardcore hyperpop) (x)

Party Ghost (rock) (x)

Lagrimas (hardcore punk, scream punk) (x)

Doll Skin (rock) (x)

Dazey and the Scouts (rock, indie) (x)

G.L.O.S.S. (hardcore punk) (x)

Dog Park Dissidents (punk rock) (x)

She/Her/hers (rock) (x)

Deli Girls (hardcore electronic) (x)

Dream Nails (punk rock) (x)

Sarah and the Safe Word (rock, dark cabaret) (x)

Pinkie Promise (punk rock) (x)

B. Fraser (emo) (x)

Newgrounds Death Rugby (emo) (x)

Scowl (hardcore punk) (x)

Feminazgul (black metal) (x)

Sports Bra (dream pop, light rock) (x)

Club Sofa (indie pop) (x)

The Cost ov Living (grindcore, harsh noise) (x)

Kuromy (punk) (x)

The Sonder Bombs (indie, pop) (x)

Lidocaine (rock) (x)

I'm letting unseen forces take the wheel (cybergrind) (x)

Gum Disease (punk) (x)

Cam Girl (rock, trash rock) (x)

Gully Boys (grunge pop) (x)

Arcadia Grey (sparkle punk) (x)

Schmekel (folk punk) (x)

Destructo Disk (punk rock) (x)

User Unauthorized (hardcore punk) (x)

The Spook School (indie pop) (x)

Pinkshift (emo) (x)

Glass Beach (emo) (x)

Butch Baby (light rock) (x)

VIAL (indie punk) (x)

Sister Wife Sex Strike (folk punk) (x)

homewrecker. (metal, hardcore punk) (x)

Mega Mango (indie rock) (x)

Keep For Cheap (prarie rock) (x)

Steam Powered Giraffe (cabaret, steampunk) (x)

Thotcrime (grindcore, cybergrind) (x)

Whirlybird (indie pop) (x)

Kampsport (hardcore punk) (x)

Um Jennifer? (alt-rock, punk) (x)

Scarlet Demore (alt-rock) (x)

HappyHappy (folk, folk-punk) (x)

Queen Zee (punk) (x)

Grumpy Plum (slop pop) (x)

Cheap Perfume (punk) (x)

Pollyanna (power-pop, rock) (x)

Ballista (metalcore) (x)

Faetooth (fairy doom, metal) (x)

Lacerated (death metal) (x)

Fortuna Malvada (hardcore punk) (x)

Peach Rings (bedroom power-pop) (x)

Solo Artists

Laura Jane Grace (rock, folk punk) (x)

Left at London (pop) (x)

ZAND (pop, ugly pop) (x)

Ada Rook (hardcore electronic) (x)

Ms. White (pop) (x)

Rett Madison (indie, folk) (x)

Murder Person for Hire (folk) (x)

Backxwash (rap, industrial hip hop) (x)

LustSickPuppy (electronic, rap) (x)

Babylungs (electronic, rap) (x)

Human Kitten (folk punk) (x)

Harley Poe (folk punk) (x)

Ewy (emo, folk punk) (x)

Averstaskta (instrumental) (x)

Andie Schoen (indie) (x)

Elliot Lee (dark pop, electronic rock) (x)

Urias (hip hop, ballroom) (x)

Twink Obliterator* (cybergrind) (x)

Rio Romeo (cabaret punk, indie) (x)

Knife Girl (art pop, indie) (x)

Alexander James Adams (folk) (x)

Starmaxx (pop) (x)

Sofya Wang (pop, alt-R&B) (x)

Boy Jr (indie/alt pop) (x)

Medusa (revenge pop, hip-hop) (x)

Mal Blum (singer-songwriter, folk) (x)

Gina Young (riot grrrl) (x)

Petra Fiyd (indie pop) (x)

awfultune (bedroom pop) (x)

Quinn Hills (alternative pop) (x)

Femtanyl (electronic) (x)

Vivivivivi (electronic, glitchcore) (x)

Lilac Boy (glitchcore) (x)

Rosie Tucker (indie rock) (x)

Ryan Cassata (singer-songwriter) (x)

Pain Chain (noise, synth) (x)

In Love With A Ghost (electronic, lo-fi) (x)

Alice Longyu Gao (hyperpop) (x)

Prophetic Nightmares (ambient synthwave) (x)

Saint Wellesley (indie folk) (x)

[dillydedalus]

unfortunately with christmas songs the general rule is the more religious the better

[graceentertainment]

It’s not just about productivity but also the entourage effect: Karan Gulianii on entourage culture.  

https://gracesofa.blogspot.com/2024/06/its-not-just-about-productivity-but.html

[yanderenightmare]

TW: nsfw, noncon/dubcon, omegaverse/hybrid au, size difference, pet-play, predator x prey, collaring, drugging

fem reader

Thinking about a human collector who decides he wants a new pet to add to his collection...

The air of the animal shelter is polluted by whimpers, howls, and growling as he parades past all sorts of rareties locked up in their cages – all for him to pick and choose from. 

The warden is telling him about the new swan hybrid they wrangled a week ago, wings like an angel with the grace of royalty, a true prize jewel of any collection. 

He thinks it sounds promising before strolling past you.

Placed in one of the smaller cages on the floor, seemingly tucked away so as not to catch anyone’s attention. 

You’re a sorry sight to behold – all starved and shaking – the collar around your throat too heavy for you to lift your head, having to look up at him through your lashes as he crouches down in front of you.

Your eyes are wide like two moons as he sticks a finger in through the bars.

It’s thick like a carrot, and for a moment, you seem like you’re about to scurry away into the very back of your cage – but instead, you inch closer, sniffing at the digit before suddenly snapping at him.

He backs away with a hiss, drawing the warden's attention – who rushes back and knocks his cain against the cage with a growl in his throat, “Stupid critter.” 

You’ve narrowed your eyes, nose wrinkled in anger – something akin to a snarl forming your lips. It’s a funny expression to see on such a normally docile breed.

“I’m really sorry, sir. Bunnies aren't usually aggressive, but we’ve had issues disciplining this one for weeks.” The warden rushes out the apologetic excuse, expecting to be sued.

But the collector only chuckles – a deep sound that makes your soft fur stiffen. “That’s fine.” 

He pulls a handkerchief from his back pocket, all movements calm and collected as he wipes the spill of blood trickling from the small bite mark you’d left on his finger.

“It’s only a nibble, after all.” 

You spit the bitter taste left in your tongue out on his shoes with another sneer.

If it angers him, it still doesn’t show through the lofty smile he wears. His leer is just as poised and heavy as he looks down at you.

“Does she talk?”

The warden had turned to lead him towards the more desirable and tamed section but halted at the question.

He had a puzzled look on his face before he answered, almost in a question himself, “We don’t know.”

The collector scoffed out another small laugh, then pulled out his phone. “How much?”

The warden seemed appalled then. “Sir, we have exotic pets more up to your standard in the back. Are you sure-”

“I want this one.”

The warden looked snuffed at his firm tone. But straightened himself out after a moment. All business as usual. “We can’t guarantee she’ll behave. It could be dangerous-”

But he’s cut off yet again, this time with another rumbling chuckle.

“That won’t be an issue.”

And those dark eyes with that deeply dominating look within them were the last thing you remember seeing before becoming a sleepy heap on the floor of your cage – drooling with a blank stare as you’re carried to the trunk and driven off with.

The tranquilizer makes you fall asleep, waking to heat swallowing you as you’re lowered into a bathtub.

“Let’s get you groomed first.” The same man murmurs in a coo. Petting your head with a heavy hand when seeing your weary eyes try blinking off the sleep – but still left too drowsy to thrash.

Instead, you can just moan as he washes you with a tender smile on his face – his big hands coarse against your creamy skin, rubbing your plush limbs with soap and oil.

“My pets have been an awful handful lately…”

He’s talking about something, but you only catch bits and pieces of the words being said. Something about ruts and scratched furniture – someone’s been pissing in the sofa, and all the pillows are ruined.

He messages the lops of your ears, then rinses them gently.

“But it’s my fault. I’ve been neglectful.”

He cups your tits next, lathering them with the warm milky water, circling your nipples with the gritty pads of his thumbs until they perk.  

Then he delves under the water to find your puffy cunt, letting the hot water rush the sensitivity, making it swell with heat as he splits the lips and pets your clit. 

You buck your hips, and he awes with a light chuckle, crooning down at you. “It's okay, little bunny.”

His carrot-sized finger teases your hole before sinking inside you, filling you in slow and tentative pumps. Sitting next to the tub, just as composed as before, while your cunt squeezes his knuckles.

He hums, watching your body fight the tranquilizer as you seize up and ripple with release.

He retracts his hand, patting them both on the fluffy towel placed next to him. A content smile on his face. “You’re gonna do perfect.”

After he’s finished drying you, he fixes a collar around your throat and carries you out to the others.

“Gather ‘round, pets.” He announces, placing you down on the soft carpeted floors beneath.

Your limbs are still heavy, too weak to stand just yet. But that all changes with the adrenaline kick.

“Come say hi to your new rut-puppet.”

The stench in the air coats your skin with sweat.

“She’s a fragile thing, though, so make sure to play nice.”

Your big eyes skitter around. 

On your left, there’s a wolf, fox, and hyena who all lick their teeth at the sight of you.

Next to them lies a bear that wakens from his slumber. He licks his snout with a huff.

Drool drips from the hang in their lips as they start panting. 

And they aren't the only ones.

On your right, there’s a panther and leopard whose eyes all blackout into nothing but a deep pool of darkness.

Their tails slowly meander behind them as they arise from their beds to stalk you.

You whimper, backing up until your back hits the legs of your new owner.

You lift your head to look up at him, only to see him smiling down at you.

“Don’t be shy now. The smell of fear only makes them wilder.”

part 2

[forsworned]

IT'S (NOT) JUST SEX ft. SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY

Warning(s): Sexual Content, AFAB!reader, (Sorta) Daddy Issues, Half&Half Proofread idk

Author's note: Guess I'm drowning in Simon right now, I just have so many ideas for him and honestly this is not original but fuck it I think it's cute mwah

"It's just sex."

But he's literally paying attention to every staccato of your moans, as he angles his hips perfectly to hit your sweet spot every fucking time. The way you arch your back, and your whimpers are elongating with every stroke, adding just the right amount of pressure to have you cumming all over his dick. And he doesn't even care if he's finishing anymore, as long as you're getting yours he's more than satisfied enough. And he's definitely not flipping you over on your back every time without fail just to see your pretty "o" face.

"It's just sex."

But he's waking up before you with your coffee exactly the way you like it, down to the milk preference, brand and roast. Your eggs perfectly fried, and a tender kiss to your temple asking you,

"How'd ya sleep, love?"

"It's just sex."

But he's always fixing your hair when it's out of place, the collar of your shirt when it's tucked in incorrectly and making sure he's holding your hand when you're crossing the street together.

"It's just sex."

But he's talking you down over the phone when you get into a catastrophic argument with your dad and moments later he's showing up at your door with your favorite snacks and beverages. His arms are enveloping you in the most snug bear hug, kissing your temple and rubbing your back while you cry it out. And then you're watching reruns of your favorite tv show and until you're passed out in his arms.

"It's just sex."

But he's letting you in. You're seeing all the sides of him that he never shows to anyone else. The scars under his mask, the way his lips curve up into a smile when you're doing you're little dance to oldies on the radio, and the genuine, hearty chuckle that effortlessly escapes his now loosened sternum.

"It's just sex."

But then you're under the steamy water coming out of his showerhead, as he sings in his off-key baritone while he suds up his loofa to clean you up after he fucked your brains out on his loveseat. Memorizing every mole, stretchmark, and crease in your skin as he's exfoliating your pretty skin.

But,

It's not just sex.

Because he's sitting there on the sofa, wondering how the fuck he ended up with the prettiest, vintage engagement ring you pointed out when you two were antiquing (antiquing? he doesn't bloody go antiquing) between his stout, scarred fingers, glittering in the moonlight and all.

"Si?"

He turns from the ring to the most stunning woman that's ever graced his miserable presence, leaning against the doorframe with his shirt hanging loosely over her thighs, hair disheveled in the cutest way humanly possible. Her playful smile etching into her dulcet features as she sucks in her bottom lip. Oh yeah, she's a fuckin' stunner.

"Are you coming back to bed?"

His eyes visibly softening as he drinks you in.

"Ya, dovie, I'll be right there." He murmurs, licking his dry lips, and you're already padding back to his room, making sure you sway your hips provocatively. That causes his lips to kick up into a genuine smile and a chuckle to escape his chest. And then he's up, carefully putting away the precious metal in a false bottom drawer under the utensils, and then he's jovially treading back to you. Face first into the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet, natural musk. He could bathe in this shit.

Fingers carding through his hair and he's oblivious to the knowing smirk on your sly face. That fucker thinks he's so slick.

[tojisun]

the first time it happened, he’s rendered speechless.

big man, known for his indisputable strength, and yet there he is – bundled in the softest blanket you own, tucked in the sofa while you warmed up some soup that frankly got his stomach grumbling.

he is still overwhelmed, slow blinks and quiet rasps of breath replacing his usually sharp focus. the clamour on the coffee table would have usually yanked him out of the fog, and yet there he remains, drowsy as he turns his attention to you.

he tips his head up just enough to watch you place a bowl of soup in front of him, your furrowed eyes shifting towards him in to check if he is still awake, and he doesn’t know what it was that you saw to have the worry fizzle into something tender. replaced with something so soft it almost made him ache.

a pretty smile graces your lips, and his lungs burn. he tries swallowing the lump lodged in his throat as he ducks his head down to avoid your eyes, unusual shyness thrumming underneath his skin, because this can’t be real.

you can’t be real.

“c’mere, baby,” you whisper, falling beside him with a tiny hum, shorter arms reaching towards his bulk to pull him towards you.

his eyes flutter close at the first brush of your fingers through his hair; the tips of your nails – pink acrylics, he catalogues – scratching his scalp just as gently.

he ignores the way his lips wobbled when he feels you press a kiss on the side of his temple. it was a quick brush, just another reminder of your softness, but it was enough for his senses to pick up on your scent. he doesn’t know what it is exactly but it is something so familiar. something that feels like home.

“y’r okay,” you tell him. he breathes in deeply, holding it, before exhaling with a tremor. your arms tighten around him. “y’r okay,” you repeat.

he remembers the tiny box hidden in his drawer, stuffed underneath his clothes, and promises, soon.

— simon (ghost) riley, toji fushiguro, aizawa shouta

[hesperisms]

// Zayne's Hands

"You've been holding my hand and looking at it for a while now. What have you discovered?"

// summary: confessing to Zayne that you find his hands impossibly attractive. my personal headcanon for how Zayne's hands became his favorite feature.

// content warnings: 18+ (mdni), fluff, pet names, hand holding, smol angst, dry humping, soft-dom elements (cycle tracking).

// a/n: I am feral for an elegant set of man hands and forearms.

x-posted to AO3 - likes, reblogs, comments are always appreciated!

It's a wet and dreary Sunday afternoon, the perfect type of day for staying in and doing absolutely nothing. Zayne is lying snuggled on the sofa with you lounging on his broad chest, lazily scrolling a medical journal on his phone with his left hand, you keeping his right hand occupied by intertwining you own fingers with his and tracing his scars with your soft fingertips.

It's nice to spend some quiet time with each other, he thinks to himself, tilting his head down to plant a gentle kiss on your hair, the clean floral scent of your shampoo filling his nose. "You've been holding my hand and looking at it for a while now. What have you discovered?" He asks you, a hint of teasing to his tone. He expected you to give him some kind of mocking amateur palm reading, but he wasn't prepared for the answer you actually gave him.

"Zaynie, has anyone ever told you that your hands and forearms are just...urgh how do I begin to explain this to you?" You blurt out, burying your face in his chest so that you don't have to make eye contact with him while you're blushing furiously. You do a little too-good of a job of hiding yourself, because you notice that he has gone impossibly still and seems to be holding his breath. You hear his heartbeat thumping away under your cheek and come to a horrid realization that you've miscommunicated to him.

His golden-green eyes stare through the top of your hiding head as his breath catches in his throat at your words, one of his deepest insecurities about himself becoming real and running rampant through his mind. You must find his scars unattractive, he thinks to himself sullenly, his heart starting to feel like a sledgehammer in his chest as self-doubts seep in, making him feel cold. He opens his mouth silently, attempting to find the right words as the frigid silence lingers in the air between you when you suddenly look up at him, face beet red and eyes full of fear and lunge towards his face; your lips collide with his and your noses crush together in a painful lock that makes you both wince but you don't for a second slow your pace despite his yelp of protest.

As your mouth crashes against his, you kiss him passionately and sloppily, planting messy kisses all over his lips, his jaw, his chin and his cheeks, mumbling your apologies to him through your occupied lips. "I worded that so poorly handsome...you have the complete wrong idea of what I meant...please don't think I meant anything negative...I actually meant the opposite I just don't think before I open my mouth sometimes" you plead through kisses. He pulls you back from him slightly, breaking your swollen, kiss-flushed lips from his and his eyes gaze into yours curiously as he tucks your hair back behind your ear.

"What did you mean?" he asks in a small, barely there whisper, his lips brushing against yours, eyes searching you for reassurance. "My hands and forearms are what, exactly, my love?"

You huff a deep breath of embarrassment against his lips and stare back at him, reaching up to cradle his cheeks gently in your palms. "I don't know how to put it into words exactly," you begin helplessly, your cheeks flushing redder, "but something I've always found impossibly attractive on a man are graceful but strong forearms and hands...there's something about that combination of elegance and power that just...does something to me I can't describe."

You watch as Zayne's pupils dilate in shock at your confession and he's staring at you with an impossible to read expression, but those ever-expressive deep eyes of his darken slightly as understanding seeps in. "Go on..." he breathes, a raspy whisper.

"I have no doubt you'll tease me for this for a long time to come, but um," you bite your lip and let out a deep breath before the next statement. "I always had graceful arms and hands like yours on my list of features I wanted my future husband to have."

"...I don't suppose this list also happened to have scars on it?"

How small and soft his voice came out broke your heart. You stared back into his eyes, tears pricking the edges of your waterline that you gave him any reason to doubt how attracted you were to him, even accidentally. "It does now," you say lovingly, stroking your thumb across his cheekbone, smiling at him gently as he nuzzles into your touch. "It got revised when I fell in love with you and decided I wanted to spend my life with you."

You pull yourself up, sitting on his hips straddling his lap and lift your dress up over your head slowly, dropping it onto the floor beside the sofa. Zayne tosses his phone at the coffee table and settles his hands on your thighs, thumbs moving in slow gentle circles as he stares up at you, admiring your body. "What's behind this, y/n?" he asks, a slight smile starting to form in his eyes and you know you've got him back where he should be, in the headspace he belongs in.

"I figured as a man of science you might prefer a practical demonstration of how your scars have no impact on my enjoyment of your hands..." you purr seductively at him, rolling your hips down against his and grinning with pride as you feel him start to swell in response. Zayne rewards you by letting his hands start to roam over your body, trailing delicately up your ribcage to your bra; he squeezes a firm handful of your breast through the lace, rolling his knuckle across your hardening nipple to elicit a gasp from you. His other hand holds your hip firmly, thumb rubbing against the lace edge of your panties as his brow furrows.

Zayne clears his throat. "I forgot to pick up condoms on the way home this morning," he coughs apologetically. You open your mouth to protest, but he squeezes your hip firmly, his strong hands digging into the soft flesh of your thigh. "If my cycle tracking is accurate, you're ovulating so that's out of the question" he counters, knowing that you were about to tell him he didn't really need one, not with you.

"Fine," you huff, grinding yourself down on the seam of his jeans, using the pressure of his growing erection to build friction in the lace of the panties you're starting to soak through. "You owe me a man-handling mister," you grumble with an exaggerated pout.

He laughs in a sinful little chuckle and pinches your nipple through the lace of your bra, clicking his tongue in a playful, reprimanding tone. "Behave, I didn't sacrifice a social life at medical school for all those years to be Mister Li, thank you very much..."

Your trump card is played.

"Sorry...Sir."

Your pulse quickens with desire and satisfaction as you feel Zayne get harder between your thighs and you see his pupils dilate further at the honorific. He'll never admit it to you that it has such an effect on him, but you caught the effect of calling him sir once and now you keep it in your back pocket for times when you really want to drive him wild. You got the exact response you were hoping for by playing it, because he slides his hand across from your hip and starts rubbing your sensitive swollen clit through the wet lace of your panties; his large strong thumb applying pressure and rubbing tight circles.

A soft sigh escapes your lips as you grind down on his erection in his jeans and press yourself against his thumb, rocking your hips to ease the ache forming between your thighs, an ache you know for now he won't let you quench. Sliding your hands down, you clasp his tightly, fingers intertwining with him, holding his hands and use it as leverage to start grinding yourself with intent against his ever-tightening jeans.

Zayne lets out a little moan as you ride him, squeezing his hands tightly in yours and his ears start to flush red as he feels your slick wetness start to leak from the sopping wet lace of your panties onto his jeans, darkening the black denim over his erection as your juices spread. He ruts his hips upwards, increasing the friction you both feel through the denim and lace and he knows his cock is leaking precum into his boxer briefs, feeling it ooze down his shaft to pool into his pubic hair.

Your whimpers and moans become needier above him and he knows from the way your hips start to hitch and your thighs tremble that you're close to an orgasm; he lifts interlocked fingers out over his head, forcing you down to kiss him, bucking his hips up into you and moaning against your warm wet lips, tongue dancing across yours in teasing flickers, just like it would if it were dancing across your swollen little bud. You realize exactly what he's doing with his tongue and you cry out in torment, but it's swallowed by his lips and his tongue as he groans back at you.

Feeling your heat coil and snap, you start to come undone, throbbing clit making your soaked walls grasp at nothing as your orgasm roils through your hips, his kisses suffocating the loud moaning of his name out of your lips as soon as they're voiced and then he's joining you; tensing underneath you, hips bucking in a stutter as he clenches his eyes shut pressing his forehead against yours, his whimpering breath hot on your lips.

"Assessment complete, Doc-tor?" he pants teasingly, nuzzling his nose into your ear and kissing at your earlobe.

"You should really read the hospital's code of conduct."

[just-some-little-lads]

A Late Night

Summary: You come back home after a long day only to find Sylus waiting for you, acting a bit differently than normal. Word Count: 1.1k SFW, Second Person POV, GN MC.

Being a Hunter was good work; you knew that. However, heroism or not, long days could still have you cursing under your breath, dreaming of living in isolated peace by some lakeside. Dragging your feet, you contemplated calling in sick tomorrow. The key to your apartment flailed clumsily on it’s ring before finally turning in the slot. Shoes kicked to the shadows, work bag abandoned on the floor, you didn’t even bother turning on your lights before flopping on your couch. With your eyes closed, you were two alluring seconds away from drifting off… Till the hairs on the back of your head prickled. A sixth sense blared warnings of danger throughout your body, urging you to fly up in enough time to grab a figure approaching the back of the couch. Tact and grace were not your close friends tonight. Amidst the self-defense, you threw yourself off the couch to tackle your intruder to the ground. If you could call it a tackle, anyway. More like keeping them pinned with your collapsed body.

Before you could fully enter “interrogation mode”, a low chuckle stopped you in your tracks. Which emotion would your tone land on today? Surprise, confusion, irritation? “Sylus?” All three, apparently.

“Do you know how long I waited for you?” Despite the words, he didn’t sound irritated, just amused. He wasn’t even pushing you off of him.

After a moment of consideration, you graciously removed your knee from the middle of his back. A subtle groan suggested that your frantic maneuver had affected him more than he would ever like to admit. Step, flick, and a mellow light illuminated your living room. Sylus had pushed himself up enough to sit on the floor, his back leaning against the sofa.

“How many times do I have to tell you to not break into my apartment? Not only is it an extreme breach of my privacy, but it is also illegal!” You found yourself hissing quietly as you scolded him, worried that shouting too loud would reach the ears of curious neighbors. Neighbors who also happened to be Hunters. Hunters who would not treat the company of the most infamous N109 Zone boss so casually. “If you’re so determined to treat this place like your own, maybe I could consider making you a spare key but—“ You cut your own lecture off, noticing the distinct lack of attention of this particular criminal. “Are you listening to me? Sylus.”

A humph left his chest as he lifted himself up to his feet, needing to use the furniture for leverage. Not a detail left unnoticed. Suddenly you were worried; after all, this wouldn’t be the first time he had come to you to wounded. “Are you—“

“I can listen to you and ignore you at the same time, sweetie. And as for the moment, I don’t have a key. How else was I supposed to welcome you home after work, hmmm?” His hum dragged out longer than usual.

“—okay.” You finished your question from earlier. “I was going to ask ‘are you okay’.” Without waiting for a proper answer, you approached him, taking his wrist in your hand and observing his body for any clear wounds. He smiled down at you while you did so. Nothing…obvious, but a gut feeling was still telling you that something was off. Wrist in hand, you dragged him to the other side of the couch and shoved him into a seating position.

Another stern line of questioning was about to leave your mouth, but it never came. A soft kiss pressed itself against the back of your hand, Sylus’ head slightly lowered. A move straight out of some knightly romance. Your heart fluttered, your face flushed, yet you wouldn’t let yourself melt so easily. Yes…affection amongst other things had started to blossom between you two; however, Sylus’ demeanor always had you thinking that this was another game of his. But this… He had never been so open like this before.

The man in question raised his head, looking up at you with another grin on his face. Only, this one didn’t have that edge of haughty aloofness that typically painted his expression. He was…genuinely pleased. Should you be worried? Something else to note was the subtle tint of pink in his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “No…” you ended up stating aloud. “You? Drunk?”

Sylus’ hand waved in the air, like he had to physically bat away that accusation before it stuck. “I don’t get drunk, sweetie.”

“But you have been drinking?”

Keeping your hand still in his grasp, he idly brushed a finger up and down your wrist. The motion sent a shudder down your spine. “Maybe that…exchange I told you about went very well today.” His words went hush, a deep purr in his throat as his face came close to your hand again. His breath warmed your skin. “And maybe I celebrated another resounding success with a bottle of wine I’ve been saving for a lovely rainy day.” The anticipation for him to kiss you again ended with him pressing a cheek to the back of your hand. Sylus’ face was heated. He glanced up at you through the fringe of his grey hair. Apparently, he caught that little glimpse of eagerness in your eyes.

Slowly, he guided you down onto the couch. You swallowed something building up in your throat as he began to lean over you till your back was against the armrest. “So, you came all the way out here while tipsy?” The pounding in your chest now was obvious.

Once more, he raised one of your hands. “I wanted to see you, is that such a crime?” Voice soft and low, he pressed the back of your hand to his forehead, dragging it down to his cheek, and then finally right before his mouth. If you closed your eyes and drowned out the slight condescending hum in your ears, you'd have a hard time believing that this was the leader of Onychinus. The touch was that of an entirely different man. At least one you were not well acquainted with. Maybe Sylus was the evil one in a set of twins and you got sent the benevolent one by mistake. The gestures were gentle, tender, pleading. Pinkies intertwined while his wine-tinted lips pecked different promises on the backs of your knuckles. “Can I stay tonight?”

The word ‘yes’ kept echoing in your mind at a disturbing pace, but you wouldn’t let him win with just sweetened words and some sudden puppy-dog eyes. You weren’t even aware his face could do that. “Say please.”

Sylus practically giggled, propped up by an arm next to your head. His posture lowered till his forehead pressed against yours. The tip of his nose rubbed against your own as his whisper was as quiet and needy as you were wishing it would be. “Please?”

[shotmrmiller]

A/N: I simply had to join on writing for John 'just the tip' MacTavish so. Here goes. Unedited, its horny its explicit yall know the deal. It was supposed to be a drabble and i got completely carried away. got me out the writing slump tho. any mistakes please ignore. CBF!Johnny because I say so.

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Reader

WC: 1.6K

Flipping through Netflix, you hear a rapt at the door. You turn to look at your dad, who gets up quickly as if expecting someone. 

“Johnny, my boy! I’m glad you could make it! Had me thinking you forgot all about us. Come on in!” Your dad pulls Johnny in for an affectionate embrace that he returns immediately.

“Och, yer aff yer heid! As if I could ever forget my second family!” Giving your dad a final pat on the back, Johnny steps back. “Now where’s my girl?” 

Lifting the hand holding the remote, you call out. “Present!” 

Johnny almost trips over the coffee table, rushing to you. He doesn’t wait for you to stand up, just snatches your wrist and lifts you for a hug— your socked feet dangling by his shins. With his strong arms wrapped around you, he pulls you close, nuzzling his face against your neck. “Missed ye, bonnie,” he murmurs, “missed ye so much.” 

As you exhale a wheezy breath, you tell him, “I love you too, Johnny, but I can’t breathe.” One last squeeze, and a squealed “Johnny!” he finally relents, setting you down. 

Hands resting on your shoulders, his striking blue eyes lock onto your face, flicking across your features, as if he was re-memorizing what you look like. His intense gaze rushes blood to your cheeks, but don’t shrink under it. It wouldn’t be the first time your best friend teases you like this. “Somethin’ on my face, Johnny boy?” and bat your lashes at him, “I know I’m staggering to look at, but now you’re just being shameless.” 

He lets out a huff, a small smirk gracing his lips, and mumbles, “Don’t I know it.” Your taunting smile falls off your face at that. What? Before you can even ask him what he means by that, your dad calls him into the kitchen. 

“Johnny! Come get a beer, it’s about to be movie time!” Without breaking eye contact, he answers him, “Aye! Comin’!’ and with a finger tap to the underside of your chin, walks away. Heart pounding against your chest, you head towards your bedroom to get a blanket, hoping the little walk calms the butterflies in your stomach. 

What?

The movie is playing, and Johnny is curled up behind you on the reclined sofa, roughened palm resting on your thigh, occasionally squeezing it. You’re mortified at the slight arousal you’re feeling just at being caressed by Johnny. Johnny. Your best friend. Who has consistently had girlfriends, who will never look at you that way. You’ve never thought of him that way either, granted, but that’s what makes this so embarrassing. Maybe you’re ovulating, biology simply reacting in the presence of a virile male, or something. 

And then you feel the unmistakable bulge of his stiffening cock, faintly pressing against your arse. Gods. Heat radiating off of your face, you bite your lip and try to discreetly wiggle away, for his sake and yours. However, Johnny seems to disagree with your thoughts because he moves his hand from your thigh to grab your hips in a bruising grip, fingers digging into your hipbones, forcing you to be still.

He leans into your ear, warm breath tickling your cheek and softly whispers, “Dinnae move, hen,” and sluggishly starts to rock his hips, erection now firmly rubbing against your sleeping shorts. Johnny’s movements are imperceptible, nonexistent underneath your blanket. Not that it would matter, because the movie is reaching its climax, and all eyes are glued to the screen.

But your mind is solely focused on Johnny— the heat of his hands scorching against your skin, his prominent length hidden underneath his pajama bottoms grinding on you. 

“Lift yer leg a wee bit, hen.” Keeping a watchful gaze on your parents, you silently plead that they won’t notice as you hide your compliance under the guise of trying to make yourself comfortable. Once settled, you lowered your leg and had to bite your tongue with force, to keep the moan from slithering out of your throat. 

His cock, bare, right in between your thighs. Like warm velvet wrapped around steel, thick, heavy, tip pushing against your core with every minute thrust. Johnny moves even closer, arm tight around your waist, hand sliding into your bottoms, heading straight towards your soaked, swollen clit to rub feather-light delectable circles on it.

“I’m gonna stick just the tip in, a’right? I swear,” he says in a hushed tone, as he pulls back to lower the waistband of your shorts to rest on your upper thighs, “just,” he thrusts once, “the”, again, “tip.” and his leaking head slips into your hole— pushing it in until your walls flutter around it. 

“Ye feel incredible, squeeze that tight pus—” your dripping cunt cuts him off, drawing out a hiss of surprise from him. His subdued voice in your ear is so seductive, so bewitching, that you can’t help but clench around him. 

For most of the movie, Johnny languidly thrusts into you, truly keeping to his word. Just the tip— teasing you, making you drip onto the sofa, muted squishy, gooey noises coming from under your blanket, and you couldn’t be bothered by any of it. Flared, ridged head catching on your slippery lips with every drag of his cock. You’re drooling on your hand that covers your mouth beneath the snug blanket— struggling to hold back the mewls and whimpers threatening to escape. 

All of a sudden, Johnny mutters, “The movie’s about ta end, close yer eyes and keep completely still. Stabilize and deepen yer breathin’, hen.” Without hesitation, you do as he says, body going limp in compliance, the only tell-tale sign of your excitability being the rapid pulsing of your jugular on the delicate skin of your neck. 

The TV is turned off, and the living room goes completely silent, apart from the deafening sound of blood rushing in your ears. Johnny behind you feigns quiet snoring, so believable that if it wasn’t for his throbbing cock still at your entrance, you’d think he actually fell asleep.

Your dad’s poor imitation of a whisper cuts through the quiet. 

“They’re asleep, let’s just leave them here.” Footsteps shuffle as they tip-toe around you both, and as they get farther away, Johnny slowly moves his hand to cover yours, truly weighing down on it. The instant their door clicks shut, he uses his other hand to pick up your leg and throw it over your shoulder, and thrusts hard, deep, until his bollocks are flush against your arse. Your nails claw at the hand over your mouth as you scream, your gummy walls stretching against his assault— a burn so exquisite, pleasure teetering on the edge of pain, achingly delicious, it sends tendrils of ecstasy directly into your veins.

He lets out a guttural moan, one only you could hear, private, intimate. “It’s about time ye let me have this sweet pussy, hen.” One vicious thrust that punches the air from your lungs and rattles the sofa, and then another, when he finally speaks again. “Fuck, we hae ta do this when we are nae restricted, hm?” His hips start a slow rhythm, long, unhurried undulating thrusts, and every time he bottoms out, he grinds his pubic bone on your clit, the tip of his cock giving your cervix a lewd kiss. Every time he reaches the entrance of your womb, it feels like he wants to go in further, to go past the dead end, and your cock drunk mind only thinks about how you want him to do it, too. 

“Yer slobberin’ all over my hand, hen. S’that good, is it? Oooh, I ken it is. Only the best fer my girl, hm?” He hisses through clenched teeth, “I’m fuckin’ close. Come f’me. I’m not comin’ until ye cover my cock with yer cream, leave a white ring at the base.” His hips have been moving at the same exact speed he started at, not a stutter in his pattern. As if him fucking you into a puddle of arousal wasn’t taxing on his part. 

Then he does something different, something that threatens to snap that coil in your lower tummy, and along with it your sanity. He starts giving shallow thrusts, never pulling out more than halfway, and makes sure to rub against your clit, giving you that heavenly friction you need. It has you delirious, fervent, and you start moving your own hips, uncaring of how you must look.

Johnny moves his thumb down to your nub, drawing tight, precise, merciless circles on it, and you are thrown over the edge— more like kicked off by a spartan kick from how gut-wrenching your orgasm is ripped from you. Your pleasure is so acute, so powerful that there are needle-like pricks on the shell of your ears. Your body shakes underneath Johnny, pussy throbbing and pulsing with the aftershocks of your blinding climax. 

Drool escapes under Johnny’s palm, dripping down your cheeks and into your hair as you fall back, going completely limp, utterly spent. Finally getting back some coherency, you realize that Johnny’s gone soft inside of you, also drained, as he catches his breath holding himself over you. He removes his hand, uncaring that it’s sticky with your spit, and noses your cheekbone, nudging you to slant his lips over yours, curling his tongue against yours. He swallows the pathetic mewl you let out and presses one final kiss onto your lips. 

“I’ve missed ye, hen. I’m so happy to be here, with ye. Let’s move to your bedroom, and in 10 minutes, I’ll give ye a proper fuckin’.” 

Your eyes close shut as you let out a resigned but elated sigh. 

“I love you too, Johnny.” 

@rookiesbookies and forgive the tag but i had you in mind too @brewed-pangolin ill never do it again unprompted

part 2

[howcouldmuffin]

Beneath the Betrothal.

After the engagement was announced, and you realized that waiting was no longer the right path, you decided to start anew.

PAIRING : Jacearys Velaryon x Fem!Reader

WARNING : NSFW, Targaryen incest, Non-canon, SMUT, Sex Content

AN : This is the first fanfic l've written. I apologize if there are any mistakes. Please feel free to give me any feedback. Love.

please be kind to me English is not my first language.

Many years have passed since your father Viserys announced the betrothal to Jacaerys, who although your nephew, is older than you. No one in House Hightower was pleased with this news, except for you.

You were raised differently from your siblings—the youngest daughter born with your father’s expectations. He had you share the same wet nurse as Jacaerys and your older brother Daeron. You grew up with the Velaryon family, witnessing the differences between your eldest sister Rhaenyra and your mother Alicent.

Although you had been friends with Jacaerys since childhood, the words that everyone kept telling you “that you would marry him” filled your mind with dreams. You fell in love with him, but you knew that he didn’t love you the same way. He was a charming young man, a gentleman with honor, admired by all. Many were fond of him. The prince of the Seven Kingdoms.

When Rhaenyra ascended to the throne, everyone swore oaths of loyalty and service to her without question. Many lords came to pay their respects to the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Jacaerys was appointed as the heir to the Iron Throne, and your betrothal was announced once again, but it was never mentioned again after that.

At first, you thought it was just a matter of waiting for things to settle down before the important ceremony would take place. But as time went on, you began to question it, and eventually, you found the answer. It was Jacaerys who requested that the wedding be postponed. You were shattered by this news—it hurt as though your heart had been broken into pieces.

There have been months of silence and unspoken words between you and Jacaerys. Even the gatekeepers of the Red Keep are aware of the situation. The whispers and rumors have started to grow louder—some say the prince already has someone he wishes to marry, or perhaps he dislikes his betrothed because she is a Hightower. None of the answers bring you any truth.

But it has made you realize that waiting is no longer the right course of action. It’s time to start looking for potential suitors from great houses. Soon, there will be a grand event at the Red Keep once again—the second-year anniversary of Queen Rhaenyra’s reign. Nobles and knights from all over the realm will gather here. It could be a good opportunity to find a new way forward.

“I wish to see my queen.” you said to the knight guarding your sister’s chamber door. They nodded slightly and stepped aside to let you enter.

“Your Grace.” you said as you entered the room, immediately curtseying to the queen. “If it pleases you, I have something I wish to discuss.” Rhaenyra paused her writing and looked up.

“Sister.” she said, rising and walking towards you. “What is it you wish to speak with me about?” The queen gently led you to a nearby sofa and lightly took your hand.

“I’ve come to talk about my betrothal to the prince.”

“If you’d like to discuss how you’d like the ceremony to be arranged, or if there’s anything additional you’d like to request, you can speak to me directly.”

“No, Your Grace. I… I wish to call off the engagement.”

“Oh, dear, why would you want to cancel the betrothal? Have you found someone you prefer?”

“No, Your Grace. I just think it might be better if the prince and I were free to choose someone we truly like and love.” Rhaenyra laughed softly at your words. She raised her hand to cup your face, gently turning you to look into her eyes. You lifted your hand to hold hers in return.

“Listen to me, dear. There’s no one more suited to be the next queen than you. Don’t let others’ words sway you.”

“I’m sorry, Your Grace, but I truly wish to call off the engagement. Please, I ask you to consider it.” You gently moved her hand away from your face, holding it firmly in yours.

“If that is what you desire, I will take it under consideration. But I ask that you think it over once more, my dear.” After expressing your wishes, you moved to embrace your sister, always understanding her no matter what.

Before long, the grand celebration was in full swing, with people gathering to offer their congratulations to their queen. Today, you woke up much earlier than usual. You were an integral part of organizing the feast—the floral decorations, the guest list of important attendees. You were determined to ensure that your sister’s special day would go smoothly.

The dress you wore today was long and red, with an off-the-shoulder design that revealed your neckline. It was beautifully embroidered with golden patterns around the dress. Your hair was partially braided and pinned up, with natural curls left to fall gracefully. You glanced at the necklace on your vanity table—the one Jacaerys had given you for your birthday many years ago. In the end, you chose not to wear it, opting instead for another necklace that matched your dress just as well.

“You look stunning, Princess.” your handmaiden remarked as she finished styling your hair.

“Thank you. You can leave now, I’ll take care of the rest myself.” She curtseied and left the room as instructed.

You slowly turned to the mirror, gazing at your reflection for a moment before preparing to head to the feast. By now, your mother was likely waiting for you. But as the door closed behind your handmaiden, you sensed someone else was in the room.

“What were you thinking, trying to call off the engagement?” Jacaerys spoke, his voice sharp. He was the last person you wanted to see right now. It was the first conversation in months that left a lasting impression.

“Prince.” you greeted him with a curtsey. “I just thought—” He stepped closer to you, so close that it nearly took your breath away. He looked angrier than you could ever remember seeing him.

“Is there someone else you’re in love with?”

“No, Your Highness.” you replied.

“Let’s go. The others must be waiting for us.” he said, lifting one arm. At first, you weren’t sure what he meant, but then you placed your hand on his arm.

Walking into the feast together might be normal for a married couple or an engaged pair, but it felt strange for the two of you, who hadn’t exchanged a meaningful word in so long. As you entered the great hall, you could feel the eyes of many upon you and your betrothed.

Everyone stood to pay their respects to you and their prince, creating an odd pressure on you. Jacaerys looked every bit the heir to the Iron Throne today. His attire included a cloak with a pattern matching your dress, likely arranged by Rhaenyra.

When you reached the queen’s table, you both bowed to the highest authority in the realm before going your separate ways. He sat beside his brother Lucerys, while you took a seat next to your brother Aemond.

“Beautiful dress, sister.” Aemond’s comment was more likely a tease than a compliment.

“Thank you, brother. I think it’s lovely as well.”

The feast began after Rhaenyra’s announcement, and the music started to play. People began to dance in the center of the hall. Conversations with your siblings took place, and although they didn’t think highly of your betrothed, they chose not to voice any further objections.

“Would you like to dance, sister?” Daeron, your youngest brother, asked. Why not? He was as renowned for his looks in the family as you were. Although you hadn’t grown up together much, he was the second person you consulted about your betrothed, after Helena.

With the music playing, you and your brother enjoyed the dance. As the Westerosi-style dance continued, many people joined in with you. Dancing gave you the opportunity to talk with a variety of men. Some were genuine friends, but most had other intentions beyond mere friendship.

“I think it would be the greatest mistake on your part to let her go.” Rhaenyra said to her son, who had been staring at you intently, prompting her to speak up.

“What are you talking about?” Jacaerys turned his attention to his mother, confusion evident on his face.

“You know very well what I’m talking about.” she said, meeting his gaze. “If you don’t truly care for her, then let her go. She deserves to find someone who truly loves her.” He remained silent, not responding, and merely finished his drink.

He stood up from the table and left the feast abruptly. With so many people in the hall, no one seemed to notice the prince’s departure. Now, Jacaerys was at a loss, angry with you for reasons he was struggling to address. He was searching for a way to make you pay for what you had done to him.

Once the door to your room closed behind you, you had just returned from the feast. Separating yourself from the men had left you quite exhausted, and you were eager to take a relaxing bath.

“Did you enjoy getting close to other men who aren’t your betrothed?” A familiar voice spoke up. You were startled to hear him, Jacaerys was sitting on your bed, glaring at you with a reprimanding look.

“How did you get into my room?” you asked, and moving closer to him. “When did you ever care that I’m your betrothed?”

“I’ve always cared about you, but what I know is that you haven’t shown any interest in me.”

“No interest, you say?” You stepped closer to him and leaned in. “I wouldn’t be asking to postpone the wedding if I didn’t care.”

“I care about you!” he shouted, making you jump. He had never acted this way towards you before. He stood up and approached you.

“And wanting to postpone the wedding means you don’t want to marry me, doesn’t it? What are you trying to say? If you hate me, just say it, Jacaerys Velaryon. I will not tolerate your mind games any longer.”

“You don’t understand me.” he said, stepping closer. You backed away in response. “I want you to be ready, ready to bear my children. If we marry, producing an heir will come first, and I know if you were to become pregnant too soon, it would be you who would leave me.”

With no space left to retreat, you and he were face to face. He placed one hand on the back of your neck, holding your gaze, while his other hand gently caressed your face.

“Listen to me. I have always loved you, and I will continue to love you until the day I die. You are the only one who makes me feel like myself, who I constantly long for. You will be the only one by my side.” His eyes, looking at you, were so beautiful.

“May I kiss you?” he asked.

You didn’t respond but immediately leaned in to kiss him. He kissed you back without hesitation as well. Both of you embraced each other as if you were missing warmth from one another. The taste he gave you was sweet and surprisingly addictive. He treated you with reverence and gentleness.

The physical connection between the two of you came together quickly as if drawn by opposing magnetic forces. You and he slowly walked towards the bed. Jacearys gently lifted you onto the bed and stood beside it. Both of you looked at each other for a moment before he slowly began to remove his outer shirt.

“Don’t tear my clothes.” you said, seeming to have less patience than him. You slowly removed your dress, leaving only the sheer undergarments. He chuckled softly and leaned down to kiss your neck, moving from your collarbone to your chest, your stomach, and the center of your body.

“Do you want to stop?” he asked. “If we stop now, you might not regret it.” He ran his finger along the waistband of your underwear, the small piece that was covering you at the moment. He kissed your stomach again, followed by your collarbone and neck.

“We’ve come too far to stop now.” you said. “Please, my prince.” You placed your hand on his hair, marveling at its natural waves. The prince slowly removed the sheer garment that covered you

“You are so beautiful, perfectly suited for me.” he said, kissing your chest. His other hand gently squeezed it, leaving the imprint of his fingers. He nipped at your nipple and licked it slowly. Your desire surged, and you craved even more.

He slowly used his hands to remove your small panties. Soon, heaven was revealed before him. His hands parted your legs, and he leaned down to taste the sweetness between your thighs. His nose brushed against your clit, driving you nearly insane.

You moaned, "Please, my prince, I need more." You were now very wet. Jacearys, undoubtedly aware, playfully teased your little cunt with his tongue, and the lewd sounds echoed throughout your bedroom.

“What do you want, beautiful?” he asked, using his other hand to play with your erect nipple.

“I want you, Jacearys.” you moaned again. He fuck you with his fingers in your sweet cunt. His fingers pushed deeper inside you while his mouth licked at your clit.

“Who do you belong to?” he murmured, then turned to mark your thigh instead.

"I am yours." you breathed heavily. "Yours, Jacearys." Soon, your moans rose again, your body convulsing slightly as it tightened around his fingers.

"Look at what you've done to me, how hard it is." He slowly took off his pants, showcasing his erect state. He stroked it once or twice and then slowly entered.

"Oh, fuck." he moaned. "It's so tight." He stayed inside for a while and then gradually moved his body so that you wouldn't feel pain.

“Such a sweet cunt” He kept accelerating his hip rhythm, the impact sounded all over the room, wondering how someone was guarding the door of the room today, he knew what you and our prince was doing.

The time that passes each minute is precious to you now. You feel that you are very sensitive even if it is just a little touch. But you can't deny how much you like it every time you feel him in your own body.

“I'm very close.”

“At the same time”

White drops also dripped out of him. He pushed himself deeper into you. The moans of the couple said very well. He cum inside of you, your irregular breathing and he touched each other's skin.

He leaned down to kiss you again, sweeter than ever before. His hair fell down around you, creating an incredibly seductive scene. One of your hands gently caressed his cheek. You needed nothing more when he was by your side.

“I am yours, and you are mine, Whatever may come.” He whispered

“I am yours, and you are mine, Whatever may come.”