#plum gown

[ekho-ekho-ekho]

Gabriel and Beelz' dynamic is like if Yzma and Kronk were fucking

[theseimmortalcoils]

Velvet ball gown in a gorgeous shade of plum, trimmed with silk and velvet flowers by Muller-Gilbert, Rue de la Paix (1889). 💜 From the auction house Tessier-Sarrou - images and text via The Corseted Beauty

[everythingroyalty]

society when qmii and mary coordinate their outfits:

[peonypetalsonsatin]

Sugarplum fairy 🦢🎀

[anechomirrored]

I like the idea of describing clothes this way:

The snow fell in large flakes, and stuck to the soles of their boots. They wore a scarf of bright madder, their cloak was of gallnuts and iron as deep as a starless night and beneath it a gown of woad and weld as bright as the first leaves of spring. As they reached the edge of the clearing the tang of woodsmoke filled their senses. The kitchen would be filled with golden lamplight, their sweetheart dressed in wode and tansey. Their pace quickened, a smile on their wind chapped lips. The image of their simple haven burning brighter than any adventurer's star.

More medieval dyes for y'all!

[tuesdaygray]

saw a 1970s gunne sax empire waist cream and gold prairie dress on my fb marketplace feed today and it's under $100 and actually within driving distance. i feel nauseous

[annwrites]

⸻ a call to arms. part seven.

· pairing: jacaerys velaryon x dragonseed!reader · type: part of a series · summary: you take jace's virginity. · word count: 3,031

You and Jace had shared nervous smiles over dinner, consistently blushing each time you met the other's eyes over a dessert of plum cakes and pudding.

He'd made a comment that you had tasted far more sweeter and delectable upon his tongue.

You had replied by silently sliding your spoon along your own, watching as he adjusted himself over his trousers, which consequently caused a warmth to bloom between your own legs at the sight.

Now that dinner is finished, however, you assume the fun of today is at an end and you are to return to your chambers, until Jace holds true to his stated wants from that afternoon.

"I'd like for you to join me," he says, glancing to the steaming tub the servants had filled just as the two of you were finishing your meal, then back to you.

You take a small step closer. "If someone...entered while we—"

He comes toward you, caressing your cheek for a brief moment with a soft smile before going to the door and flipping the lock.

He returns to you, taking your hand in his. "None shall disturb us."

Jace watches silently as you undress yourself—your gown, chosen by him, pooling at your feet.

Next, you remove your smallclothes, baring yourself to him wholly.

Shyly, you position your clasped hands before your sex—watching him as he glances to you from under dark lashes, drinking in your every comely inch.

You pad to him—closing the small distance between the two of you—and cup his cheek.

"Are you alright?" You ask quietly.

He nods, gently resting a hand against your naked hip. "I did not think it possibly for me to desire you anymore than I already do. For me to think you more beautiful."

His eyes meet yours.

"I was mistaken."

You slide your hands to his chest. “Would you like for me to—”

He nods.

You unclasp the front of his shirt, slide your hands beneath the soft material, and push it from his shoulders.

Your fingers lightly trail along his smooth, bare chest—down to his abdomen—and he clenches his jaw at the feel.

Next, you unbutton his trousers, then tug them down his thighs.

He toes off his shoes, then steps out of them, along with his pants.

You cup the shaft of his erection over his smallclothes, and he moans quietly. You push them down, and that familiar long, pink cock springs free.

You grip it once more, and he wraps his hand around your own, shaking his head.

“Just the bath. For now.”

You smile, returning your hands to cupping his cheeks, nodding.

You and Jace both ease yourselves into the lavender-scented hot water, and he leans back, resting against the tub, while you settle yourself atop his thigh, and kiss his cheek.

“Would you like for me to wash you?” You ask, retrieving a bar of soap and a cloth from a small table attached to the side of the tub.

He swallows nervously, nodding.

You lather the cloth, wiping it along his shoulders and chest, tenderly kissing his lips.

You quickly take note of his unease and meet his eyes once more.

“If you wish for me to leave—” You say softly, before he interrupts you.

He shakes his head again, taking your waist in each of his hands. “I want you here. I want…you—this. I just…”

He pauses, then threads his fingers in your hair. “I’d like for you to take the lead tonight.”

You nod, moving the warm cloth along his arms.

He continues. “All I do each day is think. To the point where I make my head pound. I speak with my mother’s advisors. We plan, we strategize, we send out missives, we try to recruit allies. All while she…”

He shakes his head, his grip upon you tightening in irritation.

You think you understand then.

You run your fingers through his dark curls. “You merely want a night where you need not think.”

He nods, sighing in relief that you understand.

Jace leans his head back and closes his eyes.

You kiss his temple, continuing on, washing him clean, along with yourself.

“What was he like?” You ask quietly.

His eyes slowly open. “Whom?”

“Lucerys.”

He leans forward just a bit, running a damp hand up your back. “He loved his family. Fiercely.”

He swallows. “He was the one who took Aemond’s eye, in fact. I don’t know that was ever his intention, but…”

You tuck a curl behind his ear. “Why?”

“He claimed Vhagar the night of Aunt Laena’s funeral. Rhaena had hoped to instead. She and Baela woke us. We…went after Aemond for it—feeling like Rhaena was the one person entitled to the dragon, given it had been her late mother’s. He called us bastards, so we attacked him. And then Luke took his eye with a blade.”

He shakes his head. “So Aemond got his vengeance. He lost an eye, and my little brother lost his life. And then little Jaehaerys lost his. On and on this war goes. Children the casualty.”

You think of your sister at his words.

You eagerly await correspondence from she and your mother.

You don’t want to consider it, but you know you already have: returning to King’s Landing, smuggling them out, and flying them away.

Far, far away.

Jace slides his hand a little lower, rubbing circles with his thumb. “He never wished to be heir to Driftmark. He hated being on the sea. But loved the skies. And he liked horses—his favorite toy, in fact, was a small horse. Took it with him everywhere when he was little. He was always worried about not being good enough. In comparison to our mother. At times to me. He never…”

He trails off, his chin wobbling.

Your brows knit together, so you dig your fingers into his curls, cupping his cheek comfortingly.

“He never got a chance to prove himself wrong. Rather, to find out he was to begin with. That he was good enough, that is. He was good. He…”

Jace begins to cry, so you lean forward and hold him in your arms, allowing him a moment to drown in his grief while he wraps his own around you, wishing for a little brother that will never return.

Jace slides one of his robes onto your shoulders, already clad in one himself.

“Should I return to my room?” You ask, unsure of yourself.

He takes your hand in his and leads you over to his bed in answer.

Once the two of you are standing to the side of it, he slides his hands beneath your open robe, swallowing thickly.

“I want you…to be the first.”

His eyes flit to yours.

You still, staring up at him.

And then you take one of his hands between both of your own. “Are you sure?”

Prince Jacaerys Velaryon—grandson to the late king—wishes for you to take his virginity.

You’d come here simply for some coin. And now you’ve a dragon, and a prince wrapped around your finger. All without so much as even trying.

You think perhaps you are having a very strange dream and are likely to wake at any moment.

You pray if you do, you’ll be safe and warm in your bed, with your little girl pressed against your side as she sleeps peacefully, dreaming of fairytales.

He nods slowly, sliding his hands higher, brushing the pads of his thumbs along the soft skin beneath each of your breasts. “I am.”

You reach up, cupping his cheek. “Jacaerys—”

He presses a firm kiss to your forehead. “It is what I want.”

He searches your eyes then. “If you do not—”

You stand on tiptoes, brushing a kiss over his lips to quiet his doubts.

“I do,” you whisper.

He gently pushes your robe from your shoulders, and it falls to the floor, baring you to him once more.

And then he crushes his lips to your own.

Jacaerys is lied back comfortably on the mattress while you straddle his waist, kissing him, sliding your hands along his chest, down his abdomen, caressing his face, tucking curls behind his ears.

You plant playful kisses along his forehead and nose and cheeks and chin, and he grins contentedly in response.

You reach a hand between your legs, rubbing yourself with your slender fingers—not that you require the aid. You are already more than ready for your prince.

You straighten and he reaches up, cupping your breasts.

“Do…do you still want me on top?” You ask, wanting to ensure this is perfect. For his sake above all else.

He slides his hands lower, gripping your hips, his erection practically throbbing to be buried as deeply inside of you as possible.

He nods. “I want…”

He trails off, slightly embarrassed.

He’d pleasured himself just the other day to the fantasy of taking control of you in this way. But he realizes now that he’s… He’s, admittedly, nervous in voicing how his wants have now changed.

“I want the same as I did in the tub: for you to continue taking the lead this night. I want for you to… Tell me what to do. Use me for your pleasure. Please.”

You shift in unsurety.

“I want not to think. Just to feel. To feel you.”

You smile softly.

Jace reaches down, taking himself in-hand, and you center yourself, easing onto his length.

He throws his head back, moaning in pleasure while he fills you up.

You stretch around him, accommodating his length, shuddering in satisfaction when he reaches deep inside of you.

He’d been given the privilege of having a taste of you just that afternoon. But this is something else entirely. Something…extraordinary that he lacks descriptive words for. Mayhaps it goes beyond the bounds of speech.

“Tell me what to do,” he whispers breathily.

You begin to slowly rock your hips against his…not entirely sure what to tell him.

“Enjoy yourself, Jace,” you reply with a sweet smile.

He slides his hands up your naked thighs, admiring the sight before him: the two of you joined as one. A part of him inside of a part of you.

Gods, just the thought alone brings him nearer to releasing his seed.

But he wants this to last. Needs for it to.

“I want you to tell me…”

He pauses.

“Command me,” he states, his cock twitching between your wet walls.

You slow, then stop entirely, staring down at him with furrowed brows. “Are…are you certain that—”

He smiles warmly. “It’s what I desire.”

He tugs your hips forward, encouraging you to continue.

And so you do.

You rock your hips steadily, growing gradually in fervor.

Jace’s hands trace your curves, run along your soft skin, taking stock of every inch of you.

He reaches once more for your breasts, so you take his hands in your own, twining your fingers together, and you lean over him, pressing the backs of them to the pillows his head rests upon. Your breasts—the very things he’d wanted for—now directly in his face as you gaze down at him, clenching tightly around him.

“Not until I give you permission may you touch me, my sweet prince. Do you understand?”

Jacaerys whimpers quietly, softly nodding his head.

His eyes roll back before he shuts them, relieved you are giving him that which he most wants without further instruction needed.

You lean back once again, and his hands remain where you’ve placed them as you continue to rock your hips against his.

It is so strange to have a prince—the prince—who had only, just a few days ago, loathed you, asking you, a commoner, to command him in bed of all places.

A sennight ago you would’ve laughed at such a prospect.

But it warms you to know that he trusts you in such a way, and so quickly, at that. He sees you worthy of having such confidences bestowed upon you.

You rest your hands upon his chest, grinding down against him, and he turns his hands, gripping the pillows beneath them, clenching his teeth, groaning deeply in pleasure.

You click your tongue softly, cupping his cheek.

“Oh, my sweet prince,” you coo, brushing your thumb along his lips. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

He nods, his eyes fluttering open—brown irises blooming with wanton lust.

Your lip twitches. “Good.”

You rise until only his tip remains inside of you, then ease back down and he lets out a low curse.

He slides his fingers into his curls, fisting them in frustration.

“Gods, I want to touch you,” he states through clenched teeth.

You look between your legs to where he has disappear entirely, and you shrug slightly. “If we are to be technical, my sweet boy, you already are.”

You gaze at him from under your lashes and his cock twitches from deep inside your soaking heat.

His brow twitches.

“Please,” he begs.

You want to give him what he wants without a second thought, but what if what he wants is for you to make him work for it? Mayhaps you should’ve talked more about things before just…getting into bed.

You lean down and brush a kiss over his lips, curls falling over your shoulders that frame your face, and his that lies beneath you.

“You will obey,” you whisper. “You may put your hands upon my body when I permit you to, and not a moment before.”

He grins slightly, and you know then that you are giving him exactly what he wants. It makes you happy that he is, too.

“Yes, mistress,” he replies.

You fight against your brows raising in surprise at that.

You don’t want him to feel embarrassed or ashamed in trying…this. Don’t want him to feel a single negative feeling during his first time.

You wish for it to be everything he wants it to.

You continue to rock your hips against his, quietly squelching and he sighs at the sound. It pleases him greatly to know he is pleasing you. It is all he wants: to bring you to finish while you are connected in this way.

You reach between your legs and begin to slowly circle your clit and Jace practically whines at the sight.

“Let me instead. Please, I beg of you. Let me tend to your needs.”

Your hand stills, and then you remove it entirely.

You then let it hover between the two of you, palm face-up. “Give me your hand, my love.”

Jace smiles, doing as you bid him, and you slide it down your stomach, until his fingers graze again the soft white hairs between your legs, and you twine your fingers between his, circling that hot, sensitive bundle, guiding him in silent instruction.

He arches his hips and you moan his name, releasing his hand while he continues to circle that part of you which most needs his attention.

In return, you gently push dark curls from his brow, trailing your fingertips along his cheeks and firm jawline.

“Are you…you do like—”

Jace reaches up with his free hand, cupping your cheek. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

You rest your palm over the back of his hand and turn your head to kiss it. You then slide it lower, to your breast, and he squeezes it gently, rolling your nipple between his fingertips.

Your hips jerk slightly as he continues to gently circle your clit.

You then lean forward and slide a hand beneath his neck and he sits up, wrapping his arm around your waist, crushing his lips to yours.

You press your forehead to his, drawing in ragged breaths, growing closer to that peak you desperately wish to find again at his hand.

Jace’s hand slides down to your bottom, guiding you along his length.

“I’m close,” he whispers.

You nod, sliding your arms around his neck, kissing his forehead lovingly, stroking his curls.

“Shh, that’s it, my sweet prince,” you say, gently encouraging him to finish along with you.

“Do I—” He swallows thickly. “Do I have your permission?”

You pull back slightly, looking into his eyes from beneath hooded lids.

You smile warmly. “Of course you do, my sweet boy. I want you to.”

“Thank you,” he replies in a mere whisper, pulling your lips back to his own.

You continue to pleasure yourself against his length, and his breaths begin to come in pants.

“That’s it,” you say, nodding. “That’s it, my sweet, sweet boy.”

He rests his head against your breasts, listening to your heart pound, and he closes his eyes.

You rock your hips faster and faster, his cock straining inside of you, desperate for release, his testicles tightening while your hot, wet walls coax him toward that which he most needs while he holds you tightly in his firm embrace.

He takes one of your nipples within his warm mouth, suckling at your breast, then licking a hot trail to your other, rolling your opposite nipple between his teeth.

“Oh, my sweet boy,” you quietly cry. “That’s it, Jace. Good boy, that’s my—”

He throws his head back then, coaxed by your words—by the names you call him—and his seed spurts inside of you, while he moans loudly, groaning your name.

You reach between your legs, quickly circling your swollen clit, whispering his name repeatedly, squeezing around him, and you press your lips to his shoulder when that wonderful feeling of release washes over you.

Jacaerys can’t stop smiling.

Neither can you.

The two of you lay on your sides, with one of his arms draped over your hip.

He’d washed the both of you clean after, and then assured you in the morn that he would have a servant procure you moontea.

You cup his cheek and press yourself against the front of him, feeling utterly warm and safe and happy.

Tears sting his eyes as he pulls you into his chest, cupping the back of your head.

“Thank you, Y/N. For making my first…” He trails off for a moment. “For being my first, and for making it perfect.”

You rest your palms against his chest, closing your eyes. “Thank you for letting me.”

[retro58-blog]

[novaursa]

Chasing the Inferno

- Summary:  It was during Rhaenyra’s and Laenor’s wedding feast, that the king noticed something he was blind to for far too long.

- Paring: targ!reader/Harwin Strong

This whole work is inspired by this brilliant anonymous ask:

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, has striking resemblance to her late grandmother Alyssa and is younger sister of Rhaenyra. These events happen after The Flames We Hide. To read all the chapters in chronological order, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 3 532

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

The evening air carries the scents of roasted meats, spiced wine, and fresh flowers into the grand hall, mingling with the vibrant sounds of revelry. The hall is a living tapestry of silks, banners, and candlelight, casting everything in hues of crimson and gold. A sea of finely dressed lords and ladies flows beneath the arched ceiling, the thrumming heart of the grand wedding feast of Rhaenyra Targaryen and Laenor Velaryon.

You arrive with the grace and splendor expected of a Targaryen princess, a vision that commands the attention of every eye that lands on you. The dress you wear is a rich deep plum, the color of ripened plums at dusk, lined with golden thread that shimmers in the light. The sleeves are long and bell-shaped, flowing with each movement, while the bodice is tightly laced with intricate embroidery of dragons in flight. Around your neck, a delicate chain bears a pendant of a dragon curled around a glittering ruby—a gift from your father. Your silver hair is braided in intricate patterns, falling down your back with hints of shimmering ribbons intertwined through each strand. 

You sit beside Rhaenyra at the high table, your twin sister glowing with happiness under her finely woven veil. She leans toward you with a playful smirk. “I see you’ve decided to steal the attention for yourself tonight, Y/N. Not even the newlywed princess is safe from your charms.”

You laugh softly, returning her smirk. “It’s not stealing, dearest sister, merely borrowing for the evening.” Your eyes flick toward the bustling crowd, scanning the faces, seeking a particular one even as you engage in idle conversation.

You find him across the hall—Ser Harwin Strong, the Breakbones, the man who has captured your heart in ways you would never openly admit. His broad shoulders and easy smile cut a striking figure amidst the revelers. He leans against a pillar, eyes fixed on you with a heat that makes your pulse quicken. Even from here, you can feel the intensity of his gaze, the unspoken challenge in those dark eyes. A smirk pulls at your lips. Tonight is not just about celebrating your sister’s marriage—it is a dance, a game of fire and shadow that you and Harwin have played many times before.

As the feast progresses, the lords and ladies rise from their seats, drawn to the center of the hall where the dancing begins. You stand, gracefully gliding down the steps, the train of your gown trailing like liquid night behind you. Many lords vie for your attention, each more eager than the last to have the honor of a dance with the daughter of the King.

You indulge them—one by one, offering your hand with a practiced smile that promises nothing but amusement. Lord Beesbury twirls you first, his steps light but unremarkable. Lord Tyrell is next, his flattery sweet yet forgettable. Each time the music swells, you shift, gliding seamlessly into the arms of another suitor, all while casting sly glances over your shoulder to see if Harwin is watching.

And he is. His eyes never leave you, following every step, every spin, the set of his jaw tightening each time you turn away just as he moves closer. You can feel his impatience building like a storm, the tension of the game heightening with every dance.

Finally, after what feels like endless teasing, you find yourself caught in a whirl of movement, spinning until you are only steps away from him. Harwin’s expression is a mix of hunger and frustration as he makes his move to claim you at last.

But just as his hand reaches for yours, you slip away, turning instead into the arms of a young knight from the Westerlands, offering him a dazzling smile that is only for show. “My, Ser Harwin, are you growing weary of this dance already?” you tease, your voice lilting as you catch his gaze. You can see the fire in his eyes, a silent vow that he will not let you slip away so easily next time.

When the dance ends, the Westerlander knight bows low, eyes filled with admiration as he releases you. And as you turn, Harwin is there—closer than before, a step ahead of any other. This time, you do not pull away when his hand grasps yours, his grip firm and warm, sending a shiver down your spine. His voice is low, rough with suppressed desire, as he murmurs into your ear. “Do you truly believe you can keep running from me, Y/N?”

You tilt your head, lips curving into a smirk as you meet his gaze fully, violet and brown heat clashing. “Run, Ser Harwin? I am only leading the chase.”

Without giving him the satisfaction of a response, you spin away from him, the hem of your dress sweeping across the floor as you are swallowed back into the crowd. You glance back over your shoulder just long enough to catch the frustration in his expression before disappearing into the throng of lords and ladies once more. Harwin will catch you like he always does—of that you have no doubt. The thrill is in making him work for it.

But for now, the game continues, and you savor every moment of it.

The night is young, and so are you—dragon-blooded and bold, playing with fire and reveling in the heat that comes with it.

The music swells, a lively tune that fills the hall with mirth and energy, but it does little to settle the unease that creeps into King Viserys’ chest. Seated at the high table, he holds a goblet of wine, though he has barely touched it. His gaze drifts from one side of the room to the other, watching the mingling guests, the lords and ladies spinning in intricate dances. Yet his eyes keep returning to the center of the hall, where Rhaenyra and Daemon move together with a fluid grace that borders on impropriety.

His brow furrows as he watches them—his daughter and his brother. The distance between them is too narrow, the smiles exchanged too familiar. Even now, after all these years, Viserys cannot fully discern what lies behind those shared glances. His hand tightens on the armrest of his seat, his knuckles whitening with the effort to maintain composure. The court is watching; he cannot afford to let his concerns show. Not here. Not tonight.

But then, from the corner of his eye, something else catches his attention—a flash of deep plum silk, a braid of silver hair glinting in the candlelight. His eyes shift, narrowing as he tracks the movement, and there you are, his younger daughter, Y/N, weaving through the crowd with that same effortless grace, the very image of your late mother Alyssa in her youth.

Viserys watches as you glide from one partner to the next, a playful smile ever present on your lips. Each lord who steps forward is charmed, entranced even, but there is one figure whose presence never strays far from your orbit—Ser Harwin Strong. The son of his current Hand, a man known for his strength and loyalty, but also for the intensity of his gaze, a gaze that now rests solely on you. 

Viserys leans forward slightly, frowning as he observes the exchange unfolding before him. Harwin moves closer, clearly intent on catching you, and you—ever the playful one—tease him with fleeting glances, spinning just out of his reach each time he draws near. The way your eyes gleam with mischief, the way you turn your back only to glance over your shoulder at him, invites more than just a dance. It’s a game, and one that is all too familiar to Viserys, who remembers his own youth, and the thrill of such pursuits.

But then Harwin catches you. His large hand wraps around your waist, pulling you closer, closer than what is proper for a dance in front of the entire court. Your laughter rings out like silver bells, light and teasing as you push back against him, yet the way Harwin’s hand lingers—fingers splayed possessively against the silk of your gown—does not escape your father’s notice. The look on Harwin’s face is far too unguarded, a mixture of admiration and longing that sends a jolt of concern racing through Viserys.

Viserys’ chest tightens as he watches you lean in, saying something that makes Harwin’s smile sharpen, though the words are lost to the music and laughter that fills the hall. Then, just as quickly as he caught you, you slip away again, your skirts swirling as you twirl out of his grasp, leaving Harwin standing in the middle of the floor with a look of mingled frustration and desire. The scene plays out before Viserys like a vivid memory, like something he should have noticed sooner, something he should have acted upon long before tonight.

His eyes narrow as he follows the thread of events with growing unease. You laugh and dance your way out of the hall, light-footed and swift, and though Harwin remains behind for a few moments, his gaze tracks you with the keen eye of a falcon. Then, as discreetly as he can manage, Harwin moves toward the exit, following you.

Viserys’ grip on his goblet tightens until he fears it might shatter in his hand. He remains rooted to his seat, unwilling to cause a scene, yet the implications churn in his mind like a dark tide. The daughter who bears his blood, a Targaryen of pure lineage, slipping away with the son of his Hand? It is unthinkable—and yet, Viserys cannot ignore the undeniable connection between the two of you. The way you moved in tandem, how easily you played off one another as if you were two parts of a whole. It stirs something in Viserys, a deep-seated dread that this could lead to something more—something he has not prepared for.

His gaze shifts, and he meets the eyes of Lord Lyonel Strong. The Hand is seated farther down the table, looking distinctly uncomfortable, as though he too is aware of the precarious position his son is placing him in. When their eyes lock, Viserys does not miss the brief flash of unease in Lyonel’s expression, followed quickly by a nod of acknowledgment, as if to say he understands what Viserys is thinking. And, undoubtedly, he does.

The memory rushes back, clear as day—months ago, when Lyonel Strong came to him with a proposition a second time. “Your Grace,” Lyonel had said, his voice steady and filled with the gravity of a man who understood the weight of his words, “there are many fine matches to be made for your daughter, Y/N, from prominent houses across the realm. But I would humbly suggest that what my son Harwin offers may be worth more than mere lineage. His devotion to the princess is unwavering, and his love is without question. He would be a husband who honors her above all else, a union built on something deeper than mere alliances.”

At the time, Viserys had dismissed the notion—politely, but firmly. His daughter was a Targaryen, and surely she deserved a match that would strengthen their house politically, not merely satisfy matters of the heart. Yet now, watching the scene unfold before him, Viserys finds himself second-guessing his decision. Could there be merit in such a match after all? Could Lyonel’s words hold more truth than Viserys had been willing to see? But then again, to allow such a thing would be to acknowledge a love affair that has clearly grown far beyond simple courtly affection.

Viserys’ thoughts whirl, torn between the duty of a king and the love of a father. He knows that if he raises the matter now, it could cast a shadow over the entire evening, drawing unwelcome attention to something that should remain hidden, if only for the sake of peace. And yet, can he afford to remain silent, knowing the path that such unchecked desire could lead his daughter down? His gaze flicks back to the entrance where you vanished, and a part of him itches to rise from his seat, to go after you and demand answers.

But he stays rooted in place, forced into inaction by the eyes of the court and the weight of his crown. Instead, his gaze returns to Lyonel, and he sees the older man swallow nervously before looking away, clearly wishing to be anywhere else. The tension between them is palpable, unspoken yet undeniable.

Viserys takes a deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm. The decision he makes next could have lasting consequences, for both you and the realm. As the music swells and the laughter of the court continues around him, the king’s mind churns, trapped in a web of duty, love, and fear.

For now, he decides to wait—he will watch, and if Harwin oversteps again, then the matter will be brought to light. But the seed of doubt has already taken root in Viserys’ heart, and it will not be easily dismissed.

The night is long, but Viserys’ thoughts are longer still.

You slip through the winding corridors of the Red Keep, your heart thrumming in your chest as you make your way deeper into its shadowed recesses. The sound of music and laughter fades behind you as you reach a secluded passage, hidden away from the eyes of the court. This path is familiar, a secret shared only between the two of you. You’ve met here before, during stolen moments when the weight of duty and the eyes of others became too much to bear. The flickering torchlight casts long shadows along the stone walls, giving the space an almost dreamlike quality. Yet there is nothing dreamlike about the tension that crackles in the air as you wait, anticipation coiling like a serpent beneath your skin.

Footsteps echo faintly down the passage, the heavy tread unmistakable. A smirk tugs at your lips as you press your back against the cool stone, the thrill of the chase still buzzing in your veins. He always catches you in the end; it’s a part of the game, a part of the dance you both know so well. You hear him approach, his steps purposeful, a hunter closing in on his prey. You hold your breath, relishing the thrill of being caught, knowing what comes next.

And then he’s there—Ser Harwin Strong, towering and fierce, the firelight casting sharp angles across his rugged features. He looks at you with that smoldering gaze, dark and intense, his chest heaving as he closes the distance between you. “You run from me as if you ever wanted to get away,” he says, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine.

You don’t reply with words, only a wicked smile that dares him to come closer. And he does, with a predatory grace, until his body is pressed against yours, trapping you between the stone wall and his broad chest. “Caught you,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear, one hand sliding up to cradle your jaw while the other grips your waist possessively.

Before you can retort, his lips crash against yours in a kiss that’s anything but gentle. It’s all fire and hunger, the pent-up tension of the night spilling over as he devours you with a need that’s impossible to hide. You kiss him back with equal fervor, fingers tangling in his dark curls as you pull him closer, desperate to close the distance that’s been kept between you all night. Every touch, every bite and nip, is laced with the emotions you can’t express openly—a love too dangerous to voice in the light of day, but undeniable in moments like this.

Harwin’s hands roam over your body with a familiarity that sends heat pooling in your core. He tugs at the laces of your gown, his fingers rough but practiced, until the fabric loosens and falls away, exposing the soft skin of your neck and shoulders. You gasp against his lips as he nips at your throat, the scrape of his teeth drawing a moan from your lips. His own garments follow suit—his tunic and belt discarded hastily, the sound of cloth hitting stone echoing faintly in the small space.

The air between you crackles with a desperate need, the kind that’s built up over countless stolen moments, secret touches, and longing glances. There’s no pretense here, no titles or duties—only the raw, unfiltered connection between you. Harwin’s hands slide down your waist, gripping your hips firmly as he lifts you, pressing you harder against the wall. You wrap your legs around him instinctively, gasping as you feel him against you, hard and ready. The anticipation coils tightly in your belly, every nerve alive with want.

His eyes meet yours for a fleeting moment, and in them, you see everything he can’t say aloud��devotion, desire, and the promise that he would burn the world for you if you asked. But words are unnecessary now. You reach down, guiding him until he’s pressed right where you need him most. There’s a brief, charged pause—a moment where everything hangs on the edge—and then he pushes into you in one smooth, powerful motion.

The world tilts, pleasure and need blurring everything else as he sets a rhythm, hard and fast, the way he knows you both like it. It’s familiar and yet never loses its edge—each thrust, each gasp, sending sparks of electricity through you. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, biting down on the rough skin to muffle your cries, while his own growls of pleasure vibrate against your ear. His hands grip you tightly, fingers digging into your flesh as he moves, driving into you with a force that leaves you breathless.

But it’s not just the physical pleasure that binds you in this moment. It’s the intimacy, the shared understanding that this is where you both belong—together, hidden away from the prying eyes of the world. Here, you are not a princess, and he is not merely the son of the Hand. Here, you are simply two people who have found something rare and precious, something that defies the rules of the world you live in.

He kisses you again, slower this time, a searing heat beneath the tenderness as he deepens the connection between you. Your bodies move in sync, finding that perfect rhythm that drives you both higher, closer to the edge. You can feel it building, a tightening coil of pleasure that threatens to snap at any moment. His name falls from your lips like a prayer, a desperate plea, and he responds with your name in kind, low and reverent.

The world narrows to just the two of you—the heat of his body, the rough press of stone at your back, the intoxicating scent of sweat and desire. And then, with one final thrust, the tension breaks, pleasure crashing over you like a wave, drowning you in bliss. Harwin follows a heartbeat later, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as he buries himself deep, his body trembling with the force of his release.

For a long moment, neither of you move, the air thick with the aftermath of your passion. You stay entwined, foreheads pressed together as you catch your breath, your heartbeats slowing in tandem. His hands are still on you, holding you as if he’s afraid you might slip away even now. And for a moment, the world is quiet, all worries and responsibilities forgotten in the haze of sated desire.

But reality is never far away. Slowly, you both come back to yourselves, and he reluctantly pulls back, letting you slide down until your feet touch the ground once more. There’s a flicker of regret in his eyes, a wish that this moment could last longer, but he says nothing as he helps you adjust your gown, his touch gentle now.

You smooth down your skirts, fixing your hair with a practiced ease, though the flush of your skin and the brightness in your eyes would give you away to anyone who looked closely enough. Harwin lingers, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a soft, almost reverent caress. “You always make me chase you,” he murmurs, his voice laced with fondness.“

And you always catch me,” you reply, the smile on your lips tinged with affection. “Perhaps I simply enjoy the chase.”

He chuckles, but there’s a seriousness in his gaze as he cups your face in his hands, holding you still for a moment longer. “One day, I won’t let you run again,” he says quietly, the promise heavy in the air.

You don’t answer, not with words. Instead, you lean up to kiss him one last time, slow and lingering, tasting the bittersweet mix of what you have and what you cannot yet fully claim. When you pull away, you give him a final smile before slipping out of the shadows and back into the world where duty and decorum await.

Harwin remains behind, watching you go with a look that holds both longing and resolve. He knows this is far from over.

[giriniadalhambra]

Lovely gown 👗

~ Purple and Black ~

[infictionalwonderland]

the big bad birthday — h.lewis

SUMMARY, it’s your birthday and amidst the wholesome birthday posts, everyone’s entertainment comes from the chaotic and completely drunk off your tits content!

liked by yourusername, gkbarry and 234,680 others

faithlouisak, to the girl of my dreams, my sugar plum baddie pookie boo bear, the big spoon to my little spoon, the sugar in my tea, the absolute fittest fucking person on this planet with the best tits ive ever seen (soz wroetoshaw). HAPPY BIRTHDAY OMG I LOVE YOU SO MUCH AND I CANNOT WAIT TO SPEND EVERY FUCKING BIRTHDAY WITH YOU UNTIL WERE BOTH CRIPPLED AND ROLLING ABOUT IN OUR WHEELCHAIRS IN ALL THE SKATE PARKS LIKE THE COOL KIDS WE ARE XOXOXOXO tagged—@yourusername

view all 23,506 comments yourusername FAITH STOP IT.

yourusername I LOVE YOU SO BLOODY MUCH MY HEART IS LITERALLY ACHING AND UGH YOURE JUST MY FAVOURITE PERSON EVER COME KISS ME

-> faithlouisak don’t have to feckin ask me twice sexy bum

-> behzingagram @wroetoshaw

-> yourusername YO YO YO FAITH UR BOYFS TRYING TO HATE CRIME US?????!!!?????

-> faithlouisak AHHH HOMOPHOBE

bambinobecky the cake is so true 😋😋😋😋😋😋

mrskelly THE PHOTOS OF THEM I CANNOT THEYRE ACTUALLY SO CUTE BRO! THEIR FRIENDSHIP MAKES ME SO HAPPY 💕💕

mummy_behz wishing the beautiful beautiful birthday girl all the best! 💐💐

-> yourusername thank you so much ruth 💝

liked by max_balegde,miniminter and 311,289 others

taliamar LADIES AND GENTLEMEN WILL YOU PLEASE STAND BC IT IS THE FUCKING BIRTHDAY OF MY LOVVERR! yn i love you so much i genuinely cannot put it into words (can put it into our songs tho xx) you’re the most amazing person that i have ever met, you make me laugh all the time, you keep a smile on my face always, your energy alone is enough to make me feel all bubbly and giddy inside. with you, i feel safe and happy and loved and i feel like im a little kid again and i can conquer the world. you’re truly the very epitome of perfection, lover 😉 tagged—@yourusername

view all 30,561 comments ksi bro harry’s birthday post better be outta this world 😭

-> tobjizzle honestly, he’s got hella competition

yourusername STOP IT TALIA YOURE SO CUTE AND I ADORE YOU WITH MY WHOLE HEART, YOU HAVE NO IDEA. YOU MAKE ME SO HAPPY AND YOU DESERVE THE ENTIRE WORLD BABY. MWAH!

-> taliamar stop i shouldn’t be crying it’s YOUR birthday

-> miniminter and she’s crying now. @wroetoshaw ?

-> wroetoshaw balling mate

gkbarry birthday lass looks so hot drenched in rain xxxx

-> yourusername eat me out 😘😘😘😘

-> gkbarry 🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️

liked by zerkaa, taliamar and 211,597 others

freyanightingale YN YN YN! from the day that i met you i was amazed by you, by your beauty, your kindness, your wit and your literal intelligence - to this day, that amazement has only increased and i know that as i stay by your side until the day we both die in our cute little hospital gowns in our hospital beds with rooms next to each other, i will die still being amazed by you and your very being. i love you so much and you deserve the universe, and even more. HAPPY BIRTHDAY YOU BEAUTIFUL SOUL 💕💕

p.s yes i am lying on her arse in the 8th slide it was a true life experience tagged—@yourusername

view all 16,993 comments zerkaa i feel cheated on

-> freyanightingale cry about it

-> taliamar literally no one cares

-> faithlouisak omg piss off u HOBO

-> tobjizzle flabbergasted.

yourusername FREYA!!!!!!! BRO IM ACTUALLY GONNA HAVE NO TEARS LEFT TO CRY, luv u ari, AFTER ALL THESE MESSAGES AND YOU BET YOUR FAT ASS WE’RE GONNA HAVE HOSPTIAL BEDS NEXT TO ONE ANOTHER???? WE CAN WEAR OUR MATCHING HARRY POTTER SOCK SETS AND GET MATCHING ACRYLICS XXX

-> freyanightingale you’re my favourite person ever xx

liked by yungfully, chunkz and 501,590 others

nellarosee happy birthday to the most stunning, happy, loving, genuine, funny & gorgeous gorgeous girl that i have ever known, you are truly one of a kind my girl! tagged—@yourusername

liked by georgeclarkeey, chloeburrows and 298,126 others

gkbarry dear sexiest bitch in the entirety of europe, wishing you the best birthday there ever was. we need more people like your fantastical self in the world, cheers for sticking around this long 😘😘😘😘😘

p.s come to mine later, wear ur red set 👅 tagged—@yourusername

liked by yourusername, tobjizzle and 58,330 others

r0sielewis happy birthday to the best girl i’ve ever known, the first genuine friend i have ever made and who i know will always be there for the rest of my life! happy birthday to my role model, my makeup artist, my hair stylist, my therapist, my personal stylist - happy birthday to my everything. i love you so much yn, i hope you know that! all of us lewis’ do (especially mum.. & harry ig) 🤍🤍 tagged—@yourusername

LATER. . .

tobjizzle has posted to their story!

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Her

a/n just broadening my cheese thoughts. I freaking got hit by the love for my first mate. Had to revisit this red haired god.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

"My answer won't change", Eris spoke firmly. They had been at it for hours. The alliance with the night court was important, yes. But that didn't mean that Eris was thrilled to attend the meetings. "Eris, this is crucial", Rhys almost pleaded. It was nearly funny. How desperate the high lord was. How he had rushed to Autumn just to see him. "You said that already", Eris breathed, reaching to pour himself another glass of whiskey. "Yet I don't think you understand", the lord of the night court growled.

"Oh, I do", and Eris did. But this was a matter he was not willing to discuss. Her. They needed her. Her. They didn't even address her by her name. She was just her. And that in itself annoyed him. Eris had silently dared them to call out her name. To let it swirl off their tongues, but it never did. "You know I would not ask if this wasn't important", Rhys tried once again. Eris met his gaze before saying slowly, "No". "Drop it, Rhys. He's a selfish ass only looking for...", Azriel started to say, but Eris's hands came in contact with a table he was sitting behind. "Do you know what you're asking for, you bastard?", the fireling pointed a warning finger at the shadow singer.

Rhys was about to speak again. But without any announcement, the double doors opened. In strolled her. The room died down. The silence was so loud that it was almost unbearable. Dressed in the most beautiful deep green gown that left very little to the imagination. The material itself was almost desperate to cling to her porcelain-like skin. Lips painted deep plum red, dark features. Beatty, who no doubt could cause wars, made men drop to their knees. Give up their most valuable possessions. Just so they could pray at her feet.

And yet her gaze was on Eris. Overlooking everyone else's presence, no one else at this moment deserved her attention. Yet she knew that everyone was looking at her. The way her hips swayed as she walked. Her breasts shifted as she pulled her hair to one side. Whatever they talked about was long forgotten. "My invitation must have gotten lost in the mail now, didn't it?", she beamed at Eris sheepishly. Eris gripped his glass tightly, nearly smashing it. He was dissatisfied with her actions. She knew it. He was mad. And it was true; she could feel it, and smell it. Everyone now had their eyes on her.

"You suffocate me, woman", the fireling snarled through gritted teeth. She only smirked, pulling his glass from his hands and brushing the corner of the glass with her lips—that same corner that Eris's lips touched not long ago—as she muttered, "You ignite me, husband". No more words were shared after that. They were fighting a silent battle with their eyes for a while before she turned to the other three males in the room.

"Now, before this place goes up in flames", she purred, looking directly at the Illyrians. Rhys bowed his head, sinking. She watched him. "Sweet, but it won't make a difference", she said, motioning for him to stand up. Rhys met her eyes, and she knew. She knew that he, too, understood. Knew that Eris and her were a match like no other. She was a true goddess of death, while Eris summoned fire. They could build and ignite hell together. Set the world up in flames and keep it blazing for centuries if they only desired.

Hence, this union was a secret. Kept from prying eyes and ears. It was a cry for war if the word spread. Beron was the one who managed to steal her from the underworld. One who bound her and his son forever. She was nothing but a feral beast the first time Eris saw her. She nearly suffocated him while a priestess wed them. But then his pain met hers, and what bloomed from this union was not something a world so small could handle. Could understand.

If others knew of their marriage, no one knew what they were doing behind closed doors. They couldn't even come close to grasping the strength of the bond that now mated them together. They knew nothing about their first night as a married couple. Of how frightened she had been back then by the demands that Beron made. Eris had grasped her wrist, poking her finger with his fang to draw a tiny bit of blood before he let the blood fall onto the sheets, so the maides could gossip about it in the morning. They knew nothing of the nights she spent playing the piano in Eris's office while he worked or simply sat there admiring her. They knew nothing about the hunting trips they took that had nothing to do with hunting. How they would bring the whole forest to fall silent before it burst to life as both of their cries filled the air.

She stepped closer. It was thrilling to see things no one else could. To be able to grasp things others couldn't touch. She pulled at one of the Illyrian's souls, bringing it out of his body as it seized. The thrill of touching something that wasn't yet meant to die was exceptional. "You're playing", Eris's voice cut through her desire. "Oh, I would never", She turned to her husband, letting herself giggle. Eris shook his head but did nothing to stop her. He just swirled his whiskey in his glass. "Cruel, cruel creature, let go of him", he said, and she huffed, "No fun". The Illyrian inhaled sharply, his hand on his chest, as his big eyes watched her. Yet all she did was smile.

"I can bring that soul to you", she said bluntly, turning away from them. He stepped to stand next to Eris, his hand coming to lay for her naked back. "I...", Rhys stuttered, clearly taken back by her words. He tried to come up with something to say but failed miserably. "Surprised that I know why you're here?", she teased, "Nature requires balance. Two nights from now, we shall come to the ever-white lake. I'll summon his soul", she said so naturally that it seemed as if all of this wasn't surreal.

"Y/N, this means so much", Rhys said, bowing his head again. "Leave", Eris growled, "If I see you before that time, your dogs will be dragging you out of the lake", Eris barked. She pinched her husband's side gently. The two winged males stepped forward angrily, but Rhys quickly placed his hands on their chests. She nodded her head at the Lord of the Night Court. He returned her gesture before winnowing out of the fireling's office.

"I don't like this...", Eris muttered when it was just the two of them in the room. He pushed his armchair back slightly, guiding her to sit on his lap, his arms snaking around her middle. "You don't like many things, dear", she breathed, her fingers moving to brush through his red hair. "You putting yourself in danger is at the top of the list", he stated firmly, reaching for his glass once more. He was always like this. His desire to protect her was something he hadn't yet conquered.

"You don't own me", she purred, pressing her finger against his chest. He nodded, "I do not, but you are the love of my life, and I would rather watch the world crumble than let you hurt", his words were powerful. Ones that other lovers spoke sparingly. But Eris. Eris was not like other lovers. And she knew that his love ran deep for her. And what he said was true. Because nothing could keep them apart. Eris would not allow it. She would not allow it.

"It's just one soul", her voice was much softer now as she spoke. "One too many", Eris muttered, swallowing the sharp liquor. A tight frown on his face. She touched his sulking features. "Don't do this", she whispered. Eris said nothing. He interviewed their fingers together. Bringing their hands, which were marked by twin tattoos, closer to his chest, he kissed the top of her palm. "I would not survive if...", Eris breathed out, brows knitting together. She cupped his face and said, "Good for you, my husband, that I have no intention of dying". Her eyes met his, and Eris could feel all the love she poured into his heart.

[jeonsbabygirlsworld]

REUNION SEX

SUMMARY: Seokjin has been now out from his military service, but he has buried himself with work and you miss him, miss sex.

PAIRINGS: Husband Jin x wife reader.

WORD COUNT: 1.7K

SMUT WARNINGS: Titty sucking over clothes, oral (m,f), fingering, riding, emotional sex at the end lmao, reader is called names( jagi, slut, whore), cum eating.

A/n: yeas, I'm back Hehe lol I hope you like this one I'll get better next time but I hope you like this.

It's been two days since Seokjin has been discharged from his military service, Minjun your son hasn't been happier when he finally knew his dad wouldn't go back, your husband used to come back in between for a couple of days and leave again.

Minjun was about six months old when Jin knew he had to leave and he was not happy to leave his son, you and the army but soon accepting he went ahead and served the country perfectly, occasionally posting on Instagram and Weverse and telling army's he's doing great and is eager to come back and perform.

It's almost 11 pm when Minjun gets ready for his bedtime after playing with his dad for a long time. Jin being the best dad and husband takes over the night duties and puts his son to sleep so till then you could get all ready for bed as well.

About your sex life it's been a while since you've been intimate with him so it is dry and now seeing him all bulked up has your hormones raging up, his shoulders are now lean not that they were in perfect shape but it's just something is stirring up in your mind, his abs are more Prominent and can be even seen over his shirt if he straightened up.

You have nasty thoughts about your husband in the shower while Seokjin also gets ready for bed, a white shirt with grey sweatpants hangs low on his slim waist and when you come out you gasp a bit to see him look this hot.

You both soon get on the bed cuddling each other while you lay your head on his hard chest and your legs all over him, you ignore the feeling of his length on your inner thighs and hum on the things he's saying, his long fingers are tangled on your hair, and he fiddles with them, and you sigh at this feeling.

"Jagi...?" Your husband calls you out of your thoughts and you look out for him and smile and ask him what's wrong "Are you sleepy? should I stop talking?" Seokjin hesitates, thinking he is keeping you up and he knows you are tired from all day keeping up with Minjun taking care of him and also looking after him.

"No Jin don't worry it's all right it's just something going in my head for a while, but it's nothing I know you must be tired we can sleep," you tell him in a low voice and motioning to detach from him, but you get pulled back and now he hovers above you and gasp.

"Tell me baby, what's wrong?" Jin said now completely serious, and you sighed and looked everywhere but him, his arms had now trapped you and you raised your hands and held onto his biceps and rose a bit so could kiss his plum lips and once again you fell for this man all over again.

"Nothing Jin, it's just I miss you, I miss sex, but I don't want to pressure you into it I know you are still tired from the service and all the events you can rest" you tell him and caress his bicep with your thumb and feel him.

"Jagi you could've just told me about it, you know it right I would never turn you down, I'm sorry I haven't been giving you time love, but this pussy for sure misses me, right baby? Jin teases and you nod while giving him a big smile at his teasing.

Jin slowly bends down so he can kiss your lips and you make space for him in between your legs and his now hard length is pressed against your core. The kisses shared are passionate between you and him and you bite out a moan when you feel his hands sneaking up to your clothed breast.

Your nipples harden when Seokjin's fingers circle them and you twitch in his arms because of sensitivity, the short satin gown does a poor job of hiding the print of your nipples and Seokjin bends down just so he comes face to face and licks and sucks you over the fabric, the print is more visible as it is now wet.

"Seokjin please, need more" You gasp at his teasing while he chuckles and stops his antics and is now welcomed by the red lace underwear you decided to wear just in case something would happen, and you didn't want him to be greeted by the normal ones and mentally smile about it.

Your husband smiles at the sight of his favourite red panties coming into his vision and wasting no time he pushes them to the side and rubs the ball of your clit "Try to stay calm y/n I know it's been a while" he says observing your sensitivity and timidness when you try to close your legs.

Nodding at him he gets right back to your pussy occasionally spitting, licking, sucking and slurping your juices and you try your best to stay calm and not make much Noice but you end up failing miserably when his long slender finger enters you "Such a tight fit Jagi, I don't think you can take my dick....already stressing over my finger" just like that his teasing never stops which throws you over the edge and you come silently.

"Such a slut Jagi" he tsks and removes his fingers from your heat and sucks them and hums "So sweet" You stay there breathless for a second until he undresses, and you remove your gown and panties, your eyes bore down at his luscious red tip oozing out some precum and you swear you feel your mouth water.

So, you take matters into your own hands, just when Jin hovers above you, holding on to his bicep you shift him so now you are the one above him and Jin chuckles and gets ready for what is coming for him.

Kissing his lips you go down his neck and paint a few purple hues and your fingers tease his length which is now in between you and your husband, he tries to refrain from moaning and only settles with hums, Seokjin guides you where he needs you the most, yes, his beautiful girthy, thick length and veins prominent and those plum balls, there's a patch of hair at the base but you don't mind and think it makes him 10x hotter than he already is.

You start off by laying kittenish kisses and licks on his length and then going to suck his tip, you hum when the taste of his precum hits your tongue, and you make a mess by spitting on him again, your husband grabs on your hair and tries to signal you that he needs more and wanted to hear you gag around it.

"The best baby, yeah just like that," Seokjin says as his hands now fall on the bed, and you continue to gag over him "So big baby, can feel it in my throat," you tell him to boast his ego feeling few tears falling from your eyes and Seokjin moans at the compliment.

"Yeah, baby just like that Jagi.... right there, I'm going to cum" your husband groans feeling his orgasm hit and then that's when you decide to be cruel and get your mouth off him, "Jagi I'm not even kidding I was so fucking close," Jin says disappointed and you hover over him and sit on his abs and bring your finger on his lips "Be quiet baby, let me do it my way tonight yeah?" you tell him in most sluty way.

Smirking he only nods and lets you do whatever you want, and you rise up just a bit so now that his tip kisses your hole and you gasp and try to take him fully, once you adjust you shriek out because of the stretch and Seokjin groans at the tightness it feels like his dick has been suffocated and you slowly start to bounce, your own hands coming up to play with your tits while his hands come up on your waist and you scream out real loud because of his tip hitting your sweet spot "Yeah baby faster" Jin gasps feeling himself come closer to his release.

"Argh fuck baby right there feels so good, dick so good" You talk to him and chase your high that's when Seokjin pulls you down to his chiselled chest and guides your hips, you feel your eyes water at his move and your right hands comes up to his face to grab and you silently say you miss him and missed this feeling, and your tears finally run down your cheek and you both come at the same time, his cum painting your walls.

"Y/n? Baby, are you okay? I missed you too Jagi like a lot" Jin says his hands now caressing your back "Yeah just missed you a lot and now that you are here it feels so much better" you tell him, and he smiles like a fool and kisses your forehead, after spending a while with his length still inside, you sigh and feel good until it was time for you to get up and clean as you both are sticky from the sex and you both need a bath.

While Seokjin gets up first to prepare a bath for both of you, feeling the cum drip from your pussy, with a wild move you try to collect and suck it off your fingers and give him a wink while you are at it, and he smirks collectively and tsks "so messy baby" and giving him an offended look you tell him it is better than staining the bedsheets.

"Sure, Jagi make excuses, such a whore for it"......

TAGLIST:

@jungk97kwife @kimmingyuswifee @virgodolls @grudge-core

[cressida-jayoungr]

One Dress a Day Challenge

August: Fantasy & Sci-Fi

Return to Oz / Jean Marsh as Mombi and Sophie Ward as Mombi II

I was lucky enough to grow up in a town whose library had a nearly complete collection of the Oz books, so of course I remembered Princess Langwidere and her collection of heads! It was great to see that onscreen, even though they merged the characters of Langwidere and Mombi.

In the book, she only wore a simple white dress, as changing her head gave her all the variety she wanted. But I think the burgundy-and-plum gown created for the movie by designer Raymond Hughes is gorgeous, with its iridescent patches and art nouveau swirls. A particularly interesting feature is the rack of golden splinters trailing back from the shoulders, almost like they're trying to form into fairy wings but aren't quite complete.

[calypsocolada]

SHAMELESSLY | f. dostoevsky

(final part in the series! click here for part one)

synopsis: after a demon escapes your grasp you hunt it back down. authors note: hiiiiiiiiii!!!!! thank u all so much for your nice words and such :3. this is the final part in this series so I hope you all enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it!!! cw: blood, gore, violence, suggestive, FLUFF, cussing, lil angst, fyodor is and always will be OBSESSED wit u ;) wc: 5.4k

--------------------------------------------------------

You’ve never worn a corset before and in this exact moment you knew why. You felt Yosano tighten the strings until you could feel the beating of your own heart. 

“I think that’s too tight.” You choked out as Yosano giggled behind you.

“No pain no gain, sweetheart.” She said, tightening it just a bit more. 

“I don’t understand why I need this,” You breathed out in exasperation. “It restricts my movements.”

“Stop complaining, after all it’s your fault the demon escaped.” Yosano teases as you let your eyes fall closed.

It was your fault, you let him trick you, let him touch you and steal the keys and now he’s gone. He’d been sending you things, flowers, chocolates, and whatever else all to taunt you. You feel Yosano grip your shoulders softly. “I was joking. He would’ve escaped one way or another, now you just gotta bring him back.” Easier said than done. You flopped down in a chair. Yosano fluffed up your hair and turned the chair around, tilting your head up by the chin. “Are you worried about seeing him again?” She asks. You remember his eyes, midnight plum, in the dark. His hand on your cheek, wiping blood from your face. He tricked you good. All of it was an act, to muddle your senses and leave you defenseless. It boiled you from the inside, left you angry and wanting. The anger was so palpable that it fueled your fire for the past two months since he broke out.

“No.” You answer truthfully, you couldn’t help the bitterness in your voice. Yosano tilted her head slightly.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you were. That demon is something to be feared.” 

“He’s something to be caught. Like a rat.” You quip as a grin breaks out on Yosano’s face. 

“Glad you think that way.” She remarks, pushing back to her feet, dusting off her skirt. “As you know our intel’s iffy,” Yosano starts. You’d been chasing dead ends for quite some time now. You joined back up with the agency out of guilt and disappointed your parents. They were of course upset that you lied about it for a while but you promised the moment you caught the bastard you’d be back home. “Sources say he’ll be at this masquerade tonight so you need to be on guard and be wary of using your powers since he knows about them.” You already thought of that. Fyodor is highly intelligent and you’re sure that if you finally found him there’s a reason that only he devised. So impossibly you had to be more cunning. You pushed to your feet, leaning to look in the mirror. Yosano did you up, you almost didn’t recognize yourself without the sleep deprived bags under your eyes. You looked fresh even though you haven't been sleeping much. You straightened.

“Good work, I look human again.” You remarked as Yosano snorted. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Now you better get going. Oh, and Y/n?”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t play hero, if you see him, stall him and wait for us.” Yosano advised, her voice deadly serious. You nodded your head but the only person that was going to slam the cell door in Fyodor’s face was going to be you. 

The masquerade was extravagant. That’s really the only word you could use to describe it. You never went to dances when you were younger, you always thought you were too cool for them but in reality you wished you went. Though you were sure a high school couldn’t put on something this enchanting...

As you walked in the large stone doors into the venue your breath stuttered in your chest. It looked like a story book come to life. Every single soul was dressed to the nines, intricate gowns with matching masks, velvet suits and cuffs. Not to mention the entire venue, large ceilings with stained glass windows, long vines hanging from tall statues of sculpted men and women with little to cover the intimate parts. There were hundreds of people lining the hall, some dancing and some laughing, drinking from fancy looking goblets, eating even fancier looking desserts. You swept down the stairs, pulling the mask over your eyes as you scanned every face you walked by. 

“I feel as though I walked into a different time.” You say softly, hearing a familiar crackle in your earpiece. 

“Yes, someone really outdid themselves.” Dazai answers. You maneuver your way through the party goers, swiping a drink and tipping the glass to your lips. It’s sweet at first but strong when it slides into your stomach. You set down the empty glass and grab another. “Go easy there, alchy.” You hear Dazai admonish and you can’t help but roll your eyes. You walked not one but two laps around the room and you were fast approaching to losing hope, that the iffy intel was just that, iffy. 

“He’s not here.” You say, hiding your lips behind the glass. You hear Dazai lean back in his creaky chair, probably putting his feet up on his desk. 

“Take one more lap around.” He directs and you do. You check every pair of eyes, searching for those midnight plum eyes, searching for the coal black hair and the cruel smile. But he’s nowhere to be seen and you feel like a fool.

Another dead end.

You grabbed one last glass before heading towards the door only stopping when someone slid into your path. 

“Leaving so soon?” Your attention snaps up to his face but the eyes are light blue. You don’t recognize this person but something in you stands at edge when he cocks his head to the side. “You look very pretty. Too pretty to not be snatched up to dance.” He offers his hand to you, his voice is familiar. Something in you twists and before you can say no your earpiece crackles again.

“Say yes.” Dazai asserts and you curse inwardly that you can’t ask why. You take in a sharp breath and hesitantly meet his hand. You watch his pink lips turn up into a cheshire cat grin as he yanks you, somewhat unkindly, to the dance floor. You weave through the crowd behind him and when he finally finds a place with a bit of room he spins around and pulls you to his chest. You gasp at the suddenness and force down any harsh words you have because maybe Dazai knows something you don't know about this man. A song starts in the distance, something slow and you force yourself to stay in this man's grip. One hand holding your own, the other sliding around your hip resting just above your ass. If he goes any lower you were going to tell him to eat concrete and with your powers he would. Slowly he pulls you into step, soft music caressing your ears. 

“Not much of a dancer?” He asks and you're annoyed that he noticed but you force a cordial smile and tilt your head.

“That noticeable?” You remark and he smirks as though you were complimenting him in his cleverness. 

“Not much, honey, you’re just a bit stiff. Do I make you uncomfortable?” He asks and it takes everything in you not to nod your head.

“No, I just haven’t danced in a while.”

“Why is that?” He inquires.

“Never been much for parties I guess.” You remark and he nods his head, spinning you around a bit too fast, he dips you in his arms and snaps you back up. You bit your lip hard enough to draw blood. 

“You’re too gorgeous to stay out of the limelight, you should be paraded around like an expensive jewel.” Paraded around? Did this guy think that was really a compliment? “If I had you I’d show you off to anyone that would listen.” He winks and you force a laugh that sounds slightly annoyed to your own ears. 

“Thank you, uh, I guess I never got your name.” You say and the man levels you with a look, his hand around your waist tightens just slightly. Even before he reaches up his hand to tilt up his mask your heart clenches. His voice, his eyes were familiar because you knew deep down who it was. Who it was holding you, paradeing you around the room like an expensive jewel just like he said. Someone who you thought was dead, your nightmares filled with his face. You spent weeks in the hospital because of this man, you quit the agency because of this man. 

Lord Francis.

He pulled you closer to him as he lowered his mask back, you froze like prey entrapped by a predator. 

“Honey, you look as though you’ve seen a ghost.” You had. He laughs at your stricken expression, the same laugh he gave you before beating you until you didn’t recognize yourself. “I’ve been waiting a long time to see you again.” His hand that's around your waist slides up your back and around until his thumb brushes your cheek. “I didn’t even leave a scratch on you, Pity.” Something bubbles inside but you're too terrified to act on it. What’s the use or your power if your lips are trembling too much to say something. “Oh, and,” His finger taps on your earpiece. “I hope you don’t mind that I jammed your radio there, we needed privacy.” You tremor at his touch, gaining back a bit of your bite. You part your lips to say something but he shushes you. “I wouldn’t. You use your powers here and I’ll just have my men execute everyone here one by one.” He smirks and all the fight in you dies. You stare at him hard. 

“What do you want?” You ask through clenched teeth.

“What do I want?” He echoes and you swallow dryly. He tilts his head. “Don’t tell me you don’t know, it’s obvious you are here for me.”

“I’m not.” You say defiantly and he laughs. You shove him back hard, he bumps into a few other couples dancing, looking at you as though you were some wild animal. He clenches his jaw, fixing his tie. He walks forward and you're reminded of why you held so much fear. You take a step back into someone.

“There you are, my love. I was just coming over to cut in but it seems you two are done dancing.” That voice. Your heart seizes. You turn and there he is. Midnight plum eyes, coal black hair, that cruel smirk. 

“I think we may have one dance left.” Francis hisses and when he takes a step forwards Fyodor moves gracefully right in his way, somewhat protectively, blocking Francis's path to you. 

“I think the lady should decide.” He intones, that accent hitting some part of you. You clench your jaw. Tonight was a night of surprises it seemed. Fyodor’s eyes slide to meet yours. His hair is styled to perfection, a loose strand falling in his eyes, a dark suit that fits him just right. He looked good but even the devil himself couldn’t get that out of you. “So which is it, my love?” A small feeling bloomed in your chest at the name. 

“Fuck you.” You cursed, eyes sharp. Two words you’d been saving just for him. All your waking and unconscious thoughts were about him,  he haunted your every moment. All that and you’d only spoken to him for maybe fifteen minutes before he tricked you. Francis scoffed a laugh and stepped forwards but stopped short. You extended your hand to Fyodor. “Can I have this dance?” You seethed begrudgingly. Between a demon and the actual devil you knew which to hedge your bets with. Fyodor looked smitten as he took your hand and swept you away from Francis. He didn’t drag you like Francis had and when he turned he softly pulled you into his chest, his hand wrapping around your waist and the fear you had with Francis diminished. Something far dangerous grew. 

“Did you get my flowers?” He speaks softly right near your right ear. You tightened your jaw. 

“Yes, I got your taunts.” You say exsaperatedly and Fyodor pulls back so he can look you in the eyes. 

“I wasn’t taunting you, my love, I was flirting.” 

“Writing, ‘come and find me’ on every note is your way of flirting?” You quip and he nods his head, pursing his lips.

“And you did, look at that, I feel so special.” He breaths. You tighten the grip you have on his hand as he moves you in step with the music. 

“I’ve looked everywhere for you.” You scowl and he tilts his head, letting his eyes fall closed as he breathes in. 

“How I’ve longed to hear that.” He says, opening his eyes and spinning you when the music picks up. “Have I told you how utterly striking you look tonight?” He asks when you spin back into him. He lowers his voice. “Because you look so ravishing I can’t hardly think straight.” Goosebumps rise on your skin, your heart doing a traitorous flip in your chest. The look in his eyes tells you he knows what effect he’s having on you so you force yourself to remember the basics. He betrayed you, used you like a fool. You held onto those two thoughts. 

“I should command you to leave here with me.” You growl and the edge of his cruel mouth tilts up. 

“You wouldn’t have to command me, dear, I’d go anywhere you told me to go.” He implores, his eyes soft on yours. You harden your thoughts. No being tricked. 

“Even back to prison?” You ask and he pulls you into him, his lips just by your ear. 

“I’d go to hell and back if you so wished.” You push him away instantly because your body wants him. You like the things he’s saying and it’s all too confusing and maddeding.

“Stop it.” You manage and he looks at you with cat-like eyes. 

“Stop what, my love?”

“Saying things like that.” You hiss and he just smiles at you. 

“You have the physical prowess to stop me yet you don’t. You let me say these things because deep,” He leans back into you, hand enveloping yours as the music picks up. “Deep down you want to hear them. As long as you like to hear them I will speak forevermore.” You hadn’t noticed how close he’d gotten until his lips barely brushed yours, almost like a kiss from the wind. You let out the breath caught in your throat. If you moved even a centimeter your lips would fully meet his. You're not sure how long you two were like this, the space between you practically non-existent, wanting him to be the one to give in. To put you out of your misery with a kiss. But alas, he pulls back, eyes like molten. “When I saw that man’s hands on you I saw red. I wanted to kill him.”

“Why didn’t you?” You ask, embarrassed that your voice betrayed you, showcasing just how much this moment was affecting you. Fyodor tilts his head.

“I didn’t think you’d like that…” He guessed, but it sounded more like a question. “Would you like me to kill him?” His eyes devoured your face, you swallowed to keep your lips from forming the word yes. You shook your head because you didn’t trust your voice. Fyodor just gave you back his soft smile, something he only saved for your eyes and your eyes only. “Hmm… yes, I guess that might ruin this party… After all, I planned this just for you.” He says and it’s like a bucket of cold water is thrown over you. He planned this ball. He invited everyone. Even Francis. He was probably working with Francis. He must’ve known Francis would rattle you enough to have you fall into his hands. And boy were you falling, shamelessly. You straightened, gaining back some sense of dignity. He was playing you again. Tricking you. You fell for it every goddamn time. Not this time. 

“I think I’d like to change my mind.” You breathed out, your voice strong. His eyes light up at your words. 

“On what, my love?” 

“I think I do want you to kill him.” You say and watch a small bit of shock settle on his sharp features. He barely sucks in his bottom lip, running his teeth over it. He stops dancing, gently pulling you by the hand towards the back of the party. You follow, glancing behind you to see Francis, his eyes locked on you. You weren’t getting out of here unscathed. Fyodor whisks you into an empty room, leaning against the door to shut it. 

“Oh dear…” He starts. You turn about the room before finding him. You put on your bravest face and cross the room back to him. He stays pressed against the door. You pull him in, you're directing this play now. You were tired of playing the pawn. He looks at you as though you’re about to whisper some riddle to him. As if he knows you so well that this would be some kind of joke. You lean your cheek against his and whisper into the shell of his ear.

“If you want me as badly as you claim, you’ll do it.” You say, finding his hand and tightening your hand on his. You feel him shutter against you. You wanted to call his bluff, to finally have something over him. But he just pulls back and you see resolve on his face, you see a man who was going to do exactly as you ask. 

“How would you like me to do it, my love?” He asks and your left to wonder if he really means it. You both stare at each other for a moment as you try and gauge things. “Would you like me to slit his throat?” He offers in the dim light, the music swells behind the door. You swallow because you feel the control slipping. “Shoot him in the head? Although where's the flair in that?” He laughs softly.

“I don’t care how you do it.” You say and he drags a finger across your cheek.

“I must say, I like this side of you.” He’s smiling that wicked smile and something in you pulls and snaps. Your hands travel up his arms and you watch his eyes dart to watch them. You feel out of control but in it all at once.

“You bring it out of me.” You murmur, leaning your body against his, you feel his heart racing in his chest under your palm and you pause. Was he nervous? No, he was playing you so there was no way this was affecting him.

Slowly you dragged your eyes up to his and the way he was looking at you made you pause again. You remember seeing that look on your dad’s face in the morning as your mom sat breakfast on the table, or when you’d all be out and your mom would watch your dad laughing with that same expression. That was the look of love. Fyodor had no right to pretend to care and you felt vindictive, like he was soiling some precious memory.

You grabbed his tie in your right hand twisting it around your hand, holding it tight. Something flashed in his eyes at your somewhat rough treatment, something dark and alluring. You pulled him down and shocked the both of you by rocking up on the balls of your feet to meet his lips. Rationality had flown right out the window and despite the many warnings and reasons, something had ached inside of you, a craving that had finally been understood. In this madness you decided if you were getting played, if this was all some stupid game or a trick to get you killed then you’d at least take Fyodor’s dignity with you. Fyodor’s slender hands slid around your waist pulling you completely against him, his mouth moving eagerly against yours. The kiss was hot and all consuming and completely fucking mad. Your hands found themselves tangling and messing up his perfect hair, tugging it and causing him to groan against your mouth. He might laugh later and say it meant nothing and you might agree, but you both would be filthy liars. Your stomach burned with yearning, a sick and crazy feeling amongst all the others.

His cruel mouth is surprisingly soft, he kisses you reverently at first, as though giving you time to move away and make better decisions but when you don’t it grows deeper and more desperate. He’s wanted it, you can tell by the way he devours you, the way he holds your hips with one arm and runs his fingers through your hair with the other, resting his hand just below your jaw. When you both pull back to catch your breaths, Fyodor’s thumb tilts your head up so he can look in your eyes. 

“Why do you really want him dead?” He asks through a staggering breath. Something in you twists triumphantly because he sounds put out, like you truly knocked him off balance. 

“For the fun of it.” You coo and he cocks his head at that, shaking his head in an admonishing way. 

“That isn’t like you, dear.” He says.

“Ah, cause you know me so well, Fyodor.” You hear him suck in a breath and before you can even begin to understand why his cheeks pinken in the dim light his hands slide up to either side of your face, his lips crashing against yours. You're stunned as he walks you back towards some kind of desk, the backs of your thighs hitting the hardwood. You realize distantly that you probably never had the control in the first place as his hands slide down to the backs of your thighs and lifts you up and sets you on the desk, his body parting your knees as he stands in between them. Your head is tilted up, hands grabbing at his suit jacket. He trails kisses away from your mouth to your neck and you shiver.

“You have no idea how badly I want to know you.” He mumbles against your neck, his hot breath tickling you. “Every single thought you have, I want to know what you're thinking…” His words are barely understandable as he attacks you with his lips. “I want to know who you are and where you are and-”

“You sound mad.” You say, flustered. He was talking crazy.

“You make me feel so utterly out of control.” He mewls, a bit more coherently. “I’ve never met someone like you.”

“You barely know me.” You quip and he pulls his lips away from your neck.

“I’ll take what I can get.” He speaks so softly and your heart swoons. With his hands still on your cheeks he leans in and for the first time, without desperation or shyness, kisses you kindly. You were done for. This went well past revenge. Him stealing the keys and your reaction to it felt utterly stupid now. Were you obsessed just for the sake of it, just for the sake of him?

“Don’t you.. Don’t you want more?” You asked and he looked at you. “If you were different… we could,” You stopped talking, unsure of where your thoughts were headed. 

“You mean if I were good? Maybe made a difference in the world?” He asks and you find yourself nodding your head. “I didn’t care about making a difference in the world,” He starts. “But since it’s your world I feel as though I could change.”

The door opens and you push Fyodor back forcefully. Francis glides into the room, his cape trailing after him. You're hot and flushed as you slide off the desk, you hadn’t noticed your dress had ridden up on your thighs as it fell back down. Francis looks between you both and laughs a cold laugh. 

“Is this how the agency deals with villains nowadays?” He asks and you straighten. Suddenly your earpiece crackles and you hear Dazai again, it takes everything in you not to jump at how loud it crackled.

“Y/n… Y/n? Clear your throat if you can hear me.” Dazai says and you do as you level Francis with a hard stare, unsure what to say. Was this the moment where they both killed you? 

“It’s impolite to interrupt, you should leave.” Fyodor’s voice is hard and suddenly you're reminded of who he is… How could you’ve forgotten?

“Y/n… Francis’s men have been dealt with, use your powers.” Dazai informs, it takes everything in you not to smile at that. When you first fought you weren’t able to use your voice very well, but things were much different now. 

“You're hogging all her attention, Demon, I think she owes me a dance still.” Francis slides his eyes back to you. “Isn’t that right, honey?” He asks, extending his hand. Before you can even part your lips to speak Fyodor, with surprising slyness, drives a knife directly through Francis’s palm, yanking it out as Francis cusses, stumbling back. When Fyodor raises his arm, poised to kill, you find your voice. 

“Stop.” Your power seeps through his thoughts, halting his actions. “Stand off to the side.” You direct and he does, but you didn’t use your powers, he just listened. Francis holds his bleeding hand, his powers glowing. “You haunted my nightmares for so long,” You start, and he looks at you unafraid because he doesn’t know just how good you were with your powers now. “But I've realized something. You're just a man. A weak one.” His powers flare. “Freeze.” Francis is put in a standstill, his blood dropping to the floor. He stares at you, fear mingling in his eyes, you smile a smile you could only learn from Fyodor. 

“I almost killed you once-- I can do it again.” Francis struggles but your compulsion is too strong. 

“You… what?” You hear Fyodor ask, your eyes slide to his and you're staggered by the hatred in his eyes and in that moment you realize that he didn’t know what happened between you and Francis. 

“Keep your mouth shut.” You direct and he looks at you with a sort of defalted expression.

“Y/n? Is everything under control? If so, we're heading in.” Dazai asks in your earpiece. 

“Uh huh.” You answer, turning back to Francis. “Stuff your sock in your mouth and tie yourself to the chair.” Francis straightens, his eyes pleading you to say stop as he reaches to pull off his shoe. You turn to Fyodor. There’s something in the air.

“My love,”

“Don’t.” You say but it hurts, something in you breaks at the expression on his face. “You slipped out of my reach once, it’s not happening again.” 

“My love, you wound me. Is that how you treat all your enemies?”

“Just you.” You say and watch his hurt expression melt into a soft smile.

“That gives me some solace.” He says, his eyes dragging your entire body, possibly cataloging it. You hear Francis mumbling something but the sock is muffling it. You ignore him because turning away from Fyodor right now seems like betraying yourself. 

“You had to know this would happen.” You attested as you hear some slight bit of panic break out into the ballroom, the music halting. The agency was here. Fyodor leans against the desk, one that he lifted you up on mere minutes ago. He lets his eyes fall closed. 

“Yes… I knew.” He starts, opening his eyes back up, those damned eyes. “I don’t mind. What’s love without a little grief?” He asks and you swallow something down. Why did this feel wrong? He was a villain and you caught him so why do you feel as though you're making the worst decision. Fyodor pushes off the desk and reaches for your hand, you let him take it as he kisses your knuckles. “I hope you’ll come back to me soon, my love.” Before you can even think to answer the door bursts open, Dazai and the other members stroll in. You step pointedly away from Fyodor. Dazai smiles warmly at you, ruffling your hair, after all you did just catch two for one. 

The teapot on the counter starts to whistle. It startles you out of your thoughts as you push away from the counter, grabbing your mug. You pull the kettle from the stove top and pour the hot water over the tea bags, a strong scent wafting upwards, calming your nerves. You rip open a few sugar packets, pouring it in, grabbing the cold spoon, mixing it around. You palm the mug, letting the warmth heat your cold hands. Morning was still slow to approach, the sun not awake yet. You’d dreamt of that masquerade from almost three years ago now and slipped out of bed, seeking a cup of warmth. The steam warmed your lips as you took light sips. You heard the bed creak in the distance, feet padding against the wooden flooring. You turn.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” You ask as Fyodor, hair mussed from sleep, emerges from the dark hallway. He rubs his eyes, shaking his head.

“No, Y/n, can’t sleep?” He asks his hands reaching for you. His chest presses against your back, his hands sliding around your waist as he holds you, head on your shoulder. You turn to press a kiss to his cheek.

“I dreamt of the last time we danced.” You say, feeling a grin grow on Fyodor’s lips. 

“Is that right?” He says. 

“Mhmm.”

“You mean where you kissed me then tossed me in prison?” He jested and you turned, pressing your face into his chest, his sweater soft and warm against your cheek.

“Don’t remind me of that.” You blushed, holding in a laugh. He wraps his arms around your back, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“It was very cute, you pretending as though you didn’t love me.”

“I didn’t know.” You groaned, muffled by his sweater. He felt him chuckle warmly, reaching and placing your mug on the counter. You pulled back slightly to look up at him as he reached back and turned on the radio, he turned it for a moment before landing on a song you’d never heard before, a soft guitar strumming through the speakers. ‘Looking out the door I see the rain fall upon the funeral mourners…’ a male voice sang. Fyodor looked down at you. 

“May I have this dance?” He asks and you breathe out a laugh, your cheeks flushing. 

“God... you're sappy.” You coo, but you accept his hand, letting him dance you around the kitchen.

You made a lot of sacrifices to keep him here with you, things had finally settled, nice and quiet. You moved out of the city into a cottage near the outskirts of your parents hometown. They only knew Fyodor for who you introduced him as and not the person you met him as. You missed your friends from the agency but being here you never felt better in the entirety of your life. You never really cared about making a difference in the world, it felt more like a necessity or an obligation, so leaving the agency for the last time only hurt because you were leaving your friends. But they were all capable. Fyodor and Dazai had figured out some sort of pack and you used your powers to erase Fyodor’s life from anyone who knew him. Which honestly was few and far between. Now he really only existed to you and your family. Which was good, you worried you’d have to protect him for the rest of your lives, living in fear that something would finally turn upside down. But going on almost over two years, life had finally been easy going. 

Fyodor dipped you as the song came to an end, slowly he guided you back up, you giggled softly. He pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Ready to go back to bed, love?” You asked and you felt him melt. He liked when you used his nicknames, after all he called you that so many times it just slipped out sometimes. 

“Mhmm.” He hummed and picked you right off your feet, you yelped, laughing hard as he walked you through the dark hallway. He pressed you down against the mattress, caging your body with his. He presses a gentle kiss to your lips, smirking against them. “Love, you’re not tired right this second, right?” He whispers against your lips, your body heats at the implication. 

“I think I could stay up for a bit longer if needed.” You jest and he trails kisses down. 

“Much needed.” 

[eqt-95]

a new kind of romance, pt 3

part 1 | s'mores s'mores part 2 | purple purple

👗 zippers

“Kara?”

“Yep?” Kara called over her shoulder, one hand placing the kettle in its cradle and the other fiddling with the top button of her shirt. It was late. Far too late to still be dressed in formal wear but that didn’t stop Kara from accepting Lena’s post-gala offer of tea, blankets, and a documentary. 

Plus Lena promised snacks.

“Can you come here?”

And, really, Kara should have known.

Because Lena’s voice was coming from the bedroom.

Strike that. Because Lena’s voice was coming from the closet of the bedroom. 

So, really, she should have been prepared to turn the corner and come face-to-face with the exposed patch of alabaster skin where a plum evening gown had been sitting snugly over shoulders and back moments before.

And Kara had never before loved the spectrum of purples as much as she did seeing it hang off Lena in that moment (and that included the burgundy-clad legs she’d felt wrapped around her a few short days earlier). She loved it so much her mouth fell ajar, eyes expanded to the size of small planets, and heart jumped straight into her throat.

“I think it’s stuck. Would you-?”

And because Kara’s brain was having a brown out, it took Lena yanking at the half-drawn zipper for Kara to register the very simple request.

Because it was, fundamentally, a very - very - simple request.

Because of course Kara could unstick a tiny little zipper. She was Supergirl, after all. And Supergirl could definitely - definitely - handle this itty bitty tiny late-night conundrum. 

Definitely.

Except Kara’s nod came out strained and legs stumbled all leaden-like and when she tried to swallow it felt like a desert and then she wondered if maybe they should have a cup of tea first because if she was parched then Lena might definitely be thirsty but Lena was looking at her reflection in the mirror with an expression that might as well have been kryptonite because only that could explain the tremble of her own fingers trying desperately to maneuver their grip onto the world’s tiniest pull tab without intentionally - accidentally - brushing the porcelain skin that Kara so desperately - respectfully - wanted to touch and maybe that’s why the sharp whistle from the kettle made her jump and fingers pull, and the tear that followed sent Kara blushing and rambling apologies in broken english and kryptonese because wow now there was like, just so much skin.

“Well, that’s definitely one solution,” Lena laughed, her rosy cheeks a pale challenge to the flush red that engulfed Kara.

“Oh, oh zhao, uh, uhm, R-Rao I mean, oh I’m so sorry-” Kara rambled, stumbling backwards and running into a rack of Lena’s business suits which, timely as they were, all came tumbling down on top of Kara. “Oh golly-”

“It’s really no problem,” Lena laughed, taking the whole catastrophe in stride because of course she would and of course Kara would make it a mess and turn blubbering and foolish and-

“But it was so nice,” Kara continued from beneath an avalanche of clothes. “and you looked so nice and pretty and now-”

“Darling, watch out for the-

“-now it’s all, oh, oh shoot,” because another rod of clothes caved to Kara’s desperate floundering and efforts to avert her gaze from glimpsing - gawking - at the porcelain surface that surely - surely - belonged captured in marble and displayed for all galaxies to see.

And then there was Lena’s hand gripping Kara’s arm and guiding her out of the mountain of pretty clothes Lena wore while a mountain of apologies sat on Kara’s tongue. 

“And your dress,” Kara said again, face the shade of embarrassment and eyes staring firmly at the fixture hanging from Lena’s ceiling. Were those real crystals?

“What about my dress.” A statement, not a question. A challenge, not an accusation.

“It’s… it’s ruined,” Kara continued, hand gesturing blindly toward the tattered fabric she couldn’t see because boundaries. 

“Well, that’s the thing about dresses,” Lena continued, hands climbing to adjust Kara’s collar.

“The… the thing-?” Kara asked, eyes breaking from her safe spot to meet Lena’s gaze.

“They’re meant to be taken off,” Lena winked and smirked and said with a voice that was far too husky and far too effective at turning Kara’s brain to mush.

“Taken...?"

"Off.” 

And, really, Kara should have known. 

Because whatever brown out occurred moments earlier had nothing on the full black out that followed.

- - - - - - part 4 | frosting