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hopefulidiocy · 19 days ago

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Hi can I request a modern Daemon x Neice reader? I'm thinking Mafia vibes, maybe she wasn't aloud to leave the house but she snuck out to the club with friends and Daemon drags her back home.

I'm thinling smut, probably rough lol.

Totally get if you aren't down with this idea just had this idea for a while and need it out lol.

Killer Instinct

Modern!Daemon x Fem!Reader

Authors Note: thanks for suggesting this :) I changed the familial bond between them. They are not niece and uncle, instead just daughter of Mafia Boss and Right Hand Man. Thanks <3 hope you enjoy.

Warnings: bj, p in v, rough, hair grabbing, spanking, masturbation etc

MINORS DNI

🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞🔞

A pendulum swings in your face as you slouch in the chair, bored to tears with the droning on around you, your mother sitting straight and “proper” as she looks upon her husband with bored, soulless eyes. The men around you are discussing their plans with the opposing gang, it would be funny - seeing grown men plot to kill or maim or simply to prank - if they didn’t actually go through with it. One time you saw your father standing over the body of Julius Justice, a man who was your Godfather and looked after you more than once in your childhood. Julius had betrayed my father in more ways than one, he had been a double agent for both the Blacks and the Greens; it turned out he had a wife, a woman named Alicent, whom I had no idea existed, who was the mother of Green Leader Aegon. Slimy little man with short man syndrome.

Father was callous and cruel, some thought the same about you since you rarely smiled or laughed; the last time you did was probably when your niece, Clarissa, was born even thought tensions run thick with your sister, Marie. There were eight of you in total, eight lovely children for the cold Victor Targaryen. The order went like this: Giovanni, 26 years old and acts as a type of regent whenever your father is indisposed; Hades, 25 years old and tried to usurp his own father which sent him to the chopping block, you wince every time his name is mentioned; Victoria, 23 years old and named after your mother, she is timid and incredibly sweet which is her downfall; Marie, 21 years old and recently married to some soldier whom you don’t know; you, 19 years old and basically your father with longer hair; Reginald, 17 years old and dead; Tomosina, 14 years old and just started her monthlies and the baby cherub of the family, Georgina, 12 years old who currently sits next to you, jaw hanging as if this was the first time she heard your father talk about violence and murder.

“So that settles it.” Father slammed his hands at the side of his table, everyone jumped excluding you.

“What have we settled?” You asked, playing with the pendulum in your fingers.

“Alicent Hightower must die.” Your mother repeated, her mouth slightly gaping at the mere thought. You shrugged, slumping back in your chair whilst your sister turned to whisper.

“You should sit like a proper lady.” You scoff and roll your eyes just as the grand doors open to the office.

Strolling in, head to toe in clinking armour, was Daemon Targaryen; named so because of his long endured loyalty to your father that he had been taken in as one of the family. Something Julius never got to see. As usual, his shit eating smirk presents on his face as he grabs a hessian bag that was swinging from his shoulder and plants it on the end of the table.

“A gift.” He said, smirking still and amusement bouncing around in his tone. You perk up, sitting forward with your elbows propping you up as you watched Daemon rip the bag and reveal a severed head. You gasp, despite yourself.

“Scared, little miss?” Daemon asked, turning his attention to you. His heated stare suddenly made you blush, which you hated, and you sat back, trying to stop the heat that was spreading to your abdomen, almost grinding against the chair to stop it.

“Who is that?” Your mother asked, scared.

“Otto Hightower. I beheaded him. Just as you asked, sir.” He then bowed to your father, who stands, clapping him as if he received an Oscar.

“Bravo, Daemon! Bravo!” He came around the table, clapping him on the back before picking up Otto’s head by his lacking hair. He laughed before poking him in his eyes. Daemon chuckled along with him.

“I must put him with all the trophies.” He hugged it to his chest. “I might have him suck my cock, we all know what a cock sucker he was.” That earned a laugh from the men, the women however just stared as your father began acting out oral.

The dummy full of sand is before you, your armour clinking in the moonlighted training grounds; you only came here after everyone went to bed, this was the only time you could practise so your father would allow you to join the soldiering side. You raise your sword high above your head, your elbow not allowing the weight to tumble as you swung your body around in intricate shapes before stabbing him just off centre. You groan, yanking the sword out of the sand, hitting it a few times on the ground before trying again, managing to attack his groin.

“You need to centre yourself, my lady.” A seductive voice came from behind you, and instinctively you knew it was Daemon. As you turned, he made his way in long strides towards you, you hitched your breath as his chest almost collided with your face.

“What are you doing here?” You step back, gulping enough night air so you wouldn’t end up on your knees in front of him.

That wouldn’t be so bad…

“Watching you, little miss.” He smirked.

“Ugh, don’t call me that, I’m 19.” You sheathed your sword, sighing. “And I know I’m shit at it.”

“Never said you were.”

“You were implying.”

“No I wasn’t.” He shrugged.

He cocks his head slightly as his dark eyes roam your face, the sides of his lips curled into a smirk.

“Does daddy know you’re out here?” He mockingly pouts.

“No. He would kill me.”

“I’m a loyalist, it would be against his honour if I didn’t turn you in now.” He takes another step towards you, the heat returning in your abdomen.

“But you won’t.” You said, pressing your stomach slightly to aid the pain from travelling any further. He chuckles, his eyes peering down your armour to your legs before his index finger curled flat underneath your chin, propping you so you look straight at him.

“Do I make you nervous?” He asks, seduction dripping from his voice.

“No.” You shake your head.

“I beg to differ.” His thumb then travelled up your chin to your bottom lip, grazing it softly with the pad of his thumb. “I see the way you look at me.” You hoped he hadn’t because every time you did you had to squeeze your legs shut. His thumb then reached the crease between your bottom lip and top lip before placing it in your mouth. Instantly, you sucked onto it, relishing in the pleasure of getting to taste at least some of him. Your tongue lapped around it, your lips pouting and plump as he licks his own lips.

“Such pretty lips.” He whispers, his other hand roaming to your perfect braid before yanking down on it and hard. You winced at first but enjoying the pain of his hand you moaned softly, muffled by his thumb. “I wonder.” He hummed as his lips met your neck, sending butterfly kisses up to your jawline; his warm breath tickling you. “I wonder what you do to yourself when you think about me in your dark room.” He starts licking your jawline, sending you into a mess, trying to find where his zipper is. “Do you moan my name?” You want to scream yes, yes, yes! But find yourself unable to because you find his zipper, pulling it down with all your might to find his hard cock springing from it. He was wearing no underwear.

Your hand wrapped around his shaft, thick and veiny to the point you couldn’t wrap around it completely. His eyes flicker as you begin to pump him up and down, still sucking hard on his thumb.

“Get on your knees.” He whispers and you waste no time in perching before him, coming face to face with his cock, sprightly and erect, his glistening pink tip looking beautiful in the moonlight as your pretty lips wrapped around the head. He tastes fucking beautiful. You always knew he did, you could tell by the way he dressed himself that he was fucking perfect to taste. Your tongue wets the sensitive area of his tip, which sends him whispering moans into the night air as his hand grips onto the back of your head, forcing you deeper and deeper onto him. Eventually his tip hits the back of your throat, gagging so hard your eyes water but you don’t care.

“Fuck, I love that sound.” He hit against the back of your throat again, arching his back as your head bobbed up and down his shaft. Revelling in the trembling his thighs were giving you, you decide to include his balls as well. You remove yourself from his thick cock and land your round lips onto his balls, simultaneously pumping him up and down.

“That slutty mouth.” He groans, louder than before and you know just by the way his mouth gapes that he is reaching his end. And you want him to paint you.

You focus in on his cock, still cupping his balls with your cold hand as you stroke his shaft and suck on it like a dehydrated woman finding water in the Sahara after forty days. He arches back and shoots his load, it leaks down your throat, dripping with perfection, the saltiness and the sweetness coating you as you swallow.

“Show me you swallowed all of it.” You look up at him with seductive eyes and open your mouth, sticking out your tongue. “Dirty whore.” He smirks, pulling up his trousers.

“Are you not going to get me off?” You ask, breathless.

“Go to bed.” He chuckles, pinching your chin before sauntering away leaving you on your knees and begging to be fucked.

Later, when you were alone in the shadows of your room, you placed a pillow in between your legs, the hardest part of it against your clit and your body moved fluidly as you rid the dull ache between your legs. You held onto the bed frame as your hips worked at a delicious speed, allowing the ache to turn into a blossoming sensation as you moaned out for Daemon: thinking about his cock spreading you open. You hope he fucks rough, because you need ragging about.

A few mornings later, you’re sitting at the kitchen table with Tomosina and Georgia whilst your mother runs about the kitchen with a whisk in tow. You lean over your breakfast, not touching it but instead reaching for your tea; a morning is not a morning without a herbal remedy. You are nervous, your heart thumping against your chest as you blow the steam rising out of the cup, you watch your mother closely… hoping that she is in a good mood. Because you want to go out for the night.

“Where’s that fucking bowl?” She grunts, kneeling down to rummage through the cupboards.

“What are you making a cake for anyway?” Tomosina asks, her mouth full of toast.

“To celebrate Daemon, he’s made three assassinations just this week. That’s the most we’ve ever had.” You raise your eyebrows.

“That’s the most we’ve ever had?” You repeat, your mother blows her hair out of her eyes as she stands.

“Yes, dear. It is. It doesn’t sound like a lot but a lot of thought goes into these things.” She’s gone to the pantry now, hoping it appears out of thin air.

Ever since you gave Daemon a blow job you haven’t stopped thinking about it, it was the only thing to relive in your mind when you went to sleep. The way his face drooped with pleasure, his thighs twitching under your touch, you longed to be touched the way you touched him and you just knew he would send you to hell and back with his long fingers. You grip your chair as you think about what he could do to you and how you would let him have his way. He could do anything and you’ll happily be his servant. The thoughts ceased when your mother came back, beaming with her mixing bowl.

“Found it!” She smiles, plopping it down on the table.

“Mother…” you begin, picking up your fork and scooping up some eggs.

“Yep?” She smiles brightly this time, like seeing you is her favourite thing in the world.

“My favourite band are coming to play… and i want to go see them.” It came out way too fast. Your mother’s eyes faltered slightly, she slumped into herself.

“Y/N… you know I can’t let you do that.” She sighs.

“Mum, listen. I’ll take a bodyguard with me. They won’t want to find me or kill me anyway, I’m one of the youngest children and I’m also a girl, they won’t want me.”

“I can’t even chance it. You know your father would go mad as well? I can’t allow that, I’m sorry, darling.” And that was the end of that.

Despite what mother said in the morning, you are currently getting dressed in the best outfit you can find. Ripped faux leather pants that stick to you like glue and perfectly rounded your ass and a lace bralette that cupped your tits stunningly. You admire yourself in the mirror before being taken over by an image of Daemon, coming in behind you and taking your tits into his hands. You lean against him as he reaches underneath your bra, toying with your nipples as you moan out. You know this is just a daydream, as you’re the one toying with yourself and your hand reaching down to your clit, working yourself to satisfaction as you imagine Daemon playing with you, whispering you disgustingly beautiful words as you work against his palm. You wish you could see his face, how wet you were for him. God. How he would manhandle you.

The only light that filled the dark streets was the moonlight as you flit towards the dark alleyway where the band is playing. You could hear the beat of the bass, how it was shaking the ground and your body ignited with excitement. Breaking the rules has to be completed once in a while and you absolutely love the feeling of disobeying. Whilst waiting in the line behind a group of young girls, you are tapped on the shoulder by a masked man. Instantly, you gasp as the large hand grabs you.

“Excuse me!” You hiss, shaking off his grasp. But he quickly returns.

“You shouldn’t be here.” You notice the raspy sound of Daemon, you instantly turn around and suddenly face to face with him, a mask covering most of his features but you know just by his voice and the way his eyes slightly crease that it is the man you gave a blowjob to.

“Fuck off, Daemon.” You whisper, pushing his shoulders but he doesn’t move.

“You’re coming with me.” He grabs your elbow and basically drags you out of the queue, people start staring at you and some are even laughing, your face heats with humiliation.

“People are staring at me.” You hiss as he drags you up the cobbled street, out of the alleyway.

“I don’t care. You shouldn’t even be here.” He spits as he basically throws you down another dark, desolate alleyway. You stop and come face to face with him, your body suddenly heating up as his strong hand removes the mask from his face. He looks even handsomer under the moonlight, his jaw hard and his eyes piercing as he slowly looks up and down your elegant body.

“Why are you really here, Daemon?” You cross your arms, to seduce. Slowly, his fingers trace your arm, his fingers finding the crux of your elbow and pulling it away harshly.

“Why are you dressed like a whore? Like a common street slut.” He smirks to himself. Your body ignites as he slowly pulls your bra down, collecting at your stomach and the night air instantly pinches at your nipples like they’re ready for Daemon. You are ready your Daemon. Your pants grow wet as you watch the tip of his tongue travel across his top lip, harshly he slaps them before pulling you into his body. You press yourself against his hard chest, even harder than you could imagine, your arms are trapped but you don’t care because his lips smash against yours. The kiss is hard, passionate and almost hateful and his body holds you tightly as he moves you towards the cold stone wall behind you, his hands wrapped around your hair and his other hand finding the source of your heartbeat. His fingers are cold, ice cold, as he circles your bud, it aches against him, pulsing and shaking as you moan into his mouth. It’s so dirty to be like this just yards away from a crowd. You love it, you love the way he bites down on your neck as three fingers squeeze themselves inside of you. He pumps hard, massaging against your g spot as your legs tremble against his icy fingers.

“Moan louder for me. Let them hear why i dragged you away.” You do as he says, his voice laced with venom as you throw the crown of your head against the stone wall, moaning higher towards the Gods. His fingers play you like a violin, your sounds beautiful in the night air and you relish in that aching feeling you’ve known for too long. You worry that after this you have to have him in your bed every night.

“Daemon.” You moan, having to take a breath before speaking.

“Hmm?” He hums low against your ear, his fingers reaching a high you’ve never experienced before, his nose against your jawline.

“What is it?” He whispers, his thumb now tagging against your clit, you whimper as he speeds his tempo.

“Fuck me.” You whisper, not being able to talk normally. He chuckles darkly against your neck as his hand suddenly removes itself from inside of you. You ache for the warmth again. He leans back, tugging down your trousers, getting on his knees.

“What are you doing?” You look at him in bewilderment, but he simply smiles at you like butter wouldn’t melt. He responds by burying his face between your legs, his tongue lapping up your folds, you reach for his hair, holding it tightly as you moan, moaning for him and for his God given tongue. His mouth works at an incoherent speed, you become a mess of nerves as your legs shake, squeezing his head between your thighs as he works you like an instrument.

“Turn around.” He wipes his mouth, grabbing your shoulder and shoving you towards the cold, cold stone that makes your toes curl. He bucks your hips towards him, your breasts flat against the wall as reaches down and inserts two fingers inside of you, making you whine like a cat, he preps himself behind you. Gently almost a complete contrast to the way he was gripping onto your hair, his fingers so gentle on your hip bone as he inserted himself. It is a tighter fit than you expected, his cock slowly travelled through you to the spot that no one has ever reached before, your back arches as your gspot tingles under his tip as it grazes and softly prods at it.

“Just relax for me.” He whispers as he begins to thrust deeply into you, making you whine, trying to find something to hold onto but there’s nothing on the wall that will keep you up. His hands roam your body, delicately like you’re a work of art as he speeds himself up at a magical speed that only wizards can achieve. He pulls in and out harshly, letting the cold air squeeze into you as he snaps his hips back to your gspot, a delicious feeling that has your knees knocking together. Your cheek is pressed against the wall, hard and your head keeps knocking forward every time he buries himself deep inside you, he holds himself there for a moment, swirling his hips so your gspot gets all the pleasure for this moment. You begin to heat up, hotter than you’ve ever felt before and certainly hotter than the cold air that surrounded you as he sped up, his hips snapping into you ass and your legs begin to tremble. A feeling you haven’t felt by another man’s touch for a long, long time. He holds you in place, not letting you move as he aids you to ride out the hard orgasm, you whine and shriek into the night air, blood rushing to your head as you let loose all over him and your inner thighs. He grunts behind you, fucking you harder as he begins to sloppily paint your walls. Leaving you both breathless as he slowly retreats him the heat of your body, he gives you ass one last slap.

“That’ll teach you to never disobey.” He chuckles darkly, landing a kiss on your shoulder blade.

“Quite the contrary, I want to disobey if this is the punishment I get.”

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coqxettee · 7 months ago

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Summer Glow-Up Guide (Part 1) 🌞

In’s & out ‘s & wardrobe essentials

How to ACTUALLY glow-up for Summer or during Summer (it’s never too late to implement healthy habits into your lifestyle) 🐚🌊🌺

Summer In’s & Out’s:

Ins: Outs:

- Limiting screen time - Doom scrolling

- Journaling daily - Overthinking

- Meditation & yoga daily - Lying in bed

- A healthy diet & balance - Skipping meals

- 7K- 10K steps a day - Staying indoors

- Reading daily - Binging TV

- Tan, moisturise & SPF - Sleeping in makeup

- Getting 8-10hrs of sleep - Staying up late

- Drink your H20 - Sugary soda/alcohol

- Quality clothes that fit - Fast fashion pieces

- Mani & Pedi done 💅🏼 - Unkempt nails/details

- Signature scent - Forgetting perfume & sprays

- Tidy, organised room - Cluttered space

- A Morning & Night routine - Being unorganized

The wardrobe:

It’s important to capture the essence of what you want your Summer wardrobe to look like and emulate. Do you want to be more on the classic side? Or maybe you prefer girly pink fits, or maybe even both! You don’t have to fit into a certain box with your fashion, but figuring out a certain style for that specific season is a great way to start. Personally for me, I like sticking to a color palette that speaks to me for summer. Hyper-feminine colors like Pinks, Whites, Creams, and pastel colors such as yellow, blue, and even tropical green with gold accents can create such a classic and “old money” look too. Just make sure that whatever you are wearing makes you feel your best, because when you feel your best you look your best . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Summer Wardrobe essentials 🐚:

Bikini’s in neutral colors/One piece swimsuit

Beach Sarongs/Cover up’s

Cami’s/Vest tops/Crop tops/Milkmaid tops

Off the shoulder tops

Strapless tops

A thin cardigan (for those odd chilly moments)

Slip dresses

Linen blouses/blue stripy blouse/plain white t-shirt

Linen trousers/Yacht shorts

Maxi skirts/Mini skirts/Skorts (Floral dresses, evening dresses)

Light wash jeans/denim shorts

Maxi dresses/Mini dresses/Milkmaid dresses

Dungarees (light wash)

A wide sun hat (bonus points if it has a bow)

Tote bags/wicker bags/hessian bags

Neckties

Decorative sandals/Ballet flats/mary janes/evening heels (kitten heels are in at the moment)

Gold jewellery (if your a silver girly stick with that)

Shell jewellery/Seaside motifs (if you are more of a tropical girly and love anything with seaside motifs include these into your outfits, I loveeee shell necklaces)

Thin Brown belts

A watch (not a necessity but they are so classy and timeless)

Hair bandana’s, claw clips, flowers for your hair (you can get fake hibiscus flowers and I think they just look so summery and cute)

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lucky-clover-gazette · 5 months ago

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kings rising highlights & annotations

chapter 11

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

Nikandros came to stand beside him. ‘Jokaste is confined in a cell in the east wing. Do you have further orders?’ ‘Strip her and send her to Vere as a slave?’ Damen didn’t move from the sill. Nikandros said, ‘You don’t really want that.’ ‘No,’ he said. ‘I want it to be worse.’ He said it with his eyes on the horizon. He knew he would not allow her to be treated with anything less than respect. He remembered her picking her way across cool marble towards him in the slave baths. He could see her hand in the attacks on the village, in the framing of Makedon.

his performative cruelty echoes laurent’s here. he knows damn well what he intends to happen (and not happen) but feels vindictive all the same

‘No one is to speak with her. No one is to enter her cell. Give her every comfort. But do not let her get a hold on any of the men.’ He was not a fool anymore. He knew her abilities. ‘Put your best soldiers on her door, your most loyal, and choose them from among those who have no taste for women.’

this is so funny. if anyone within a thirty foot radius of jokaste likes pussy they are done for (also yay damen for realizing that nice =/= good! pretty easy to figure out with jokaste but he’s gotta start somewhere)

‘I’ll post Pallas and Lydos.’ Nikandros nodded, and departed to do his bidding.

happy late pride month to pallas and lydos

He let him see Laurent too, let him see the picture they presented, royalty united. Laurent was the only Veretian in a hall filled with Akielons. Damen liked it. He liked having Laurent beside him, liked letting the Regent’s herald see that Laurent had Akielos alongside him—had Damianos of Akielos, now in his favoured arena of war.

does that maybe give you an idea damen?? like… maybe you could unify your kingdoms???

Damen settled his full weight into the throne, sprawled on it comfortably, and watched all of this happen.

honorary damen lean #1

He slightly lifted his fingers. The imperceptible gesture halted his men from doing the same now. Last time, Damen vividly recalled, the Regent’s herald had been received in a flurry in a courtyard, Laurent white-faced, pounding in on horseback, wheeling his mount to face his uncle’s herald down. He remembered the herald’s arrogance, his words, and the hessian sack pinned to his saddle. It was the same herald.

how the turntables

‘We accept the Regent’s surrender at Charcy,’ said Damen.

nice opener

The herald flushed. ‘The King of Vere sends a message.’ ‘The King of Vere is seated beside us,’ said Damen. ‘We do not recognise his uncle’s false claim to the throne.’ The herald was forced to pretend that those words had not been spoken. He turned from Damen to Laurent. ‘Laurent of Vere. Your uncle extends his friendship to you in good faith. He offers you a chance to restore your good name.’ ‘No head in a bag?’ said Laurent. Laurent’s voice was mild. Relaxed on the throne, one leg extended out in front of himself, a wrist draped elegantly on the wooden arm, the shift in power was evident. He was no longer the rogue nephew, fighting alone on the border. He was a significant, newly established power, with lands and an army of his own.

god imagine trying to argue with these two, especially when they’re together. insufferable. slaymianos and cunty laurent are the ultimate power couple, even if someone could win the argument it would be so unpleasant that they’d be losing too

also laurent lean #14

‘Your uncle is a good man. The Council has called for your death, but your uncle will not hear them. He will not accept the rumours that you have turned on your own people. He wants to give you the chance to prove yourself.’

the regent created a fabricated situation in which the council would want laurent dead, then offered him mercy. bitch

‘Prove myself,’ said Laurent.

this is laurent calling him a bitch. also craft note kinda, i like how often laurent repeats words and how effective it is in communicating his tone and thoughts during a conversation

‘‘All that is mine’,’ Laurent repeated the herald’s words for the second time.

“are you hearing this shit damen”

‘Your Highness,’ said one of the dignitaries, and Damen was startled to recognise Estienne, a minor aristocrat from Laurent’s faction.

didn’t laurent threaten him in book 1? like he shamed estienne for being loyal to the regent over him?

Laurent only regarded Estienne for a moment, before he turned his attention back to the herald. ‘‘All that is mine will be returned to me”? Were those his words? Tell me his exact words.’

my guess is that estienne is stupid but not necessarily against laurent, and laurent knows it. he can be used for information, whether he’s actually giving the answers to questions he’s being asked or being manipulated into giving different ones, but laurent would not depend on him for loyalty

‘If you refuse, you will be executed,’ said the herald. ‘Your death will be a public traitor’s death, your body displayed on the city gates for all to see. What is left will receive no burial. You will not be entombed with your father and brother. Your name will be struck from the family register. Vere will not remember you, and all that is yours will be cast asunder. That is the King’s promise, and my message.’

man, what the fuck is this herald’s problem?

Laurent said nothing; an uncharacteristic silence, and Damen saw the subtle signs, the tension across his shoulders, the muscle sliding in his jaw.

is very important to laurent that he takes up the responsibility of leading vere well, honoring his brother’s memory and ridding it of his uncle’s leadership. this is the death of that dream in the most specific way possible, and the regent knows it. laurent is horrified by being unable to help the helpless, and this renders him even more powerless to help or be remembered as good than he was before (which was already pretty powerless)

It was the herald who answered, in clear Akielon and a voice that carried to every corner of the hall. ‘You are a patricide. You killed your own father, King Theomedes of Akielos.’

who is this herald. what is his backstory

He told himself that. That no one could think for a moment that he would— His head was pounding. He felt a furious powerlessness at it, that Kastor could kill their father, and then lie like this, poison the very truth, and get away with— The injustice of it took him in the throat. He felt it like the final tearing of that relationship, as though somehow before this moment there had been some hope that he could reach Kastor, but that now what was between them was unsalvageable.Worse than making him a prisoner, worse than making him a slave. Kastor had made him into his father’s killer. He felt the Regent’s smiling influence, his mild, reasonable voice. He thought of the Regent’s lies spreading, taking hold, the people of Ios believing him a murderer, his father’s death dishonoured and used against him. To have his people mistrust him, to have his friends turn from him, to have the thing that had been most dear and good in his life twisted into a weapon to hurt— He turned. Laurent was standing alone, against the backdrop of the hall. With sudden double vision, Damen saw Laurent as he was, his true isolation. The Regent had done this to Laurent, had whittled away his support, had turned his people against him. He remembered trying to convince Laurent of the Regent’s benevolence in Arles, as naive as Estienne. Laurent had had a lifetime of this.

i was about to analyze but damen did it for me. yep!

He said, in a steady, measured voice, ‘He thinks he can provoke me. He can’t. I am not going to act in anger or in haste..."

mhm yeah

Laurent just kept watching him with that slightly assessing expression on his face. ‘You can’t be considering his offer,’ said Damen. Laurent didn’t answer immediately. Damen said, ‘You can’t go to Ios. Laurent, you won’t get a trial. He’ll kill you.’ ‘I’d get a trial,’ said Laurent. ‘It’s what he wants. He wants me proven unfit. He wants the Council to ratify him as King so that he can rule with his claim wholly legitimised.’ ‘But—’ ‘I’d get a trial.’ Laurent’s voice was quite steady. ‘He’d have a parade of witnesses, and each one would swear me a traitor. Laurent, the debauched shirker who sold his country to Akielos and spread his legs for the Akielon prince-killer. And when I had no reputation left, I’d be taken to the public square and killed in front of a crowd. I’m not considering his offer.’

yes you are. it would be all of your worst self-loathing thoughts, proven to yourself and world. it would be like the fight with damen in marlas but against someone you know would not hesitate to actually hurt you, who wants VERY BADLY to humiliate and punish you. this self-destructiveness is a consistent and startling laurent tendency, and accepting the regent’s offer is definitely something he’s considering, on purpose, fully aware of how horrible it would feel. because it could very well be the best thing he could do for vere and for akielos, by laurent-logic. if laurent let the stronger man (regent) win, believing as he (laurent) does that he (laurent) will never be the stronger man, that might give the even stronger man (damen) an opening to take the regent out. if laurent’s ptsd-informed “the strongest wins” philosophy is not challenged enough to be genuinely reconsidered, he will end up giving himself to his uncle (and he does)

Looking at him across the gap that separated them, Damen realised for the first time that a trial might have some kind of seductive appeal to Laurent, who must wish, somewhere deep inside himself, to clear his name. But Laurent was right: any trial would be a death sentence, a performance designed to humiliate him, and then end him, overseen by the Regent’s terrifying command of public spectacle.

i honestly don’t think laurent believes his name deserves to be cleared, he just wants to make the world better for people who aren’t broken like himself. and some of part of himself still longs to be humiliated and punished for his various “failures” to be strong against his uncle, his brother’s killer, etc.

‘I mean that my uncle doesn’t hold out a hand for someone to knock it aside. He sent that herald to us for a reason. There’s something else.’ Laurent’s next words were almost unwilling. ‘There’s always something else.’

a little vulnerable moment here, shared with damen. this is something laurent has had to remind himself for years, and he’s sharing that vulnerable part of his own logic and weaknesses, as well as the fact that he’s failed to remember it before.

He had never talked of it with her—he had never been able to bear talking of it with anyone—but sometimes he had come from his father’s sickbed to see her, to take solace, wordlessly, in her body.

contrast with laurent simply giving him a hug and letting him cry in the next chapter

He looked over at Laurent and said, flatly, ‘Deal with it.’ Laurent gazed at him for a long moment, as if searching for something in his expression, then he nodded wordlessly, and made his way to the cells.

they’re leaning on each other. it’s nice, despite the circumstances. i also enjoy the slight subversion of laurent being the attack dog for damen

He could see her, reclined on an exquisitely carved seat. Her cell was clean and well furnished, with tapestries and cushions that had been transferred from her solar on Damen’s orders.

they moved the tapestries to her cell.

She sat on the low reclining seat, something in her posture reminiscent of his father, King Theomedes, on his throne.

another interesting gender moment. damen is so distinctly not a misogynist, throughout this entire series. the society can be misogynistic, but damen really does view women as inherently equal to men, in that people of both genders can be powerful or submissive, and those qualities and positions aren’t fixed on gender.

Under her arched golden brows, her eyes were the colour of woad.

i looked up woad and it’s a yellow-flowered plant, but blue dye is somehow extracted from the leaves. so like… a false blue plant. fool’s gold. i don’t know if that means jokaste has yellow eyes (not likely, given the running bit about damen’s type) or damen is referring to the blue dye and not the flowers, but it does feel intentional on the part of the author to go for something that’s kind of deceptive here

The extent to which she and Laurent resembled each other, in colouring, in their cool, intellectual lack of emotion, in the detachment with which they regarded one another, was both unnerving and extraordinary.

it’s interesting, because we know that laurent has a bleeding heart deep down, and we know what makes it bleed. there must be something like that for jokaste, but we just never really find out. and because damen’s relationship with her has always been like. purposefully shallow, he has no idea either

She spoke in pure, accentless Veretian. ‘Damianos has sent me his bed boy. Blond, blue-eyed, and all laced up like a virgo intacta. You’re just his type.’ Laurent said, ‘You know who I am.’ ‘The prince du jour,’ said Jokaste. There was a pause.

cs pacat made them enemies because she knew they would be too powerful as friends

‘I think we both know you weren’t the one fucking him. You were on your back with your legs in the air. He hasn’t changed that much.’

but she has noticed that he’s changed, even in that very short interaction

Jokaste said, ‘The question is how much you liked it.’ Damen found himself with his hand on the wood beside the grate, listening as intently as he could for Laurent’s reply. He shifted position, trying to get a glimpse of Laurent’s face,

this is so funny. sex god damen leaning in for user feedback on how he fucks

‘I see. We are going to trade stories? Shall I tell you my preferred position?’ ‘I imagine it’s similar to mine.’ ‘Confined?’ said Laurent.

She said, ‘Are you asking what it was like?’

so she thinks laurent is asking for a… read? a guess? an invitation for her to talk shit? advice, or something to make him feel insecure or less special? clearly she’s immediately picked up on his inexperience and insecurity. she knows the wounds to press. partially because i think the insecurity is something they share, and that’s why they’re both drawn to damen.

‘Laurent of Vere. They say you’re frigid. They say you rebuff all your suitors, that no man has been good enough to prise your legs apart. I believe you thought it would be brutish and physical, and maybe a part of you even wanted it that way. But you and I both know that Damen does not make love like that. He took you slowly. He kissed you until you started to want it.’ Laurent said, ‘Don’t stop on my account.’ ‘You let him undress you. You let him put his hands on you. They say you hate Akielons, but you let one into your bed. You weren’t expecting what it felt like when he touched you. You weren’t expecting the weight of his body, how it felt to have his attention, to have him want you.’ ‘You left out the part near the end, when it was so good I let myself forget what he’d done.’ ‘Oh dear,’ said Jokaste. ‘That was the truth.’

i think she’s right, he’s admitting she’s right, and they both know she’s talking about herself too. ironically this conversation between two massive liars is pretty close to the truth. the real effort is put into how they can use the truth to hurt or manipulate each other.

‘It’s heady, isn’t it?’ said Jokaste. ‘He was born to be a king. He’s not a stand-in, or a second choice, like you are. He rules men just by breathing. When he walks into a room, he commands it. People love him. Like they loved your brother.’ ‘My dead brother,’ said Laurent helpfully. ‘Shall we now do the part where I spread for my brother’s killer? You can describe it again.’ He couldn’t see Laurent’s face as he said it, though Laurent’s voice was easy, as was his elegant lean against the stone wall of the cell.

he has so much practice dealing with accusations like this jokaste and nobody hates him more than himself. also damen loves laurent, so cope

She said, ‘Is it difficult to ride with a man who is more of a king than you are?’ ‘I wouldn’t let Kastor hear you call him a king.’

context: laurent calling jokaste out for not actually believing in kastor’s authority, even though she took his side and betrayed damen. these are things laurent would never do, as loyalty and honor are very important to him. and therein lies the difference between laurent and jokaste

‘Or is that what you like about it? That Damen is what you’ll never be. That he has surety, self-belief, strength of conviction. Those are things that you yearn for. When he focuses it all on you, it makes you feel like you can do anything.’ Laurent said, ‘Now we are both telling the truth.’ The quality of this pause was different. Jokaste gazed back at Laurent.

barbie princess and the pauper i’m just like you song

‘Meniados is not going to defect from Kastor to Damianos,’ said Jokaste. ‘Why not?’ said Laurent. ‘Because when Meniados fled Karthas, I encouraged him to head straight to Kastor, who will kill him for leaving me alone here.’

OKAY GIRL (another thing i don't think laurent would do: send one of his own people to die like that. he was suspected of this at charcy, but that wasn’t his intention)

Jokaste said, ‘We now have dispensed with pleasantries. I am in possession of certain information. You will offer me clemency in exchange for what I know. There will be a series of negotiations, then, when we have decided on a mutually beneficial arrangement, I will return to Kastor in Ios. After all,’ said Jokaste, ‘that is why Damianos sent you here.’ Laurent seemed to study her in turn. When he spoke, it was without particular urgency. ‘No. He sent me to tell you that you’re not important. You’ll be held here until he’s crowned in Ios, then you will be executed for treason. He’s never going to see you again.’

“you miscalculated how much of an exception damen would make for you. because now he’s making those exceptions for me instead”

Laurent pushed himself off the wall. ‘But thank you,’ said Laurent, ‘for the information about Meniados. That was helpful.’ He had almost reached the door before she spoke. ‘You haven’t asked me about my son.’ Laurent stopped. Then turned. Enthroned on the reclining couch, she was regal, like a queen in a sculpted marble frieze commanding the length of a room. ‘He came early. It was a long birth, through the night into the morning. At the end of it all, a child. I was looking into his eyes when we got word of Damen’s soldiers marching on the fort. I had to send him away, for safety. It’s a terrible thing to separate a mother from her child.’ ‘Really, is this all?’ said Laurent. ‘A few pinpricks, and the desperate appeal of motherhood? I thought you were an opponent. Did you really think a prince of Vere would be moved by the fate of a bastard’s child?’ ‘You should be,’ said Jokaste. ‘He is the son of a king.’ The son of a king.

you can’t be talking like that white baby

All of Laurent’s features whitened in reeling shock, and he stared at Jokaste as though he had been struck. Even through his own shock, Laurent’s sheer horror was excessive. Damen didn’t understand it, didn’t understand the look in Laurent’s eyes, or in Jokaste’s. Then Laurent spoke in an awful voice. ‘You have sent Damianos’s son to my uncle.’

do you think she Knows? either way this is a strategic move, but even moreso if she Really Knows (i don’t think she does, although maybe she suspects)

She said, ‘You see? I am an opponent. I will not be left in a cell to rot. You will tell Damen that I will see him as I require, and I think you will find that he will not send in a bed boy this time.’

the bed boy dig here is especially devastating, given the uncle of it all. also, it's kinda like she's saying she can get her man (now laurent's man) back if she wanted to. mean girl laurent has found his mean girl nemesis in jokaste, and while this entire plot point does feel a little bit like a sidequest, i get how it's important for both plot and character development. again, i'm curious how others feel about this part of king's rising! like, the middleish chapters.

#capri #sam reads capri #captive prince #damen of akielos #laurent of vere #lamen #jokaste capri

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the-000-crew · 1 year ago

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…noooo

-Sora

whose pronouns are u/s/a here /ref /j

oh sorry i dropped my pronouns

-Sora

#(bro is carrying one of those hessian bags but instead of being full of cash it’s full of pronouns)

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submissive-humiliation-slut · 10 months ago

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An ex wife's cruelty

A quantifiable worth of a true whore is the money she can bring home to her owner. You make a deal with your ex wife - no further alimony if you sell me to her for a month. Of course you agree.

She comes to our home to collect. I wait with resentment, trepidation and downright fear. She places a thick leather blindfold on me and strips me down to my bra and panties. I am taken to a dirty warehouse where I am dragged along the dirty floor and my bra and panties are ripped off me.

I am tied on my back over a dirty pile of crates covered by a hessian bag. My arms and legs are tightly tied down. My pussy and ass hang out one end. My head is resting on the crates. The blindfold is taken off and your ex wife is the first to r4pe me. She squeezes my nipples cruelly until I stick my tongue out. She then mounts my mouth and nose rubbing her pussy on my face to get off. I only breathe when she lets me... fuckkk. Next she ruthlessly fucks my cunt and ass with a huge strap on while continuously slapping my face.

I am then flipped over and a tight leather hood is placed back over my face concealing my identity and blocking out all light. I am r4ped over and over and over again in all my holes. I don't know who and how many have used me.

Except on one occasion your ex wife whispers in my year... "That's your dad fucking you..." I scream and scream and scream while the unknown man cums inside me. "I will bring all your family, friends, colleagues and everyone you know to fuck you over the next month..." she adds.

This is Day 1.

I have 29 days of torment to go...!

Fuckkkk!

#degrade and humiliate me #degrading k1nk #humiliation kink #cnc fr33use #edging my mind away #cnc rough #cnc kidnapping #filthy thoughts #cnc free use #cnc k!nk #cnc sub #cnc overstim #rough cnc

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grunklejam · 1 year ago

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The Mystery Shack keychains are due on Monday!

I'm still waiting for the final component which I think will really elevate the product, which is sadly taking far too much time to get here. But I can now kinda explain how it'll look.

Every wooden keychain looks like this, with variance according to the wood grain and its texture. The Moon and 'West of Weird' lettering is glossy, so it's a sort of two-texture print that feels a little more multi-dimensional.

This will then be placed in a 'Mystery Smugglin' Sack'! This helps protect the artwork and keeps it secure during shipping, as well as providing you with a lovely reusable bag for anything from cool rocks you find in the forest to your collection of flu medication.

The lettering isn't entirely legible, as you'd expect from a hessian sack, but that kind of adds to the charm so I'm keeping it. I think they look really funky.

After this, it's going to be tied off in red string with a lovely metal question mark charm, which will add a little flash of colour and make it feel that little bit more 'premium'. But a Grunkle Stan style of premium. An 'obviously assembled by Soos' premium.

I'm going to have 47 of these things ready to go upon launch (three sacks didn't pass my inspections)

Price expectations are:

£9.99 UK (including postage and packing) £11.99 Rest of the World (including postage and packing)

I hope you see that as reasonable. I always try and keep Not S&P Approved's pricing as low as I possibly can. I think this should hopefully go some way to proving that with a product that's substantially larger yet not much more expensive than my usual output.

Future plans include brand new t-shirts, a souvenir tote bag, a Ford and Bill Cipher acrylic charm, and hopefully a second candle design - a 'Stan'dle!

All depending, of course, on if things like this sell so I can make back my investment. Costs of running this sort of store are pretty high, and I depend upon you to make it worthwhile.

Thank you. I love you.

Mwah. x

#gravity falls #gravity falls fandom #not s&p approved #etsy #gravity falls merch

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bluebellhairpin · 2 years ago

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Thorin Oakenshield X Fem!Reader

Summary; Retrieving missing ponies, exploring Troll caves, being hunted by Orcs - Oh My!

Warnings; Pregnancy used as a bluff. Character death mentions. Canon-typical violence. Reader is female-body-coded, uses she/her pronouns, and is Human.

Listening to; 'Solider, Poet, King' Instrumental Cover by Cullen Vance

Part 1 || Part 3

Series Masterlist || Masterlist || Ko-Fi

This is a re-write of a old series! If you'd like to read the original, you can find it Here.

“I should've seen this one coming,”

Your mumbling came out breathy, almost like it wasn’t spoken at all. Beside you were the Durin brothers, Fili and Kili. On your watch, ponies had been stolen - by Trolls was your guess, of all the beasts this land had to throw at you, it had to be them - and now you had to deal with forming a plan to get them back.

Between the three of you, nothing was happening very quickly.

A curse broke behind you, and you turned to see Bilbo approaching - juggling three bowls of stew between two arms, and almost making a mess of it. You looked at him, and an idea sprung.

“Bilbo could get the ponies.” You leaned over to Kili, whispering so the Hobbit couldn't hear. “He’s small and quiet - those giant’s would barely have time to think!”

"Strapping idea -”

“Master Boggins!” Fili said, surging forward and clapping the poor Hobbit on the shoulder to pull him forward. “We’ve found ourselves in a bit of a mix.”

“See we’re meant to have fourteen ponies -”

“But there’s only twelve -”

“We know where they are -”

“But we need your help.” They both said. How they managed to sync up so well was astounding - they weren’t even twins - but you knew sometimes siblings are just like that when they’re close enough.

Eventually Fili and Kili wandered off, chasing the direction where the ponies would be, you followed, with Bilbo behind. Bilbo was urged forwards, Fili disappeared, and soon you were the only one left watching the Hobbit try - and fail - to free the ponies. It wasn’t that he was getting caught - but you felt you were going to burst at the amount of times he ‘almost’ was.

Then he was.

You quietly yelped with him - almost jumping from your hiding spot. You stayed still, biting your lip in indecision at what to do when Kili and his brother appeared at your sides. The others came up behind you soon after, and when they decided Bilbo had been tortured with trying to stall in conversation enough, they all surged forwards, crying ready for a fight.

You were less enthusiastic. Much less. You’d barely had a hand on your sword to draw it when it was all over. A short-lived battle indeed.

The Trolls, three of them, were corralling you all into bags - big hessian, dirty things - you did not want to be put in one of those things. Despite your thrashing protests - and your contemplation of resorting to biting (which fell through, those were horribly gross looking fingers) - you were thrust into a bag alongside Thorin.

The damn thing didn’t even cover your shoulders - if the drawstring wasn’t so tight, you might’ve been able to wiggle out. You’d give the trolls credit, they knew how to tie a good knot.

“Human’s good for stews, not roastin’ like Dwarf.” One said, drawing your attention and making your eyes go wide. “Chop her up and put her in, that’ll fix the mess yous made of it.”

“Roast Dwarf, Human stew - we gonna eats good tonight!”

“Hey no! You can’t eat me!” You squealed, kicking your feet in the bag - Thorin made a grunt beside you after you kicked his shin in your panic, but said nothing of it aside from hissing out a quiet ‘watch it’. Especially after a troll picked you up and paid zero mind to your screaming. “Listen, you can’t eat me! You can’t!”

“Why not? You’ve got nothin’ special about you.” He looked at you with a sideways head-tilt.

“I do! I’m not like the others, you couldn’t eat me yet.” One of the smarter Trolls looked over, noticing the extra fight you were putting up.

“Why wouldn’t we eats yous yet? We says a Human’s more tasty than a Dwarf anyways.” He said.

“Aha see, that’s the thing. I’m…” you swallowed, thinking of some excuse you could do that the others couldn’t. Then it hit you. “I’m with child!” you blurted. But it phased the Troll none.

“Meanings you’re extra, extra tasty. More meats on you.” He took you from his friend, grabbing his knife and bringing it far too close to you for your liking.

“No, wait, wait! Just think! Once I get bigger and give birth you’d have an extra Human to eat. I’ve heard babies are even more delicious than full grown Humans - you’d have it and me to eat then!” you spoke quickly, wasting no time in trying to lie your way out of being eaten. “In fact, you should probably let me go.”

“We ain’t stupid.” The Troll said. “We got no reason to not tie yous up lie the rest,”

“No see, listen, tying me up would restrict the growth of the child.” you bluffed, knowing all you needed to buy more time. “If I’m not tied up then the child will be bigger than normal.” you added, nodding as if to convince them.

The Trolls seemed to buy your excuse and put you down in the pen with the ponies, but made no effort to free you. But you did.

You wiggled you arms - thrashing like a madman as if it’d make any difference. And it did. Soon you had one arm free, but the rest would have to wait. You didn’t have enough time to free the rest, you needed to help the others - time was of the essence.

You looked over at the pile of Dwarves and Bilbo, catching Thorin’s eye as you slowly moved towards the back of the pen in hopes you could just slip away to get help. Gandalf was out there somewhere, and maybe if you could get away - pray he was close by and find him - then he could help much more than you. The Trolls were too busy trying to stop one of the Dwarfs from squirming to notice you clumsily slide out of the pen and back further into the forest. hobbling and finally shedding the bag as you went.

Thorin watched you. His mind told him you were slipping away to save your own skin. But his heart told him to stay silent and wait. Even though he thought you disliked him with a fiery passion, you held both his nephews in very high regard, and became almost like a daughter to Balin. Not to mention how you effortlessly had the likes of both Dwalin and Ori wrapped around your little finger.

He believed you wouldn’t leave those you liked to die simply because you thought one person you disliked deserved it.

You found Gandalf within ten minutes, and you managed to not get caught again as you watched on as he saved the others.

What a wizard.

The Trolls were turned stone in the first light of day, and you set to quick work of helping the others out of their restraints. You’d already unbagged Fili, and Dwalin when you reached Thorin. He looked at you intently as you worked on the bag.

“How’d you come up with that idea? To fake yourself being with child?” he started, “If Gandalf didn’t save us and we were stuck, you’d only prolong your own suffering.” Once he finished talking you were also finished with his bag, letting him get himself out fully as you leant back on a stone. “You’d have watched us all die.”

“I guess I was with child once, in a way. That sort of thing doesn’t leave you very quickly.” You mumbled. You played with your hands as he looked over at you with a slightly shocked face. “Technically it wasn't mine, but by the time our time together ended it really seemed like he was.”

“What happened?” His question made him seem genuinely interested. You couldn’t help the feeling in your stomach that made you want to share everything with him. A deep breath left your nose.

“Long story short, I passed through the Misty Mountains, a group before me wasn’t so fortunate. A young boy was the only survivor, and I couldn't just leave him there to die, so I decided to take him with me until I reached the next village or town.” You said, watching as the others untied and dressed each other. “I tried my best, but trolls have to make sure they ruin everyone’s best day.”

Thorin remembered Gandalf had said you'd come across Orcs and Trolls before. This was your encounter with trolls, but what about Orcs? He decided to ask, leaning beside you as you both looked over the others.

“If you don't mind me asking - and I don't want to come across as prying - what exactly happened?” He asked gently, keeping his eyes forwards and off you. You glanced over at him, noting that there was still not a single punch of aggression in his words or demeanor.

“It was a little ways back towards the mountains from here.” you started softly, “I had the child strapped to me, had to tuck my pack under my arm - I knew it meant I couldn't get to my sword quickly if an attack came. I knew it was risky, but the boy couldn't walk, he was too small, I had no other choice. Out of nowhere, a Troll came. It got the child and I.” You let out a shaken sigh, eyes watering slightly, and your hands wringing each other in your lap. “I barely got away from them, but Orcs came after, and in the confusion I couldn’t get away in time for the both of us. If I’d moved faster it would’ve been fine.”

Thorin felt a sudden guilt wash over him for how much of a arse he’d been to you. He took in a silent breath of courage, then - as if possessed by someone who hadn’t been ignoring you for the past three days - took one of your hands in his, letting his thumb brush over your knuckles. He felt himself relax when you didn't object to his actions.

You looked down at him, and he looked up at you.

“I'm sorry.” He felt himself saying, although what happened to the child was no fault of his own.

In fact, it was either orcs or frostbite, not the King of Durinsfolk. Orcs certainly would have been a much quicker death, frostbite would've been much slower. Orcs may be cruel, but they prefer the quick death of children since they weep more than they scream. Oh, how Orcs loved to hear people scream.

“I guess it wasn’t one of those things meant to be changed.” you said, shaking your head lightly. “He must’ve meant to die. I only changed how and when. But at least he’s with his family now.”

Thorin and you shared a look, one that passed understanding between you both for a few long moments. He needed you - something really was going to happen on this journey back to his homeland. You needed him - so you could get home too.

An unspoken agreement was formed - one that would turn out to be much more effective than your old one. You’d help each other. No more pushing each other's buttons. No more getting on one another's nerves.

You’d finally get along.

Close by to where you were almost made into a Troll's dinner, was a Troll hole.

The fellows in your Company were almost happy to venture in despite the smell - but you could see a few of them didn’t mind needing to say outside to keep watch though. You wanted to join them, real bad, but something deep inside you told you to go in.

Like you needed to.

It was so dark, and the smell only made your eyes water - blurring your vision even more. You pushed past it all, including the Dwarves around you making long-term investments. Something drew you towards one of the furthest corners.

You looked, seeing nothing. Kicking the dirt though proved fruitful when the sound of metal scraping along stone reached your ears. Down at your feet, among the dirt and leaf litter was the hilt of a sword.

Reaching down, you took it and brought it level to your eyes.

It’s hilt was leather bound, with a blade cover that was the length of your arm. Both were worn, old. But you took the cover off to reveal shining steel. The metal was uncarved, untouched by anything other than a forges hammer.

“You should take it.” Gandalf said. You turned to see him watching you from under the brim of his hat. “Such an unnamed sword has no history. An unwritten past. It can serve you well in the future.”

You looked down at the weapon, cradling it in both hands like a single wrong move could slice your fingers off. Gandalf was probably right - usually he was, as unfortunate as that could be sometimes. Your current sword was good, it served its purpose well and you intended for it to continue to do so, but it wasn’t made for you. It wasn’t made like this. Finely forged, and strong. This one was a better fit for you than your old one - it was too short, too heavy - this was longer, lighter.

So you took it.

Stepping out of the cave was a breath of fresh air - literally.

The smell of wet moss and dirt was so welcomed after being in that hole, even the brightness of the sun shining through the trees above was a welcomed pain to your eyes. The moment you took to appreciate the piece of world around you didn’t last long.

Panic rose in the dwarves, and you took forward to Dwalin to ask what was wrong.

“Thorin, he saw someone coming.”

“Orcs?” You asked. Maybe the new sword wasn’t a good idea - you were unable to figure out which sword to reach for now.

“Not sure what or who,” Dwalin said, “But whatever it is is coming fast, be prepared for a fight, lass.”

To be completely honest with yourself, you’d thought you’d prepared very well. Strapping your new sword across your shoulder quickly, with your old one drawn - you felt a rush run through you as if you could take on an army. But when a sled came into view - being pulled by a group of rather large hare’s, the Company met the man at the helm with confused silence.

Until Gandalf shouted out a name and moved past the group to start a hushed conversation.

“Whose that?” You asked, arms going slack at the signs of no immediate threat.

“I’d guess some other wizard by the looks of his funny hat.”

“You're one to speak Bofur.”

“He’s a strange one,” you mused, watching as Gandalf pulled a stick - a bug? A stick bug? - from the mouth of his friend. “Is it normal to see two wizards together in one place?”

“You think seeing one wizard is normal?” Kili asked in return, looking up at you with a smirk. You shoved his shoulder - their rough love was rubbing off on you.

“You are a cheeky one.” You said with a smile.

Everyone dispersed slowly, still weary of the new company and the news he might be bringing, but ready to relax with no immediate danger. Then something changed. The wind, maybe, and in the distance was a howl.

Your ears perked up, and so did everyone's guards. Shouts of warnings - Wargs and Orcs approaching - rose, and a ripple of panic went through the Company. With nowhere to hide, and your ponies spooked off into thin air (Gandalf's horse and Phar Lap included), it seemed like you were trapped. A fight was coming, and the future didn’t look so bright.

“What’s happening?” You heard. Bilbo was behind you, timidly clutching a sword - new, his, Gandalf given too no doubt - and looking none like the burglar who tried to free the ponies from trolls just hours earlier.

“Orcs, by the sounds.” He’d never seen dangers like Orcs before, you realized as you watched his eyes blow wide open. “Don’t worry, stay close to me. I’ll keep an eye on you.” He nodded, reassured by your words.

But you weren’t feeling so confident. You hadn’t really fought an Orc before - avoided blows, and ran yes, but not fight. You didn’t know if you even had the strength in you to do it. Though no time like the present to find out.

You liked this plan. It was working.

But you were running out of breath, and each time you had to be pulled - or pull others - back to hide behind a boulder out of sight of the wizard Radagast and the Orcs following him was getting to be exhausting. It was like you were going round in circles, only a matter of time before someone saw and knew the wizard was just a distraction.

The Company was running out of time.

Such a hiding place was where you found yourself. You had your sword drawn, concluding that it wasn’t a matter of ‘if’ but ‘when’ you’d need to use it. Bilbo had listened, stickling close to you - if he wasn’t, then he was close to someone else instead, never straying far from the group.

A breath of wind brought close the sound of a Warg approaching, and you pushed closer to the rock behind you. Thorin was beside you, your head level with his. You watched as his nose flared - from the running, maybe, but he could’ve been scared like you too.

“What do we do?” You whispered, but the noise made him turn to you with a deadly look.

‘Be quiet.’ his eyes said. You swallowed thickly, and turned back to face the lands in front of you. At least if that thing bit your head off, your last sight would be a pretty golden field. Then Thorin’s shoulders slumped beside you, pressing into yours. ‘It’ll be okay.’ the action told you. ‘Stay calm.’

So you took a deep breath in, as quiet and slow as you could manage, and decided to trust him. Right now what was needed was cooperation, not panic. Following what Thorin said hadn’t served anyone wrong so far - it couldn’t fail you now.

And for a while, it didn’t. But that ‘while’ didn’t last long.

The Company was trapped.

You all crowded together, forming a circle, readying to fight Orcs and their Wargs until breath left you no more - even you, your hands weren’t as shaky as you thought they might’ve been.

Kili was shooting riders left, right, and center. Dwalin was charging towards them like he had zero value for his own life - really, you reckoned it was just him trying to get this ordeal over and done with, and honestly good for him. Bilbo was looking quite lost. You were trying to keep track of everyone while not getting in the way. And Gandalf - was nowhere to be found.

“Where is that wizard?” Fili asked. His voice travelled well.

“Left us to die by the looks.” Thorin yelled back.

“Over here you fools!” Gandalf said, suddenly popping his head up above some small rocks behind you.

“Thorin!” You yelled, pushing Bilbo towards the hiding hole as you saw you’d gained the dwarf’s attention. “Get everyone over here now!”

You ran over to Gandalf, standing on the other side of the hole and counting as each dwarf (and lone hobbit) slid inside.

Nine, ten, Bifur made twelve - but there were meant to be fourteen. Thorin was practically right in front of you, two agonizing strides and he’d be in and safe - but Kili? Kili was far, far too far away for your liking.

Thank the gods he always listened to his Uncle.

“Kili!” Thorin yelled. You watched as his nephew turned, then turned again, then - finally - started running your way.

Gandalf was in, then Kili. All that were left were you and Thorin. He turned to you, and you’d bet your life he was going to get you to go in first, but you wouldn’t have that. You wouldn’t let him.

“Age before beauty, your majesty.” And you pushed him in, sliding in right after.

Inside, everyone was huddled together, still weary, still prepared for the Orcs to follow, but a commotion started above.

The sound of a horn, horses hooves. A body rolled down in front of you, the dead body of an Orc. Nori poked it with his hammer, but it didn’t move. Then it was quiet. They were gone, and it was over.

You looked up, almost dreading the would-be climb back out - the steep slope, and the borderline mud-dirt had a picture of you covered in filth flashing over your eyelids. With your hands on your hips you were almost psyched enough to do it when Dwalin said something about a tunnel.

Slope be damned, a tunnel would be like heaven in comparison.

It took little to no convincing from anyone for you to follow it - joining the long line of travelers with Dori at your front and Balin behind you. Even Thorin’s words of aggression-lased hesitancy weren’t putting a dampener on you enjoying the walk out, rather than a climb.

Eventually the darkness gave way to light, and the tunnel opened wide. Beyond was a sight that had you standing still in awe.

Rivendell.

#the girl who knew the end #thorin oakenshield x reader #thorin x reader #thorin x you #the hobbit x reader

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galaxyedging · 1 year ago

Text

Maxwell Lord x reader. Din Djarin x ofc. Oberyn Martell x Dieter Bravo.

Set in The 'And It Just Keeps Getting Better' Universe.

Warnings: Smut! M/F, M/M.

Summary: The inhabitants of the motel celebrate Christmas.

Author's note: not proofread because it's already Christmas, and I just finished it.

Merry Christmas

“It's the most wonderful time of the year!” Maxwell exclaims, stamping his snow covered boots on the welcome mat just inside the reception door. Fairy lights and garland adorning the front window shake as he shut the door firmly behind him to keep out the bitter December wind.

Mrs Lord can't help but smile at her husband's child-like joy. Speaking of child-like. “So you'll be back with Alastair around four?”

“Yes, my love.” Maxwell confirms with a press of his cold lips against her cheek. Even through the cold she still leans into his affection. His cinnamon sweet aftershave fills her senses. It's so consuming that she can taste it on her tongue and it's splashed on that oh so biteable neck. Her indecent train of thought is interrupted by the Christmas bells on the door tinkling.

“Sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt.” Din casts his eyes away almost shyly.

Mrs Lord is still taken by how small the hulk of man can make himself seem.

“It's fine, Din. Are those Grogu's presents?” Mrs Lord makes her way around the counter to take the large hessian sack.

“Thank you again for suggesting this. Grogu hasn't stopped talking about it.” A broad smile lights up Din's handsome face. His brown eyes that can be so intense shine with warmth.

“Neither has Alastair. They will have a wonderful time.” Maxwell can barely contain his own excitement. “Alastair will be here at four but you are welcome to come over earlier to settle in. We always love to see Grogu.”

“He loves to see you, too.” Din smiles at how close they have gotten. Grogu has now got so many aunts, uncles and cousins. It warms Din's heart to see the boy finally surrounded by family.

“Dinner is at two tomorrow. Santos is cooking an amazing feast. Everyone is coming down around half an hour before so we can get everyone seated. There are so many of us.” Mrs Lord laughs.

Who knew that her hiring some company for the night would lead to her having all the company she could wish for?

Alastair wasted no time in throwing himself into Mrs Lord's arms as soon as he saw her she couldn't help affectionately chuckling into his hair. “Hi, Sweetheart!”

“Hi, Mrs Mom.” Alastair thought his nickname was hilarious since everyone calls her Mrs Lord.

It was the ‘mom’ part that stuck with her. Even though she still had no desire to have a child of her own she loved Alastair like he was her own.

“Do you want to see where you will be sleeping?” Maxwell picks up his son's overnight bag already knowing what his response will be. Alastair has been talking about this for weeks.

The three rooms they would be using were on a row of four set back from the rest of the motel. They were once used for staff and their families. They were the lastest rooms to be completely remodelled. The middle one was where Grogu and Alastair would be sleeping. The room to the left had an adjoining door. Din and his girlfriend would be in that one. Grogu had come a long way but Din didn't want him to feel alone. He had explained that he can come through the door at any time to get his father. Grogu had insisted that he would be having too much fun to need him. A thought that warmed and slightly broke Din's heart. That little boy he rescued was growing bigger everyday. As proud as he was, a tiny part of him missed being needed with Grogu's every step towards independence.

Mr and Mrs Lord would sleep in a room on the other side. It was thought it best that the boys couldn't just walk into their room at any time. They had very little restraint when it came to each other.

“Wow!” Alastair’s eyes lit up at the sight before him. There was a Christmas tree in the corner with some presents already wrapped underneath it. Stockings with their names on hung from the bottom of each bed. There were snacks and fixings for hot chocolate set up for them. Board games were stacked on the bedside cabinet. “This is amazing! Thank you, Daddy.”

As much as Maxwell loved his new life, having his son there just made it complete. “You are so welcome!” Maxwell scopes his son up into his arms. “Now shall we go pick something for dinner? We thought we would order pizza.”

“Yes!” Alastair matched his father’s joyful mood.

When an order comes in from the motel in the woods it always causes a stir. Everyone knows the rumours. Satan worshippers. Some sort of religious cult. Sex maniacs. Serial killers. It wasn't the rumours that caused a stir though. Everyone with half a brain that visited knew exactly what was going on there. As they were regular customers, everyone in the pizza place knew. The stir was caused to be the one that delivered the order because they tipped big. Luckily for Jun he was the only one there when the order came in. Unluckily for him, it was a big one.

Reaching into the back seat, he began to pull out the order. Not wanting to make too many trips in the snow, he tried to carry as many things as possible. The garlic knots balanced on top of a stack of pizzas almost tipped over only to be caught by a beautiful woman. “I can take those.”

Before Jun could answer, a parade of men followed her to help take the food in while two excited children weaved in and out of them. Before Jun could form any questions of the set up in his mind, a man with swept back, honey blond hair pushed a wad of cash into his hand. “Keep the change. Happy Holidays!”

Once all the people had retreated Jun blinked back to the cash in his hand to find that it was almost four times the amount of the food. “Er, thank you!” He called to the closing door.

In Reception the pizza was handed out for everyone to take back to their rooms. The boys and their little families retreated to the boys’ sleepover room. They ate their fill sitting criss-cross applesauce on the floor.

“Slow down, kid.” Din had to remind Grogu. Even after all the months living comfortably with Din, the child's survival instincts still kicked in. Once upon a time he never knew when or if he'd get to each again.

“Sorry, Dad.” Grogu grinned. Before the boy would have hung his head in shame. He used to take everything, even the smallest, slightly negative comment, to heart. Din's own heart swells at the realisation that Grogu now genuinely feels at ease and the kid is just enjoying the food on offer.

Din puts his hand on Grogu's shoulder. “It's okay, Son.”

Grogu happily leans into his father as he finishes off the piece of stuffed crust in his hand. Mrs Lord snaps a quick candid picture on the camera Maxwell bought her for Christmas. Din mouths a heartfelt ‘thank you’. It's for more than the photo. It's for giving him the opportunity that set him on the path to have his found family.

Mrs Lord mouths back ‘you're welcome’ with tears in her eyes, knowing how the motel has changed so many lives in so many wonderful ways. Before they can get too caught up in their emotions, Maxwell, who is practically vibrating with excitement, loudly excuses himself. Both Din and Mrs Lord know what he's up to so their smiles grow into suppressed laughter.

All the adults tidy up the remnants of the pizza feast while the boys chat animatedly back and forth on their beds. Not before long the sound of jingling sleigh bells fills the air outside. Din and Mrs Lord exchange an eye roll. Thankfully Din's partner goes into full teacher mode. “Boys. Can you hear that?”

Both Alastair and Grogu kneel up on their beds excitedly looking at the door. The bells grow louder until they stop outside the door. The children squeal with excitement as the door opens.

“Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas!” Comes a deep voice with a very generic American accent. The door opens wider to reveal ‘Santa’ in a very stylish suit, with a small sack swung over his shoulder.

“I hear you boys are on the nice list!”

“Dad!” Alastair giggles.

“Dad? Oh, I just passed your father. He had to go make a phone call. He said you are a very good boy. He also said that Grogu is too and he loves you both very much.” Santa informs them.

The air is nearly knocked out of Santa as Grogu runs over to hug him. His head of curls pressed against Santa’s more streamlined tummy, his arms tightly around his waist. “I love you, too.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “I mean, thank you Santa.” He adds louder grinning up at Maxwell.

Maxwell is just about keeping it together as he slips back into character. “You are very welcome. Now I came here to make a special early visit. I have one present each for you. I will bring the rest tonight when I visit each and every child.”

As Grogu runs off to sit back in his bed and wait for his gift, Max moves after him, catching the eye of Din who is trying to hide his tear streaked face in his partner's hair. Maxwell gives him a nod as his own lip trembles.

Placing the sack on the end of Alastair’s bed, he puts out two identical presents. Each one immaculately wrapped in green paper with a red ribbon wrapped around and tied into a bow. The only difference was the glittery tag with their names on in a fancy gold scrawl.

“Here you go.” He hands both boys their presents. When they don't open them immediately, Maxwell urges them. “Well, go on. Open them!”

Both boys take this as permission to tear into the wrapper. Inside they find a plain white box. Excitement building they pull off the lid to both find a set of Mickey Mouse ears. Both of them look perplexed at Santa.

Santa's accent cracks with excitement as he exclaims “You boys are going to Disneyland!”

It took a good hour and a half to calm the boys down and get them to bed. When it finally looked like they would finally go asleep the adults piled out the main door. Mrs Lord turned swiftly to to Din. “Can you watch the boys? Maxwell and I have some business in the motel. Thank you.”

Without giving him time to answer she leaves dragging her husband behind her. Din grins as they disappear from view. He knew exactly what business they had to conduct. He'd conducted the same business with his girlfriend earlier in the day, twice, in the hopes that an urgent business matter wouldn't pop up as he lay pressed into her sleeping form that night with the boys in the other room. Din thought it a very wise decision that the Lords be on the other side of the motel right now. Having heard their business dealings in the past.

When the door to their room closed behind them Maxwell starts pulling off the Santa outfit.

“Max? Could you…?” For the first time in their relationship Maxwell saw his wife look timid.

It took a moment for him to work it out. “Oh! You want me to keep it on?” His surprised tone made Mrs Lord want the ground to swallow her up.

“Would it be too weird? I don't know why you just look…sexy.” Mrs Lord was talking exclusively to her feet now.

Maxwell doesn't answer at first, his fingers are busy doing up a button and fixing his long white beard back in place. When he does it's with the same deep voiced generic American accent from before. “You have been such a good girl this year you deserve a treat. Why don't you sit on my lap and tell me what you would like?”

‘Santa’ sits on the edge of the bed with his legs spread wide. His semi hard cock was already bulging against the red fabric. A white gloved hand patting his firm thigh invitation. Mrs Lord goes to delicately sit on his leg only for him to stop her.

“Not like that, my dear.” Thin cotton strokes the back on her thighs as he encourages her to straddle his thigh. As soon as she sits down he can feel her wetness through the velvet suit.

“There that's better. Now tell Santa what you want.” His large hands guide her hips to start grinding against him.

“Fuck. I wanna come.” Mrs Lord grits out.

Santa tuts at her. “Now, now. No bad language. I don't want to put you on the naughty list. What do you want for Christmas?” His hands grip her harder, dragging her back and forth over his muscular thigh.

“I want….nothing. For once I have it all.” her breathing is picking up as the crushed velvet bunched against her clit through her thin, soaked panties and leggings.

“Really?” Santa smirks clenching his thigh and moving her faster.

“Really. I've always been well off materially. Now I have the love of my life too. What more could I want? Oh, shit. I'm coming.” her fingers dig into the plush fabric of his lapel as she rides out her release.

“What did I say about the bad language? I'm afraid you are on the naughty list.” A gloved hand threads into her hair pulling deliciously at the roots. Using it as leverage he forces her down to her knees.

“I'm sorry, Santa. Can I do something to get back on the nice list?” The fluttering of her eyelashes from between his legs makes Santa’s cock full hard.

“You can be a good girl and help Santa empty his sack.” the hand that isn't in her hair works at pulling out his length.

As soon as it's free, Mrs Lord sucks it like a candy cane, causing Santa to tug on her hair sharply. “Slowly. Santa wants to enjoy this.”

The second his wife's eager mouth engulfed him Maxwell had to think of the worst things he could think of to keep from spilling his sack early. As she slowly takes him, pushing the tight O of his lips down to the base he makes a note to keep the Santa suit in his closet, after he has her cum dry cleaned from the pants.

“Such a good girl. I think you can be back on the nice list. You can even have an early present. You say you couldn't want anything else but I think you do. I think you want the greedy little hole filling. You want Santa to warm your walls with his cum.”

A hum from his wife vibrates right down to his balls and brings Maxwell right to the edge. “Stop. Santa wants to blow his load in that tight cunt.”

Ignoring him, she suckes hard, hollowing her cheeks completely and is rewarded by the salty sweet tang of his cum on her tongue. Santa shudders through his orgasm. A breathy whine leaves him then he is silent for a moment as he catches his breath. When he does, he drags Mrs Lord up by her hair and forces her face down on the bed. “Naughty girl. Now you have to earn your place on the nice list again.”

One large hand keeps her pinned as the other strips away her leggings. Her ass cheeks are exposed to him in her thong. Her flesh stings as Santa delivers a hard slap to the plump flesh of her cheek. The pain shoots to her clit, engorging it further.

“Oh, Santa!” She screams.

Seeing his wife completely lost in the fantasy gets Maxwell half hard in record time. A couple more spanks have him almost all the way there. He loves how much his wife now trusts him to fully let go of her control. It has awoke something inside of him that he never knew was there.

“You know what. I don't think I will put you back on the nice list. I think you will stay on Santa's naughty list and every year I will visit you. I will take out the stress of the night on your body. I will pour it all into your wet pussy.” As he finishes he notches the cum soaked head of his cock at her entrance. He moans deeply as every inch is welcomed by her body. “Touch yourself. Make yourself come on my cock. Soak me while I used your hole for my pleasure, you little fucking slut.”

It's not long before she comes around him. A combination of Santa's words and fat cock, along with her knowing her own body. Santa actually loses count of how many times she comes as he concentrates on filling her as deeply as possible, on having every inch of his cock feel her pussy's kiss. At one point he barely pulls out, just stuffs himself in further and further, harder and faster. His wife's free hand claws the bed as she practically sings ‘oh, god’ like a Christmas carol.

As he nears his peak he finally snaps out of his pussy drunk haze to find that his wife is practically curled up into a ball, shoved right up against the headboard while he had one leg on the floor and one spread across the bed. His hips move impossibly fast as he slams into her. The vulgar sound of his cock filling her sopping channel fills the air along with their moans. “Oh, shit. Oh, fuck. Fuck, Baby. I'm gonna come. Fuck. Do you want it? You want my come in your pussy?”

“Fuck, yes. Max!” She gasps.

“What's my name?” Max grits out. “I wanna hear you scream it, you filthy bitch.”

“Santa. I want you to shoot your cum into my greedy hole, Santa. I want to feel it drip out. Come on, Santa, you always have so much for me.” Her own dirty talk pushes her over the edge one more time. She clamps down so hard on Santa's cock that he has no other choice but to fill her. He works himself through it milking as much cum as his can out to plough it deeper into her. He doesn't stop until his cock is completely soft. Once his soft cock slips out of her, she is on him, licking it clean.

Santa puts her on her back to return the favour. Licking up every bit of their cum that has escaped onto her folds before plunging his tongue inside. A ripple of aftershocks runs through her before she pushes him away.

“Merry Christmas, Santa!” Mrs Lord laughs.

Maxwell joins in with her laughter. “If it always ends like that we can have Christmas every month. I'll buy a whole wardrobe of Santa outfits.”

Mrs Lord suddenly stops laughing and Maxwell worries he's said something wrong.

“Was it super weird..that I…you know…got turned on by Santa?”

Maxwell finally pulls off his bread to kiss his wife's forehead. “We all have something that is a little embarrassing.”

“Oh, yeah? So you have some kinky fantasy about an innocent childhood favourite?”

It was Maxwell's turn to look timid. “Oh, you do! I'm sorry I didn't mean…”

“No. It's okay. I told you it was fine so I don't mind.” Maxwell takes a deep breath and releases it. “Tinkerbell.”

“Tinkerbell? From Peter Pan?”

“Her thighs and hips are so full and that tiny little skirt. Plus she's very head strong. I like that in a woman.” Maxwell's hand that was absently stroking her back gave her arm a pointed squeeze.

Mrs Lord turned her head to beam up at him. “Well, thank you for sharing. Maybe Tinkerbell and Santa can team up and make a little magic sometime?”

“Hmm. I like that.” Maxwell practically growled before kissing her deeply.

“Wait. Does this mean I have to keep an eye on you at Disneyland?” Maxwell answered her question by playfully swatting her ass.

The two of them dissolved into giggles.

The Lord's laughter floated up to the second floor where another set of lovers were wrapped in each other's arms.

“They are pretty cute together. Huh? They have something special.” Dieter comments.

“They are not the only ones. They are just more open about it.” Oberyn stares at the curls forming at the nape of Dieter's sweat soaked neck intently waiting for his response.

Dieter knows his paramour all too well. He can feel those intense brown eyes willing him to see him how he sees him. Not how he thinks the world does. Some drugged up, washed up actor. A loser.

“Don't.” Oberyn can practically hear the negative thoughts in Dieter's tousled head. “Don't go there. Stay with me.” Dieter shudders as Oberyn kisses that spot on his neck.

Everyone in the motel knew that there was something between the two of them. None of them knew the depth of it. None of them knew for the first time in either man's life that they actually felt like they knew what true love was. Neither of them had been looking for it the night they stumped back to Oberyn's room. Dieter just wanted to suck the hot Dom's cock. Oberyn just wanted to use those pretty lips while he held onto that soft hair. After that they met up regularly and the sex was electric. If a client didn't scratch their itch completely they'd seek each other out and fuck until they were spent. Then came the pillow talk. Both of them lowered their defences and would talk about anything and everything until the early hours. Slowly they became more to each other. It all went unspoken until Dieter suggested a new position. When Oberyn had an earth shattering orgasm with his face hovering over Dieter's he couldn't help the words that came out. “I love you.”

When Dieter froze like a deer in headlights, Oberyn moved to pull out and nurse his broken heart.

He stopped when Dieter grabbed his hand. “Ryn...” his voice failed him, choked back with all the emotion. “...I…I love you, too.”

From then on they were even more inseparable.

“I know what you think but I promise you no one else thinks that.” Oberyn pulled Dieter tighter into his arms as if he could squeeze the truth into him.

“No one else knows that you are a prince.” Dieter huffed.

“Mi rey, I am the illegitimate bastard child of a disgraced member of the Royal family. Hardly a prince.” Oberyn scoffs, continuing his trail of kisses down his lover's back.

“Technically you are.” Dieter pouts knowing he is losing the argument and with Oberyn's attention on him, the will to even argue.

“Mi rey, they already know we are together. They are happy for us. I would just like to hold your hand at dinner tomorrow like the Lords will be. Is that too much to ask?” While he spoke Oberyn gently turned Dieter in his arms. His full lips were now making a path across Dieter's chest.

Oberyn taking an eager nipple in his mouth and sucking is all it takes to get the answers he desires. “Fuck. Okay. Fine. You win, Ryn. We'll hold hands. Now just fuck me please!”

Oberyn's well groomed moustache twitches as he hides a smirk. “With pleasure, my love.”

The Lords stare up at the ceiling that may actually be in danger of caving in from the way the light fixture is shaking above their heads. Deep guttural groans fill the air as the bed slams into the wall and the bed springs squeak.

“I can't believe they really think we don't know about them.” Mrs Lord laughs.

“There is a big difference between sex and love, Mi Amor.”

“That's true but the sex is even better with a connection. That's why we were always so good together. I swear I knew I was going to love you before I did.”

Din thinks to himself. ‘The best laid plans…’ With the boys asleep and the door between their rooms firmly shut. He found his cock buried inside his girlfriend, his large hand suppressing her moans as he whispers in her ear. “Keep quiet for me, Baby.”, “That's it, just take it nice and slow.”, “Can you come for me like this? Or do you need my fingers?”

Turns out she did need his fingers but only to suck on to keep her quiet as she came around him. Din whimpered as he pulled out to finish himself off. He needed it hard and fast to finish and he couldn't guarantee that the bed wouldn't make a noise if he fucked her like he needed.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He breathes against his fist he gets closer. His girlfriend covering the tip with her warm, pretty mouth is the last straw as he gives her the cum she's waiting for, his teeth firmly in his fist to hold back his ecstatic groans.

After the adults all thoroughly enjoy Christmas eve, it's time for the kids to enjoy Christmas morning. The presents that Din snuck in in the night sat under the tree signalling that Santa had been. The boys ran to wake up their respective grown ups with eager chants of ‘It's Christmas!”

Four tired but happy adults filed into the room to watch their boys open their gifts. They were so appreciative of each one and complemented each other on their cool gifts.

“We are very lucky men indeed.” Maxwell nudges Din with his shoulder as they watch on.

Din, who feels like he's finally found everything that he'd been searching for just nods in agreement, not trusting his voice in the moment.

Dinner time rolls around and everyone starts arriving at the reception hall. The new maitre d’,Paul, is there to welcome and seat them. The round table had all been pushed into a circle for everyone to sit around the outside. Each table was festively decorated with sparkling silver and white decorations. Lights hung from the ceiling rippled in various patterns.

Jack and his girlfriend arrive first, with the news that Jack has asked her to move into his ranch home with him. Silva and his husband Jake are next. There are a few questioning looks as they arrive as Jake hadn't visited the motel before.

Silva formally introduces everyone before Jake steps forward to address the Lords. “Thank you so much. Without this job Silva and I would have lost our home.” When they look puzzled he continues “I was injured at work a while back. My insurance did cover all of the medical bills plus Silva had to take some time off work to nurse me back to health. Without the generous pay from here, I don't know where we would be. Thank you.”

Maxwell takes Jake's outstretched hand. “You are most welcome. I'm glad we could help you both.”

The handshake moves to a shoulder slapping hug before Paul seats them.

Moreno and Pike arrive together. Moreno is followed by an excited tween. Her head full of curls bounces with each skip she takes closer. She is introduced as Missy with a proud smile on his father's face. Pike is next to introduce his companion. The Lords know he is nervous about bringing her here. Pike doesn't have the best track record when it comes to women. He swears this one is different, he can feel it. The Lords make sure to be extra welcoming to his guest. They see a relieved Pike relax into his chair when he clearly happy date sits and chats to more of the guests. (If only Marcus knew that he'd be telling their twelve grandchildren that story one day after decades of blissful married life.)

Even though they are the ones that lived closest, Dieter and Oberyn arrived last. Even after Joel who didn't have the best time keeping. They walked in, hand in hand and took their seats with the others all exchanged amused glances.

Santos outdoes himself with the festive feast he puts on. The smell alone could keep you fed. Rich gravies, aromatic meat and seasoned veg make everyone's mouth water as they are set out on the long table for everyone to help themselves. After everyone is thoroughly satisfied, in a different way than usual at the motel, the atmosphere is relaxed and happy. People chat in groups and pairs. Laughter fills the air from adults and children alike. Couples, new and more established, hold hands and cuddle into each other. Families, both by blood and found, embraced and celebrated. Love filled the space.

The motel was created to fulfil the wishes of those that visited. It was only fitting that it also fulfilled the ones of those who found a home there. By the end of the night, much to Mrs Lord's delight, Santa made another appearance. After over indulging in a little too much Christmas spirit he was helped to his room by Joel and Din. As he was carried out of sight he exclaimed “Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!”

#pedro pascal character fanfiction #maxwell lord #maxwell lord x ofc #dieter bravo #oberyn martell #galaxyedgingwrites

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