#pierced nips cardy g

[laequiem]

‡ Too much

Track 5 of Dedicated, a @jurdannet collab fic with @hazelsheartsworn @figonas @lizziebxnnet @slightlyrebelliouswriter23

Dedicated Masterlist • My Masterlist

‡ SIDE A: track 1 - track 2 - track 3 - track 4 - ao3

‡ SIDE B: track 1 - track 2

Fandom: The Folk of The Air

Pairing: Jude Duarte x Cardan Greenbriar

Rating: Explicit⇢ teasing, butt plug, pegging, anal sex on male

Word count: 5,085

The revel is already in full swing by the time the High King and I approach the doors of the brugh. Compared to the late High King Eldred, my husband does everything in excess, wanting to experience the most that life has to offer. He collects strong emotions like a magpie, trying to feel at home in his nest of indulgence.

The revel is already in full swing by the time the High King and I approach the doors of the brugh. Compared to the late High King Eldred, my husband does everything in excess, wanting to experience the most that life has to offer. He collects strong emotions like a magpie, trying to feel at home in his nest of indulgence. When I first met him, he had built himself a fortress of cruelty, annoying people until they hated him. As he grew, he indulged in drugs and alcohol until the euphoric buzz led to numbness. I was blind to it at first, and so was Nicasia before me, but Cardan loves more than any sane person should. Of course, pleasure is no different. He looks for new ways to heighten pleasure, not that he is unsatisfied, far from it—Cardan is quite easy to satisfy. Simply, he has made me his mate, and aims to gift me the ecstasy he would formerly collect for himself. The revels he has ordered since being crowned are no different, full of vice and excessive drinking. He claims, however, that this revel is his masterpiece. He has spent the last week consulting every night with Taryn, ensuring her Imps—the servants tasked with setting up those events—get every detail exactly right.

Small tents, big enough for groups seeking privacy, stand on the palace hill. From the branches of the great tree, naked acrobats swing, tangled together in positions unachievable without the freedom provided by aerial silks. As Cardan leads us towards the main doors, the subjects lining the path bow. In contrast to the rest of the Court, we are overdressed, though I would consider our outfits lewd. Nothing is improper about Cardan’s slim high-waisted pants or the gold streaks highlighting his cheekbones and brow. The indecency comes from what he sports as a top. Cardan has forgone a doublet, replacing it for a mesh shirt with a lacy snake design curling around his torso. By itself, it would not be that shocking, at least when it comes to the High King’s fashion. He did, however, swap the usual barbells on his nipples for rings, linked together in a complex harness of golden chains. The chains go down his sides in a strange imitation of ribs, then disappear under the waistband of his pants.

Then, there is the matter of the other thing he wears, hidden under the layers of clothes. The pockets of my dress allow me to reach the remote control strapped under my dress. I blindly press a button and my husband squeezes my arm tightly, the only sign that anything happened.

I have to give it to him, he is good at acting unaffected.

The guards open the doors for us and we make our entrance. Immediately, I am taken aback by how different the room looks. It is the same room I preside over every day—only if the room had been designed by the most twisted fae mind. I have half the mind to think Cardan sourced his inspiration from his oldest brother’s debauched events. The decor still screams of Cardan’s extravagant style. Bioluminescent moss hangs from chandeliers and lights bob between the tangled branches of the ceiling, bouncing off flecks of fairydust. Scattered across the room, Folk pick at tables laden with mountains of food and alcohol: faerie wine of all colors, as well as a clearly-labeled bowl of cocktail made of mortal red wine, vodka, honey and berries. Yet, I cannot deny Balekin’s influence in the… entertainment. Everywhere I look, I see revelers tangled together, members and tongues and fingers disappearing in various holes—a kaleidoscope of skin colors and textures. The air is heavy with the smell of sex, wet noises and moans harmonizing to the bards’ music. The room behind the dais—the room where we first explored each other’s bodies—has been transformed into a pleasure room of sorts. Lower halves of willing folks of all genders stick out of walls, ready to “use”. On some tables, food is served atop the bodies of naked faeries, fresh fruits and bite-sized cakes decorating their body until they are picked clean.

I concentrate on the familiar clicking of Cardan’s heels on the cobblestone path as he leads us towards the throne. The warmth of his hand on my bicep keeps me grounded, steadies me while my body screams to flee. This is all too much, too faerie. The Fair Folk have long since accepted me as their Queen, but the mortal girl I once was remembers these people are dangerous. Yet these people are more my people than mortals ever were, and they have no choice but to respect me.

The High King lets go of my arm and sits on the throne. I was made aware beforehand that the Imps had to remove the second throne since they needed the space. Cardan saw it as an opportunity to make a statement, although not a political one, unsurprisingly. Most of his ideas involved declaring his devotion to me: letting me sit on the throne with him at my feet, or sitting on the throne while I ride him senseless.

Instead, we settled for sitting as a unit, strong and beautiful, the Serpent and his slayer.

I sit on Cardan’s lap sideways, my feet dangling over the side of the throne as he would. I raise an arm and a servant immediately comes over with a glass for each of us—golden faerie wine in a glass rimmed with Nevermore, and a glass of Serpent’s Blood, garnished with a plastic sword impaling a cherry. Almost as if rehearsed, we grab each other’s glass. Cardan smiles wickedly as I tip his goblet to his lips. He sips, then licks the powder off his lips slowly, staring at me.

Heat pools at my core as I watch the powder disappear in his mouth and he grins at me, proud of the effect he has on me. The smug bastard nudges his hips upwards ever so slightly.

Oh, it’s on.

If it’s teasing he wants, then teasing he shall receive.

“Are you enjoying the revel, my poison?” my husband asks, his free hand guiding my face to look at the crowd.

“I am, though…” I move my hips on his, feeling the stiff length straining through his trousers, “I believe you are enjoying it even more.”

Cardan leans forward to kiss the back of neck. I melt into his kisses, enjoying the hot fan of his breath on my skin.

“Oh, it is not the revel that has me… titillated.”

I hum. “I wonder, then,” my free hand roams up the side of his leg, then up mine until it reaches the remote control again, “what has got you so bothered?”

I power on the vibrator, immediately going up to the second level. Long canines flash as he inhales sharply. I let my head fall backwards on his shoulder, exposing my throat to him.

“Jude,” he growls, scraping his teeth over the skin of my neck.

I reach for my glass and he tips it to let me drink. As he does, I raise the speed of the vibrator twice again. He jumps in surprise and some of the wine spills on me as planned.

“How clumsy of you, my King,” I chide with a pout.

I am wearing a sleeveless crimson dress, very close to the color of the drink, so I am not worried about staining—not that I would wear such a dress to another event anyway. The décolletage is such that the neckline almost touches my navel. The dress is meant to enhance my curves, making the court envious of my mortality with the added benefit of driving Cardan crazy.

The spilled wine drips down my throat, then between my breasts. Cardan’s dark eyes follow it.

“Very clumsy,” he agrees, licking his lips. “We should get this dress off you and send it to be washed.”

I caress the inside of his thigh, slowly making my way up. His tail curls around my ankle.

“It would be unseemly to leave so soon,” I drawl, “the people of Elfhame need to see their rulers enjoying the revelry.”

“We aren’t even partaking,” he complains.

“Whatever do you mean, my love?” I ask with fake confusion, “Do you want to dance?”

Cardan groans, giving another thrust of his hips as an answer. It is not uncommon for the High King to be at attention during one of these parties. No matter how skilled a dancer my husband might be, however, I do not think he can manage graceful movements in this instant.

“I will take that as a no, then,” I croon, planting a kiss to his jaw.

The High King gestures to one of the servants carrying around platters of food. They come over, a gangly brownie wearing a translucent shift, and kneel in front of the throne, presenting the platter.

Ringed fingers deliberately brush against the side of my breast as Cardan leans forward to pluck a brightly colored macaroon from the tray. I clench my legs as I feel his cock shift under me. To think that I once convinced myself I hated him more than I wanted him. Now, I am insatiable. One hint of his desire and I starve for his touch.

Cardan brings the macaroon to my waiting mouth. He pushes it in, further than necessary. I keep my eyes on his as my lips close around his fingers, flicking the pads with my tongue as he pulls away. I feel a slight twitch under my ass, and I grin.

It is my turn now. I pick a lokum from the platter, grinding my hips on him for good measure as I sit back on his lap. I grip his jaw and turn his head to look at me. He obediently parts his lips, and I pop the delicacy inside. I run my thumb over his cheekbone as I remove my hand, powdered sugar mixing with his highlighter. One of his hands hovers on my waist, knuckles skimming the underside of my breasts as he idly traces patterns on my skin. He might act the absentminded ruler, but I know his mind is roaring, just as mine is.

Everything reminds me of my hunger for him. Folks having their way together, legs thrown over shoulders, acrobatic faeries dancing on swings and poles, the whole scene scored by a chorus of moans and lute. I look around for familiar faces, trying to keep my desire at bay—perhaps seeing my twin would smother the fire burning in my veins—but my gaze lands on Lady Asha. Seeing the disgusted expression on my mother-in-law’s face only makes me want to push the limits of her tolerance.

I wonder how she would react to her son worshiping me on his knees. I bet she would have a few words to say about that. None of them kind, of course—but words nonetheless.

Cardan must have followed my stare, I realize as I feel his breath tickle my neck, then his lips. The cruel side of him thrives on making his mother uncomfortable, and nothing makes her more uncomfortable than her son on the throne, happy and powerful. I take a sip of my drink as my husband paints my neck in lipstick and Nevermore. Lady Asha turns from her conversation and our eyes meet, Cardan’s wicked mouth tugging at my earlobe. Her pale complexion turns greenish, and I put on my best imitation of Cardan’s smile. Closing my eyes, I tune out everything but my husband’s skilled caresses; his nose nuzzling my throat, his tricky hand moving up my leg.

He is throbbing beneath me, his long nails digging in my skin in restraint. When his finger skims my underwear, I have to bite back a moan.

“Please, my evil Queen,” Cardan whispers, aware that I have a hard time resisting his pleading, “Let us retreat.”

Drenched as I am, I can do nothing but nod frantically.

Like a dog freed from his leash, Cardan stands up in one swift motion, scooping me up as he does. I shift, hooking my legs around his waist, and crush my lips to his. Heat pools in my core when his length presses against my center. I almost want to throw out our plans for the evening to feel him move inside me. Cardan considers it too, I realize as I see his gaze slip to the doors leading outside. No doubt his mind also wandered and had him consider taking me in one of those tents. I reach down and give a sharp tug on his tail, bringing him back on track.

We do not even bother sneaking out. We walk straight out of the door, our lips never leaving each other’s, making it quite obvious to our subjects what we are running off to do. Even more so as the High King all but runs towards our chambers.

He barrels through the door, slamming it shut behind us and pinning me to it. His lithe hands make quick work of my dress and soon enough, I am naked in front of my panting husband.

“My wretched goddess,” he breathes, his hands framing my hips.

He moves one of his hands down my stomach—no doubt to show me the extent of his devotion—but I stop him with a hand on his wrist.

“Tonight is about you, my King.”

His throat bobs, eyes glimmering with anticipation. I walk around him, straight to the desk where I left today’s toy of choice. Putting on the harness is not unlike strapping on my daggers, a mess of buckles and leather that I have to tighten just right. The spotlight item of the night, however, is the bright green cock I slip into the ring. A clone of Cardan’s own, each delicious vein replicated perfectly.

When I turn back to him, he is still rooted to where he was. His tail lashes wildly behind him as he stares at me with a large smile—he’s anxious, then.

“Color?” I ask, making sure he still wants this.

“Green,” he blurts out without hesitation.

“Well, then?” I put a hand on my hip and raise my brows. “Strip.”

Cardan scrambles for his breeches, his normally agile fingers struggling to find the laces. He removes them, then the mesh shirt, leaving him wearing nothing but the harness of chains dangling down his torso. I guide him forward with a tug on the chain linking his nipples. I trail my fingers lightly down to his lower back and pull his hips against mine.

I drink his whimper like the finest wine. A shift of my hips earns me another one and I realize the toy touches his aching cock whenever I move. His noises invigorate me. I reach between us and grasp both of our cocks in my hand.

He moans my name and I reward him with a long stroke. It’s different from the way I usually touch him, so I let his moans guide me. I move my hand over our lengths in a steady rhythm, punctuating every move with a thrust of my hips.

Cardan chants my name like his very own hymn, his slick forehead resting against mine.

The next thrust of my hips sends his knees buckling and his head droops to my shoulder. My other hand cards through his hair, gently stroking.

“Jude—” his voice is more sob than words and I know what is coming before he even utters the words. “Please, Jude—”

I tighten my grip, but slow my movements to a long drag. “Please what, my love?”

“I want you inside me,” he chokes out, panting, “Please.”

I grin—petty revenge for all the times he made me beg for him—and let go.

I nod towards the bed, “On all fours, Kingling.”

He climbs on the bed, tail whipping in excitement. He kneels on the bed, sinking to his elbows with his ass high up.

I trail a finger down his spine all the way to the base of his tail and purr, “Good boy.”

I hear his breath catch, and I ache for him—my strong husband, who still longs for any kind word thrown his way.

I run my hand over the smooth skin of his ass as I kneel behind him. The touch is meant to be reassuring, but Cardan’s fingers twitch eagerly against the covers and he arches his back further. I know the waiting is as much part of the game for him as the act itself, so I play along. I thumb at the jeweled plug, just enough for him to feel the shift.

“You’re beautiful like this, panting and waiting for me.” I pluck a kiss to one of his cheeks. “If only the Court could see you at my mercy.”

I pull on the plug slightly, earning me a surprised yelp. I continue to stroke his bottom in reassuring circles, gently pulling the plug out. It resists at first and when it finally lets go, Cardan sighs into the sheets.

I reach over him to grab the bottle of lube from the nightstand, making sure that my cock rubs against his ass as I do.

“You were so good today. You barely complained,” I say as I squirt some of the lube in my hand and lather the strap-on with it. “Do you think you deserve this, love?”

His answer comes out in a breath, a barely audible “huh-uh”. I line up the tip of the toy, but make no move to enter him.

“I can’t hear you, Your Highness,” I purr. “Do you deserve my cock?”

“Yes,” he mewls, “Please, Jude—”

I guide the silicone penis in. It goes in smoothly. I have been teasing him all day, after all. I keep my hands on his hips as I retreat slowly, then slam back in. Just like he would do to me.

“Fuck, Jude—” he moans, his head practically buried in pillows.

I bend over him, my chest flush against his scarred back. I thrust shallowly into him as I run my mouth over his scars. They are healed by now, a stark white over his pale skin, but the sight of them always reminds of the pain he had to endure. So I kiss away the memories, trail my hands up his back and trace them. His tail circles my waist, holding me close as I rock into him.

“How does your cock feel, Cardan?” I croon, planting a kiss between his shoulder blades. “Do you like it as much as I do?”

“Ah! Amazing,” he cries out, his voice quivering. “You—You feel amazing.”

I kiss my way up his nape, up to his ears and whisper, “Prove it.”

I pull out, then sit on the bed. I grab his hips, guiding him backwards to sit on me. He sinks on the dildo effortlessly, my name tumbling out of his lips.

I circle his torso with one arm, my hand sitting splayed under his throat. His heart thunders underneath, every moan reverberating in his chest. My other hand sits on his hip, guiding him up and down my cock until he takes over, impaling himself in earnest.

He chants my name everytime our hips touch. I meet him thrust for thrust, my hand leaving his hip to grab hold of his cock.

I gorge myself on his moans, on the sound of our hips slapping together. They keep me going when my thighs start to give out from the effort, when my biceps feel sore from holding him up. I pump him in time with his thrusts. It takes no time at all before I feel him throb under my hand and I know he is close. His tail wraps around my wrist and pulls my hand up to his throat.

His adam’s apple bobs under my hand. I tighten my grip, feeling his pulse racing under my fingers. The pressure tips him over the edge. Cardan comes with a strangled sob, spending over his pale chest. I stroke him through each pulse, my hand gliding easily with the semen coating him, but I stop my thrusts. I let him take the reins as he comes down from his orgasm, legs shaking as he moves leisurely on the toy. His moans are weak, breathless. He jerks under my touch, and I am tempted to make him beg me to stop.

I don’t, though. He played along with my torturous game, and seeing him so completely undone has me wanting to care for him. I kiss his neck as he slows to a halt, lightly nuzzling my nose against the back of his neck. I don’t trust him to stand on his own, so when I guide him off the dildo, I steer him around to sit on my lap.

Even covered in sweat, with his hair limp and his eyeliner smudged down his cheeks, he is still stunning. The cutest flush spreads from his cheeks to the angled tip of his ears and his dark eyes shine brighter than before.

“How are you feeling?” I ask, brushing a wet strand of hair off his face.

“If you get this affectionate every time I let you take me,” he says, resting his head against my shoulder, “we ought to do it more often.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I say with mock offense, “I am plenty affectionate.”

“More than I have ever known,” Cardan says offhandedly, his tone one of amusement more than the sadness such a statement warrants.

Yet the comment pierces through my armor, right to my heart. I must have gone stiff, because Cardan pulls away from my shoulder to peer at my face, staring right through my soul.

“Jude?” He traces a long finger down my cheek, concern written clearly on his face even when he raises a groomed brow, “I was promised a bath. I feel… sticky.”

Right, the bath. I slide one arm under my husband’s knees, bracing the other one against his back as I pick him up. I carry him to the bathing chamber where a bath has been drawn before we even started. I lower him into the bath, then add rose essence and salts, sprinkling in some flower petals I know he likes.

I let him soak alone while I remove the harness. I slide the dildo out of the ring, then thoroughly wash it and leave it to dry.

Finally, I join him. I settle behind him, combing my fingers through his hair. We take turns cleaning each other, trading kisses each time the soap exchanges hands. I linger on the hard planes of his chest, removing the chains attached to his piercings, while he spends more time than necessary cleaning my breasts, my thighs.

The water stays warm, thanks to the High King’s magic, swirls of aromatic steam arising from the milky water. I could spend the rest of my days here, letting my fingers prune and my hair frizz from the humidity. It seems as if Cardan could, too. He is all but purring against me as I trace the sharp angles of his body with my fingers. Yet, suddenly he stands, nothing but a wicked smile to warn me that his brain cooked up some new scheme. With the stiff manifestation of it at eye-level, it’s quite easy to imagine the lewdness of his newest idea.

My pulse races, a mixture of dread and arousal coursing through me as I watch him hop out of the bath. I’m too busy admiring the view to notice his tail coming up to brush against my cheek. The furred tip is wet and floppy and I swat at it with a scowl. He laughs.

He walks up to where I left the dildo and holds it up as he inspects it.

“Do you remember, Jude dearest,” he says, the lilt of his voice promising the sweetest sins, “what you said when we bought this?”

Cardan turns to me and I have to force myself to look at his face, to prevent my gaze from dipping down to the twin of the toy he is holding. I shake my head.

“You said,” he continues, stalking towards me, “that you wouldn’t need me anymore if you had a clone of my cock.”

His crude language knocks the breath out of me. I swallow. That must have been the desired effect, because he does not wait for an answer. He gets back in the tub and kneels in front of me. I part my legs unconsciously to make room for him and I just stare.

As a young mortal, I was taught what to do when facing predators. Some of them flee when you stare them down. Others will attack if you do. I find myself wondering which one Cardan is, and if I have ever been taught what to do when a faerie looks at me with such hunger.

The hand holding the dildo disappears under the water. Cardan leans towards me, his nose tickling up my throat before he whispers to my ear, “prove it.”

I gasp as I feel something nudge at my entrance. Too big to be his fingers, but lacking the give and warmth of flesh though the flare of its crown feels the same.

His hand grasps my wrist and guides my hand to wrap around the base of the dildo. The hand that was holding it against my core comes to rest above mine, guiding my movements.

“By all means, lovely little liar. Pretend I am not here.”

Cardan gives our hands a small push and the thick head enters me. Just like he would do if it was his body, he enters me slowly, the movements calculated to make me beg and writhe for him.

“Cardan,” I whisper, the only thing I know to say in this instant.

He hums and shoves into me ever so slightly. “Would you still say my name, alone in the dark?”

“Yes.”

He tries to stifle his groan but I hear it, I always do. His eyelids droop and he leans forwards to kiss my throat, as if he cannot restrain himself. I feel his erection, hard and throbbing, like a brand against my thigh. I want it in me so badly, but he wants to play, and I am not about to let him win. Not anymore. I have done that enough for a lifetime.

I undulate my hips as I drive the silicone cock all the way in. I moan as it bottoms out, my other hand going straight to my husband’s hair and pulling.

“Fuck,” Cardan swears against my neck, his cock pulsing against me.

I start thrusting the dildo then, imitating the lazy pace Cardan likes to tease me with. His hand is a vise against mine, his long nails digging lightly in my skin. The size is perfect, a complete copy of Cardan’s organ, and yet… It’s not the same. Even if I follow every dilatory drag with a deep, unrelenting trust, it still does not feel like it does when it’s him doing it. I could come from this, just like I can come with my own fingers. But not unlike when I take care of myself, I know the orgasm would not be the same earth shattering, tear-jerking feat that he can coax from me.

“Cardan,” I whisper again, “touch me.”

To my surprise, he does. He does not make me plead, does not make me ask. He simply obeys, his unoccupied hand going straight to my clit. He kisses his way down my neck to my heavy breasts. His mouth latches to a nipple, sucking it in before giving it a quick lick.

His thumb moves in quick, precise circles over my bud, ever so careful not to scratch me with his nail. Cardan’s teeth graze my nipple, teasing, then he bites it. I cry out as I buck against him. He grins against my skin, then does it to the other breast.

I drive the toy in myself faster now, the game of pretend that started this completely forgotten. He has to know I was teasing when I said I wouldn’t need him. He is the maestro of my pleasure, conducting it with expert hands. His orchestration is as masterful as ever, shaping my climax with fingers and tongue and touch. I am too aware of the warmth of his mouth sucking marks under my breasts, of the quick flick of his thumb over my clitoris. I notice everything and nothing—how he jerks against my thigh with every moan I give him, how he takes the lead of thrusting the dildo when I feel my arm tiring with the effort.

He works me to a crescendo and I come screaming his name. I completely let go of the toy to grip the lip of the tub as my body convulses in waves of pleasure. I am barely aware of the water splashing out of the tub, of the hot spurt of Cardan’s seed against my leg, as that dexterous thumb strums me down from my frenzy.

I let myself sink in the water, floating in fragrant water and bliss. Cardan sits between my legs, resting against my chest with his tail curling around my ankle.

“I believe I have proven myself useful,” he muses, his fingers idly tracing nails over the curve of my breast, “or my fingers are, at least.”

“You have,” I tell him, “not that you needed to.”

A long nail flicks over my nipple, once. I grip his chin and force him to look at me.

“Did you really think I would replace you with… a toy?” I ask, raising a brow as I gaze into those deep black eyes.

I see him open his mouth, tongue touching his palate as he tries to spell out the word. No. The word refuses to leave his mouth.

I take his hand, raising it above the water. I bring it to my mouth and kiss the ring on his ring finger.

“Don’t you remember our vows? Let us be wed until we don’t want to be,” I remind him, “I am with you because I want to be.”

And the High King smiles, a warm and genuine smile.

A happy smile.

--

Tag list @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @thefolkofthefic @figonas @kingandfireheart @godgavemelou @lizziebxnnet @hazelsheartsworn @jurdannetrevels

[laequiem]

Pssst.

You should all read this.

Flood Kristen with comments and reblogs 🌚🌝

don't you know (part one) - read on ao3

writer: lizziebxnnet pairing: cardan greenbriar/jude duarte word count: 3.5k rating: explicit tw: possessive behavior, impact play, light bondage, begging, orgasm control

PART TWO -> PART THREE -> PART FOUR

Two people who both love to have control. One girl, one boy, and endless opportunities. How hot can they fan the flames?

FIC AND TAG LIST UNDER THE CUT

if you want to be added so you don't miss future parts, send me an ask

The party is in full swing when Jude and Cardan arrive.

Nicasia has gone all out. Twinkling lights dangle from every surface, causing shadows to dance across the room. Blue streamers of every shade hang from the ceiling, making the entire house look like it’s underwater. She’s even placed seashells on coffee tables, bookshelves, and kitchen counters. Drinks are served out of fish bowls or bright blue solo cups.

Some people are dressed on theme, while others aren’t. Jude and Cardan voted to keep their regular clothes, but several people are wearing sailor costumes, or going as far to wear a mermaid tail. One of those people is Nicasia herself, who has shown up looking like Princess Ariel, vibrant red hair and all.

Music pumps through the speakers, and dancers crowd the living room. Jude scans the room and finds Taryn and Vivi in a corner by themselves. Her twin waves to her when they meet eyes, and Jude returns the gesture.

“This is absolutely ridiculous,” Cardan laments.

“It’s her birthday,” Jude replies, like it solves the problem. She knows very well that it doesn’t.

Her boyfriend places his hand on her lower back and pulls her close, leaning down to whisper into her ear.

“Doesn’t make her look any less ludicrous.”

“Maybe so,” she says, turning to look him in the eyes, “but we are going to have fun regardless, aren’t we?”

Cardan simply sighs.

He doesn’t move his hand from the small of her back as he leads them to the kitchen. Several fish bowls sit on the counter, all labeled with increasingly insane names. A Little Dinghy, Siren’s Blood, and Sex with the Captain all gleam brightly from their bowls. Siren’s Blood captures her attention with it’s vibrant red color, so Jude pours herself a cup. Cardan grabs some Sex with the Captain, because of course he does.

“About time you guys made it,” Taryn says when they finally join them.

“We were beginning to wonder if you were going to show up,” Vivi replies.

“I didn’t want to,” Cardan says flatly.

Cardan and Nicasia’s history is rocky and fuzzy, full of so many twists and turns that Jude has a hard time keeping up. They had a thing in the past, which Nicasia always says was nothing serious but Cardan disagrees. He’s told Jude she cheated, which she denies, claiming they were on a break. They’ve mostly moved past it, but when Cardan is in a bad mood or simply feeling salty, he likes to mope about it. Jude lets him.

“Your bad attitude won’t be tolerated at my birthday,” Nicasia retorts, flinging her fake red hair over her shoulder as she approaches the group.

Cardan doesn’t bother with a response, just takes a swig of his drink and looks away, his face bored and annoyed.

“Anyway,” Nicasia continues, looking to everyone else, “this entire house is about to become a dance floor. I’ve got Locke setting up the music.”

As if on cue, someone turns down the lights and music begins blaring through all the speakers in the house. With the lights so low, Jude can barely make out the faces in front of her, and the music is so loud it’s disorientating. A weird, techno remix version of Part of Your World plays at full blast. Nicasia grabs Taryn’s hand, as well as Jude’s, and pulls them both to the floor.

A few mermaid tails hit Jude’s legs and knees, and someone to her left plops a sailor hat on her head. Taryn is laughing at something Nicasia says. Bodies cram together in the slightly small space of the living room. Everyone is moving and there’s alcohol floating through her veins; Jude feels a piece of herself just let go and she drains the rest of her drink, throws the cup down, and turns to the first person she sees to start dancing.

It’s Locke.

She’d rather it be Cardan, but she doesn’t see him anywhere near her. Locke’s hands make their way to her waist, and he grips her tightly before pulling her in. They’re too close, Jude’s too hot, and Locke is looking at her like he wants to eat her alive. She takes that feeling she sees and plays with it, smirking at him before she wraps her arms around his neck. She sways her hips, lowers her eyes, and flings her hair over her shoulder.

Their hips meet in the middle. Locke bends down to whisper in her ear, something she can barely hear, and when she turns her head, inky black eyes meet hers across the room. A fire is inside them, alive and angry and domineering. His sharp jaw is tight with how hard he’s clenching it. All of it ignites a spark inside Jude, a dangerous one, but one that she wants to fan and see how hot the flames can get.

She smiles at Cardan, wicked and sly, before turning away to face Locke again.

She wants to see how far she can push Cardan, how jealous and possessive he can get. A switch has flipped inside her; one that doesn’t flip often but when it does, the game that follows is always fun. Jude has always been a dominant woman, especially with Cardan, but she has also found that she likes to submit, to lose control and have someone else take the reins. She has also discovered a taste for pain, for the sting of a hand or the pressure of a palm around her throat.

She supposes if it’s Cardan’s delicate grip, his long ringed fingers wrapped around the column of her neck, she’d let him hold her down forever until she knew of nothing else.

That’s the last thought that crosses her mind before the same hands rip Locke’s palms from her hips and push him away, a snarl ripping from his mouth as he does. A warmth spreads through Jude, from her head to the space between her thighs. Adrenaline races in her bloodstream, and when Cardan’s eyes meet hers again, she almost climbs him in the middle of the living room.

When that possessiveness she craves heats his gaze, she is at his disposal. There is nothing she wouldn’t do to keep it there, to know she’s his.

Cardan pulls her into him so their chests are flush, and Jude gasps when his raspy voice trails into her ear, drowning out the music in the background.

“If you want someone’s hands all over you so badly, meet me at the car. Five minutes.”

He leaves her standing in the middle of the room, gaping like a fool, and exits through the front door.

“What the fuck was that about?”

Jude turns to see Locke, still somehow standing near her and ready to pick up where they left off. He moves to touch her but she steps sideways. He frowns.

Without another word, she flings the hat from her head and rushes to the front door to walk outside. It’s deserted and dark, with only the lights from the open windows bleeding into the lawn. There are cars parked everywhere, all of them empty. She files through them, her heart racing with nerves, until she finds Cardan leaning against his own, one leg propped up behind him against the back tire.

He’s so beautiful, sometimes it hurts to breathe. Jude stops feet away and simply stares, taking him in. He’s wearing his trademark black skinny jeans with a sheer, flowery top. He decided against an undershirt, so his skin underneath is on display. Through the ridiculous fabric, she can see his nipple rings gleaming in the moonlight. His black hair is artfully messy, and dark khol lines his eyes.

She wants nothing more than to ride him into oblivion, but she feels like what she wants isn’t in the cards. She trembles with anxious delight.

“Come here,” he orders and she obeys, closing the little distance between them.

Everything between them is pulled tight, just waiting for one of them to snap and break it.

Cardan opens the back door to the car, climbs in the back seat, and pulls Jude in after him, yanking the door closed behind her. She falls forward and lands across his lap. His already half-hard erection pokes into her stomach and she squirms. Immediately, he pins her down with his strong hand across her back. She stills under his touch.

“You’ve been so bad, Jude.”

His voice is laced with honey and violence, sugar and sin. Every bit of Jude thrums for him, waiting for his next move. His hand moves, skimming down her back and down to her ass, her thighs. He rubs her hot skin, just enough to tease. His fingers trail underneath her skirt, so close to her core, and she squirms again just to spite him.

It earns her a hard slap across the bottom of her ass cheek.

She yelps as it connects, stinging in the most painful, pleasing way. Her breath picks up and her face warms, her already tan skin turning cherry red.

“Be still, kitten,” Cardan says, rubbing the place he just smacked with his hand.

His fingers trail to her core again, ghosting across her pantyline. She can hardly breathe, itching and waiting for him to really touch her.

“I bet you liked it when Locke had his hands all over you, didn’t you?” Cardan asks, his touch turning possessive.

He cups her center, the tip of his finger pressing against her clit. Jude gasps at the touch, shifts her hips to get more pressure.

“Answer me,” he growls, adding the pressure she so desires. It takes all her effort not to cry out, to beg him to move her underwear and touch her how she wants.

“Yes,” she finally says.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, sir.”

Cardan removes her underwear and tosses them to the floorboards. The cool air of the car hits her center and she shivers. Her boyfriend leans down next to ear and bites her earlobe roughly, making her cry out.

“No one else is allowed to touch you, do you understand?” One of Cardan’s deliciously long fingers penetrates her, and she moans low. “You’re mine.”

He fingers her rough, curling his fingers and caressing the sweet spot inside her that makes Jude arch her back like a bow. His other hand presses her down the entire time, pinning her beneath him so she can’t twist in his grip. His touch is almost torture, but a bittersweet pain that she loves to hate.

Almost as soon as he begins, he stops. His wet fingers squeeze her thighs, and she keens, silently begging for more.

“What sort of punishment do you deserve, kitten?” Cardan asks, still tracing the skin along the back of her legs. She wants him to stop, wants him to keep going, wants him to touch her cunt until she’s screaming his name.

When she doesn’t answer, he clicks his tongue in disapproval. She fumbles for an answer.

“Anything, sir. Anything you see fit.”

In response, he lifts her skirt and flips it over her lower back. She can feel the heat of his eyes on her, the tension in the stale air of the car, his possessive grip on the back of her knee. She tingles in anticipation, almost giddy for what’s to come.

“Maybe a spanking will teach you to keep your hands to yourself.”

Jude’s body shifts as he lifts his hips. She turns her head to watch as Cardan removes his belt, the leather popping as it moves through the loops of his black jeans. He grins at her, a wicked turn of the lips that leaves her breathless, before leaning forward and grabbing her hands.

“Give me your safe word,” he says.

She lifts her eyes and swallows. “Mercy.”

“Don’t be afraid to use it.”

He wraps her hands in the belt, pulling it taut before securing it. Jude tries to loosen her hands but can’t, so she grabs the handle of the car door and holds tight. Her hands shake in anticipation, her heart pounds with pure adrenaline.

“How does 25 sound?” Jude nods her head, ready to submit.

“Count for me, kitten.”

The first hit to her bare backside sets off electricity in her veins. Everything inside her body sings as she gasps at the sensation. She almost smiles at the sting, at the release of all the tension she’s been holding.

“One,” she breathes.

Another blow lands on her other cheek, much harder than the last. She counts, and Cardan hits - over and over. Each hit stings a little worse, her skin turning pink and growing raw. Everything inside Jude’s mind clears and she feels nothing but this. She’s only the bite of his hand, the surprise of each blow, the sweet pain that blossoms across her skin. Each hit brings a wave of pleasure with the hurt, and she can feel herself getting wetter as time goes by.

When he hits the top of her thigh, right where her ass ends, she moans. When he lands a particularly hard slap and his fingers graze her cunt, she almost screams. She yanks at her restraint, desperate for some kind of relief, but comes up short. She wants to beg him to stop, beg him to spank her until his hand goes numb, beg him to fuck her until she doesn’t even know her own name.

Jude has never been religious, never one to believe in any higher power. But when she’s underneath Cardan’s hand, in his lap, choking with his fingers around her throat, Cardan is her God. He is everything - the thing that keeps her grounded, the one anchor that holds her together, that makes her feel like she has a purpose. He is her religion and her church, and she’ll bend her knees to him every time.

When she gasps out the number on the twentieth hit, her eyes begin to fill with tears. Her emotions run wild, clawing at her throat and threatening to release. Cardan’s hands move from her ass and dance along her inner thighs, and he hums when he feels her desire sliding down her skin. She can feel his own pleasure underneath her, his cock straining against the inside of his jeans.

Two fingers enter her, and Jude chokes. He is relentless with his ministrations, driving her to insanity. Cardan’s other hand swats at her backside as he touches her, and she sobs, hot tears finally falling from her eyes. Everything inside her breaks in the most beautiful way, so much emotion, pleasure, and desire deep in her bones that it’s the only way she can release it.

Cardan pulls free and she whimpers, the feeling of his fingers gone and leaving her empty. She wiggles her ass, but rather than slap one of the cheeks, he pushes them both up with one hand and lands a heavy blow on her cunt.

Jude screams, the pain sweet and raw and breathtaking. She wants him to do it again so badly she can’t think straight.

“When I tell you to count, do it.” Cardan’s voice is low, laced with venom.

It’s only then that she remembers she missed one, his skilled fingers distracting her and making her forget. The submissive side of her is ashamed, wanting so badly to please Cardan. The other side wants to forget again just to feel the sweet sting of his palm on her clit.

“Twenty-one, sir.”

“Good kitten.”

Jude almost purrs at the praise, and then another hard smack hits the swell of her ass and she whines instead.

Three more breathtaking blows land on her backside, the last number leaving her throat in a shaky cry. She feels like she’s floating on a cloud, high above the scene playing out in the back seat of Cardan’s car. Instead of on leather seats, she’s in heaven with her favorite boy’s hands cradling her ass and leaving red imprints in their wake. She trembles in his touch, the pain settling into more of an ache as the impacts stop.

Every inch of her skin is on fire, liquid heat bubbling in her veins. She’s out of touch when soft hands grab her fingers and pry them from the door handle. Then, those same hands clutch her waist and turn her over so her back hits the seat. She tries to open her eyes but can’t. She’s too overwhelmed, too overstimulated.

“You were so good,” Cardan murmurs, his breath warming her lips as he hovers over her.

Jude wants to look into his eyes, the steamy black of his gaze, but everything is too heavy, too warm. She tries to move her arms but remembers her restraints and whines. Cardan chuckles, and she feels him shift to take the belt off.

Lips touch her wrists when the belt is untied, kissing away any pain that was there.

“How about a reward for being such a good girl?” Cardan asks.

A featherlight touch grazes her center and once again, Jude is on fire, overstimulated, inundated.

“You’re so wet, all for me,” Cardan breathes into her mouth before finally, finally, kissing her.

Jude relents to his good graces, lets herself be completely consumed by him. He isn’t shy or careful, kissing her filthy and thoroughly. His fingers play with her while his tongue searches her mouth and his teeth nip at her lip.

“Did my hand do that to you? You’re filthy, kitten,” he says, and Jude shivers.

“Cardan, please,” she moans, bucking against the hand that’s still touching her, still torturing her by circling her clit with slow and steady motions.

“Please what?” he teases.

She doesn’t even know what she’s begging for - all she knows is that if he doesn’t do something soon, she’s going to lose herself. His slow fingers grazing her, just barely there, is driving her to madness.

He starts trailing kisses down her neck, her breasts, her stomach until he’s hovering over her core. Jude finally manages to open her eyes long enough to see him staring directly back at her, his eyes hungry.

He’s going to devour her. She can’t wait.

He licks at her, a fat solid stripe right down her center, and everything in Jude’s brain short circuits.

“You can touch,” Cardan says, his voice muffled as he tastes her again. She doesn’t hesitate.

Her hands grab his hair and yank, earning a moan of her own from her boyfriend’s mouth. He dives in, not bothering to come up for air as he licks at her. Jude is delirious with pleasure, and when Cardan’s nails drag down the raw skin of her freshly beaten ass, her moan could rattle the windows. She burns and writhes and cries, everything beginning to build at the base of her spine.

His teeth nip at her. His tongue teases her. She pulls his hair and drags him closer, so close she isn’t sure how he breathes. He might be the one in control, but at this moment, she holds the remote. Everything happening is about her - her pleasure, her release.

But during these moments, when Cardan is in control, her release is in his hands. Which is why, when she feels like she can’t keep it at bay any longer, she begs.

“Please, sir. Let me come.”

Cardan curls his fingers, grazing a spot inside her that takes her breath away, and she fights the urge to come undone immediately, to disobey one of his only wishes. Never come without my permission.

“Now, Jude.”

Jude comes alive like a firecracker exploding in the sky. Everything releases, and she rides Cardan’s mouth through all of it. She’s so loud it should be embarrassing, but she doesn’t care. She doesn’t have any room inside herself for anything other than Cardan’s tongue, his hands, and his controlling voice finally telling her she can let go.

The aftershocks ebb and then die. Cardan lifts himself up and kisses her again, her own bitter taste on his tongue making her groan into his mouth. She’s just been eaten alive, her ass beaten until it’s red but she still craves more, more, more. It’s the same since she first met him all those years ago, when his name ran through her mind like a refrain: Cardan, Cardan, Cardan, Cardan.

“That’s my girl,” he mutters. “I love you, Jude.”

She mumbles the words back, finally able to open her eyes and look back at him, and Cardan merely laughs softly. Everything is heavy and warm, and she hurts in the best way possible.

“Let’s go home,” he says. “Will you be alright until we get there?”

Jude nods, and together they climb into the front seat. Their long limbs tangle together, making them giggle, until they’re settled and ready. Cardan starts the car, then reaches over and grabs her hand across the center console, squeezing her fingers. Jude smiles at him, which he returns. These soft moments after their scenes are what Jude lives for - easy smiles after hard looks, soft hands held tight that once caused pain; it all mixes together into something like home.

They pull out of the yard and onto the road. Streetlights flicker as they drive past, casting yellow light through the windows. In the darkness of the car, with nothing but the weight of Cardan’s hand in hers, Jude falls asleep against the window thinking of the sweet punishment she is sure to inflict on Cardan soon enough.

.

.

.

.

@hazelsheartsworn @figonas @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @thefolkofthefic @ncstas @kingandfireheart @laequiem @jurdannet

[dippedanddripped]

Mayhem. That's really the only way people were able to accurately describe the party for Fendi's launch of their millennial-focused digital platform "F...is for Fendi" back in February. For a night that was supposed to be a fun-filled fashion event at a secret New York City location fueled by the sounds of Metro Boomin, 21 Savage and Migos, it ended in moshpits, bloodshed, fist-fights and (allegedly) with weapons being pulled. Mix an old-school industry that has become known for its ignorance of racial issues and lack of diversity with a youth culture that thrives on those very same issues, and you're likely going to run into a few snafus on how to handle settings such as said Fendi party, with rap artists that have tons of young fans ready to wild out. Hip-hop, as much as it has tried to, has never been the perfect fit for fashion, but now the issue is being forced — and it's not turning out as promising as both sides had hoped.

Hip-hop is one of those cultural movements that isn't simply a movement. It can literally build communities or, as some people have generalized, cause bloodshed. In the right hands, it can become something that unifies and symbolizes hope, happiness and ebullience. But, in others, it can be made a mockery of. There's a very thin line, and it isn't black or white. Many times, it's green.

Seemingly every label on the market has profited off of hip-hop over the past few seasons. Louis Vuitton went from sending cease and desist letters in 2000 for illegal use of their famous monogram print to Supreme — the same brand that hip-hop heads who want to look like skaters (and skaters who want to look like hip-hop heads) love — to collaborating on the most anticipated collection in years. In early 2016, Vetements dropped a $900 T-shirt featuring Snoop Dogg that was almost an exact replica of one that Death Row released for his "Beware of the Dogg" tour merch. One can't help but wonder: How many people who bought that reinterpreted shirt, one that sold out everywhere despite the high cost, know any songs off of "Doggystyle" outside "Who Am I?" and "Gin and Juice?"

Photo: @kyliejenner/Twitter

However, no one did quite as well as Gucci. The Italian house had a banner year in 2016, monetarily and popularity-speaking, and much of that can be attributed to Alessandro Michele's wholehearted embrace of hip-hop and bootleg culture. Gucci was already a hip-hop favorite, but the intersection between what rappers and their entourages were wearing and how luxury brands were interpreting it was coming to an apex. The hip-hop style landscape was changing so much, it allowed for more tailored clothing with bombastic designs to really overtake some of the more generalized "rapper fashion" of yore.

This is why Michele took a page out of hip-hop fashion knockoff pioneer Daniel "Dapper Dan" Day's book with a Cruise 2018 collection runway look, featuring a puffy-sleeved mink jacket with double-G monograms a la Day's famous counterfeit (yet fabulous) piece from the '80s. Appropriation or homage, people asked? That's no matter: As of September, Dapper Dan is now a bonafide Gucci collaborator, as well as the face of the label's men's tailoring campaign, shot at the Apollo Theater in Harlem. Together, they will re-open his famous studio that was shut down in 1992, and Gucci will supply him with the real thing to create some new masterpieces.

Dapper Dan in Gucci's men's tailoring campaign. Photo: Glen Luchford

Until recently, hip-hop's love for luxury fashion has been somewhat unrequited. Brands like Louis Vuitton, Gucci, Versace, Chanel and the like have stood for opulence (and have served as a marker of success) since rap's inception. But, unfortunately, the number of times a fashion house recognized their hip-hop counterparts or outwardly awarded credit where it was due is disappointingly small. During the after-party for known culture vulture Philipp Plein's NYFW runway show last week, performer Nicki Minaj made a point to call out this fact: "Thank you, Philipp Plein, for including our culture. Designers get really big and really rich off of our culture, and then you don't see a motherfucker that look anything like us in the front row half the time."

Today, fashion insiders are all but accustomed to luxury brands using a hip-hop soundtrack to accompany their runway collections (a piano version of a Travis Scott song played at the Valentino Resort 2018 show in New York) or commissioning "It" rappers to play a medley of their most popular tracks at an after-party — many of whom proceed to complain about "the racket." (The most recent examples from fashion week include Future's performance at Plein and Cardi B's after-party appearance at Alexander Wang.) What's more is that designers are creating entire collections inspired by hip-hop culture with no merit. As much as those who grew up living and breathing that culture beg and plead for diversity in fashion, the forced nature of the inclusion of hip-hop for the sake of it comes off as disingenuous.

In the spring, Tory Burch's "An American Road Trip" video campaignfeatured white models performing the viral dance set to the song "Juju On That Beat." The brand retracted the video after widespread criticism, and not only was the gaffe chills- (and laugh)-inducing, it was just another prime example of when culturally appropriating hip-hop for financial gain goes wrong. We understand it was just an innocent video trying to play to the youth by using a popular song and dance, but, at the very least, why not find a model of color — or someone who can actually dance?

Over the summer, Kendall and Kylie Jenner thought that it would be a good idea to release a line of vintage band T-shirts — including ones featuring slain hip-hop legends Notorious B.I.G. and Tupac Shakur — with the famous sisters' faces superimposed on them. This just goes to show that there definitely weren't enough people around during the decision-making process who could confidently call this out as a very bad idea (the same goes for Kendall Jenner's infamous Pepsi commercial). In addition, it's safe to assume that the top-level people making these decisions aren't clued in to urban culture (or simply dismissed it), but are trying to capitalize on hip-hop's proven selling power.

Cultural appropriation also seems to run particularly rampant in the beauty space: Valentino drew ire for the cornrows its models wore during the Spring 2016 show and in the accompanying campaign; Kylie Jenner wore a du-rag front row at New York Fashion Week in February; several designers adopted the '90s-era pierced nail trend for spring and Marc Jacobs's Spring 2017 show was marred in controversy because he featured a predominantly white cast wearing faux-dreadlocks. Less than six months later, his Fall 2017 collection was titled "Respect" and was inspired by casual urban dress, complete with chains, tracksuits, puffer jackets and Kangol-style hats. After the show, Jacobs said he watched a hip-hop documentary that "gave way to a whole new language of style," but the damage had already been done.

Hip-hop is often correlated with coolness and trendiness, but what many people don't realize is that it truly symbolizes a culture — not just that of black people — whose odds are constantly against them. The fashion industry has played a large role in the stereotyping of hip-hop, often slighting it as "too ghetto" for inclusion. This is particularly apparent when it comes to the lack of diversity on the runways. (Shoutout to Mekhi Lucky for landing a modeling contract after being discovered through a mugshot, but young black men shouldn't have to be declared "prison bae" in order to be given a chance at a career in fashion.)

Lil Yachty for Nautica. Photo: Nautica

There are some fashion brands who immediately recognize the importance of hip-hop while also being smart about how they show their appreciation for it. For example, Nautica appointed Grammy-nominated rapper and cool kid Lil Yachty as creative designer after the two were mutually feeling each other and were ready to take things to the next level. Yachty's love for the brand is only matched by his connection to youth culture, which Nautica realized was paramount to the success to their resurgence in this space. Guess has always been in tune with hip-hop culture, too, so when they tapped A$AP Rocky to help pay homage to the '90s with a collaboration, they worked hard to ensure the line's authenticity. (Rocky is also a face of Dior Homme, and frequently name-drops designer Kris Van Assche in his lyrics.) And, of course, what Kanye West has been able to establish through his Yeezy partnership with Adidas has transcended the divide between hip-hop and fashion more than arguably any other designer, despite a few missteps and poor critical reviews along the way.

At the end of the day, all of these brands understand one thing and one thing alone: hip-hop culture matters more than it ever has, and there's never been a better time to cash in on it. It is a constant driver of what people do on a daily basis and it's difficult to stay relevant if you aren't in touch with (or in front of) the culture it permeates. The true drivers of the culture today are extremely embedded in hip-hop — or, at the very least, have a keen knowledge of it — and their voices need to be heard on the ground floor to help nip inauthentic collaborations and appropriation in the bud.

Takeoff, Quavo and Offset of Migos at the 2017 Met Gala. Photo: Theo Wargo/Getty Images

This is precisely why Virgil Abloh is directing videos and creating album covers for Lil Uzi Vert while at the same time collaborating with Nike, doing seasonal collections for Off-White and is rumored to be in consideration for every vacant creative director role — including Versace and Givenchy, two of the leaders in understanding the importance of hip-hop in the luxury fashion world. Why do you think Migos have recently decided to re-try their hand at creating their own fashion line? Because they're on every red carpet (including that of the all-important Met Gala) and performing at any fashion after-party they're available for. These guys aren't waiting for brands to bring them in at the end of the discussion anymore.

It's time for these big-time corporations and conglomerates to wake up to the fact that the commoditization of hip-hop culture is being recognized early and often, so they need to bring in younger, in-tune voices — the Luka Sabbat's, Virgil Abloh's and ASAP Rocky's of the world — to help them integrate hip-hop culture in an authentic, organic way. Because, guess what? If something feels appropriative or not quite right to them, they're going to say so, straight up. Striking the right balance between luxury fashion and the culture these creatives embody is no easy task, but if streetwear, sneakers, rapper-designed merch or collaborations and continual "borrowing" from hip-hop's legacy continue to drive major profit within the industry, there are only more and more opportunities for ideas to turn terribly sour.

[laequiem]

Queen of Nobody [ONESHOT]

/ Cardan has been teasing Jude for a week, and she decided to get her revenge. Sub!Cardan, Dom!Jude, PWP. 

Fandom: The Folk of the Air

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 1,769

His gaze was wild with restraint as I sat facing him and grabbed the soap. While he did not move, I could see his tail whipping from left to right, a cat waiting to pounce. I made a show of washing myself, scrubbing dirt and sweat from my body. I was very aware of his intense stare, the way he grasped the sides of the tub until his knuckles were white.

“Jude…” he whined.

“You’ve been so eager to tease me this week. Isn’t this fair, husband?”

Read it on ao3

For the last week, we barely had time to ourselves. I attended Oak’s birthday party last weekend, which Cardan had to skip on to deal with a visit from Queen Nicasia. The rest of the week was filled with the usual: revels, diplomatic dinners, boring meetings... As always, we sat on opposite sides of the table at dinner. During our meetings with the Living Council, we kept our façades: the irreverent king and his fierce queen, never looking like they enjoyed each other’s presence. Our sleeping schedule was staggered. I crashed first, tired from my training and stressful days, and Cardan would join me a few hours later, wasted after entertaining our people at the night’s revel.

Day by day, it was getting harder to slip out of his arms when I woke up to train. Not only did I miss the warmth of his body as I changed out of my night clothes, but I missed the… intimacy. He had done his best to tease me all week. His tail trailing up the side of my leg as we pretended to ignore each other at revels. A hand brushing my hair when he walked past me. On days when he had more to drink, he would risk more public displays of affection; coming up behind me and tugging me to him as he kissed the nape of my neck.

I met with the Ghost and trained harder than usual, trying to get rid of this tension building in me.

It did not help.

When I got back to the room to bathe, I was surprised to find Cardan lounging in the bath, eating from a bunch of grapes. As I drank the sight of him in, I realized he meant for me to find him here. Everything about the picture before me seemed deliberate. The bathwater, sprinkled with golden petals, was milky white, hiding the lower half of his body. He had kept most of his jewelry on, I noted, as my gaze went up his body. Even his crown, tilted over his damp curls. His makeup was perfect, which makes me think that it wasn’t leftover from yesterday - he actually did his makeup before getting in the bath.

His grin widened as I stood there just gawking at him. I had to say something. Not let him see how much I want him.

“How surprising to see you here, Your Infernal Majesty. Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“I’m exactly where I want to be. I cancelled the meeting.”

I lifted an eyebrow. “What reason did you give, this time? Hangover?”

“Something like that.”

I sat on a low stone bench and started undoing the lace of my boots. When I tugged off the second one, I looked up to find Cardan staring at me. I smirked, then turned my back to him. Bending way more than necessary, I removed my leggings. I heard him inhale sharply as I got back up. I unbuckled the strap holding my knife to my thigh and let it fall on the floor, though I doubt he would mind if I kept it.

“How convenient that you’re here exactly when I come back to bathe myself,” I say as I turn around to face him.

I kept eye contact as I started slowly undoing the laces of my tunic, then tossed it over my head. I saw him straighten and inch forward a little as he drank in the sight of me in my mortal underwear: a dusty pink lace bra that left little to the imagination, and a white lacy thong. Not the worst combination, but definitely not matching.

“A lucky coincidence,” he whispered. I wondered how he could justify this not being a complete lie. If he said it, he must believe it to be true in some way.

I slipped one arm behind my back and easily unclasped my bra. I saw his throat bob as I slowly, so slowly, removed my bra, then my panties, until I was bare before him. He kept staring as I walked towards him and joined him in the bath. The royal bath was more close to the jacuzzis we have in the mortal world. It’s a large tub with benches, enough space for a king and a few consorts.

His gaze was wild with restraint as I sat facing him and grabbed the soap. While he did not move, I could see his tail whipping from left to right, a cat waiting to pounce. I made a show of washing myself, scrubbing dirt and sweat from my body. I was very aware of his intense stare, the way he grasped the sides of the tub until his knuckles were white.

“Jude…” he whined.

“You’ve been so eager to tease me this week. Isn’t this fair, husband?” I chuckled. He snarled.

I put down the soap and crossed the distance between us. I sat on his lap, facing him, his erection pressing hard against my aching core. His hands were instantly in my hair, pulling it while still pushing my head towards his as he claimed my lips with his own. His tongue explored my mouth and I could feel my heart thundering in my chest. It always felt so right with him.

“I missed this, my cruel queen,” Cardan whispers as he broke the kiss to nip at my neck. “I miss you.”

I could not find words, so I just hummed in response. It was enough, he understood. He always had. Suddenly, he turns us around and lifts me to the cold lip of the tub and parts my legs.

Just as I thought he had snapped and would take me right there, he ran one of his fingers through my folds. Once. Twice. He teased the entrance, but quickly removed his finger. He cussed when he saw the slickness already on his finger, then brought it to his mouth and sucked on it. “I missed your taste.”

Then, he lowered himself and flicked my clit with his tongue, and I couldn’t help moaning his name. I felt him grin against me as his tongue explored my folds. I grabbed his hair and pushed him into me, grinding against his face as he sucked on my bundle of nerves. That wicked mouth of his worked me, prodding and licking and sucking in a steady pace, until I was close to the edge. And as I pressed his face harder into me, he brought two fingers to my entrance and pushed into me, curling exactly in that spot where I wanted him. I went over the edge, twitching and screaming his name through my orgasm, clinging to his hair as if it was a lifeline.

As I came down from my high, I let go of his hair and let my head fall down against the cool wall behind me. As I caught my breath, he got up to kiss me slowly, gently.

It might be the orgasm making me vulnerable, but I couldn’t stop myself. “I missed you too, Cardan.”

He kissed me again, then got out of the bath, offering me a hand to stand as well. I saw him reaching for his robe, but I caught his arm.

“Who said we were done?”

Surprise shone on his beautiful face, then that amused grin. “My mistake, my Queen.”

I traced a finger down his torso, to his length and gently poked it. “Get on the bed.”

“Are you commanding me?” I couldn’t command him anymore, not with magic at least.

“Yes.”

He backed up to the bed and laid on his back, one arm behind his head, waiting. Smug. I approached slowly, hoping I looked like a predator approaching a prey.

“While you were busy… teasing me last week, I thought of ways to pay you back in kind.”

He was biting his bottom lip, staring at me intently. I got on the bed on top of him.

“I hope you will find me merciful,” I said as I tried to give him the most wicked grin I could muster.

From above him, I could see how his makeup had smudged, his hair going in all directions. He looked like a mess. A glorious, pinned down, submissive mess. I felt heat pool in my core at the thought. I lowered my face to his and kissed him fiercely, quickly. I pulled his bottom lip with my teeth. I kissed my way down his neck, his chest, leaving a trail of bruised marks I know he loves. I pulled on the jewelry on one of his nipples with my teeth, pinching the other with my fingers. I felt him twitch against my belly.

I continued making my way down his torso, leaving a particularly nasty love bite on his ribs, until I reached his cock. I looked up to see him staring at me in anticipation, still trying to look cocky through his long lashes. I traced a finger up the length of him, while my other hand cupped his testicles.

“Jude, please…”

Such a whiny child. I took him in my hand and he moaned as I licked the tip slowly. I started moving my hand around him, watching as the precum built up at his tip.

Cardan might have the expertise, but he had been my only lover, and I knew how to please him. I ran my index finger through the precum, coating the pad of my finger.

I looked up at him and grinned. “I wonder if I ever did this to you when you fantasized about me.”

He screamed my name as my finger entered him. Slowly, I moved my finger in and out of him as I took his cock in my mouth. My finger worked gently into him, my other hand moving up and down his length in time with my mouth. When he lowered his hand to tangle in my hair, I crooked my finger up to probe at his sweet spot. His grasp tightened on my hair, and I increased my pace.

As I felt him get close, I continued my ministrations with my finger but removed my mouth from him and sat back. I watched as he spent on himself, his head thrown back, moaning my name.

Once he was done, I laid next to him and kissed him tenderly.

Cardan put a hand on my cheek. “You wicked thing.”

I smiled at him. “I love you, Cardan.”

He put an arm around me, bringing me closer to him, and pressed a kiss to my temple. “I love you, too.”

[laequiem]

TRACK 2 😈

feels right - AO3

summary:

Cardan keeps his gaze locked on mine as he brings his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean. “Mmm” he hums in approval, pulling his fingers from his mouth with a loud pop. “You always taste better when you’re angry".

Jude tries one of her new outfits from the mortal sex store Devotion, Cardan likes it very much.

track 2 of DEDICATED - A Jurdannet Revel Collab Fic

with: @hazelsheartsworn @lizziebxnnet @laequiem & @slightlyrebelliouswriter23

rating: E

words: 5293

links:

- MASTERLIST - TRACK 1 - TRACK 3 - TRACK 4 - TRACK 5 -

- SIDE B - TRACK 1 - TRACK 2 - TRACK 3 -

Twisting back and forth for what feels like the hundredth time I examine my reflection in the mirror before me, carefully adjusting the laughably short plaid skirt sitting on my hips.

“Get ahold of yourself Jude,” I mumble, fighting hard against the urge to tug on my hem.

@abThere were a number of different costumes lining the walls of the mortal sex store, dedicated that Cardan and I visited. We saw a nurse costume, a maid, even a mortal prisoner, each one smaller than the last, but without a moment's hesitation I felt drawn to this one. I rolled my eyes as I read the description on the tag. But even still the tiny “schoolgirl tease lingerie costume” seemed like a thrilling idea within the neon lit walls of the mortal world. Now as I stand in my dressing room in the Royal Palace of Elfhame, surrounded by extravagant gowns and glittering jewels the thrill is gone and in its place I feel overwhelmingly ridiculous.

It’s not the only clothing I returned with, indeed a whole drawer now overflows with several pieces of sheer lace and colorful silk. But this, a white collared shirt with its low neckline and skinny plaid tie. Paired with a skirt that barely covers my front and even less of my behind and soft, sheer white socks that reach just a few inches above my knees, well this is something else entirely. A costume designed to allow you to become someone else, if only for a short while.

I blame the unfamiliar clothes for my nerves. Cardan has seen me wounded, ill, fully dressed and completely bare. I don’t have anything to fear from his reaction, but I’m not sure I know how to act in a costume like this. The thought that Cardan won’t know either comforts me as I make my way to our bedchamber.

When I finally emerge from the dressing room Cardan is already reclined in bed, a book perched in his lap, chest bare, the black spider silk sheets pooled around his hips. Standing unseen in the doorway I take a short moment to admire him. Hair mussed from undressing, faint traces of gold smudged along his cheekbones, long limbs sprawled across the coverlet. My husband, startlingly, inhumanly beautiful, even when unkempt and unpolished.

“Hello darling,” He doesn’t turn as I walk forward, keeping his eyes on the book as he calls across the room to me.

I say nothing, knowing the longer I draw out my silence, the more likely Cardan is to turn his attention toward me. It only takes a moment, his gaze drifts lazily from his book to where I stand halfway between the dressing room and our bed. Time seems to drag a little slower as I watch a flurry of emotions cross his features. First confusion, then recognition, surprise, and finally dark, heated desire unfolds in his eyes like the bloom of a rose; soft and beautiful on the surface with a wicked promise underneath.

He jolts from his reclined position as though someone has pricked his back with a sewing needle. The book he’s reading tumbles off his lap to the floor. I can tell I've thrown him off balance, I resist the urge to grin at my victory.

Cardan’s reaction reminds me so much of a night like this long ago, our first time together, when feeling overwhelmed and out of control, I retreated to the dressing room and stripped bare. His surprise was as evident then as it is now, and though I no longer feel that overwhelming loss of control during intimacy that I did once, the intense, heady rush of power is the same.

Cardan fights to keep his expression neutral but his eyes burn as they take in every inch of me. I see his lips part, his breath quicken, I see the violent thrashing of his tail behind him. Though the entire concept of this outfit is foreign to both of us I know he recognizes it from among the selection of various tiny costumes and tinier underthings at the sex shop.

“Jude,” it is both a question and a plea.

My whole body flushes with heat under the weight of his gaze. This is always my favorite part, the anticipation, building and building until it crests and we have no choice but to fall into one another.

He stands, making his way across the room with dark eyed intent. I remain still, letting him look his fill as he circles me slowly.

“What’s this?” facing me once more, he gestures with his chin.

“A surprise,” I reply blithely, shrugging one shoulder. He cocks his head to the side and arches one eyebrow.

Cardan will follow me to the deepest reaches of my desire, but despite my husband’s unswerving trust some of my nerves from earlier return nearly crumbling my resolve. I’ve never been one to back down so instead I flutter my lashes at him and plaster on a grin. One that fits the persona of my costume, equal parts teasing and suggestive.

“Mr. Greenbriar, I wanted to talk to you about my grades,” I say in a soft voice so unlike my own.

Cardan’s mouth quirks at the corners, this is a game we’ve never played before, “Your grades?”

“Yes sir,” the words feel foolish in my mouth. I walk up to him, flipping my skirt, teasing him. His eyes follow the movement, enjoying the sight of even more of my thighs on display. When I reach him he wraps his arms around my waist, enveloping me in a kiss. My arms encircle his neck automatically, all thoughts of our game forgotten almost immediately.

“This is a bit strange,” he smiles softly against my lips, “don’t you think?”

I heave a sigh, “It’s the outfit isn’t it? I was worried the mortal costume might be a bit odd”.

He doesn’t answer, letting his eyes drift, slow and lazy, from my face, down my neck, over the swell of my breasts and the curve of my stomach. Cardan’s gaze is palpable, a soft caress. I feel it as strongly as the touch of his hands.

“No, the outfit I very much like,” his fingertips trace a path down the plunging neckline, lingering over the soft skin of my breast. I suppress a shudder, my skin heating under his touch.

“But I much prefer my wife as herself,” Cardan leans in and sloppily kisses the hollow at the base of my throat, swirling his tongue with a deliberate slowness that leaves me anticipating his wicked tongue travelling to other places. I huff a soft sigh in response, his lush lips curl into a smile against my skin.

With one precise movement I reach up, removing the slim metal knife securing my hair and hold it to his throat drawing his gaze back to mine. His eyes are endless, a starless sky, the ocean at midnight, I want to pitch forward and lose myself in them. The tip of his tongue traces along his bottom lip, a faint blush rising on his cheeks, I feel the hard length of him pressing more firmly against my belly as he leans toward me.

“There you are,” his voice is deep and husky, the way that always has my thighs clenching tightly together.

“Yes the Queen has returned,” my voice is sickly sweet, dripping honey and spun sugar. His eyes say he’d like nothing more than to taste it, but if it’s the Queen he wants, the Queen he shall get.

“Kneel,” I say in the same voice, he does without hesitation my knife's edge still pressed to his throat.

Watching his expression I run the tip of one fingernail along the line of his jaw and down, smirking as he swallows hard. My hand lingers, fingertips dancing across his collarbones. When I reach his shoulder my nails sink into his soft skin, he sucks in a breath clenching his hands into fists as if physically fighting against his desire to touch me. This is a game we know all too well. A test of desire and patience, Cardan cannot touch me, I cannot kiss him. We push and push until straining against our own willpower, stopping only when one of us is begging.

Leaning down I touch my lips to his cheek, a light touch that leaves us both wanting more. Continuing along his cheekbone, I stop just shy of the corner of his lips. He huffs a frustrated breath.

“Is my Queen planning to torture me all evening?”

“Oh husband, to end your torment all you have to do is beg,” we hold each other's gaze as I slip the plaid tie from around my neck. Holding my blade between my teeth I untie the simple knot and watch Cardan’s eyes dip to the swell of my breasts, barely restrained by the thin white shirt, as I bend toward him and cover his eyes.

Slowly, I tie the fabric around his head tightening the bow with a rough motion that earns me a soft moan, tumbling from his parted lips like falling water.

“Now where was I?” I croon in his ear, my lips brushing along the soft pointed tip.

With the point of my slim blade I trace a path down to the hollow of his throat, pausing against the delicate skin for a moment before tracing a path down his chest and abdomen. When I reach the soft trail of hair leading from his navel to the waistband of his pants his breathing stutters hard, his hands twitching violently at his sides.

“Jude,” his voice is strained, laced with danger and obscene promises. Cardan cannot see it, but I answer him with a wicked smile.

It’s been some time since we’ve played the game of seduction against each other instead of together. Before, desire was a chess match. Our individual pieces moving across an invisible board, both sides gaining and losing ground in an endless heated stalemate. Wielding passion with our bodies and hatred with our mouths until we were left hungry, angry, and not the least bit satisfied. But that was long ago, now we are equals, a king and queen on the same side. We play the board together, face our opponents as a team. Our desire is no longer a knifepoint between us but a tether binding us together. Tonight love is like a chess match once again, but this time we will both win.

My lips brush across his, merely a ghost of a kiss; there and gone. I straighten, backing away from where he kneels on the plush carpet. Cardan leans forward chasing my presence as if pulled on a rope.

“Ah ah ah” I click my tongue at him, “you know the rules, don’t move,” I no longer have the magical ability to bend him to my will but he unquestioningly follows my command all the same. He revels in this contest of will just as much as I do. I circle him slowly, my knife still poised at his throat, a predator stalking her prey.

Cardan remains perfectly still as if frozen, only turning his head a fraction to each side as he tracks my movements. He doesn’t move as my fingers comb through his hair, pulling sharply before moving away. I run my mouth along his shoulder, trace my finger down his spine, lick a stripe up the column of his throat. He’s breathing hard and fast, his hands balled into fists, cock straining against the laces of his trousers but still he does not move no matter how badly he wants to.

I’ll never become accustomed to seeing the High King of Faerie, a man with power over the very earth beneath our feet, silently begging for me on his knees.

By you I am forever undone, he once said, and since then I have found there is nothing more beautiful than my stunning husband coming undone beneath my hands.

My thumb brushes along his bottom lip pulling a sharp gasp from between his teeth.

“Jude, please,” his voice cracks, I can’t help the delicious satisfaction that curls through me at his concession. “Please what?” I ask innocently, tilting his chin up with the point of my blade. With his eyes covered there’s no reason to tilt his face up, but I know he likes the sensation of my knife at his throat.

“Please,” his fingertips lightly brush along my calves, “Jude please kiss me”.

His pleading finally snaps the control I’d been exercising. Flinging my knife to the side, I bury my hands in his silken hair and crush my lips into his.

Cardan’s hands grip the back of my thighs pulling me down to him. Leaning back on his heels, he parts my legs to straddle him where he kneels on the carpet. One arm across my back pressing me against his chest, the other twisted in my hair. I grasp his neck tightly, nails digging into flesh leaving tiny crescent moon indentations.

We kiss urgently for several long moments, tongues sliding together, hands mapping out the geography of each other’s bodies.

I reach for the laces on Cardan’s pants but he catches my hands moving them back to his neck.

“So eager wife?” He says, panting but still entirely too smug for my liking. In response I scrape my nails down his fluttering pulse and he groans into my mouth.

“And if I am husband?” My words are sharp as I grind my hips down. Our position doesn’t allow for much friction but it’s enough to draw a sigh from both of us.

Suddenly I find the blindfold tied around his head to be a nuisance. Cardan has spent more than one evening blind to my movements as I draw pleasure from him. Being unaware of where a touch or kiss will land always heightens his desire, but tonight I want to see him. I want to see the burning need in those coal black eyes. Reaching behind his head my fingers fumble for a moment working the simple knot loose. It falls away revealing Cardan’s intense stare. He watches as I drape the tie around my neck leaving the ends to dangle across my chest.

He continues to watch as he captures my mouth, eyes fluttering closed as my tongue slides alongside his. The kiss is urgent, feral, a clashing of tongues and teeth. My senses are overwhelmed with him, the air itself seems to grow heated around us.

Reaching up with one hand I fist the hair at the nape of his neck and pull sharply, angling his head, baring his throat to me. I draw the delicate skin between my teeth tasting his faint sweetness, a delicate flavor like light honeysuckle. As my mouth moves on his neck, my hands trail downward once more. Again he catches them pressing my palms against his chest. I can feel his heart pounding out a steady rhythm beneath me.

“Not yet my love,” he leans in and nips my earlobe.

“I want to taste you first,” his hot breath fans across my neck, I arch my body into him.

“That is, if my Queen will allow it,” the lilt of his voice, the tilt of his mouth, the soft stroke of his thumbs along my wrists all drip with sinful decadence, like rich chocolate cake or deep red wine.

I nod and his smile evaporates, he looks determined, a man working toward a goal. The sight sends a shiver of pleasure down my spine.

Cardan kisses me once, dragging my bottom lip between his teeth as he pulls away. Gripping my waist, he pushes me to stand remaining on his knees before me. His hands skim along my calves tracing a slow path upwards. When his fingertips ghost lightly along the exposed skin above the white, overknee socks I resist the urge to clench my thighs together.

The further up his hands travel the more insistent his grip on me becomes. I shiver as his long fingered hands slip under the insubstantial fabric of my skirt. His warm palms are a brand across my hips, long nails digging into the soft skin of my ass. With the addition of his hands the skirt that barely covered me before covers nothing at all, the sheer, frothy, lace underwear on full display.

Cardan pauses, looking me over with hungry, greedy eyes. After a moment both of his hands travel to my right side, I’m momentarily confused until he tightly grasps the stretchy, insubstantial band connecting the front of my underwear to the back. Pulling sharply, he snaps the band, cleaving the material in two. Moving to the other side he repeats the motion, with nothing left to hold it the fabric falls away leaving me completely bare beneath my skirt.

Cardan flings the scrap of ruined lace to the side, not taking his eyes off my core. He licks his lips as one hand cups the back of my knee and lifts it to rest over his shoulder.

Without warning Cardan bites down on a patch of skin inside my knee, I lurch forward, my hands grasping his shoulders for balance. Mischievous eyes meet mine and suddenly he looks so much like the cruel boy I married and not the gentle man I’ve come to know. But then his tongue flicks out, licking the hurt from his teeth before his lips begin their journey upwards. In less than a breath he is my husband once again; flirtatious and playful equally experienced at giving and receiving pleasure.

Cardan kisses a trail up my leg, wet open mouthed kisses, all warmth and swirling tongue that have me near mewling before he’s anywhere close to the apex of my thighs.

My fingers thread their way into his hair every sense in my body is hyperaware, losing myself I suck in a breath as his mouth skims over me mimicking my kiss from earlier; the faintest touch of his lips, and yet it’s enough to make me want to bow my back and arch into his mouth. Cardan chuckles softly moving down my other leg, slowly repeating his efforts until he reaches my knee.

“You bastard,” my voice is insubstantial, barely a huff of breath. I open my mouth to continue but I'm cut off by a gasp as Cardan dips two fingers between my folds.

"Jude?" Sticky mock innocence coats every letter of my name on his tongue.

“You were saying?” He smirks up at me. It’s difficult to look intimidating with my leg hooked over my husband’s shoulder as his fingers swirl lazily through the wetness between my legs, all while wearing a laughably small mortal costume, but I try my hardest to shoot him a glare. Cardan keeps his gaze locked on mine as he brings his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean.

“Mmm” he hums in approval, pulling his fingers from his mouth with a loud pop.

“You always taste better when you’re angry”.

Time and again my husband proves to be the only living thing in both Elfhame and the mortal world that can effectively rob me of speech. When I say nothing Cardan huffs a laugh through his nostrils and slides his fingers, still damp from his mouth, up the expanse of my thigh. His tail curls around my calf, the furred tip stroking the skin above my stockings.

At the same time his hand reaches my centre his mouth attaches to my clit suckling softly as he gently slides his fingers into me. My head falls back, a low moan slipping from deep in my throat. Cardan slowly draws his fingers out before sliding in again to his knuckles. He sets an agonizingly steady pace, drawing out each tantalizing thrust of his hand.

My legs begin trembling as his tongue works over me in the same torturously slow strokes as his hand. The soft mewls of need only encourage him to continue his leisurely pace. Cardan never tires of this particular intimate act. I seem to be his favorite meal, one he indulges in often, and anywhere I’ll allow him to; the balcony outside our bedroom, our desk in the study, the table in the council chambers, our bed, my throne, his. My beautiful King spends more time before me on his knees than most of our subjects do.

I twist my fingers in his hair, pulling sharply. I’m rewarded when Cardan increases his pace, fingers and tongue moving in tandem. His other hand ghosts up the back of my thigh where his palm spreads out and presses me closer to him. I feel myself coiling like a snake poised to strike, my release already so close. I taunted and teased, relishing in his building need, but I have wrecked myself with him pushing us both closer to a crescendo.

“oh..oh..Cardan,” my breath hitches between each word, a soft whine escaping my lips. He inhales sharply through his nostrils, a rough sound rumbles deep in his throat, I feel the vibration of it where his mouth is pressed against me.

His teeth graze lightly across my clit sending an electric shock of pleasure down my spine. A sound that’s half moan and half growl tears itself from my throat as my climax crashes into me. Cardan’s fingers pumping in time with the movement of my hips as I come.

After a moment my movements still. Cardan withdraws his hand, kissing the inside of one thigh and then the other. Gently he unhooks my leg from his shoulder and stands to his full height. My knees threaten to buckle as his fingertips brush along my core. Aching and overstimulated I gasp at the light contact, hips bucking forward of their own accord.

“Well?” I lick my lips, toying with one of the curved golden bars piercing his nipples, “you’ve had your taste, what now?”

Cardan rises to my challenge, crushing me to him and lifting me, wrapping my legs around his waist. Walking to our bed Cardan lays me back against the coverlet. My knees hike up automatically, sliding higher around his waist, settling him within the cradle of my hips. He trails kisses along my jaw, my throat, down my chest, leaving goosebumps in their wake. I reach down and tangle my fingers in his soft black curls.

Oftentimes Cardan is the only real thing in this land of fairytale creatures and impossible magic, and no more so than in moments like this; the gentle press of his sharp hip bones against the thick curve of my thighs, his soft mouth teasing and warm as it tracks paths across my skin. It is dizzying and overwhelming and altogether wonderful to lose ourselves this way.

“So beautiful,” his voice startles me from my thoughts, though I barely hear his whisper against my skin, as if he is speaking to himself. I love all sides of Cardan; the deliberate fool, the cunning ruler, even the cruel boy he used to be. But this Cardan is my most favorite, the Cardan who whispers quiet adorations and touches me with a reverence made for gods. The Cardan who is mine and mine alone.

His hands drift up my body, palms smoothing over the thin fabric of my shirt. When his fingers find the neckline he tugs sharply wrenching the shirt open, several buttons clatter to the stone floor beneath our bed. The soft sound of annoyance I make at yet another garment ruined this evening melts into a gasp as the tip of one fingernail traces lazy circles around my hardening nipple.

“Apologies my love, but that was far too many buttons,” his mouth moves to replace his nail, tongue tracing the same swirling pattern before flicking twice across the peak.

“And I’m not feeling particularly patient tonight”.

Dragging his head up, I leverage my weight flipping us to pin him beneath me. Cardan reaches for my hips but I swat his hands away, his responding throaty chuckle brings a smile to my lips. Shrugging my now ruined shirt off my shoulders and unclasping my skirt I toss both aside, completely bare apart from the loose tie draped around my neck.

With my hands braced on his abdomen, I take him in. His full lips pink and swollen, skin flushed bright red, his hair mussed from my fingers. I press a light kiss to his mouth that would be chaste if we had more than one item of clothing between the two of us.

He tucks one hand behind his head in a lazy gesture, quirking one eyebrow in a silent question.

Starting with the underside of his jaw I kiss a path down his chest, pausing to flick the tip of my tongue over a nipple. As I move my kisses grow more insistent, biting softly and sucking marks across the planes of his stomach. Out of the corner of my eye I see Cardan’s hands fisted in the sheets.

He does not stop me this time as I reach the laces of his pants. Instead of untying them I grab either side of his waistband and pull sharply, tearing through the short web of ties.

“Sorry my love, but those laces were far too complicated,” I mimic his teasing tone from earlier.

“And I’m not feeling particularly patient tonight”.

Cardan laughs warmly in response. I move to one side allowing him room to wiggle out of his ruined pants and toss them aside.

My fingers tease small circles along his hip bones and thighs. When I run my nails through the short hair beneath his navel his hips buck in response.

Cardan opens his mouth to speak but it’s cut off with a groan as I take him in my hand.

“Cardan?” I tighten my grip, pumping up and down with deliberately slow strokes.

“You were saying?” A muscle in his jaw ticks and before he can answer I straddle him, lining his tip up with my entrance. Cardan’s hands settle on my hips guiding me downward.

Our faces mirror one another, eyelids fluttering closed in tandem as I sink down onto him. A groan escapes his lips. I pause once fully seated, adjusting to the feel of him inside me.

I lean forward bracing my hands on his chest. Cardan gazes up at me like he had been blind before this moment. He moves against me, rocking his hips into mine. The movement sends the tie, still draped around my neck, fluttering forward into the space between us.

I slip the tie from my shoulders and place one end in the palm of my hand. With slow deliberate movements I wrap the length around my wrist several times before threading my fingers through Cardan’s, repeating the motion. His night black eyes watch eagerly as I wrap the length of thin plaid around our joined hands. Tightly securing the ends I take his other hand in mine, stretching his arms over his head, pinning him to the spider silk sheets. The look in his eyes is heated and hungry. I stand on the cliff’s edge of his desire, a bottomless pit threatening to swallow me whole. As he presses up and captures my mouth I feel the muscles in his hips flex against the soft, bare skin along my inner thighs, I feel his tail snake around my ankle brushing the back of my calf gently. I’m nothing but the sensation of skin against skin and shared heavy breathing as I prepare to dive off the precipice, relishing in the thrill of a fall like no other.

With his arms pinned beneath mine, we only manage slow, shallow undulations of hips. I bite down on a wicked grin as the muscles in his forearms and shoulders flex beneath me straining against my hold.

I am stronger than Cardan but his height gives him an advantage I don’t have. He could move me if he wished, but for all our similarities this is where we diverge. Even when giving in to my desire I crave power and control, and Cardan is more than happy to give in to whatever I want.

I release his unbound hand and lean back rolling my hips before dragging slowly along his length all the way to the tip.

“Fuck Jude,” he gasps.

Blindingly fast Cardan flips us, pinning me beneath him. Our bound hands lay tangled together above my head. He kisses me deeply, his free hand running along my cheek and down my throat.

My vision is filled with him, nothing but his black eyes and sweat-dampened curls as every inch of our skin is pressed flush together.

He cups the back of my knee hiking my leg higher, my heel resting on the small of his back. We both groan as he thrusts into me at this new angle.

“Cardan I-“ My voice sounds helpless, Cardan whines a curse in response.

Time slips away as we both dance closer and closer to oblivion.

Without taking his eyes off mine Cardan brings his hand to his mouth, licking the pad of his thumb and lowering it to circle my nub; tight measured circles that move in time with his thrusts. Panting and nearly spent we watch each other unravel, as if enraptured by a stage performance. Unable to anything but watch in awe at the scene before us.

My heartbeat thunders in my ears. The furred tip of his tail, still curled around my calf, brushes the outside of my thigh. A simple proprietary touch that feels more intimate than anything else about this moment. I squeeze his hand interlaced with mine and feel my chest twinge as he gently squeezes back.

The soft, needy noises Cardan makes as he inches closer to climax are a chorus of my favorite melody. I pull his mouth to mine so I can taste them. Cardan nips at my bottom lip, pulling away but barely so; we’re sharing breath, breathing each other in as we meet each other's thrusts.

His thumb, still circling between my legs, presses down lightly and I cry out coming swift and hard beneath him. Cardan follows me a moment after my name on his lips, hips stuttering at an uneven pace as he empties himself into me.

I pull his mouth to mine, kissing him deeply, unhurriedly as we ride through our aftershocks.

When Cardan withdraws he doesn’t go far, lowering himself to pillow his head on my chest. I unwind the tie from our hands. His lips brush along the valley between my breasts, peppering me with light, gentle kisses.

“I love you,” Cardan whispers against my skin, grinning as I shiver from the sensation that rocks my body.

“I know,” I reply laughing as his face tilts toward me with a sour expression.

“I love you too,” I flick the tip of his nose, he catches my hand before I can pull away kissing the back of my fingers. He studies my wrist, one fingernail tracing over soft indentation left behind by our binding.

“You know,” he skims his nose along the inside of my wrist, kissing the delicate skin webbed with bluish veins, “next time you can bind both of my hands together”.

I raise my eyebrows, heat already pooling in my core at the mere thought of Cardan tied up at my mercy. Reaching up I tug sharply on the headboard above us, as if testing its strength.

“I think that could be arranged.”

He chuckles as he moves up my body until we are nose to nose again.

“My wicked thing,” he murmurs, pressing our lips together. Yes, I think, smiling against his kiss, all yours.

a/n: I spent like a week absolutely hating this but overall I'm very happy with how it turned out! A big thank you to @lizziebxnnet for helping me with the role-play dialogue after I nearly had a meltdown over it <3

Check out the other tracks of Dedicated & stay tuned for more!!

tag list: @jurdannet @jurdannetrevels @lordoftermites @koibens @jurdanhell @lisvz @wraithberrywine @yourlocalautisticoverlord @doesitmatterseriously @angelpaulene @thefolkofthefic @kingandfireheart @abundanceofklingons

[laequiem]

HEY ANON STOP TRYING TO ERASE CARDAN'S NIP PIERCINGS

okay so if faeries don’t have assholes, do guy faeries have nipples?

Assuming they develop in the same way as human fetuses (everyone starts developing like a female until the Y chromosome kicks in) yes because human dudes develop nipples as fetuses before they’re technically dudes so imma say faerie dudes are the same

[laequiem]

don't you know (part three) - read on ao3

this chapter has been brought to you by folktober day 24 - good girls go to hell (hosted by @jurdannet @jurdannetrevels). be advised: you don't necessarily need to read the first two chapters but this writer would greatly appreciate it.

writer: lizziebxnnet pairing: cardan greenbriar/jude duarte word count: 3k rating: explicit tw: sensory/wax play, breath play/choking, hair pulling

PART ONE -> PART TWO -> PART FOUR

Two people who both love to have control. One girl, one boy, and endless opportunities. How hot can they fan the flames?

TAG LIST UNDER THE CUT

if you want to be added so you don't miss future parts, send me an ask or subscribe to me on ao3!

@figonas @laequiem @hazelsheartsworn @story-scribbler @kingandfireheart @jurdannet @jurdannetrevels

[laequiem]

This post is cursed but my soul was saved by the nip piercings

@jurdanhell saying they didn’t picture Orlagh as super skinny/waif-ish and me agreeing (because I always pictured her as Ursula) and then boom another dumbass revelation from Lex

[laequiem]

He totally has nipple piercings and I feel validated

babey you know i gotta say cardan 😌✌️

WHOOO HOOOO YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

How do I feel about him? [the sound of me laughing for 45 minutes straight] I'm in love with him, it's a little worrisome

Romantic ship? JJJJJJJJJJUUUUUUDDEEEEE DDDUUUUARRRTEEEEEEEEEE!!!!

Platonic OTP? All 3 court of shadows members

Unpopular opinion? I'm not kicking this hornet's nest

One thing I wish was canon? I mean it might is canon that Cardan has nipple piercings as far as I'm concerned so......

[laequiem]

KRISTEN, THIS IS SO GOOD

I'm a sucker for a possessive dom 👉👈

don't you know (part one) - read on ao3

writer: lizziebxnnet word count: 3.5k rating: explicit tw: possessive behavior, impact play, light bondage, begging, orgasm control

PART TWO -> PART THREE -> PART FOUR

Two people who both love to have control. One girl, one boy, and endless opportunities. How hot can they fan the flames?

FIC AND TAG LIST UNDER THE CUT

if you want to be added so you don't miss future parts, send me an ask

The party is in full swing when Jude and Cardan arrive.

Nicasia has gone all out. Twinkling lights dangle from every surface, causing shadows to dance across the room. Blue streamers of every shade hang from the ceiling, making the entire house look like it’s underwater. She’s even placed seashells on coffee tables, bookshelves, and kitchen counters. Drinks are served out of fish bowls or bright blue solo cups.

Some people are dressed on theme, while others aren’t. Jude and Cardan voted to keep their regular clothes, but several people are wearing sailor costumes, or going as far to wear a mermaid tail. One of those people is Nicasia herself, who has shown up looking like Princess Ariel, vibrant red hair and all.

Music pumps through the speakers, and dancers crowd the living room. Jude scans the room and finds Taryn and Vivi in a corner by themselves. Her twin waves to her when they meet eyes, and Jude returns the gesture.

“This is absolutely ridiculous,” Cardan laments.

“It’s her birthday,” Jude replies, like it solves the problem. She knows very well that it doesn’t.

Her boyfriend places his hand on her lower back and pulls her close, leaning down to whisper into her ear.

“Doesn’t make her look any less ludicrous.”

“Maybe so,” she says, turning to look him in the eyes, “but we are going to have fun regardless, aren’t we?”

Cardan simply sighs.

He doesn’t move his hand from the small of her back as he leads them to the kitchen. Several fish bowls sit on the counter, all labeled with increasingly insane names. A Little Dinghy, Siren’s Blood, and Sex with the Captain all gleam brightly from their bowls. Siren’s Blood captures her attention with it’s vibrant red color, so Jude pours herself a cup. Cardan grabs some Sex with the Captain, because of course he does.

“About time you guys made it,” Taryn says when they finally join them.

“We were beginning to wonder if you were going to show up,” Vivi replies.

“I didn’t want to,” Cardan says flatly.

Cardan and Nicasia’s history is rocky and fuzzy, full of so many twists and turns that Jude has a hard time keeping up. They had a thing in the past, which Nicasia always says was nothing serious but Cardan disagrees. He’s told Jude she cheated, which she denies, claiming they were on a break. They’ve mostly moved past it, but when Cardan is in a bad mood or simply feeling salty, he likes to mope about it. Jude lets him.

“Your bad attitude won’t be tolerated at my birthday,” Nicasia retorts, flinging her fake red hair over her shoulder as she approaches the group.

Cardan doesn’t bother with a response, just takes a swig of his drink and looks away, his face bored and annoyed.

“Anyway,” Nicasia continues, looking to everyone else, “this entire house is about to become a dance floor. I’ve got Locke setting up the music.”

As if on cue, someone turns down the lights and music begins blaring through all the speakers in the house. With the lights so low, Jude can barely make out the faces in front of her, and the music is so loud it’s disorientating. A weird, techno remix version of Part of Your World plays at full blast. Nicasia grabs Taryn’s hand, as well as Jude’s, and pulls them both to the floor.

A few mermaid tails hit Jude’s legs and knees, and someone to her left plops a sailor hat on her head. Taryn is laughing at something Nicasia says. Bodies cram together in the slightly small space of the living room. Everyone is moving and there’s alcohol floating through her veins; Jude feels a piece of herself just let go and she drains the rest of her drink, throws the cup down, and turns to the first person she sees to start dancing.

It’s Locke.

She’d rather it be Cardan, but she doesn’t see him anywhere near her. Locke’s hands make their way to her waist, and he grips her tightly before pulling her in. They’re too close, Jude’s too hot, and Locke is looking at her like he wants to eat her alive. She takes that feeling she sees and plays with it, smirking at him before she wraps her arms around his neck. She sways her hips, lowers her eyes, and flings her hair over her shoulder.

Their hips meet in the middle. Locke bends down to whisper in her ear, something she can barely hear, and when she turns her head, inky black eyes meet hers across the room. A fire is inside them, alive and angry and domineering. His sharp jaw is tight with how hard he’s clenching it. All of it ignites a spark inside Jude, a dangerous one, but one that she wants to fan and see how hot the flames can get.

She smiles at Cardan, wicked and sly, before turning away to face Locke again.

She wants to see how far she can push Cardan, how jealous and possessive he can get. A switch has flipped inside her; one that doesn’t flip often but when it does, the game that follows is always fun. Jude has always been a dominant woman, especially with Cardan, but she has also found that she likes to submit, to lose control and have someone else take the reins. She has also discovered a taste for pain, for the sting of a hand or the pressure of a palm around her throat.

She supposes if it’s Cardan’s delicate grip, his long ringed fingers wrapped around the column of her neck, she’d let him hold her down forever until she knew of nothing else.

That’s the last thought that crosses her mind before the same hands rip Locke’s palms from her hips and push him away, a snarl ripping from his mouth as he does. A warmth spreads through Jude, from her head to the space between her thighs. Adrenaline races in her bloodstream, and when Cardan’s eyes meet hers again, she almost climbs him in the middle of the living room.

When that possessiveness she craves heats his gaze, she is at his disposal. There is nothing she wouldn’t do to keep it there, to know she’s his.

Cardan pulls her into him so their chests are flush, and Jude gasps when his raspy voice trails into her ear, drowning out the music in the background.

“If you want someone’s hands all over you so badly, meet me at the car. Five minutes.”

He leaves her standing in the middle of the room, gaping like a fool, and exits through the front door.

“What the fuck was that about?”

Jude turns to see Locke, still somehow standing near her and ready to pick up where they left off. He moves to touch her but she steps sideways. He frowns.

Without another word, she flings the hat from her head and rushes to the front door to walk outside. It’s deserted and dark, with only the lights from the open windows bleeding into the lawn. There are cars parked everywhere, all of them empty. She files through them, her heart racing with nerves, until she finds Cardan leaning against his own, one leg propped up behind him against the back tire.

He’s so beautiful, sometimes it hurts to breathe. Jude stops feet away and simply stares, taking him in. He’s wearing his trademark black skinny jeans with a sheer, flowery top. He decided against an undershirt, so his skin underneath is on display. Through the ridiculous fabric, she can see his nipple rings gleaming in the moonlight. His black hair is artfully messy, and dark khol lines his eyes.

She wants nothing more than to ride him into oblivion, but she feels like what she wants isn’t in the cards. She trembles with anxious delight.

“Come here,” he orders and she obeys, closing the little distance between them.

Everything between them is pulled tight, just waiting for one of them to snap and break it.

Cardan opens the back door to the car, climbs in the back seat, and pulls Jude in after him, yanking the door closed behind her. She falls forward and lands across his lap. His already half-hard erection pokes into her stomach and she squirms. Immediately, he pins her down with his strong hand across her back. She stills under his touch.

“You’ve been so bad, Jude.”

His voice is laced with honey and violence, sugar and sin. Every bit of Jude thrums for him, waiting for his next move. His hand moves, skimming down her back and down to her ass, her thighs. He rubs her hot skin, just enough to tease. His fingers trail underneath her skirt, so close to her core, and she squirms again just to spite him.

It earns her a hard slap across the bottom of her ass cheek.

She yelps as it connects, stinging in the most painful, pleasing way. Her breath picks up and her face warms, her already tan skin turning cherry red.

“Be still, kitten,” Cardan says, rubbing the place he just smacked with his hand.

His fingers trail to her core again, ghosting across her pantyline. She can hardly breathe, itching and waiting for him to really touch her.

“I bet you liked it when Locke had his hands all over you, didn’t you?” Cardan asks, his touch turning possessive.

He cups her center, the tip of his finger pressing against her clit. Jude gasps at the touch, shifts her hips to get more pressure.

“Answer me,” he growls, adding the pressure she so desires. It takes all her effort not to cry out, to beg him to move her underwear and touch her how she wants.

“Yes,” she finally says.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, sir.”

Cardan removes her underwear and tosses them to the floorboards. The cool air of the car hits her center and she shivers. Her boyfriend leans down next to ear and bites her earlobe roughly, making her cry out.

“No one else is allowed to touch you, do you understand?” One of Cardan’s deliciously long fingers penetrates her, and she moans low. “You’re mine.”

He fingers her rough, curling his fingers and caressing the sweet spot inside her that makes Jude arch her back like a bow. His other hand presses her down the entire time, pinning her beneath him so she can’t twist in his grip. His touch is almost torture, but a bittersweet pain that she loves to hate.

Almost as soon as he begins, he stops. His wet fingers squeeze her thighs, and she keens, silently begging for more.

“What sort of punishment do you deserve, kitten?” Cardan asks, still tracing the skin along the back of her legs. She wants him to stop, wants him to keep going, wants him to touch her cunt until she’s screaming his name.

When she doesn’t answer, he clicks his tongue in disapproval. She fumbles for an answer.

“Anything, sir. Anything you see fit.”

In response, he lifts her skirt and flips it over her lower back. She can feel the heat of his eyes on her, the tension in the stale air of the car, his possessive grip on the back of her knee. She tingles in anticipation, almost giddy for what’s to come.

“Maybe a spanking will teach you to keep your hands to yourself.”

Jude’s body shifts as he lifts his hips. She turns her head to watch as Cardan removes his belt, the leather popping as it moves through the loops of his black jeans. He grins at her, a wicked turn of the lips that leaves her breathless, before leaning forward and grabbing her hands.

“Give me your safe word,” he says.

She lifts her eyes and swallows. “Mercy.”

“Don’t be afraid to use it.”

He wraps her hands in the belt, pulling it taut before securing it. Jude tries to loosen her hands but can’t, so she grabs the handle of the car door and holds tight. Her hands shake in anticipation, her heart pounds with pure adrenaline.

“How does 25 sound?” Jude nods her head, ready to submit.

“Count for me, kitten.”

The first hit to her bare backside sets off electricity in her veins. Everything inside her body sings as she gasps at the sensation. She almost smiles at the sting, at the release of all the tension she’s been holding.

“One,” she breathes.

Another blow lands on her other cheek, much harder than the last. She counts, and Cardan hits - over and over. Each hit stings a little worse, her skin turning pink and growing raw. Everything inside Jude’s mind clears and she feels nothing but this. She’s only the bite of his hand, the surprise of each blow, the sweet pain that blossoms across her skin. Each hit brings a wave of pleasure with the hurt, and she can feel herself getting wetter as time goes by.

When he hits the top of her thigh, right where her ass ends, she moans. When he lands a particularly hard slap and his fingers graze her cunt, she almost screams. She yanks at her restraint, desperate for some kind of relief, but comes up short. She wants to beg him to stop, beg him to spank her until his hand goes numb, beg him to fuck her until she doesn’t even know her own name.

Jude has never been religious, never one to believe in any higher power. But when she’s underneath Cardan’s hand, in his lap, choking with his fingers around her throat, Cardan is her God. He is everything - the thing that keeps her grounded, the one anchor that holds her together, that makes her feel like she has a purpose. He is her religion and her church, and she’ll bend her knees to him every time.

When she gasps out the number on the twentieth hit, her eyes begin to fill with tears. Her emotions run wild, clawing at her throat and threatening to release. Cardan’s hands move from her ass and dance along her inner thighs, and he hums when he feels her desire sliding down her skin. She can feel his own pleasure underneath her, his cock straining against the inside of his jeans.

Two fingers enter her, and Jude chokes. He is relentless with his ministrations, driving her to insanity. Cardan’s other hand swats at her backside as he touches her, and she sobs, hot tears finally falling from her eyes. Everything inside her breaks in the most beautiful way, so much emotion, pleasure, and desire deep in her bones that it’s the only way she can release it.

Cardan pulls free and she whimpers, the feeling of his fingers gone and leaving her empty. She wiggles her ass, but rather than slap one of the cheeks, he pushes them both up with one hand and lands a heavy blow on her cunt.

Jude screams, the pain sweet and raw and breathtaking. She wants him to do it again so badly she can’t think straight.

“When I tell you to count, do it.” Cardan’s voice is low, laced with venom.

It’s only then that she remembers she missed one, his skilled fingers distracting her and making her forget. The submissive side of her is ashamed, wanting so badly to please Cardan. The other side wants to forget again just to feel the sweet sting of his palm on her clit.

“Twenty-one, sir.”

“Good kitten.”

Jude almost purrs at the praise, and then another hard smack hits the swell of her ass and she whines instead.

Three more breathtaking blows land on her backside, the last number leaving her throat in a shaky cry. She feels like she’s floating on a cloud, high above the scene playing out in the back seat of Cardan’s car. Instead of on leather seats, she’s in heaven with her favorite boy’s hands cradling her ass and leaving red imprints in their wake. She trembles in his touch, the pain settling into more of an ache as the impacts stop.

Every inch of her skin is on fire, liquid heat bubbling in her veins. She’s out of touch when soft hands grab her fingers and pry them from the door handle. Then, those same hands clutch her waist and turn her over so her back hits the seat. She tries to open her eyes but can’t. She’s too overwhelmed, too overstimulated.

“You were so good,” Cardan murmurs, his breath warming her lips as he hovers over her.

Jude wants to look into his eyes, the steamy black of his gaze, but everything is too heavy, too warm. She tries to move her arms but remembers her restraints and whines. Cardan chuckles, and she feels him shift to take the belt off.

Lips touch her wrists when the belt is untied, kissing away any pain that was there.

“How about a reward for being such a good girl?” Cardan asks.

A featherlight touch grazes her center and once again, Jude is on fire, overstimulated, inundated.

“You’re so wet, all for me,” Cardan breathes into her mouth before finally, finally, kissing her.

Jude relents to his good graces, lets herself be completely consumed by him. He isn’t shy or careful, kissing her filthy and thoroughly. His fingers play with her while his tongue searches her mouth and his teeth nip at her lip.

“Did my hand do that to you? You’re filthy, kitten,” he says, and Jude shivers.

“Cardan, please,” she moans, bucking against the hand that’s still touching her, still torturing her by circling her clit with slow and steady motions.

“Please what?” he teases.

She doesn’t even know what she’s begging for - all she knows is that if he doesn’t do something soon, she’s going to lose herself. His slow fingers grazing her, just barely there, is driving her to madness.

He starts trailing kisses down her neck, her breasts, her stomach until he’s hovering over her core. Jude finally manages to open her eyes long enough to see him staring directly back at her, his eyes hungry.

He’s going to devour her. She can’t wait.

He licks at her, a fat solid stripe right down her center, and everything in Jude’s brain short circuits.

“You can touch,” Cardan says, his voice muffled as he tastes her again. She doesn’t hesitate.

Her hands grab his hair and yank, earning a moan of her own from her boyfriend’s mouth. He dives in, not bothering to come up for air as he licks at her. Jude is delirious with pleasure, and when Cardan’s nails drag down the raw skin of her freshly beaten ass, her moan could rattle the windows. She burns and writhes and cries, everything beginning to build at the base of her spine.

His teeth nip at her. His tongue teases her. She pulls his hair and drags him closer, so close she isn’t sure how he breathes. He might be the one in control, but at this moment, she holds the remote. Everything happening is about her - her pleasure, her release.

But during these moments, when Cardan is in control, her release is in his hands. Which is why, when she feels like she can’t keep it at bay any longer, she begs.

“Please, sir. Let me come.”

Cardan curls his fingers, grazing a spot inside her that takes her breath away, and she fights the urge to come undone immediately, to disobey one of his only wishes. Never come without my permission.

“Now, Jude.”

Jude comes alive like a firecracker exploding in the sky. Everything releases, and she rides Cardan’s mouth through all of it. She’s so loud it should be embarrassing, but she doesn’t care. She doesn’t have any room inside herself for anything other than Cardan’s tongue, his hands, and his controlling voice finally telling her she can let go.

The aftershocks ebb and then die. Cardan lifts himself up and kisses her again, her own bitter taste on his tongue making her groan into his mouth. She’s just been eaten alive, her ass beaten until it’s red but she still craves more, more, more. It’s the same since she first met him all those years ago, when his name ran through her mind like a refrain: Cardan, Cardan, Cardan, Cardan.

“That’s my girl,” he mutters. “I love you, Jude.”

She mumbles the words back, finally able to open her eyes and look back at him, and Cardan merely laughs softly. Everything is heavy and warm, and she hurts in the best way possible.

“Let’s go home,” he says. “Will you be alright until we get there?”

Jude nods, and together they climb into the front seat. Their long limbs tangle together, making them giggle, until they’re settled and ready. Cardan starts the car, then reaches over and grabs her hand across the center console, squeezing her fingers. Jude smiles at him, which he returns. These soft moments after their scenes are what Jude lives for - easy smiles after hard looks, soft hands held tight that once caused pain; it all mixes together into something like home.

They pull out of the yard and onto the road. Streetlights flicker as they drive past, casting yellow light through the windows. In the darkness of the car, with nothing but the weight of Cardan’s hand in hers, Jude falls asleep against the window thinking of the sweet punishment she is sure to inflict on Cardan soon enough.

.

.

.

.

@hazelsheartsworn @figonas @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @thefolkofthefic @ncstas @kingandfireheart @laequiem @jurdannet

[laequiem]

If we give Cardan cat nipples, then he can have a lot more nip piercings.

okay so if faeries don’t have assholes, do guy faeries have nipples?

Assuming they develop in the same way as human fetuses (everyone starts developing like a female until the Y chromosome kicks in) yes because human dudes develop nipples as fetuses before they’re technically dudes so imma say faerie dudes are the same

[laequiem]

She discovers the nipples when they're making out in the dark and she gets super confused

okay so if faeries don’t have assholes, do guy faeries have nipples?

Assuming they develop in the same way as human fetuses (everyone starts developing like a female until the Y chromosome kicks in) yes because human dudes develop nipples as fetuses before they’re technically dudes so imma say faerie dudes are the same