#i love gold and these robes eheheh

[juneiper-art]

Last of my pay what you can Dragon Age comms, this time for @anew-flame of Rhaella (Trevelyan version!)

[chojuuro]

you know what! I'm not sending kakashi! HUH, didn't expect that did you! Alright.

"keep talking shit and i'll show you the other things i can do with that mouth of yours." - with OBITO please HUH

u kno what i read this entirely wrong the first time and started a kkob it's FINE a little muah to u my dear friend 💖 anyway how about a lil hokage obito au ehehehe prompt list here | nsfw under the cut

Most days, Obito is happy to hear you complain. Most days, when you run your mouth, he's happy to let it in one ear and out the other, let you tease him until the sun comes up. Most days, Obito is happy to banter, happy to take the words as they come and shoot back with ones of his own, dipped in gold.

Today is not most days.

"Keep talking shit," he says, interrupting you in the middle of your sentence, "and I'll show you the other things I can do with that mouth of yours."

You stare at him from across the desk, stunned silent for once; slowly, your mouth curls into a smirk, an eyebrow raised and your interest piqued. "What're you gonna do about it, Lord Sixth?"

Before you can continue he's rounded the desk, leaning over you with all the power a Hokage should have, bracing himself with a hand on each of the armrests of the chair you occupy, caging you in. A moment passes, then two, and the tension is so palpable, so thick in the air that you feel like you're choking on it.

Your hand reaches up to fist itself into the front of his robes and your hips arch off the seat of the chair, meeting Obito's eager hand as it palms you through your pants. A moan slips through your lips and into his mouth as he kisses you, deep and passionate and hard, so hard, with teeth gnashing and groans and tongues warring for each other.

"Obito," you whine, pressing against his hand, hot and needy and wanting. He chuckles, pulls away a little just in time for you to see his Sharingan spinning to life, savoring the moment.

"It's Lord Hokage in here, doll."

You don't have time to tell him yes, sir, before he tugs you out of the chair, has you on your knees for him in front of the large, wide windows of the Hokage office. Robes tossed aside, pants undone, he pulls his cock out to greet you and you greet it back eagerly, grabbing at the base to keep it steady while you make quick work of it with your tongue, your lips, your hot little mouth that Obito loves so much.

It doesn't take him long to take the control back. Watching you work is nice, it's true; but something about taking you as his own, a fist knotted in the back of your hair, with you as his personal cock sleeve is something that will always, always drive him up the wall.

He fucks your throat until you can hardly breathe, tears streaming down your cheeks and his cum dribbling down your chin, and you tell him thank you.

[dalishunter]

[Slow dance] ehehehe

( soft interactions )              / accepting

          It took a moment for the request to register, but when Arasulahn looked over her shoulders left and right, the others had already dispersed to peruse the lofty guests of the Winter Palace; which meant the open palm extended before her awaited no other hand but her own.

           “Wait… right now?”

           Along the journey to Halamshiral, the Inquisitor had promised her a dance; which until now she had taken as a light-hearted jest. The mission ahead of them was of a hefty nature, and the more she learned how deep and dark Orlesian deception ran, the harder her stomach twisted. Leliana made sure that every scout under her command understood that nothing, not even a stray coin on the ground, would be as it seemed among the players of the great Game. Every eye would be on the Inquisitor on this night, and it was the job of those like Arasulahn, hand-picked to accompany Mahanon and his advisors to look and listen where he could not.

           The only problem was that it was hard to look anywhere else but him.

           The rich, midnight blue of his robes stood out against the sea of pastels and bright golds that were apparently all the rage as of late (or so she was told.) She recognized the style immediately; the high-collared, fitted shirt that fell near floor-length, with high slits on each side to show loose, almost skirt-like golden pants beneath; a garb native to the Clan Sabrae, and it did an immense justice to his beauty. Dalish patterns were stitched all along his chest and arms in shining threads, but what stood out the most was the stylized halla that gleamed upon his chest. Lavellan, Arasulahn noted. An emblem any Dalish would recognize, and one that she might have donned now if fate had dealt her a different hand long ago.

           “I hope you do not think I was holding you to what you said before, on our way here,” Arasulahn’s brow furrowed as she spoke, her voice velvety and smooth when she took to their native speech. She wouldn’t admit to the sliver of hope that she held for his promise all this while.

           “I mean! I would… I would love to! But I worry for your reputation, hahren,” she took his hand in hers and held it tightly, as she leaned in close to whisper. Speaking in elvhen offered no privacy as it normally would, as the palace’s elven servants made their rounds.

           “Already do the humans turn their gaze on you, and for nothing but the point of your ears, the court judges you harshly,” Arasulahn frowned. Every fibre of her being worked against her waning willpower to stay focused, and under the Inquisitor’s soft, lustrous gaze, it became harder to recall the spymaster’s words of warning. The butterflies had found their way from her stomach to her throat, and it pained Arasulahn to try to think practically when her heart so begged to rule over her mind.

           “How will you garner their favour when I will be tripping over your feet for all to see?”