#EXCEPT FOR YOU TASSEL

[horsegirl]

Walk and fit check

#except you can’t see my hat with a tassel on the top 😪

[dilemmaontwolegs]

We’ve Got Tonight || LN4

Pairing: Lando Norris x singer!reader Summary: When you catch your boyfriend cheating you get your sweet revenge and a handsome stranger who steps in to protect you. Warnings: being cheated on, angst, injury

Songs: Shania Twain - Man! I feel like a woman Garth Brooks - Friends in low places Carrie Underwood - Before he cheats Kenny Rogers & Sheena Easton - We’ve got tonight

Lando couldn’t believe he had let Daniel drag him out to the Texan bar. It was completely polar opposite to anything he was used to, but Danny fit right in with his Stetson hat and cowboy boots. 

Lando winced into his glass as the latest woman to take the corner stage butchered a Shania Twain song but it didn’t seem to bother his drinking buddy as he left to join the rows of people line dancing. Lando was grateful when the song came to an end but it was short lived as he heard a familiar Australian accent on the mic talking the band into playing Friends in Low Places. Spinning around on his stool at the bar, the McLaren driver found his old teammate on the small stage grinning like a fool as the music started. 

Lando watched the older driver and envied the confidence he had to sing terribly to a bar full of strangers. It didn’t matter if he couldn’t hold a note or match the key - Daniel had presence and was always entertaining. The song was almost over when a change of light caught Lando’s eye and he swivelled back to see the saloon doors swing shut behind you. 

Lando nearly fell off his chair. The sight of your smile was dazzling and he swore the colours in the room were brighter because of it. He hardly remembered to breathe as you cast your eyes around the bar, searching for something he suddenly hoped he had. Disappointment landed heavy on his chest as your pretty eyes settled on the pool tables and he wondered which one of the handsome men was lucky enough to have you. 

He started to turn away and wash the bitter taste of jealousy from his mouth with his drink when he saw the smile dim. It was like a cloud had come and blocked the sun, shadows curving your lips down until they pressed to a hard line and your eyes narrowed on a man. Lando swallowed at the change thinking you was even more beautiful, like lightning in a thunderstorm. Beautiful, dangerous, deadly.

Then you were gone, the tassels on your boots swaying quickly as you disappeared out the door as quickly as you came. 

“Whatcha looking for?” Daniel asked as he dropped back into his seat. Lando hadn’t even noticed the song had ended while he watched the empty space in the doorway, another singer taking the stage. 

“N-nothing,” he stammered quickly as he turned back to the bar and raised his glass to his dry lips. 

“Whatever you say, mate,” Daniel chuckled as he clapped Lando on the back. “She was hot though, right?” 

Lando coughed and sputtered on his drink as Daniel laughed knowingly. “Don’t you have a girlfriend?”

“Yeah, but I’m not blind. And since you’re single, you should get off your ass and lasso yourself a lady friend. You know what they say: save a horse, ride a cowgir-” Lando clamped a hand over Daniel’s mouth as his cheeks turned pink. 

“You can’t say that, dude! You are totally going to get cancelled one day.”

Daniel shrugged and sent him a lopsided grin as he looked over Lando’s shoulder. “Looks like it’s  your lucky day.”

—

White hot rage left your hands shaking as you dropped the baseball bat and walked away, the metal clanking loudly on the asphalt of the parking lot. You didn’t even notice the trickle of blood running down your fingertips from cutting your palm with Damon’s hunting knife when you slashed the tyres of his Ford Raptor. You couldn’t feel anything except the burning need for revenge.

All the joy you had felt on the drive to the bar had been forgotten. The phone call with the news seemed like a lifetime ago and you hated him all the more for ruining what should have been the best day of your life so far.

After years of hard work you were finally catching a break and had been signed to Big Loud and would soon be recording your own country music. You had been so excited you had left work early and driven across town to surprise Damon. What a surprise he would get.

You looked ahead at the bar you had left, still seeing the way he curled himself around her, the pretense of pretending to teach her how to play pool - the same trick he had used to get close to you the night you met. Rotten bastard. It made you question the last two years together and how many other women he pulled the same moves on. You were going to teach him a lesson, and maybe save her from the same fate.

You swaggered into the bar and felt eyes on you, but the only pair that didn’t turn were his. Damon was too enraptured by the woman dancing against him, a dainty cocktail spilling over her glass. 

“Mind if I butt in next, Jimmy?” you asked the old man who loved to sing a bit of Kenny Rogers after a few drafts of beer. 

“Not at all, pumpkin, been a while since you joined us.” The song was just finishing and Jimmy jutted his chin at Damon as he poured two shots of whiskey, offering one to you. “Say, ain’t that your old man?”

“Not any more.” You downed the shot and inhaled the burn before taking the stage and telling the band what to play. 

—

Lando stepped off his stool as the song started and his feet carried him closer to the stage with Daniel right at his side, not that he noticed. You hadn’t even parted your lips but he knew, somehow he just knew, you would sound perfect. The song was one he recognised, maybe from a movie or just on the radio, but it hit differently when he saw your eyes boring holes into the couple still dancing together by the pool tables. 

Right now, he's probably slow dancin' with a bleach-blonde tramp and she's probably gettin' frisky. Right now, he's probably buyin' her some fruity little drink 'cause she can't shoot whiskey. Right now, he's probably up behind her with a pool stick showin' her how to shoot a combo. And he don't know…

Lando couldn’t breathe as he watched the realisation dawn on the stranger who looked up from the blonde woman he had been grinding on. The man’s jaw went slack and he half shoved the woman from his lap as he straightened up, a small shake of his head when he met the eyes on the stage. He could almost hear the whispered ‘oh no’ fall from his lips and he felt a smug satisfaction on your behalf. 

I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped-up four-wheel drive. Carved my name into his leather seats. I took a Louisville slugger to both headlights. Slashed a hole in all four tires. Maybe next time, he'll think before he cheats.

Your smile was dark and you watched Damon blanch at the sight, only making you feel even better for what you had done.

I might've saved a little trouble for the next girl, 'cause the next time that he cheats, Oh, you know it won't be on me. No, not on me.

“No, no, baby, no,” Damon whined as he tugged the short strands of his hair and rushed out of the bar, leaving his date in a state of confusion until her brain caught up and her hands shot to cover her mouth in shock. 

“Yeah, he played us both, honey,” you said as you shoved the mic back in the stand and crossed your arms as the doors burst open.

“You crazy bitch!” Damon tried to rush the stage only to find himself shoved back by a handsome stranger who was apparently a lot stronger than he looked. “Get the fuck out of my way!”

“Not gonna happen, mate,” he said with a chuckle, his British accent sweet on the ears. “I think you’ve done enough, don’t you?”

“She ruined my fucking truck! Do you know how much that cost?”

You scoffed and stepped up behind the stranger, feeling bolder as you saw his arms flex ready to protect you. “Too much, but I guess you had to overcompensate for something small,” you said as your eyes darted to his trousers and the taller companion barely contained his laugh.

“Oh, I like this one, Lando. She’s got fire.”

“Just give me my house key and leave, it’s over.” You held out your palm waiting until he fisted his keys from his pocket and cursed your name as he pulled it off the keyring. 

“Where the fuck am I meant to live?”

You looked over at the woman and asked, “Do you want to take him home, honey?” She shook her head now that she knew he was a no good cheater and your smile widened as you turned back to Damon. “You’ll be nice and cozy in your pickup.”

He stepped forward but Lando’s friend joined him shoulder to shoulder and Damon quickly realised he was not going to win whatever went down. With his tail between his legs, he turned and grumbled his way out the door before the band started up and Jimmy kicked off with We’ve Got Tonight. 

“I don’t know how to thank you,” you said as the two strangers finally deemed it safe to turn their backs on the door and face you. A pair of stormy blue eyes met yours and you blinked twice before you managed to look away, scanning a quick glance over the messy styled curls on his head to the slim black t-shirt that fitted perfectly. Your lips dried as you realised you were staring and he cleared his throat when he caught himself doing the same. 

“Can I buy you a drink?”

You bit your lip at the offer and tipped your head to the side. “I think I should be the one buying you a drink, your friend too. It’s the least I can do.”

“Daniel,” the taller man said with a grin and held his hand out to shake.

“Y/N.”

“Enchanté.”

“Uh, bless you.”

Lando laughed and the sound brought a smile to your face. “I know how you can thank me,” he said as he nodded to Jimmy who was grabbing a second microphone and pointing it your way. “I’m fairly sure this song is a duet. Know it?”

You smirked as you stepped back and gave him a wink before taking the stage, his eyes never leaving yours and you sang just for him.

We've got tonight, Who needs tomorrow? Let's make it last, Let's find a way Turn out the light, Come take my hand now We've got tonight, babe, Why don't we stay?

His nod was almost imperceptible and you weren’t sure if you imagined it as you let the question hang in the air while the music faded out. In two long, self-certain steps, he closed the distance and offered his hand to help you down the steps and you grinned at the warmth of his palm as he laced your fingers with his.

Suddenly he froze and looked down, concern etching his features as he pulled his hand back and found it stained red. “Fuck, you’re hurt.”

You blinked at the cut on your palm, only noticing the ache after your attention was drawn to it. “Huh, guess that’s what I get for slashing his tyres,” you murmured with a weak laugh.

“He deserved more than that,” Lando growled as he led you to the bar and asked for a first aid kit. “But he definitely didn’t deserve you.”

“You don’t know me, I could be a terrible person.” You winced as he cleaned the cut before pressing a bandage to stem the bleeding.

“I’m a pretty good judge of character, Y/N.” He pinned the bandage into place before lifting your hand to his lips and kissing the top softly. “I knew it from your smile when you arrived, and everything after just proves you’re strong.”

Your chin dipped as you felt your face flush and you couldn’t remember the last time someone was so sweet. “You really know how to make a girl feel special. So how long are you in town for?”

His lips turned down slightly as he sighed and reluctantly admitted. “We fly back to London tomorrow.”

You felt the same disappointment but chased it away and squeezed his hand that still held yours, your eyes meeting with the same idea flitting past. “We’ve got tonight?”

His smile returned and grew until his eyes wrinkled with how wide it was, brightening up his whole face and sparking yours to match. “Yeah, we’ve got tonight.”

#lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x you #f1 imagines #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #formula 1 fanfic

[red-riding-wood]

Devil, Devil - Part I

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x F! Reader

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Summary: The seal of your fate, to a man falsely crowned. And to your devil, your soul was bound.

[Inspired by this request for a jazz/vaudevillian performer and the song Devil, Devil - MICK]

Warnings: Dark!Tommy, dubcon/noncon themes, noncon touching, little bit smutty but full smut in future chapters, stalking/unhealthy obsession, manipulation, blackmail, mentions of domestic abuse, blood, mild choking, mention of prostitution

WC: 5277

It was all because of that damned Peaky devil.

You cursed him for the gaudy pearls strung around your neck, for the corset that pinched your stomach so tight it would be a wonder if you’d be able to hit your lower notes. You cursed him for the waver in your stride every night you stepped onstage, for the heat beneath your skin when that frozen gaze seemed to douse you in fire, for the quiver in your tone when you sang – for you sang from your soul, and your soul trembled in the sights of the blue-eyed Devil.

He’d started arriving for your performances every night, attracting the attention of the dancers and the waitresses, the owner and the local hoodlums, but he paid no mind to any of them but you. He always sat in the second row, shadowed by the establishment’s collection of antiques. He’d light a cigarette and blow a halo for a crown, lurking in the darkness but staring at you from eyes like twin beacons, his pinewood throne framed by the black coat he never relinquished and his sharp features hallowed by the candlelit fires of Hell.

“He’s trouble, that one,” the locals had said. “Managed to turn a backwoods razor gang into an enterprise, but make no mistake; he’s got cursed blood in him. Shelby Company Limited, they call themselves now, but the Peaky Blinders they’ll always be. Thomas fuckin’ Shelby comes up from Birmingham, thinks he owns everything he sees. The Devil, some say; if you’ve crossed paths with him twice, them say it’s too late for you, when the Devil’s set his sights on your soul.”

If he’d truly set his sights on your soul, you wondered why he tormented you like this, why he never said a word but only devoured you with those frigid blue eyes, as if you were all his and you possessed not even a fraction of him. Last you’d checked, legend had it the Devil traded for souls, so what could he possibly think to grant you? The man had brought you nothing but misfortune. It was because of him that tonight you were expected to join the dancers, because your act had been slipping beneath that coldfire gaze and smoke-ring crown. Your manager claimed it was by popular customer request, but you knew better. You were a songbird, not a peacock; while the other girls of your troupe flared their feathered skirts and tasseled corsets, you were an instrument in their symphony. You got up on that stage not because you wanted to show off, but because when you sang, your soul came alive, and amidst the velvety sounds of the trombones and saxes and the lurid displays of flashing colours and lights, you were at peace.

Until he came along and ruined everything.

“I do not run a charity,” your manager had said. “I run a business. And this business, it has an image to maintain. Before our contract ends with this club, we need to show these Londoner pricks that we are not just another travelling circus with cheap whores and fake magic tricks. Nobody is questioning your ability to sing, Y/N. We just think you could be bringing a little… more.”

As you stepped onto the stage that night, and immediately felt yourself impaled by the icy hooks of that piercing gaze, you wondered if the Peaky devil also wanted a little “more”. As if you could give him anything more than what he’d already taken: your soul, your peace.

Your breath came shaky against the microphone as the lights illuminated the stage, blacking out all of the club’s customers except for one. One, whose mouth you could swear quirked into the slightest of smiles around his cigarette, whose gaze roved across your new ensemble like you were a piece of meat. Your corset already hitched your breath in your chest, and anger flared within you, frustration eating at the hollowness of your ribs as your voice came airy and light.

But this rage that had flickered to life inside you, warm and whelming like the oil lamps that cast darting shadows across the white tablecloths, it spurred a growl in your tone that surprised yet thrilled you, and as your nails curled around the microphone, your shoulders carried to the bright of the music, the dark of your tone made you feel like you were something dangerous. That perhaps a devil dwelled beneath your breast as it did the man with the eyes of death.

Feathered wings and headdresses whirled around you as the girls began their choreography, and your heart seemed to escape the heavy constriction of the corset to pound in your throat, your skull, joining the chorus of sounds that resonated deep in your bones. You sidled your hips from side to side, slowly, sensually, the way your dancer friend, Sally, had taught you, your heels beginning to click to the beat of the song.

But your flesh was burning up beneath that icy stare, and sweat prickled at your neck, and though you sang with fury, your voice still felt limited, unable to utilise the full breath of your stomach. Irritation clawed at your buzzing flesh, and your lip curled over your teeth as you attempted to belt your notes.

Damn you, Peaky bastard, you nearly breathed, hating the way his eyes seemed to gleam as you moved your body. He had no damn right to look so smug.

You tried to focus on channeling this frustration into the movements of your body and the snarl of your tone, the pearls along your chest clacking together as you twirled, your head growing dizzy as you battled for breath. It wasn’t the hoots and hollers nor the cat calls that spurred you on, but the icy hooks of the Devil’s gaze. No, he did not look at you like a piece of meat. He looked at you like you were a goddess.

Breaths coming shorter, you yanked at the laces of your corset, your irritation reaching new heights and the incense and music and cheer drowning out the voice in your head that usually kept you from doing anything stupid.

As your corset tumbled to the stage, cold air sweeping across your sweat-dappled flesh, your voice sprang free of its cage, notes pulled deep from your belly and your fury masking the tremble in your tone. The pearls pooled between your breasts, the feathers of the pasties still scratching your flesh but no longer grinding so painfully against the fabric of the corset.

The Blinder’s smirk seemed to fall, jaw clenched, bright eyes darkening and drinking you in between minacious glances at the men in the crowd who cheered, kicked at the tables, shouted obscene comments that were only half-drowned out by the smooth shrill of the trombones. Your lips pulled into a wicked grin round your teeth, and you became lost in the music as you danced and sang, not caring anymore that your breaths were short or that you didn’t hit every note just right. The look on his face made it all worth it.

And as the final notes died in your aching chest and the stage was swept by dark, and the saxes unleashed their final, wailing cry, Sally swept a sheer robe round your shoulders and ushered you from the stage and to the dressing room. Her excitement was contagious as blonde curls bounced over her bedazzled headband and she whispered praises to you, but her words seemed to muddle together as you heard, distinctly, the chanting of your name behind you like a sordid prayer.

---

The muffled notes of piano still hummed past the walls of the dressing room as you applied another coat of cherry red lipstick, a coil of smoke rising from the ash tray beside you and clouding your head as you attempted to filter out the excited chatter of the girls. Sheer gown now fitted properly around your arms, your skin had the chance to breathe without existing under the ogling eyes of the rambunctious men who had been chanting your name.

“I still can’t believe what just happened out there!” Sally’s voice cut through the throng of the rest, mostly because she had leaned over to squeal into your ear. “Did you see that gentleman at the front? His jaw practically dropped along with your corset.” She giggled, and you popped your painted lips, chasing away the smile that threatened their corner. You hadn’t noticed any man in that crowd but the blue-eyed Devil. Those twin blues were practically burned into your skull, so much so that –

You stilled, blood turning to ice in your veins and your heart freezing over in your chest. The lipstick clattered to the desk, causing Sally to jump back with a yelp that if not from her, could’ve only come from a Chihuahua.

Blue eyes stared back at you in the smudged mirror.

A sharp breath filled your lungs as the ice around your heart shattered and it began to beat again, hard, against your ribs, and your head spun from the sudden flood of cigarettes and incense. You could’ve feinted as you stood, whirling on your heel, nails splintering the wooden grain of the desk with how hard they dug in to ground yourself. Your gaze narrowed, and your heart fluttered as you found it was met with the same intensity.

The dressing room fell silent with a hush, and as Thomas Shelby sauntered in, snubbing out his cigarette in the nearest ash tray, a fearful reverence seemed to coagulate in the air, until it became so thick you could scarcely breathe.

A few of the girls darted out behind him as he drew closer to you, smirk playing at his lip and that darkness colliding with the bright of his eyes in a twisted, glittering dance. But he held out a hand before the rest could vanish, even the high-spirited Marla, who seemed dismayed but didn’t challenge him. Though not of a very tall stature, Thomas Shelby was an intimidating man, and it was evident that the name he carried made him untouchable. Your brow furrowed, teeth grinding together as you tried to work out exactly why he didn’t want the girls to leave when it seemed obvious he had come here for you and you alone. And when that icy gaze settled on you again, the bright of it glittering with mischief, and his smirk tugged higher with unmistakable pride and that insufferable smugness, you figured you were beginning to work it out. He wanted to make a statement, and whatever it was he planned, he wanted them to see.

The statement, perhaps, that your soul belonged to him. And only him.

Shoving his hands in the pockets of his trousers, he closed the gap between the two of you with an agonisingly slow stride, as if time revolved around him. The gold chain of his pocket watch glinted in the harsh lights, and you might’ve used the word “dashing” to describe his prim, collared, snow-white shirt, had you not wanted to smear the contents of the ash tray across it out of spite, or perhaps douse his black suit in some of the gold glitter the girls brushed their skin with.

Perhaps, some part of you wanted to print your lipstick along the rose-white flesh of his neck, to match his striking red tie.

Forcing such conflicted, intrusive thoughts from your reeling mind, you cocked your head, glaring at him expectantly. 

“Quite the performance.” His voice was not shrill and grating as you had anticipated, but low, rumbling like thunder over a black horizon yet pooling like soft honey between your thighs. “Tell me, songbird, do you usually win the crowd over with such provocative displays?”

Already amazed by his sheer fucking nerve, you stifled a scoff. As if you hadn’t caught him staring, lurking in the shadows of every performance.

“You tell me, Mr. Shelby,” you purred out your words, but cocked a brow in challenge. “To what do I owe such keen interest?”

The bright of his eyes glinted, and his smirk hooked his lip. “You’ve heard of me.”

“Everyone in this city knows your name. It seems to spread like some sort of plague. I’d prefer it never have crawled from the sickening bowels of the Birmingham streets, but... here it is, on my lips.” You rolled your shoulders upward, leaning against the desk, head tilted to one side.

“And yet, you wear it well.” Thomas’ gaze darted to your parted lips, snaked his tongue between his teeth as if to taste the cherry. “Don’t fret, little bird…” He spoke in a hushed baritone that still managed to reverberate through the diminishing space between you, as if the faint hiss of his whisper would mask his words from everyone but you, like clouds gathering over distant thunder. “… you’ll be saying it more often.”

A burning, whiskey-tinged breath fanned your cheeks, stirring the wisps of hair from your face. Tension mounted in the room, the girls turning into porcelain dolls as they held their breaths, but they didn’t exist outside of the threads that pulled taut between you and the Blinder.

He smelled of gunmetal, of old books. Of charcoal and wood smoke. Like blood and hellfire.

“Will I, now? Think you own these lips, is that it? Think you own my body?” You didn’t even need to take a step to bring your figure to his, your breasts brushing his chest through the sheer fabric of your robe, the chain of his pocket watch tickling your stomach.

He smelled of earth, of sacred rituals. Of frankincense and myrrh. Like dug graves and lost religion.

And like a candle, the bright of his eyes was snuffed out by the dark, and the smirk fell from sharp outlines. “You haven’t heard?” he said. “Some say I own everything the light touches…” His fingers brushed your side, the heat of his blood beneath his skin sending cold shivers along your flesh, and you cursed yourself for wishing in that moment, in which his fingers dragged reverently down the curve of your hip, that his touch would burn away the fabric between you. “Some say I own everything the light is too fearful to touch.” The pressure of his touch increased, thumb tracing your navel, and suddenly, his grasp was anything but gentle – possessive, demanding, as his fingers curled between the parting of your thighs and his nails burned against your skin. A breath hissed from your teeth and you swatted his hand away. You were surprised when he returned his thumb to his pocket, his devious smirk reappearing. Could he hear how fast your heart was beating for him, could he smell the lust that brewed beneath your flesh, could he feel the heat that had pooled like poison between your legs?

Did he know that he haunted your dreams? That you could not drift off to sleep anymore without thinking of those soft lips trailing down your sternum, of his teeth leaving bruises across your flesh?

He made you want to be worshipped, and ruined. 

“Some say you’re nothing but a Gypsy bastard.” Your voice rose, breathy and high, like a falsetto note. “A false king, with no crown.”

“But a king nonetheless.”

“A devil, the witches say. Have you come to bargain for my soul, Mr. Shelby?” Your voice dipped back into your sensual alto as you regained some vestige of control, forcing your words to rise deep from your fluttering stomach.

“Oh, I’m here for more than your soul,” he breathed, closing the sliver of a gap between the two of you again, backing your spine against the wooden desk until you could’ve sworn blood welled beneath the sheer robe. “I’m here to offer a proposal, little bird. You’re going to sing for me, at the Eden Club. I’m sure you’ve heard of it. It’s far more prestigious than this seedy place. Your pay will be tripled, and you will never know a fabric rougher than silk or taste a wine younger than a lifetime.”

Though his offer would be tempting to most anyone, you did not sing for money. Pride, it came easy to you, and you did not appreciate the condescending way in which he spoke to you, looked at you, breathed in your direction.

“I’m under contract.”

“What, this?” He chuckled, pulling the slip of paper you’d signed a year ago from the deep pocket of his trousers. The material crinkled beneath his fingers, so close you could’ve reached out and grabbed it. But you didn’t. You watched, seething, as he lowered the contract to the candle beside your lipstick, an orange tongue lapping at the corner of the ivory paper, the ink of your signature bleeding into the open flame. Out the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of Sally, her shoulders furling inward just as the edge of the paper did before it was swallowed by the flame, the blackened remnants of the contract smudged into the floorboards with the toe of the gang leader’s boot.

“Everyone can be bought with the right price,” he said. “Your boss’s wife, she likes diamonds.”

You shouldn’t have expected any less of your manager. Like most in the entertainment business, he was shrewd, frugal, ruled by greed. The idea of his wife wearing diamonds was laughable; Thomas must have been a bloody saint in her eyes, because the most you had ever seen that man gift her was a silver locket that had been put in lost and found at one of your past gigs. He must’ve sold you out before Thomas could even pull his mafia card. And then milked you for one last performance.

You hated them. You hated them all.

“Well, I will find new work. The crowd seems to love me,” you pointed out, recalling the jealousy you’d seen darken the Devil’s eyes as he’d watched over your performance. Butting shoulders, you moved to stalk past, but a vice grip latched round your forearm and you froze, a puff of startled air escaping your lips as your gaze swung to meet his.

“I haven’t told you my terms,” Thomas said, and if it was out of fear or that devilish itch between your legs that made your body acquiesce, you couldn’t be certain, but damn it all the same. He shoved you back against the desk, fire igniting in his icy eyes as his shoulders pressed to yours, his figure solid against your own, denoting no escape. “So long as you work for me, you will not dance for another man…” He had the courtesy, at least, of releasing those icy hooks from your soul, the sharp line of his jaw brushing a flushed cheek to let his breath pool against your neck as if whispering sweet nothings to a lover. His fingers, ghosting the pulse of your throat. A breath hissed between your teeth and your eyes flared as they dragged down the vulnerable flesh, demonstrating his strength in a squeeze at the base of your throat.

“They so much as look at you, I will personally take their eyes.” A kiss, placed to the crook of your collarbone, like a promise. His lips were as soft as you had imagined, and you half-expected his tongue to be forked like the legends, but it was supple and rounded as it wet your flesh. Your bottom lip caught in your teeth as you stifled a moan, your body betraying you in a slight rut of your hips. A chuckle rumbled against your ear; he knew what he was doing to you, and apparently the feeling was mutual, for the scarcely-clothed heat between your shivering legs brushed against a firmness in his slacks as your hips rolled forward.

“You see…” He paused to inhale your scent, to drink you down like the whiskey on his breath. “I’ve done some research… you like to move around so much because you have a husband, in Sheffield, who very much misses your company.”

The racing tides of heat that rolled beneath your flesh gave way to a cold sweat, and you shuddered, your blood turning once more to ice in your veins. Your heart, stolen from your chest, leaving your lips parted in a gasp. His fingers traced the hollow shell of your ribs, nails digging in where your heart should have been. His, you thought, wretchedly.

When he pulled back to assess your reaction, to witness the fear bloom in your eyes, the smugness was gone from his face, replaced by an intensity, a darkness that seemed to wrap its shadowy tendrils around your soul. His nose brushed yours, and you noticed, for the first time, that his face was freckled. Kisses from God, you’d heard them referred to as once, and if the breath had not been stolen from your lungs, you would’ve chuffed a laugh at the demented irony.

Dark lashes crowned the blue eyes that raked down your chest, his thumb continuing its snaking little path from your heart to the lip of your breast, slipping beneath the fabric of your robe. “A year ago, you spoke with a solicitor about his tendency to… well, overexpress his love.” A jolt rocked your body, accidentally sending your hips back against his, drawing a groan from his chest that managed to be irresistible despite the discomfort of the scar he perfectly traced with his forefinger. Pain exploded beneath the surface of your flesh, as if his fingers was made of glass, like the smashed bottle that had struck your side all those years ago. You shuddered beneath his touch, the alcohol on his breath suddenly foul, and for just a moment, the way the light reflected off his eyes betrayed a sliver of green in seemingly pure blue.

“The solicitor told me that you showed him this – this, that was not his to see. Not his to touch.” Your lashes batted beneath his furious breaths, but you dared not close them, dared not let this man turn into a ghost of your past. To your relief, his fingers retreated from your scar, only to cup your cheek in his palm. “You offered him one night in exchange for freedom, and by morning, he did not honour his word. Do you know what I did to the solicitor?”

Thighs damp with arousal, palms clammy with fear, you trembled, breaking, cracking at your seams. The splinters of the wooden desk pierced your flesh as you sought its support, feeling like your knees might buckle beneath you and somehow knowing that he would catch you, but that that would be worse than falling to the cold ground. Because he wanted you to break, wanted to be the freckled angel who caught you when you fell.

But somewhere, from the shattered remnants of your chest, festered a darkness, a thirst, a satisfaction as you imagined the bloodied face of the man who had tricked you, as you imagined his eyes turned pale, pale as death.

Your pain didn’t break you; it kept you standing, fractured but whole.

“To you, I may be the Devil, but the Devil keeps his bargains.” His thumb swept across the ghost of the kiss he’d left on your skin. “And when you work for me, I will ensure that your darling husband never bothers you again.”

You could not banish the tremble from your limbs, nor the ireful rise and fall of your chest. And when you spoke, your hate, it seemed, was not even for him but for ghosts, “You’re every bit as vile as the rumours say.”

“Oh, I’m worse.” He smiled, almost sweetly. “Much worse.” A clear-blue eye winked, before studying you so intently you wondered if he really could read your thoughts, your sordid desires. Your sins. “But I don’t see disgust in your eyes, little bird. I see intrigue.”

Breathe, you told yourself. Breathe.

You were most at ease when you sang, and in your moment of need, an old melody you’d heard once travelling west came to you, and with it, the curl of your lip into a wicked smirk.

“Cannot buy me, Devil, Devil,” you half-sang, half purred, the notes that found your voice carrying undertones so dark, it almost did not sound like your own.

And in this moment, you found power, in the way his thumb seemed to still against your jaw, in the way his eyes locked to yours, mesmerised, his tongue catching between his teeth. In this moment, at last, he was yours. In this moment, he was just a boy, lured in by a siren song. As the notes died in your throat, his eyes darted to your lips, something softer than lust forming in oceans of melted ice. Your fingers fumbled for the first drawer of the desk, stabilising yourself now on the ivory handle.

And the emotion vanished before you could make sense of it, frozen over by a wall of ice.   

“In life or in death, I will take your soul.” His teeth grazed the lobe of your ear, and his hand drifted to your scalp, sinking into the wild locks of your hair. “I will take everything.” Another hand closed around your waist, squeezing your ribs, bunching the fabric of your gown. “It is your choice, little bird. Because, you see, I made certain your husband knows of your infidelity. It’s a great dishonour, to a man of his station. And what sort of things does a man of his station do when he finds himself with a problem like you, eh?” Your chin was pointed sharply up, suspended by two fingers, your lips a hairsbreadth from his own as he stared you down.

“Now, I don’t think your friends will like to see what I’m going to do to you, little bird.” A growl grated the thunder of his tone, and he bit his lip. “I’m going to be a gentleman, and let you decide if you’d like them to give us privacy.”

And gone was the whiskey of his breath, the fire of his touch, the sharpness of his teeth. Thomas Shelby took a step back, smoothing out his waistcoat as if nothing had happened between the two of you. One of the porcelain dolls came alive, skittering back on her shaky heel to make way, but he paid no mind to her. He only awaited your command, as if trying to give you some false sense of control.

The silence that stretched between you was impossibly thick, like gasoline ready to ignite from one heated breath. You remembered to breathe, in, and out. And you began to sing.

“Clever Devil, Devil…”

His eyes narrowed, fixating so intensely on you that you were convinced nothing else existed in this moment beyond your dark melody, your cherry lips, your siren song.

Trembling, behind your back your fingers pulled gently at the drawer handle.

“How quickly do they sell their souls…”

He blinked, slow, enraptured. Yours.

Your fingers clasped the familiar stock of the 1911, flesh kissed by cold metal.

“… for the feast and the promise of gold.”

Time itself fractured; Thomas barely stirred as he watched your lips, your wrathful eyes, your brow sewn by ruthless will. He did not watch the gun you pulled on him, nor did he seem to hear the rack of the slide that split the quiet of the dressing room. 

“But Devil… that won’t be me.” Your velvety singing turned to words of steel in your throat, and you glared at him down the sights of your weapon. Only now, did he seem to take notice of it, with a fleeting, unconcerned glance at its gaping black maw. He could have turned it on you, but he didn’t. He just smiled, bright blue eyes shining down a silver-moon barrel to meet yours.

Stepping back, leisurely, fists buried in his pockets, he promised, “I’ll be back, to claim what’s mine.”

Your finger loosened from the trigger yet trembled as the sight of Thomas Shelby disappeared past the doorframe, nothing left of him but the soft thud of his dress shoes down the hall and the ghost of his burning touch on your skin, the dampness on your neck from the promise he’d made you. The shameful cling of the sheer robe to your slicked thighs, the cold sweat that sent shivers of winter, death, and all things barren along your flesh.

For one, gut-twisting moment, all eyes were on you. The suffocating festering of fear, the sickening crawl of disgust, the heart-wrenching trace of reproach all culminated in the air around you, cast to the incense and smoke by bright eyes and slacked jaws, crossed arms and furled shoulders.

And the girls began to scurry from the dressing room, skirts and dresses and tassels streaming behind them like streaks of lightning that followed the rumble of the storm, like rivulets of rain chased by the hurricane.

Marla was among the last to leave, her eyes wary and wild and a sneer curling her lip as her eyes traced up and down your trembling form. Only when she left did you lower your gun, sliding the hammer back in place.

That left two. Sally, and the woman who claimed herself a witch.

“I’m sorry…” you breathed, not knowing what to say. “I’m sorry you had to witness that, I – I had no idea that was going to happen.” Shifting your attention fully to your friend, you reached a tentative hand for Sally, as if to ease her anxiety. Poor thing was shaking like a furled leaf and quiet tears streaked the freckles of her heart-shaped face.

She flinched away, and your heart clenched, hand withdrawing. You set aside your gun, hoping that might settle her nerves. “At least, let me give you this back…” you untied the bedazzled choker from your neck. “It looks like this was our last performance together. Thank you, for lending me it.”

But she sprang back like a jackrabbit when the fabric brushed her knuckles, and she shook her head frantically, tears shaking free of her spidery lashes like dew falling from painted webs. “You can keep it,” she spoke, her tiny voice cracking in her chest. “Just stay away from me.”

Something bitter worked its way into the fracture of your chest, the cruel fist of rejection squeezing the remnants of your shattered heart tight. Your fist curled, hard, around the choker, so hard that when you opened it, the jewels had left red impressions on your palm, and your thanks turned to bitter ash on your tongue as the laces of the choker slipped between your fingers.

The witch, Clementine, watched you from dark eyes always shrouded in an enigma, but today, held the slight trace of unease. A foreboding weight sunk her shoulders, and when she spoke, the raspy tones of her voice were those of lost souls, crying from strangled throats to warn you of something truly grave on the horizon,

“You’re marked. You’re marked by the Devil, you are, girl.”

Your brow furrowed, and the chime of her jangling bracelets seemed to mock you like laughter as she pointed a hooked claw to your loins.

Pawing aside the fabric of your robe, your fingers swiped across the nail marks Thomas had left along your inner thigh, wrathful and red and weeping. Your fingers came away with a veneer of blood, pooling in the rings of your skin like a wax seal.

The seal of your fate, to a man falsely crowned.

And to your devil, your soul was bound.

Part II coming soon!

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[vulturv0lans]

If it's not too much to ask, can we have a soft dom diluc gently guiding a shy sub reader through her first time? (In desperate need of tooth rotting fluff and diluc being sweet lmaoo [with lots of praise ofc])

ok you know what anon i have been looking for something like this but i haven't found too many,,,thank you for the request!

word count: 2,960 (i got carried away again oops) tags: first time, references to diluc’s father/backstory/official manga, soft dom diluc, lots of love and affection and just overall sappy, porn with plot (lots of it), me crying (also lots of it)

m.list | diluc m.list | rules | inbox

the air is salty by the lake and his door rusty, yet you’re sure you’ve never need anything more.

when diluc brought you back to the winery for the first time, this was not what he had in mind. he had simply wanted to show you more, parts of him he had long hidden beneath the layers of his clothing and layers of walls he built up. but you are his lover now. you meet the maids that have been with him since he was a child, browse through the volumes that his father left behind, breathe the same air that he has always breathed inside the estate.

he was not planning to take you right there, on the four posted bed he claims but seldom occupies, on the second floor of the winery.

diluc was hesitant at first, leading you into the one place he holds closest to his heart. the master bedroom has not seen a visitor in ages. even the maids rarely enter except when they are asked to, because within these gilded walls and draped curtains is where diluc can truly feel at ease, no “mondstadt wine tycoon” or “master of dawn winery” or even “darknight hero” attached.

and before your eyes, he feels just as bare.

you had taken a seat at the edge of his mattress, arms supporting your weight as your eyes take in the surroundings. the wallpaper is a dark crimson red, damask patterns painted in black. the thick velvet of the curtains match the crimson in colour, yet the light seeping through the fabric and reflecting off of the golden tassels that touch the floor. the furnishings are simple, the large room otherwise empty save for a mirror, a wardrobe, a fireplace, and a desk filled with books.

yet it’s the paintings on the walls that catch your eye. one of them can easily be discerned as an exterior sketch of dawn winery, its signature red roofs a stark contrast to the rows of green underneath. off on the other wall is a portrait. a tall, greying man poses in the middle with two younger boys to either side of him, one with hair as blue as the twilight skies, and the other with hair red as blazing fire.

diluc follows your gaze to the painting, and suddenly the room feels too hot. before he can open his mouth to change the topic, you have already turned to him with an inquisitive look in your eye, and his heart softens. he cannot say no to you.

“that’s your father, isn’t it?”

he nods, choosing to offer no further explanation.

“what was he like?”

your voice is gentle, yet he is still taken aback. seldom anyone wants to know what crepus was like as a person, beyond just his title and position. for a few moments diluc is silent, pondering his answer. how could he summarize the greatest man he’s ever known into a couple simple sentences?

“he was kind. and very, very brave.” he says at last, “he made me the man that i am today.”

“i’m sure he was a great father,” you say quietly, not wanting to press further. diluc must have his reasons behind not wanting to tell the full story yet, and you’ll give him time. as much time as he needs.

“he was.”

when he looks at you again, your frame so small against the posts on his bed, he feels an unnameable emotion surging through him. you’re studying the painting with such an intense focus, as if trying to hear the voice of a man you’ve never met, trying to understand what others fail to even notice.

and in that moment, diluc is sure he has never been more in love.

he closes the distance between you in two quick strides, and you look up at him in surprise. he intertwines your fingers before pulling you up to your feet, your body pressing flush against his as you find your balance.

“can i kiss you?”

you smile at his question. diluc, ever the gentleman. even several months into your relationship he still asks for permission, and still kisses you like it was the first time.

it’s your turn to close the gap between you now, lips meeting his in a soft kiss. his hands find their way down the small of your back, then up your spine before settling on your cheeks, fingers tangled in your hair as he pulls you even closer, until you can feel every beat of his heart on your skin.

“i love you.” he whispers against your lips when he finally breaks the kiss for air.

“i love you, too,” you echo, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him again, hands clutching his arms for support. diluc feels his skin burn wherever your hands have been, and his love and tenderness suddenly becomes something more.

deepening the kiss, he backs you up until your legs hit the edge of the bed, before your entire person falls backwards into the plush mattress. you pull him down with you, until barely any space is left between his large frame and your own, smaller one.

he smooths out the stray baby hairs on your forehead before resting his against it, eyes searching yours for any signs of discomfort. you both know where this is leading, but diluc wants to be certain, absolutely certain that you're okay with this.

"are you sure?"

you nod before you have time to think. this is a step you're willing to take, and there's no one else you'd rather share it with. even so, small bubbles of anxiety rise from your stomach. will it hurt? will you be able to enjoy this? will he be satisfied, even with your lack of experience?

if diluc could hear your thoughts right now, he would be quick in dismissing them as the most preposterous ones he's ever heard. it would pain him to know that you’d ever fear of not satisfying him, even when he would put you and your pleasures before so much as thinking about himself.

you could never disappoint him, this he knows.

his lips find yours again and your doubts dissipate like the dark clouds after a storm. wandering hands begin unbuttoning and untying every piece of fabric in your way, desperate to reduce the layers keeping you from feeling his bare skin. your clothing clatter as they fall to the ground, diluc barely separating from you to discard his shirt before lowering back down to kiss you, not wanting to part from you for a second longer than necessary.

he's hungry for more, for you.

your hands find purchase on his toned arms, his skin almost too warm under your fingertips. he mumbles something that remotely resembles "off" into your mouth, and you comply almost too quickly, lifting your arms so he could take off your shirt and your bra.

diluc forces himself to hold back when your skin is fully exposed to him. lips glistening and chest heaving, you have never looked more beautiful to him, and he makes sure you know it. dipping his head to your neck, he trails a line of hot kisses down to your breasts, words of praise between every kiss permanently etched into your skin.

"you're breathtaking."

your face heats up as he slots himself in between your legs, hand lowering to your waist. your heart beats too loudly now, focus glued to his fingers hooking into your belt loops before quickly undoing the button on your pants. fiery eyes, hooded by lust and desire, search for confirmation, and you grant it. how could you not, when you burn for him so much?

diluc can’t help but groan out when your bottom half becomes exposed. his attention is quickly taken away by the thin material of your panties, damp and clinging to the wetness pooling between your legs, and he feels the sudden urge to bury his face there.

he runs a finger down your clothed folds and you jump, legs clamping together to relieve some of the pressure. with a hand on your knee, he holds your legs open to allow himself better access to where you need him the most. gently, he moves the soaked panties to the side, and the man fully has to sit back on his heels to drink in the sight before his eyes.

you’re so pretty, so sweet, so vulnerable for him, legs spread and pussy glistening with your arousal, all for him and him only.

he curses under his breath, heart swelling at how lucky he feels to be the one admiring your naked form. ignoring the increasingly uncomfortable bulge in his pants, he dives in like a man starved, flattening his tongue against your pussy to get his first real taste of you.

your back arches off the bed at the sudden contact, diluc’s moan of satisfaction sending delicious vibrations into the deepest parts of your body. his tongue works fast magic on your cunt, licking and sucking and kissing like you’re a five course meal, the slurping sounds in perfect harmony with your soft pants of pleasure.

“fuck, you taste so good, baby.”

the satin of his bedsheet is wrinkled and twisted in your palms as you grip onto it, diluc’s hands quickly reaching up to find yours, your fingers interlacing as he eats you out, the moment so intimate that for a moment you forget the vulgarity of it all and just enjoy being so close to him, physically and emotionally.

you’re growing close, and diluc knows it. despite his pussydrunk state, he forces himself to pull away, his chin now coated with your wetness, before shifting his body up to kiss you again. you moan into his mouth as you taste yourself, obediently granting access to his tongue when it swipes across your bottom lip. the room feels ten degrees hotter and it becomes harder and harder to breathe, until your need for oxygen finally overpowers your desire for him.

diluc’s eyes are alert when you gently push on his chest, his first thought being he’s done something you did not like. gently cradling his face in your hands, you say with a blissful smile the words he’s been longing to hear for so long.

“i need you, diluc.”

his last line of defense snaps and he lets his primal instincts take over, quickly ridding himself of his pants and undergarments before settling you against the plush pillows.

“are you absolutely sure-”

“yes.” you cut him off before he can finish, and diluc‘s ever-present confidence begins to waver. he needs this to be perfect for you.

swallowing thickly, he lines himself up at your entrance. you mirror his gulp as you notice for the first time how big he is, thick and girthy against your tiny hole.

“tell me if it hurts, please,” he asks, so much genuine guilt in his voice that you can’t refuse him an answer.

you yelp in pain when he starts to push in, his body immediately tensing up. only when you repeatedly reaffirm that you’re okay does he continue, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your collarbones and whispering apologies and affirmations into your skin as he slowly sinks into you, until he’s completely buried inside you.

“you’re doing so good baby, yeah? that’s it.”

he stills for a moment to let you adjust. but selfishly he wishes to revel in your tightness and warmth for a little longer, your walls so snug against his cock like they were made just for him. he already can’t get enough, and he hasn’t even started moving yet.

you’re the one to initiate the kiss this time, silently giving him permission to move. his thrusts are slow and steady, the tip of his cock dragging against every nerve ending inside you, sending electric sparks throughout your body.

“so tight for me,” he grunts as he picks up his pace, trying to control his movements as to not hurt you, even though a part of him wants to slam into you and fuck you until you’re reduce to a babbling mess begging for his cock. but one look at your face and he feels immediate guilt at his sinful thoughts. you’re so innocent beneath him, bottom lip caught between your teeth and your face scrunched up in pleasure.

he can’t ruin you yet.

soft moans tumble past your parted lips as he reaches down to rub fast circles on your clit. every last cell in your body feels like it’s on fire, the pleasure amplified tenfold from being in the presence of your lover, better than your own fingers could ever satisfy yourself.

you wrap your legs around his waist to pull him in even further, and diluc’s honour is reduced to barely hanging on by a thread.

“you’re taking me so good. so good for me.” he praises and you feel yourself gush around him, his words turning you on even further. it seems your earlier doubts were unnecessary, after all. you grow bolder, reaching up to dig your nails into his back, leaving red marks that claimed him as yours.

the stinging pain from your nails scratching against his skin sends diluc into another wave of euphoria, and he can’t hold himself back much longer. with a low grunt, he pins your wrists down above your head, dark eyes studying the microscopic changes in your expression as your hands are suddenly rendered useless, held down so submissively and at his mercy.

his eyes are fixated on the round of your breasts, bouncing so deliciously to the rhythm of his thrusts. a sudden clench of your cunt almost sends him collapsing on top of you, the tight grip he had maintained on your wrists now faltering from the feeling of your tight walls squeezing him. he curses, the profanity soon turning into praise again at how good you’re taking him, how pretty you looks, and how much he loves you, his words almost doing more to build the knot in your stomach than his steady, deep thrusts.

he leans back to sit on his heels as he lets go of your wrists, moving to hold your legs above his shoulders. you cry out when his cock hits your most sensitive spot from the new position, the sheets once again wrinkled under your tight grip now that your hands are free once again.

“fuck y/n, i’m so close.”

you lift your hips to meet his thrusts half way, all the thoughts in your head replaced by your blinding desire for your release. diluc shifts his weight to hold your thighs open instead, leaning down so he can be close to you before he reaches his impending high. he wants to hold you, to hear you, to see you chase after your high.

your moans and cries are growing more frequent, each more high pitched than the last. they are music to diluc’s ears, music reserved only for him to hear, his own low grunts a perfect harmony.

“i’m so close- gonna cum- please-” you babble, tears dotting your lashes, and diluc has never seen a more beautiful sight.

the sudden warmth of his hand on your neck makes you jump. he doesn’t close his fingers around your throat (though you secretly wished he would), instead his touch is fleeting before moving to cup your face. you lean into him almost immediately, his thumb wiping the tears that escaped, down the smooth skin of your cheeks, and across your bottom lip. he’s hovering so close to you that you can see every freckle on his skin, lips mere centimetres from yours that his every exhale becomes your next inhale, so intimate that you find it hard to believe that he’s kissing you so sweetly while maintaining a relentless pace.

he doesn’t want to hurt you, but he can’t hold back.

“cum for me,” he breathes into your parted lips, “i want to hear you.”

and you don’t need to be told twice. with a loud cry of his name you come undone around him, your slick quickly forming a ring of white at the base of his cock as he rides out your high, his pace becoming erratic and sloppy at the vice-like grip of your cunt.

“fuck,” he lets out a deep grunt as you repeatedly clench around him, the sound resonating from deep within his chest. his hands pat around the bed looking for yours, and soon after he locks your fingers together again he cums too, head buried in your shoulder and his cock shooting hot ropes into you, painting your walls white.

your legs are shaking as you come down from your high, your pussy so sensitive to any tiny movements that you almost cum again when he tries to pull out from you. the satin beneath you is soaked with a mix of both your essence, drops of white leaking from your sobbing hole when diluc finally pulls out.

he admires you in your post-orgasm glow, and not just at the sight of his cum leaking out of you and your pussy now moulded to the shape of him. it’s as if a soft silk has been draped over you, painting your features in glorious moonlight.

“you’re so beautiful.”

he breaks the silence that has enveloped you both while your breathing returned to normal.

you still find it foreign, the feeling of his compliments even as you’re spread out naked under him. as if sensing your disbelief, diluc repeats his words again, this time between wet kisses on your collarbone, etching his love for you into your body.

“so. beautiful,” he whispers into your skin, his heart swelling, “and all mine.”

note. me and who WHEN >:( also i hope you enjoy my subtle taylor swift reference at the beginning hehe m.list | diluc m.list | rules | inbox ♡

© vulturv0lans 2023, do not copy, repost, or translate without permission.

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[bellaxgiornata]

All These Years [Part 13: "Breaking the News"]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

[You can find the full series summary and masterlist of installments for All These Years here.]

Warnings/tags: 18+ for this series; contains emotional hurt with no comfort until the final installments, angst, pining, friends to lovers, slowburn, and eventually smut

Word Count: 7.6k

a/n: This installment is quite painful and there is still no comfort to be had in this series quite yet, friends. But hey, it's the long anticipated moment where Matt learns the truth, right? And you get a Matt POV at the end. Plus this one is LONG. I hope you enjoy and feedback is always appreciated!

Tag list: @acharliecoxedfan @theetherealbloom @rotscinema @magnumstyles @roseallisonparker @ofmusesandsecrets @readerhead @paracosmic-murdock @v4leoftears @why-always-me-gosh-please @redbircl @keepingitlokiii @yarrystyleeza @mattkinsella @ms-murdockswift @margoo0 @1988-fiend @lockleywife @strangeobsessed @justalittlebitbored @am-3-thyst @buckybarnes-1917 @thora-jane @lionalsowrites @cloudroomblog @prince-tassel @danzer8705 @yourlocalbentspine @harperdoodle @hollandorks (some of you I cannot tag so please check your settings!)

Shifting back and forth on your feet outside of Foggy’s apartment, you anxiously waited for him to answer the door. Both of your now sweat-slicked hands were firmly gripping the six pack of beer you’d picked up on your way over, hoping it would help ease the sting of what you were here to tell him. You were beyond terrified of his reaction and just hoping he would take the news as well as you figured he could.

You could hear Foggy’s muffled voice as he made his way through the apartment, the door swinging open a few moments later. Your stomach twisted uncomfortably in knots as Foggy’s beaming face came into view. You felt terrible that he had no idea why you’d asked to stop by tonight, and judging by the look on his face, he clearly thought it was just a friendly social visit.

“Hey!” he greeted brightly, saying your name. “Come on in!” 

“Hey, Fog,” you greeted him back nervously.

Stepping inside, you awkwardly slipped out of your shoes as Foggy closed the door behind you. The rapidly beating thrum of your heart felt loud to your own ears as you sent him a tight smile. Foggy’s attention dropped down to the beer in your hands, his eyes further lighting up.

“Oh man, I am so glad you actually brought some beer because you know what?” he began, making his way towards the worn gray couch in his living room. “This whole week has been rough. Like an absolute shit show at the office. I could’ve started drinking hours ago.”

Hesitantly you followed after Foggy, making your way over towards his couch and watching as he sank down onto a cushion. Feeling even worse after hearing that his week had been difficult already, you awkwardly set the beer on his coffee table before sliding out two bottles and handing one to him. He thanked you before twisting off the cap, tossing it next to the six pack on the coffee table. Feeling slightly sick to your stomach, you opened your beer before settling onto the couch. Immediately you took a long pull from the bottle, swallowing the alcohol down and hoping it would quickly help dull your nerves. Except when you lowered the bottle to your lap, spotting Foggy across from you on the couch rubbing at his temples, your nerves only increased.

“So uh, bad week?” you asked lamely.

Foggy nodded enthusiastically. “That’s an understatement,” he replied. “We almost lost the trial yesterday. The whole thing was a massive headache. Matt has been a little too distracted this week with who the hell knows what, but he was off. Like way off this week. He was nothing like his usual self.”

“Oh,” you whispered, not wanting to think about Matt right now.

“But anyway, it’s Friday tomorrow and things should hopefully be looking up,” Foggy concluded, the smile returning to his face. “I’m going to try to remain optimistic that tomorrow will be better. But what about you? How’s work been going for you? And how’re things with your man? I haven’t seen him in a bit.”

Gripping the bottle of beer a little tighter in your hands, you took a deep breath and tried to prepare yourself for the news you were about to break.

“Well, Adam and I…broke up,” you admitted slowly.

Foggy’s eyes grew wide immediately, one hand lowering the beer from his mouth before he could even take a drink. He was leaning towards you on the couch, his mouth open in shock. You watched as he struggled to take a moment to process the information.

“You–you guys broke up? When?” Foggy asked.

Biting your lip, you looked away. Your cheeks were burning from the guilt at having kept Foggy in the dark for so long, but you hadn’t been ready to tell Foggy the full truth about why you’d broken up and that you were possibly moving. And there hadn’t really been a way to explain things away to him without lying in front of Matt–which you knew Matt would’ve called you out on. 

“It’s been a few months now,” you told him. 

“What?” he asked in shock. 

Foggy was quickly sliding over to you on the couch, reaching over to set his beer on the coffee table before his focus fully turned on you. You could already feel the tears forming when you saw that damn sympathetic look on his face again.

“Dude, hey, what’s going on? Why didn’t you tell me you and Adam broke up?” he questioned. “You tell me everything . What happened?”

“He wanted more from me than I could give him,” you confessed, lips trembling. “Because I–I'm still…”

Foggy’s face instantly fell, knowing exactly what you meant without you even needing to finish your sentence. He nodded slowly.

“Matt?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Matt.”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Foggy said, one of his hands landing comfortingly on your shoulder. “I really thought maybe Adam had been the one to get you past your feelings for him. You both seemed so happy together.”

“We were, to an extent,” you told him. “Until Erica came into the picture and reminded me that I can’t just push my feelings for Matt under a rug.”

“So that’s why you broke up then?” Foggy asked. “Because you still have feelings for Matt?”

“Well,” you began slowly, your mouth suddenly going dry, “there was…something else.”

Foggy straightened on the couch instantly, his eyes narrowing curiously back at you. You felt his hand tighten on your shoulder just a bit.

“What do you mean?” he asked. “Did he–was he…?”

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “No, he wasn’t cheating. But I–I was offered a new position at work a few days before we broke up.”

You swore Foggy’s entire body had frozen on the couch. It didn’t even look like he was breathing anymore. 

“It uh, it has a huge pay increase–almost double my current salary,” you continued, your stomach nervously churning as you did. “But it’s–it’s out in L.A. And Adam didn’t want to leave his job and his family here. Which is why he mentioned things like moving in together and–and possibly marriage down the road. He wanted me to stay for him. But I couldn’t see those things with him. And I tried really hard to, but I just–just couldn’t. So we broke up. And then afterwards I’d been…considering the job offer.”

Foggy’s lips thinned out, tears shining noticeably in his own eyes as he sat so still beside you. You could feel your own tears ready to fall at the way he was looking at you.

“You're taking it, aren't you?” he whispered. “You’re taking the job?”

Swallowing the lump that had formed in your throat, you nodded. “Yeah, Fog,” you answered. “I accepted it. They offered it months ago and I’d been waiting until it was a sure thing before I told you.”

Foggy sniffled loudly, his hand releasing your shoulder to wipe the heel of it across his watery eyes. “So you’ve known for a while?” he asked.

“Like I said, it wasn’t a sure thing,” you told him. “My company was still trying to get their new office set up out there for the past couple of months. But I officially accepted the offer at the beginning of this week. I uh, I’m flying out this weekend to find an apartment, but I’ll be back on Monday for work.”

“Fuck,” Foggy swore, turning and slumping defeatedly back into the the couch. “I can’t fucking believe this.”

Licking your lips nervously, your attention dropped down to the beer in your lap. Your fingers were drumming along the brown bottle as you heard Foggy curse again. Slowly you tried to inhale a deep breath, struggling to keep your resolve. You knew this was going to be difficult, but you also knew you needed to do this.

“Why are you leaving?” Foggy asked, breaking the silence that had fallen.

“I told you,” you began, “I was offered a position that–”

“No,” he said, cutting you off firmly and sitting upright again, the movement and tone catching your eye. “No, that’s not why you’re leaving. It’s because of this thing with Matt, isn’t it? You’re leaving because of him.”

Stunned, your mouth opened and closed a few times as you tried to form a sentence. Were you that transparent?

“Fog, I–”

“You’re running away, aren’t you?” he pressed. “Admit it. You’re running away from him.”

“Foggy, I can’t do this anymore,” you confessed, a few tears finally spilling over. “Yes, okay? Yes, I’m running away from Matt. Because I love him and he knows it, but what he feels for me isn’t the same. It’ll never be the same.” 

You brushed a hand absently over your cheeks to wipe away the tears that had slipped out. Fuck, you were so sick of crying.

“I love him, Fog,” you said, voice breaking on his name. “And it hurts so fucking bad. Do you have any idea what that’s like? To be in love with your best friend for years ?”

Tears were openly streaming down Foggy’s face now as he listened to you. He kept dabbing at his eyes with the back of his hand, but more tears kept coming in their stead. The sight of him crying was only further causing more of your own tears to fall.

“I see him all of the time, Foggy,” you continued, emotion thick in your voice. “It hurts to even hug him knowing it means something else to me than it does to him. And it’s like I swear I feel something everytime we do. It’s like this–this warm, happy, safe feeling washes over me. Like I could just–just stay there forever. But then I have to remind myself he’s just my friend and it hurts .” Sniffling loudly, you tried to keep your voice even as the words continued to pour out of you. “Now he’s with Erica. And you’ve seen him with her, Fog. He’s got that lovesick puppy look around her all of the time. He’s been crazy about her for months. It’s like Elektra all over again, except Erica isn’t necessarily bad for him. Their relationship, despite how busy Erica always is, is one that I could see becoming something more, you know?”

“Marriage?” Foggy asked.

Grimacing, you nodded. “Yeah,” you whispered. “And if it’s not her, it’s going to be someone else. Someone who isn’t me. And Fog, I–I can’t–can’t–”

The words got stuck in your throat, and no matter how hard you tried, it was a choked sob that fell out of you instead. Foggy was quick to wrap his arms around you and pull you into a hug. Burying your face into his shoulder, you openly wept at the thought of having to witness Matt get married to someone else. It had been painful for years to see him sleep around with countless women at Columbia, even worse when he’d been so stuck on Elektra with how awful she was for him. And then it stung watching him date and sleep around even more after that. But seeing him in a relationship now that might be eventually going towards something serious down the road? That had been the line you had to draw.

“I can’t be here to see that,” you choked out, shaking your head against Foggy’s shoulder as the tears continued to fall from your eyes. “It would–would kill me, Fog. I can’t–can’t see him marry someone else. I can’t do it. I can’t .”

“But why do you have to go?” Foggy whispered. “Why do you have to leave me, too?”

“Because Matt will always be here,” you answered softly. “And as long as he’s within reach, I’ll always be reaching for him.”

Pulling away from Foggy, you wiped roughly at your eyes. His arms released you slowly, coming to wipe at his own eyes that were still watering.

“I’m sorry, Fog,” you whispered. “But you can still come visit. So can Karen. And–and maybe someday I’ll come back and visit you here. It’s not like we’ll never see each other again.”

“Have you told Matt?” Foggy asked.

The question felt like a punch to the gut. You winced at the mention of Matt, that ache in your chest painfully growing. You wondered if anything would ever get rid of it. 

“No,” you answered, shaking your head. “I haven’t.”

“How long until you leave?” Foggy asked.

Your focus dropped down to the beer in your lap. Fingers fidgeting nervously with the label, you refused to look at Foggy when you spoke next.

“About three more weeks,” you said.

“Shit,” he breathed out. “So when–when are you going to tell him?”

Worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, you shook your head. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “I don’t even know how to look him in the face and tell him this. I don’t know how I’m going to–” you paused, eyes snapping shut, “–to say goodbye to him.” 

“He deserves to know,” Foggy pointed out. “He deserves a chance to say goodbye to you.”

“I know,” you breathed out. “I know.”

Turning the corner, your eyes landed on the red neon sign for Josie’s bar. Your arms wrapped anxiously around yourself, hugging your body tight as you made your way down the sidewalk towards it, maneuvering through the evening foot traffic on the sidewalk. 

Tonight was the night. You'd asked Fog and Matt to come out with you to Josie’s. It would be just the three of you this evening, no significant others. Just like old times. 

And you were going to tell Matt you were moving in three days. 

You'd admittedly cried a lot back at your apartment while you'd gotten ready to come out. Just thinking about what you were going to say to Matt and knowing how soon you would be saying goodbye had gotten you instantly emotional. And you knew Matt was going to be upset with you tonight. You were telling him just days before you left. It hadn’t been intentional, you’d certainly tried to tell him over the weeks before, but you had kept putting it off because you'd been too much of a coward, too afraid to tell him so many other times before. But now that your flight out of New York City was literally days away, you knew you didn’t have a choice. You couldn’t keep putting it off.

Opening the door to Josie’s and stepping inside, you were instantly hit with that musty, moldy smell that always seemed to mix with the scent of alcohol and sweat here. It wasn’t much cooler inside than it was outside tonight you noticed, your eyes scanning the bar for a sign of Matt and Foggy. You spotted them by a table at the far back of the bar, your eyes connecting to Foggy’s almost instantly. He sent you a sad smile, waving you over. You tried your best not to look miserable in return as you approached the table.

“You finally made it,” Matt said, shooting you a wide grin. “Was wondering what was taking you so long.”

The smile you tried to return him probably looked pained, but you knew despite his senses he couldn’t quite tell that. For a moment you stood there standing beside the table, your eyes scanning Matt over where he sat. That handsome, charming smile was still spread wide across his face. You noticed his beard was a bit darker and thicker than usual beneath his red glasses tonight, and he was dressed in his usual white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his muscular forearms on display as he rested his arms on the table. 

The sight of him alone felt like a stab to the heart. Blinking hard, you forced yourself to look away as you situated yourself in the chair across the table from him. Turning, you focused your attention on Foggy to the left of you instead. You needed a moment to try to collect yourself.

“Yeah,” you said, finally responding to Matt. “I was running a little late, sorry. I hope you guys weren’t waiting too long.”

“Just a few minutes,” Matt replied. “Not a big deal. I grabbed you a beer, hope that’s alright.”

He slid a bottle across the table towards you, your eyes following the movement of it. For some reason the little act of thoughtfulness had your heart squirming in your chest. It was just a beer, after all. It didn’t mean anything. It’s not like you all hadn’t bought drinks for each other many times in the past.

“Thanks,” you muttered.

A silence fell across the three of you when Matt drew his own beer to his lips for a drink. Your eyes landed on Foggy, noticing him shooting you a pointed look. He’d been on your ass about telling Matt you were leaving for weeks now, and it was apparent on his face that he was mentally screaming at you to rip the bandaid off and just tell him already. 

“So uh, how’s work been?” you asked.

Foggy’s eyes narrowed at you and you quickly glanced down at the table, ignoring the sharp look on his face. You didn’t want to just sit down and drop the news in Matt’s lap the moment you showed up. You, at the very least, needed a minute to prepare yourself.

“Busy,” Foggy replied simply. “How’s work been for you?”

Nervously your tongue darted out, wetting your lips. You knew what he was doing. It felt like your throat was closing up at just the thought of saying ‘I’m moving in three days’ to Matt.

“Good,” you answered.

Foggy’s eyes only narrowed further at you. Unable to stand the weight of his glare, you glanced across the table to Matt. But that had proven to be a terrible idea because he was focused straight on you, his head tilted a bit to the side. His dark brows had furrowed together, slightly drawing down below the red lenses he wore.

You knew that look. Ever since you’d learned that Matt was the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen and you’d been informed about his heightened senses, you’d come to recognize when Matt was picking up on something. Zeroed in on it. And right now he was very focused on you. That alone had your pulse increasing, wondering how much he was picking up on– what he was picking up on.

“You doing alright?” Matt asked you.

Clearing your throat, your attention dropped back to the table. Saying yes was an obvious lie. Saying no would leave you telling Matt the truth right here and now and you weren’t sure the words were going to come out yet. You weren’t sure you were ready for the way he’d surely be upset with you at the news. 

“I’m just stressed,” you said–not technically a lie.

There was a brief pause. You could feel both men staring at you and you felt yourself shrinking further in on yourself in response.

“Stressed about what?” Matt pressed.

“Work,” you answered simply.

“What about work?” Foggy pushed.

One of your hands grabbed onto your beer bottle, squeezing it tight in your fist. You felt like you were going to explode, your heart pounding hard in your chest.

“Why don’t we talk about work a little later?” you suggested, teeth gritting together.

Your focus flew up to Foggy, the pair of you locking eyes. There was a very disappointed expression currently resting on his face. For some reason when you saw his mouth open, your own did, too. But instead of blurting the truth to Matt, you found yourself blurting something almost as bad before Foggy could speak.

“How’re Marci and Erica?”

You cringed the moment the question left you, realizing you’d asked Matt to indulge you with details about his relationship. That was not what you wanted. Even Foggy’s expression softened at your question, aware of your mistake.

“Marci’s been busy with work, but doing good,” Foggy answered.

“Great,” you replied stiffly.

Grinding your teeth together, you turned your attention to Matt. There was no backing out of enduring this tidbit about Erica because you’d asked for it. You were just going to have to force the strained smile to stay on your lips as you waited for Matt to stab you in the heart yet again.

“Uh, she’s doing well,” Matt answered slowly, his focus seeming to shift between you and Foggy for a moment.

“Fantastic,” you stated, the strained smile still on your mouth.

You drew your beer up to your lips for another drink, feeling like you desperately needed it. When Matt suddenly spoke again, you hadn’t been expecting it. 

“Actually,” he said, his tone a little off, “there was something I was hoping to talk to you both about. Since it’s been quite some time since we’ve been together like this. Just the three of us. I figured I’d tell you both something that’s been on my mind recently.”

Swallowing down your beer, you slowly lowered the bottle to the table. Your attention shifted to Foggy, one of your brows raising curiously. He made a face, lightly shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head in return. He looked just as confused as you were.

“It’s about Erica,” Matt began.

You sucked in a breath, holding it as your eyes flew back to Matt and you waited in anticipation. Had they broken up? Had Matt finally told her the truth about himself and she couldn’t handle it? Was she…cheating on him?

“Look, I know it’s not been quite seven months yet, but I’ve been thinking about just taking the plunge,” Matt continued on, his words tumbling out rapidly. “She’s really great. And she’s an intelligent, driven, successful woman. And we get along so well. I–I’ve found myself thinking about marriage lately.”

It took your brain a few seconds to process what Matt had just said, but when you did, your jaw literally dropped. He hadn’t been with Erica for quite seven months yet, but he was already thinking about marrying her? 

Your breath literally caught in your throat as you sat there in absolute shock. You couldn’t breathe. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Foggy’s head instantly whip in your direction. His eyes were wide, his mouth also hanging open in complete surprise.

“Guys?” Matt said nervously. “Care to say something?”

He wanted to marry Erica.

He wanted to marry her .

He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her .

Your right hand flew up to your chest, clutching the fabric of your shirt roughly in your fingers. There was a sharp pain shooting straight through your heart in a way you’d never felt before. Were you about to have a panic attack? A heart attack maybe? Was that what this was? 

You might actually throw up. 

“That’s uh…” Foggy said, voice trailing off as he tried to search for words.

“A good thing?” Matt suggested.

You could hear your pulse hammering in your own ears as you tried to inhale a shaky breath. Fuck, why was it so hard to breathe? Across the table, Matt focused back on you, saying your name with a note of concern.

“Are you doing okay?” he asked slowly. “You don’t sound…alright.”

He just fucking told you he wanted to marry Erica when he knew you were in love with him. Of course you weren’t fucking alright . You were the farthest goddamn thing from alright .

“Does she know?” you breathed out.

“Well…no,” Matt answered slowly. “I haven’t bought up the topic quite yet but I–”

“Does she know who you really are?” you pressed, cutting him off as your hand clutched your chest tighter. “ Does she know ?”

You swore you saw his eyes narrow behind his glasses in the dim light of Josie’s. His lips pressed firmly together in what appeared to be a hint of irritation.

“No,” he answered, his tone darkening a bit. “She doesn’t know that yet, but I don’t think it will be a problem at the moment. She’s mentioned always wanting a long engagement, so I’d have plenty of time to figure it out with her. I don’t think it would be an issue, and until then, she’d want to probably stay at her place near her work. Which means I could keep doing what I’ve been doing. We’d just have to figure that all out later. We’d make it work.”

A bitter laugh fell out of you before you could stop it. Didn’t he hear how stupid that sounded? What the hell sort of hold did she have on him? Why was he so stuck on her? He deserved so much better than being with someone who didn’t know him. He deserved someone who saw all of him and wanted him still. Who loved him for the man he was, crazy and frustrating as he could be sometimes. 

Someone like you.

But of course you were never good enough. He'd rather propose to a woman that didn't know he could smell what she'd eaten for lunch when she saw him after work. That had no idea he was risking his life most nights to save the people in the part of the city he loved so dearly.

“She will never move to Hell’s Kitchen with how much she dislikes it, and you’ll never leave it,” you stated sharply, anger quickly growing within you at how ridiculous this whole situation was beginning to sound. “How does that work, Matthew?”

Matt’s brows entirely pulled together behind his lenses, his jaw clenching as he stared back at you. “Well I don’t see how that’s any of your concern,” he shot back, a sharper edge to his tone. “You’re not part of this relationship.”

You gaped at him, momentarily stunned and hurt. A second later your eyes darted over to Foggy, seeing him sitting there in absolute mortification at whatever was happening between you and Matt. He looked like a deer in the headlights.  

“Well, Matthew ,” you said bitterly, focusing back on him across the table and not even bothering to hide your anger at this point. What did it matter anymore? You were leaving in three days anyway. “I think it’s a bit absurd that you want to propose to a woman who doesn’t even know you, when you have absolutely no fucking idea where you both would even live together, after not quite seven months of dating. Doesn’t sound like you thought more than three seconds about this whole thing.”

“Excuse me?” he snapped, his dark brows shooting up onto his forehead. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I think it sounds like you’re clinging to her like you clung to Elektra,” you snapped. “For whatever fucking reason you did.” 

Matt sat back in his chair, a look of surprise mingled with hurt written on his face. Part of you felt bad for that low blow, but you didn’t have long to feel that way before Matt was leaning forward again, his face set in a firm expression.

“Just because things didn’t work out how you wanted for yourself, doesn’t mean the rest of us have to sit here stuck in one place,” Matt shot back.

His words felt like a slap to the face. You sat there for a moment, the tears burning in your eyes at the audacity of him saying that to you. Of him knowing how you felt about him, telling you he wanted to marry another woman, and then throwing your feelings back at you like that.

Swallowing hard, you abruptly pushed your chair back and rose to your feet. Matt was still sitting and seething on the other side of the table, focused on your movements. Foggy’s face looked like it was permanently stuck in a mixture of shock and horror as he sat in utter silence.

“Fuck you, Matt,” you growled. “I never thought you were that much of an asshole to throw my feelings for you like that back in my fucking face.”

Matt straightened instantly in his chair, his expression shifting rapidly. “What?” he asked.

“I said fuck you ,” you spat, tears starting to make their way down your cheeks. “For knowing I’ve had feelings for you all these fucking years,” you barreled on, watching as his mouth immediately dropped open and his eyebrows shot up high onto his forehead, “and letting me think you were fucking dead for months and now making me listen to your bullshit desire to marry Erica. You’re not worth the goodbye. So fuck you, Matthew Murdock.”

You didn’t bother to wait for him to recover from the shock of your outburst, his body pin straight in his chair as he gaped at you in stunned silence. Turning on your heel, you stormed off out of Josie’s, fuming internally as you pushed the door open and made your way out into the night.

Matt sat in his chair, his mind racing as he listened to you making your exit from Josie’s. He could taste the salt of your tears and the venom of your anger in the air right before you'd left, but it was what he'd thought he'd heard you say that had him sitting dumbfounded in his seat. 

Had you said what he'd thought you'd said? Had that really happened?

"Shit, Matt," Foggy groaned out. "What the hell was that?"

Matt's head spun towards Foggy, shock still coursing through him. He could feel his hands shaking as they reached up, pulling his glasses from his face and lowering them to the table. 

"What did she just say?" he asked Foggy in disbelief. 

Matt could hear the way Foggy’s mouth dropped open yet again and the way his eyes had widened on his friend's face. Though Matt was more focused on the feel of his own racing heart in his chest as he tried to understand what had just happened.

"I think she said it pretty loud and clear, buddy," Foggy told him. "She's pissed at you. And I don't blame her one bit."

"No," Matt breathed out, shaking his head at Foggy. "Not that. The other part. The part about having feelings for me."

"I mean…yeah," Foggy replied matter-of-factly. "She's had them for you forever, dude. You knew that already though."

" What ?" Matt whispered in shock.

You…you'd had feelings for him? For Matt? For years ? And you both for some reason thought he knew that?

"Yeah, Matt," Foggy continued. "She's been crazy about you practically since she met you. She said you guys talked about this when she found out about your big secret. That was a while ago now. She said you'd told her you always had known she liked you because of your senses."

"I–what?" Matt stammered.

"Dude," Foggy said in exasperation. "Why are you acting like this is such big news?"

"Because it is , Fog!" Matt exclaimed. "She told me she was in love with you !"

Foggy froze, his mouth once again hanging wide open. Matt could feel the confusion practically rolling off of him in the chair beside him. Then he noticed Foggy quickly and firmly shaking his head. 

"What the fuck are you talking about, Matt?" he asked. "When the hell did she tell you that ?"

"That night!" Matt shouted. “She told me that night!”

“No,” Foggy said, still shaking his head. “No, there’s no way, dude. Did she expressly say ‘Hey, Matt I’m in love with Foggy?’”

Matt opened his mouth, about to tell him yes, but then he stopped short. Because no, you hadn’t in fact said Foggy’s name exactly. You had never actually told him you had feelings for Foggy. He’d always just thought that’s who you’d meant and it had made sense. Even Elektra had been pushing that idea onto him, telling him that you were always pining after him. How obvious it was with the way you looked at Foggy. He’d always thought that was the truth.

Had he been wrong this whole time?

“No,” Matt breathed out. “She–she never said your name. She never said any name.”

It felt like his entire world was falling apart around him. You’d never actually told him you liked Foggy. Never explicitly said his name. He’d just let Elektra’s words and his senses paint a story for him that he’d believed for so long. Which meant that night, over a year ago now when Elektra had dropped him off at your apartment, you’d been thinking he knew that you'd always had feelings for him because of his senses, when Matt had thought you had confirmed you'd always had feelings for Foggy this whole time. And that also meant that night when you hadn’t known who the masked man was and he’d found you drunk in that alley after your asshole ex had cheated on you–it had been him you’d really been crying over. You had both held each other tight that night crying over your feelings for each other in the rain.

All of this time he had been the friend who you’d had feelings for? How could he have been so fucking unaware? 

“Holy shit, you really didn’t know, did you?” Foggy asked in surprise. 

“No,” Matt repeated vehemently, his focus returning to Foggy. “No, Fog. I swore I thought she was always in love with you! Ever since she met you the pair of you just clicked! You were always spending so much time together. Both so alike. And her body was always reacting like crazy around you–but it…” he trailed off, blinking hard a few times. “It was me?”

Foggy reached out, placing a hand on Matt’s shoulder. He felt his friend give it a reassuring squeeze as he tried to process the influx of information suddenly rushing back to him. Every time he’d thought he was reading you reacting to Foggy, it had been him. How could he have read you so wrong for years?

“Fuck, I almost told her on graduation night,” Matt recalled, tears filling his eyes. “You’d fallen asleep and she was–was right there . I had been about to tell her I had feelings for her–about to kiss her–but then she suddenly panicked and I felt her fear. I thought it was because she knew I was going to and she had gotten scared. Because she wanted you .”

“Dude, no,” Foggy said, squeezing Matt’s shoulder again. “She probably was hoping you’d kiss her but afraid she was misreading the situation. That’s probably the fear you picked up on. She thinks you’ve only ever seen her as a friend, Matt.”

Matt ran a hand through his hair, his mind reeling. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

“All this time I’ve just been–been misreading everything ?” Matt asked in shock.

“Clearly. But how the hell does that even happen with you? With what you can do?” Foggy questioned him. “And also–what the fuck, Matt? You’ve had feelings for our best friend all this time and you never fucking told me ?”

Matt’s attention returned to Foggy beside him, his sightless eyes intensely focused on him. “Do you remember that fall semester?” Matt asked earnestly. “That girl I told you I’d ran into?”

“Matt,” Foggy said with a sigh. “You ran into many girls.”

Matt shook his head quickly. “No, not like this. Not her. The one we called the White Whale?” he pushed.

Matt could hear the way Foggy’s brows drew together on his forehead. His hand fell away from Matt’s shoulder and instead came to run across his mouth as he took a moment to think back.

“Yeah,” Foggy eventually answered. “The girl you spent weeks looking around campus for. The one you were dying to meet. We came up with a bunch of ridiculous ways you might meet up with her over winter break.”

“Yes, her,” Matt replied in a rush. He whispered your name, feeling his heart twisting at the sound of it. “That was her . She was the White Whale, Fog.”

Foggy sat speechless for a moment, his hand still raised to his mouth as if he’d been taken off guard by Matt’s admission. Matt could hear Foggy’s heart rate elevating even further in his chest as he processed that information.

“You–you told me you met the White Whale and things hadn’t worked out, Matt,” Foggy pointed out. “You told me that.”

“Because I thought she’d fallen for you!” Matt shot back, gesturing a hand roughly at Foggy. “So I never told you it was her because I figured it didn't matter anymore. And I was–was an asshole and selfishly never said anything about the feelings I thought she had for you because I–I didn’t want to see you two together.”

“Fucking hell, Matt,” Foggy groaned, running a hand down his face. “What a fucking mess. So all this time you two idiots have had feelings for each other and nothing happened because no one fucking said anything?”

“I had no idea,” Matt whispered. “I had no idea she felt that way about me.”

“Ugh!” Foggy exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air in frustration.

Matt heard the way both of Foggy’s hands flew up to cover his face soon after, his hands rubbing agitatedly at his eyes. He could feel the irritation and frustration coming from his best friend, and he could feel something else exuding from him, too. But Matt didn’t take a moment to even wonder what it was as a thought suddenly struck him.

He shoved his chair back, swiftly rising to his feet. He was going to go after you. He had to. He had to tell you the truth. But Foggy’s hand abruptly grabbed onto his arm and it caused Matt to stop before he could even leave the table.

“What’re you doing?” Foggy asked him.

“Going after her,” Matt answered as if it was obvious. “I can’t leave her like that, Fog. I can’t let her continue thinking I knew all of this time that she had feelings for me and that I never felt the same. Because that’s not true. And I can't let her keep thinking that.”

“Matt, buddy, no,” Foggy replied quickly, tugging on his arm. “You just told her minutes ago that you were considering marrying someone else. And need I remind you–you’re still dating Erica. The woman you just told her you wanted to marry. You can't chase off after her in some grand romantic pursuit and tell her you have feelings for her. Not like this. She deserves better, Matt.”

A pained expression pulled at Matt’s face. He didn’t want to let you go back home feeling like this.Thinking what you were thinking. He didn’t want that. Especially knowing what he now knew. 

"What're you saying?" Matt asked.

"You want to tell her this?" Foggy questioned back. “That you have feelings for her?”

Matt nodded immediately. "Yes, Fog. Yes. I've wanted to tell her for years. I’ve come so close so many times," he confessed.

"Then do it when you're single, Matt," Foggy stated. "Don't you dare go chasing after her and telling her you have feelings when you're dating another woman. When you just finished talking about marrying another woman. Don't you do that to her, man. Because so help me, Matt, I don't care how well you throw a punch, I will hit you."

Matt's face slowly fell as he gradually slumped back down in his chair. Foggy was right. He had just dropped this idea of proposing to Erica on you–and God what an asshole he felt like now knowing how much that had to have hurt you to hear. No wonder you’d gotten so angry and your body’s stress levels had risen so quickly. And now he would sound like an ass chasing you down after that. But knowing how much pain he’d just caused you only increased that familiar heartache of his own that was currently twisting and constricting in his chest. He’d hurt you tonight. And probably countless nights over the years. How often had you been crying because of him ? He wanted to slam his fist through the table at the thought.

"Why the hell do you want to marry Erica anyway?" Foggy asked. “That seems so out of nowhere, man.”

"Because we–we get along," Matt answered lamely. "And she's always so busy so me being Daredevil has never caused an issue. It’s never been a problem. And I–I don't want to be alone,” he admitted, aware of how pathetic he sounded. “I figured Erica and I would figure things out later. That maybe she'd understand. I wasn’t really thinking things through, I admit that."

"Matt, Erica doesn't even know about your heightened senses," Foggy pointed out. "You can't get that serious with someone out of convenience and fear of being alone, buddy. It's wrong and it won't work out. That’s not fair to Erica, either."

"I know," Matt murmured, running a hand over his forehead. "You're right. You’re both right. I just–just thought I'd never have her and I was lonely. And when I was with Erica, she made me feel less lonely."

Foggy was shaking his head again. "That's not right, Matt. You can't do that to Erica."

"I know," he whispered, shamefully burying his face in his hands. "I'll talk to Erica tomorrow after work. I'll end the relationship. And then I'll talk to her." He whispered your name, his voice muffled by the hands over his face. He could feel the tears burning in his eyes. “I’ll tell her the truth. Everything.”

God did he want to tell you the truth so badly, too. He wondered how pissed at him you would be when you heard it. He wondered if there was anything he could do to make this whole situation salvageable. To fix all the things he’d fucked up, knowingly and unknowingly. He would do anything at all. Whatever it took.

"Well if you're going to tell her about your feelings you better hurry, Matt," Foggy said, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’re running out of time.”

Matt's brows drew together on his forehead. Something you'd said just before you left ran through his mind again. Something about him not being worth a goodbye. Matt felt his chest tightening further, a few tears slipping out of his eyes as he instantly drew his face from his hands and focused back on Foggy beside him.

"What's going on, Fog?" he asked anxiously. "You said she had something to tell me tonight. I'm guessing this wasn't it. So what is it?"

Foggy expelled a deep sigh, his grip on Matt’s shoulder growing a bit firmer. Matt felt his heart beating a bit erratically in his chest in the silence that followed, especially with the nervous sounds Foggy’s body was making right now. 

"She was offered a new position at work," he finally told Matt. "Really amazing pay–almost double her salary. But the job is in L.A. where her company is opening up a new office."

It felt like someone had ran Matt’s heart straight through with a knife. He had endured a lot of physical pain over the past few years running around the city at night, his body taking a lot of abuse. But the way those words struck Matt hurt more than any injury he'd ever sustained.  

"Is she–did she…?"

Foggy nodded solemnly. "Yeah," he answered. "She accepted it. She moves at the end of the week."

Matt's tongue felt heavy in his mouth, unable to swallow or form words as his lips began to tremble. You were leaving him. He just found out the truth–that you felt the same way after all this time–and you were leaving him. Moving to the other side of the country in a matter of days and he had no idea until just now. Days before you left.

"What–what about Adam?" Matt breathed out.

"They broke up months ago," Foggy replied. "She realized when you were with Erica that she just couldn't get over you. She hoped Adam might’ve been the one, but apparently he wasn’t.” Foggy sighed, his hand still comfortingly on his friend’s shoulder. “That's why she took the job, Matt. She's running from you. Running from her feelings for you."

Matt’s gaze dropped down to the table, more tears slowly sliding down his face. He’d done that to you, then. Hurt you so badly that you wanted to run from him. Put an entire country between the both of you. Now you didn’t even want to say goodbye to him. He winced at the pain of that thought.

"What if–if I told her?" he asked Foggy desperately, his focus returning to his friend. "What if I told her how I felt, Fog? Would she stay? Do you think she wouldn’t leave then?"

He heard the way the air shifted as Foggy shrugged in answer. The gesture didn't ease the constricting pain in Matt’s chest at all. Warm tears kept falling down Matt’s face as the weight of losing you slowly settled in his heart. 

"She can't–can't leave though," Matt croaked out, voice breaking as he shook his head. "She can't leave us–she can't leave me ."

Foggy rose slowly from his chair, crossing the space between the pair of them before wrapping Matt in a hug. Without hesitation Matt clung to his friend as a sob fell out of him, his face contorted in pain.

"She can't leave," Matt choked out. “She can’t , Fog.”

"I know, Matt," Foggy said, emotion thick in his voice. "I don't want her to go either."

"I lose everyone," Matt whispered. He clutched at Foggy’s dress shirt, entirely uncaring of who was watching the scene in Josie’s as he sobbed on his friend’s shoulder. "I can't lose her, too. I can't. I–I love her, Foggy. I love her."

"I’m sorry, Matt," Foggy replied, crying along with him. "But I don't know if there's anything either of us can do now."

[END NOTES]

More end notes this time because I often feel like this series needs it.

Matt now finally knows that Reader is not in love with Foggy! It only took YEARS for him to realize that--and it's only because Reader blurted it out in her anger at Matt having stupid thoughts about marrying someone who didn't even know all of him. Clearly he was clinging to Erica because he didn't think he could ever have Reader and he was trying to latch onto someone who made him feel good in the moment. Matt now also knows that Reader is leaving New York in just a matter of days, too. But, despite Matt now knowing the truth, Reader still has absolutely no idea that Matt has feelings for her. So what happens next? Does Matt chase after her and she stays? Does he miss her and she leaves? Something else? You'll have to wait for the next installment to find out...

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock angst #matt murdock #daredevil

[bg-brainrot]

Second winter fluff prompt for the BG3 Holiday Challenge!

Prompt: Ice and Snow

Featuring: Astarion x Rogue!Tav

Series: Love at First Knife, on AO3 here

Premise: Astarion is always cold, used to a nocturnal lifestyle and a distinct lack of blood in his veins. However you, the sad little mortal, are not prepared for the winter’s chill. When you experience your first snowfall together, Astarion makes it his personal mission to ensure that you’re bundled up.

Tags: Fluff, POV Second person, Gender-neutral pronouns, Post-Canon

Word count: ~1.1k

“Astarion, please,” you say, voice muffled behind a thick, knitted scarf. “You’re completely overreacting.”

The vampire tuts at you, as he deposits a fur-lined hat upon your head, and a few dangling tassels tickle your ears. “Now darling, what did I tell you about fighting me on this?”

“That you would tie me up and–”

“No, the other thing,” he interrupts, though a salacious smile comes over him at the thought.

“Oh. That you wouldn’t let me make a snow celestial…” you sound dejected, and you downcast your eyes to appear pitiable.

Astarion, for his part, only finds joy in your reaction, a delighted giggle being his only response.

“What about you?” you challenge, as he tries to shimmy another coat onto your already quite padded frame. "You were just complaining about the cold the other day!"

“I’m coldblooded, my dear. And you know I only complain for the attention,” he says, kneeling down to lace your boots for you. If you tried to bend down right now, you’re certain you’ll fall over in a pile of furs and fluff. “I shall be just fine with my current coat.” He’s currently wearing a fitted red winter coat, an embroidered pattern of roses in gold along its sleeves and collar– the epitome of a dashing man, next to your shambling mound.

“Stupid, sexy vampire,” you mutter under your breath. He only laughs and places yet another scarf around your neck.

Satisfied with his work, he takes a step back. “Would you look at that, my scary assassin is all ready to go outside,” he says, a bright smile on his face.

You level him with a murderous look, which loses some of its effect considering the scarves currently blocking your mouth. “I’ll show you scary,” you mumble, ready to attack your lover. You find that difficult now though, considering a slow shuffle is all that you can maintain.

He pays your death glares no mind, as he tucks one delicate little scarf around his own neck and declares that he’s ready to go outside as well.

You wobble after him, feeling nothing like the intimidating rogue you’re supposed to be. But you suppose if it means he won’t stop your snow celestials, some sacrifices, like your pride, must be made.

The first snowfall along the Sword Coast is always among the most beautiful and this year is no exception. Once you’ve made your way outside, you find yourself surrounded by a winter wonderland.

Pockets of snow line your roof, several inches of snow surround your house in every direction, and a light smattering of snow falls upon you now. You wish you could feel it, but between all of the layers, you only guess that it’s light and powdery– perfect for snow celestials.

Astarion peers around at the world, seeming rather unimpressed. “Well, isn’t that lovely. The ground is white.”

You ignore his lackluster response to the bounty of snow before you and make your way past him to the yard. With more of a stumble than a step, you fall into a particularly open patch of snow in front of your house. A puff of white snow explodes around you as you land, and you breathe out a single, “Oof.”

“Love, was that… on purpose?” Astarion asks, not far behind you.

“Mmhm,” you mumble into the snow. A backwards snow celestial it is. With all of the effort you can muster, you wave your arms and legs into the shape of wings and, well, whatever celestials had in place of legs. You can feel yourself overheating from the bundle of clothes surrounding you, but you’re determined to make this look good and ensure that Astarion understands that this is lovely.

After your exertions, you stop moving for a bit, just laying there in the impression of your snow celestial. Astarion, who’s likely been watching you this entire time, calls out, “Are you alright, dear?”

You raise your hand into a gloved thumbs up.

“Do you need help getting up?”

“Mhhhmmmm,” you groan into the snow. Your nose is starting to get cold and your sweat is chilling over.

“Alright then,” he responds, and you feel his legs carefully step around you, his arms tugging you onto your back and hoisting you up. Once you’re on your feet, your lover frowns at you and begins dusting you off with determination. “Darling, look at you. You’re going to get soaked to the bone with how much snow you’re covered in.”

“And whose fault is that?” you grumble at him.

“Yours, for insisting on the snow celestial,” he retorts, flicking your nose with his index finger.

That reminds you– You look down at your imprint in the snow, see what all of this unpleasant combination of cold and sweat got you. It’s a little lopsided, and both your and Astarion’s boots have left several footprints in the center, but it’s a solid attempt.

Brimming with pride at your work, you look to Astarion. “See? Look at how radiant my celestial looks.”

Astarion takes a look as well, and you can see the stifled laughter begging to come out.

“Don’t you dare laugh,” you say, pointing a stern finger at him.

He promptly defies you, as a hearty chuckle escapes him. “Sorry, dearest, but the hat you’re wearing makes it look like some kind of beholder.”

You look down to see that the tassels to your hat must have flung around as you moved, creating a crown of what could really only be described as eyestalks. “Well then. A snow aberration. I’m not picky,” you respond with a shrug.

Astarion smiles at you, open affection coloring his gaze, before he pulls you into a wide hug. “Fantastic work, love. Your talent is unmatched. And maybe– just maybe– it was worth all of the effort.”

You lean into him and his praise and say, “I suppose I should thank you for making sure I stayed warm.”

“Oh no need,” he says, squeezing you tightly. “Seeing you look like a large marshmallow is truly its own reward.” He drops his voice an octave and adds, “And somehow you still manage to look utterly enticing.”

You can barely feel his movements through the layers between you, so when he abruptly begins dragging you back to the house you give a surprised yelp. “What are you doing?”

“Your snow creature is done, now comes my favorite part– taking all of these layers off,” you catch Astarion’s quick wink before you’re ungracefully pulled after him.

There’s snow between your scarves, your toes have begun to chill, and fresh new snow is falling on your face, but somehow his words still warm you. “Was this your plan all along?”

“Naturally, my love. You know I would do anything to keep you warm,” his tone is innocent, the lidded eyes he gives you anything but. He must catch the flush covering your face because he laughs a melodic trill. “I’m starting to think I quite like wintertime.”

#bg3holidayfluffle23 #astarion x tav #astarion #rogue + rogue #astarion x reader #fanfic #fluff

[enthyrea]

"well, look what we have here. welcome aboard, princess."

a macheresin pirate x prince au that has completely taken over my life. (@salemfrogtrials i blame you)

jake's the captain of the hidden dagger, one of the kingdom's most prolific pirate crews. he's cocky and arrogant and doesn't let anyone get close to him. javy is the crown prince, sheltered from birth and knowing nothing about the world. he runs away one day and gets kidnapped by jake's crew, who are ecstatic to have the prince as ransom. except, they quickly realize that using the prince as a bargaining chip won't work, and javy actually wants to stay.

jake decides to let the prince stay. and of course, they fall in love.

javy learns what it's like to be loved for who you are, not who you're expected to be; jake learns what it's like to be loved despite who you and others think you are.

(natasha is javy's knight who is leading the charge to rescue him. reuben and mickey are part of her crew. the rest of the daggers are a part of jake's crew.)

if you want to hear about the choices behind my designs ↓

jake: long hair and a beard because pirate lol, he's got fancy belts and necklaces and earrings and keeps a sword on him. he's got green on him bc he deviates slightly from your typical pirate color scheme, reflecting how despite his appearance, he is, in fact, a green flag. lol.

javy: his main color is purple because it reflects royalty. on his prince outfit, the orange represents rebellion as its his favorite color and a part of his individuality. he doesn't have his piercings or eyebrow slit before he runs away, but after he joins jake he does (probably a swordfight for the eyebrow). also. he's wearing jake's little belt tassel (the green one) after he becomes a proper pirate and jake gives it to him. he gets jewelry BUT he keeps the purple on his design because he's still a royal after all.

javy’s got white pants and jake has dark pants, and javy’s got a dark top while jake’s is white. it's a representation of their experiences being essentially opposites. HOWEVER they do share the same gold-orange color throughout their design- both on the bottom of their shoes, both on the jewel they wear (javy’s under his collar and jake’s on his belt). jake’s green sashes are closer to yellow on the color wheel which makes it more complementary to javy’s purple. over time, javy slowly gains bits and pieces of jake’s design and vice versa- specifically javy gets jake’s green and jake gets javy’s orange. javy wears dark pants like jake while jake starts wearing dark tops. essentially over time their color choices begin to match each other but they still keep individuality.

okay sorry ramble over. i will be returning to this. please enjoy!

#enthyrea art #macheresin #seriously this has taken over my life #the first piece is like. the fastest i've ever pumped out a fully rendered piece #jake: hiii your highness <3 you're our prisoner now #javy: oh fuck he's hot #have to hold myself back from just. writing 100k words of this AU #mickey and i have literally written this entire thing out already basically #if you see any more pirates from me no you dont (yes you do) #au: pirates #top gun fanart #top gun #top gun maverick #jake hangman seresin #javy coyote machado #coyote machado #hangman seresin #hangman x coyote #hangote #top gun hangman #top gun coyote #character design #pirate AU

[lindwurmkai]

hey, have you heard that pillowfort has ✨ drafts ✨ now? (as in, the ability to save your posts as drafts.) they're still working on the queue feature (update: it's done!), but drafts are a big step forward!

in case you missed it so far, pillowfort is like a cross between tumblr and dreamwidth/livejournal, with a simplified dashboard reminiscent of old school tumblr and some classic livejournal features such as communities, threaded comments, and the ability to make individual posts followers-only or mutuals-only.

what are communities? basically, central hubs for posts about any subject you want that, unlike hashtags, can be moderated. they may have rules, such as "[subject matter] must be tagged" for example. you can post directly to a community or reblog existing posts to it!

since the site is currently experiencing some financial trouble, i thought i'd help out by spreading the word once again.

edit: the fundraiser was a success! crisis averted! i knew we could do it :D

why you should give pillowfort a chance:

no ads

no venture capitalist funding

no spying on the users

completely free to use except for optional premium features

nsfw is allowed except for sexual depictions of minors. if you're unsure what exactly that means, their tos may help

communities and the privacy controls mentioned above are excellent features

great community, low drama compared to other websites (so far)

the site's features themselves encourage genuine connection and good-faith conversation over endless "discourse"

every blog can automatically be filtered by original posts only or reblogs only

reasons not to join:

if you enjoy algorithmic social media. there is no algorithm at all

if you want to post or look at machine-generated art. they're still finalising the wording and personally i hope some exception will be made for models trained on ethically sourced images, but basically an anti-AI rule is in the works (update: finished!)

if you cannot live without reblog additions (reblogging with comment). all discussions on a pillowfort post take place in the comments section, and only your own followers see your tags. this has its pros and cons for sure! a similar feature to scratch that itch may be implemented in the future, but it will never be exactly like on tumblr.

if you need everything to be an app. the website works fine in a mobile browser and a progressive web app will hopefully be released soon (basically it's like an app in your browser and on mobile these can be added to the homescreen like real apps i think? they have push notifications!), but there's not going to be a native app available through official app stores due to the restrictions of those stores.

other factors to consider:

yes, the userbase is still small. depending on your interests, activity may be very slow. but we can change that! and on the plus side, reblogging your post to a community is a good way to easily get more eyes on it; way more effective than simply adding tags imo

the site culture is a bit different than on tumblr. many people read everything that's been posted since the last time they were online and don't follow more users/communities than they can keep up with. it's still somewhat lacking in shitposts and heavy on "essays" but don't be afraid to post whatever 😅

there are no blog themes like we have them on tumblr as yet, but you can customise your blog's colours and use html/insert links and images in your blog description

likes literally do nothing except to let OP know you enjoyed their post. you can't look at a list of all your likes. beware!

the staff is small and development is slow. some highly anticipated planned features other than the aforementioned queue include: - multi-account management - dashboard filters/reading lists - post bookmarking (since likes don't work that way) but we don't know how soon any of those will be implemented.

there is a user-developed browser extension (well, a userscript) called tassel available that adds additional features much like tumblr's beloved xkit :)

✨ okay, so how do i sign up? ✨

if you're interested but confused by the sign-up process or still under the impression that you need to pay to sign up (false), i'll put some clarifications and invite codes under the read more below. plus a note on donating, premium features, the paypal issue etc.

in a nutshell:

it's free

signing up without an invite code is possible, but you may have to wait a short while - supposedly less than an hour atm. just submit your email to the waitlist

if you don't feel like waiting, you can either use an invite code from an existing user or pay $5 to sign up instantly

every user gets plenty of invite codes and we're all willing to hand them out at the drop of a hat. they're really not hard to come by

some invites to get you started (just click the link):

invite 1 ▪ invite 2 ▪ invite 3 ▪ invite 4 ▪ invite 5

invite 6 ▪ invite 7 ▪ invite 8 ▪ invite 9 ▪ invite 10

invite 11 ▪ invite 12 ▪ invite 13 ▪ invite 14 ▪ invite 15

invite 16 ▪ invite 17 ▪ invite 18 ▪ invite 19 ▪ invite 20

i'll try to periodically check if any have been used and cross those out.

...paypal issue?

ok so paypal doesn't like working with sites that allow nsfw. as a result, you need a credit card in order to donate to pillowfort, buy one of those insta-registration keys, or subscribe to premium features*. i personally happen to have a credit card and would be willing to help out anyone who trusts me enough to send the money to me via paypal, but i realise chances are only my friends will do this.

some users are currently organising various activities for the purpose of letting people who only have paypal contribute to the site's survival. it's not super relevant for new users and won't get you access to premium features, but i thought i'd mention it anyway in case someone loves the concept of the site so much they want to support it immediately. a fundraising community has been created to collect posts of that nature!

*premium features are strictly limited to two categories of things:

fun little extras that no one truly needs

higher image upload limits, because obviously big images take up bandwidth and are therefore a reason for increased costs

you will never need to pay for vital accessibility features or anything of the sort. :)

#join us join us join us #my art got so many more notes over there #pillowfort #pillowfort social #social media #tumblr alternatives #;

[lonewolfwriting89]

SLAVE FOR YOU

Simon Riley x Reader

Warnings: NSFW. Smut. Oral.

A/N: Here’s a longer smutty drabble whilst I finish up my Simon Riley one shot for you all xoxo

————

Simon’s trapped, immobile as if he was chained, knowing if he dares to move, the dream will end. This powerful man, so used to command, submitted to let his body be used by you and your burning desire. For this night, he is your slave.

You moved carefully over his body, so close he could feel the heat from your skin, but carefully not touching except for an occasional brushed contact that sent shock waves through him. You kept sliding up until your smooth, silken thighs straddled his head and the perfume of your sex filled his head.

You lowered your hips and Simon’s tongue reached up to gather a taste of the honey from between your soaked folds. You trembled and sighed at his touch. He continued, running his tongue the length of your slit, teasing inside, moving up to delicately circle your swollen clit. You mewled, feeling the euphoria flicker over your skin like flames. He began feasting on you more in earnest, aroused by your desire filled sighs and moans.

His tongue was everywhere but kept coming back to that throbbing little bud, flicking, swirling, sucking on it. The sounds you released sounded like a beautiful symphony. Simon moved one of his large hands up to your core, adding one finger and then two, the wet sounds causing his cock to swell. He slipped them inside to massage your g spot, as his tongue continued to tease your clit. You were gasping for air, shudders wracking your body. He had to use his other hand to hold your trembling body in place, desperate to keep you in place.

Then there is a suspended moment of taut stillness before you sailed over the precipice of your climax, crying out and curling your body over his head. He desperately wanted to grab you, throw you down on the tasselled cushions and thrust his aching cock into you until he exploded, but he knows he mustn't do that. Tonight he is the servant and you the master – taking what you wanted.

What you wanted is not so far away. It is wildly stiff and hard, straining towards you. He is so aroused that he knows it will be the challenge of his life to restrain his own climax until you are done with him. The terrifying lieutenant afraid of failing.

You moved down his body, trailing your fingertips lightly over him, tracing his lips, gently following the line of his jaw, exploring his neck and chest, circling his nipples. Your hand trailed lower, following the line of dark hair down his stomach. Lower. Soft as a desert breeze, your hand settled gently on his straining cock. It jumped violently beneath your hand but he somehow maintained control.

Your hand was like a curious animal, exploring the contours, the smooth skin for its own pleasure – not concerned about what Simon might be feeling, not trying to arouse. The hand takes its time, running the length of his hard shaft, dipping into the shining precum at the tip and spreading it lazily over the soft head, massaging his balls below and reaching further back to explore more of his sensitive skin. You moved up to grasp his shaft, squeezing and releasing pressure without sliding. He grew even harder. Your hunger began to rise again.

Holding Simon’s erection in your hand, oblivious to his precarious state, you moved it between your legs and used it to gently caress and massage your pussy. You rubbed the smooth head up and down your sopping slit, slipping it between the slick lips and pressing it to your clit. You sighed with pleasure and slowly. Very slowly. Began to lower your body, enveloping just the head in your hot, wet heat. You paused there, enjoying the feeling of just the first inches filling your entrance, moving up and down very slightly.

He fought for control. You continued to move up and down, taking a little more inside you on each stroke until there was nowhere left to go. You stopped there, keeping very still, savouring the feeling of being filled. For him, the sensation of being encased in your soft, warm pussy and yet having to remain still maddened him. His head buzzed and it only became more intense as he felt your muscles massage his cock. You moaned and sighed, lost in your own world of erotic pleasure, starting and stopping your movements, changing directions to suit your needs.

You began to move faster, passion building. Nerves swimming with pure electric. Sweat covered your skin like a silky sheen and your hair clung wetly to your face and neck. Still moving and grinding, you leant forward, bringing your breasts to his mouth. Simon greedily sucked them in one at a time, flicking the erect tips with his tongue, pulling on them with firm lips. You groaned loudly and he felt your climax, the waves of contractions gripping him so hard, your hot slick flowing onto him.

He could take no more. With a lion's roar he trapped you in his strong arms and flung you to the cushions below him. His hips ground urgently into you as you continued to spasm around his bursting cock. He had never felt so desperate with need. He wanted to draw it out. He wanted it never to end. But it's too much. He could feel his own climax building to a crest, the tightening, tingling moment of no return. And finally, with a moan torn from the depths of his being, he shot his seed into you, again and again, until there was no more left.

In the sudden quiet aftermath the only sound was your duel breathing. He gazed into your eyes and brushed the damp hair from your face. As your lips met in a lingering, tender kiss, he knew this was just the first of a thousand and one nights.

————

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader insert #simon riley x reader insert #simon riley x you #simon riley x fem!reader #simon riley imagine #simon ghost riley x fem!reader #simon ghost x reader

[girls-in-spring-heat]

Girl of the Month - April (Olivia Hye x Male Reader Smut)

** Pretend it's still April ;) **

Olivia Hye was next. The edgy girl of LOONA in charge of their coolness factor. Her unique lips and cold stare certainly dominated the hearts of many…

You walk into the studio, ready to begin the second day of shooting. The day would start with Olivia Hye, the final member of yyxy and the member who would be representing April in the calendar. She was going to arrive in a few hours, when you and the crew had finished preparing the set.

You wondered what the vibe would be like today, now that the first few members of LOONA had done their shoots and gone back to their dorm. Did Yves and Gowon share with the others that they'd had sex with you? Would Chuu feel offended because you hadn't with her? Most relevantly, how would the members scheduled to shoot today feel about coming in to shoot? Maybe they thought the entire shoot was an elaborate plan to have sex with K-pop idols, and they would feel awkward or uncomfortable with you.

Her face is unreadable as she arrives at the studio. You exchange polite greetings, and an assistant shows her to the dressing room. You make your way to the set and glance at the table full of props for the shoot. Many of the props were made of leather and studs, chosen for the BDSM theming of Olivia Hye's concept. She had been one of the easiest of the group to assign a theme to, her tough girl image fit perfectly with a dominatrix vibe.

She emerges from the dressing room a while later, dressed in a leather jacket over a black crop top. You had decided to start relatively tame. She steps in front of the camera and the cameraman takes the opening shots. Olivia Hye gives several poses, showing off her strong girl crush look. The fans would certainly like these pictures, but the sexual tones you were looking for were missing.

You call the first scene of the shoot to a premature end and many of the staff look at you quizzically. You ignore them and beckon Olivia Hye over to you. You tell her to meet you in the dressing room, staying behind for a moment to collect a few items from the props table.

You join her in the dressing room, the room is empty except for the two of you.

"Are you nervous?" you ask, and her façade drops immediately.

"Yes, very," she admits shyly, dropping her gaze to the floor. "My unnies told me what happened during their shoots and I was up all night worrying about what would happen during mine."

"What can I do to ease your nerves?" you ask.

"Didn't you bring me back here to fuck me?" she asks bluntly, causing you to start in surprise. She notices and chuckles at you. "That's what you did with Sooyoung-unnie when she was nervous."

She steps closer to you and puts her hands on your face. You make brief eye contact before she shuts hers and brings her triangular lips up to yours. You spend a minute in heaven, making out with Olivia Hye as she gropes your crotch and you fondle her cleavage. Eventually, you break the kiss and pull off her jacket. The crop top comes off quickly after, completely exposing her breasts.

Olivia Hye shakes her shoulders slightly, causing her boobs to jiggle. You can see the anticipation in her eyes, but you disappoint her as you turn and picked up a pair of nipple pasties with tassels you had grabbed from the props table. You stick the pastie parts over her perky nipples and run your finger around the edges to make sure they stay on.

Wordlessly, you sink to your knees and begin to pull off her pants, revealing her juicy thighs, and to your mild surprise her unclothed pussy. She steps out of her pants, and you begin to kiss her inner thigh, slowly kissing your way toward her beckoning folds. Just before reaching them you stand up again to grab another piece of her second outfit for the shoot. She groans impatiently as you hand her a tight leather bodysuit.

The bodysuit did not leave much to the imagination, the lower part exposing her hips and barely covering her womanhood in the front, while only a thin strip ran between her buttocks from behind. The rest of the bodysuit covered her abs, but completely exposed her tasseled breasts, ending in two straps that slung over her shoulders and connected with the one that ran along her butt.

To complete the look, you gave her knee-high heeled leather boots, as well as a masquerade mask over her eyes. You take a step back and admire the view. This wasn't normally your thing, but you couldn't deny Olivia Hye looked really sexy in this getup.

Satisfied, you lead her back to the set. The crew members stare at her in awe when they see her. Thanks to you she was now confident and horny - perfect for the concept.

She aces the first few shots, her trademark cold stare from beneath the mask felt like it could almost shatter the camera lens. She turns around, twisting her upper body back to show her ass off to the camera while looking into it. You motion to her to bend over and she obliges, the pose tightening the strip of the the bodysuit that ran over her ass, pulling it in between her cheeks.

You have a crew member hand her a long black whip with tassels on its end. She tries her best to make it crack, but isn't successful. Instead, you have her brandish it for the camera for a few shots and then clench the whip between her teeth. She finishes the whip segment with a few shots of her licking along the length of the whip erotically.

For the next part, the camera needed to be removed from the mount, so there was a small break while the crew made preparations. You took the opportunity to check up on Olivia Hye.

"Still nervous?" you ask.

"Do I look nervous?" she replied sarcastically, her eyes behind the mask a mixture of lust and playfulness. It was hard to keep your eyes on hers though, with so much of her voluptuous body exposed. You were particularly drawn to her exposed breasts, nipples covered only by tassels. She noticed, and as you answered the rhetorical question with only a teasing smile and turned to leave, she flicked the whip playfully at you, the tassels smacking lightly against your butt.

The next set of shots would be taken with the camera nearly at floor level at an inclined angle - to make Olivia Hye appear larger and more dominant. The cameraman was lying on his back with Olivia Hye posing with the whip again, looking down into his camera. Every few shots or so, you had her take a step forward until eventually she was standing over his legs. You liked the POV look of the shot, and had her do many poses from that angle.

It wasn't in the original plans, but you liked the POV concept so you had Olivia Hye get on her knees with the cameraman's legs between them. She shows off her breasts with these poses, pushing them together with her biceps. The change in the shape of her breasts causes a corner of each of the adhesive stickers on her nipples to come off. She grabs the tassels and rips the rest of the stickers off, exposing her nipples to the camera for the first time.

I should have paid the premium for the tassels with the extra sticky adhesive, you thought to yourself, not actually regretting it one bit.

Olivia Hye crawls on her hands and knees toward the camera, the wolf girl showing a feline grace. She stops over the cameraman's crotch and then sits on it in a kind of (barely) clothed cowgirl position. The cameraman becomes extremely flustered, and his face turns red. He motions for you to call for a cut. You do so and Olivia Hye gets off him and helps him up. He apologizes for disrupting the shoot, and bows several times nervously. You notice a dark spot on the crotch of his pants. You dismiss him for the next part of the shoot, and he bows again thankfully and heads off toward the bathrooms.

You pick up the camera, get on your back and call for the shoot to resume. Olivia Hye straddles you this time and removes her mask, showing the whole of her pretty face. You get more shots of her in mock cowgirl and also some of her leaning directly over the camera, bare titties dangling and smothering the camera.

She unbuttons your pants, pulls them off, and slips your cock through the hole in the front of your underwear. She kisses it and teases the tip with her finger, making eye contact with you through the camera you're holding. She runs her hand gently up and down the length of your shaft, coaxing you to full mast.

She pulls your underwear down too, your erect penis swinging back forth from the momentum. She smiles at the sight, flicking it to make it wiggle a couple more times. Olivia Hye parts her triangular lips and takes half your length into her mouth. You close your eyes in pleasure as she slowly takes more and more of you into her wet, warm heaven. She gags a little before she is able to reach the end, the vibrations sending ripples of pleasure down your shaft. She runs her mouth up your cock until just the tip was in her mouth, and then she started down a little faster.

She went up and down, up and down, faster and faster, until you could feel your peak coming. Your stamina had reset overnight from the first day of shooting. Your body started to stiffen in anticipation of climax, and Olivia Hye felt it. Just as you felt your cum begin to enter the base of your shaft, she suddenly stopped and spat your dick out of her mouth.

"What the hell?" you exclaimed before you could stop yourself. You had never been edged so hard before in your life.

"You cum when I say you can cum," she said straight-faced and monotonously, yet so sultrily at the same time. She had really gotten into this character. You couldn't lie to yourself, it was damn sexy.

You resign yourself to her domination and focus on framing her well with the camera as she stand over your head. She slides the lower part of the bodysuit over, exposing her pussy to the camera underneath. You zoomed in and tried to get it to focus properly when a stream of liquid hit the lens and completely blurred the shot. You took your eyes away from the camera screen and immediately got a faceful yourself. Some got in your mouth and you knew immediately it was piss. If you had to be pissed on by anyone, it may as well be Olivia Hye.

When the stream ended, you had just enough time to wipe it off of your face before she sat down on it and suffocated you with her pussy. She started grinding it into your face as you stuck your tongue out flicked it along her folds, gasping for air through your mouth when she let you. This continued for several minutes before she mercifully removed herself from your face. You sat up and caught your breath for a few seconds.

She pushed you, not so gently, back down and took you in between her legs, rocking back and forth in a real cowgirl position this time. After acclimatizing her sex to yours, she began to fuck herself on you roughly, chasing her orgasm. At her aggressive pace, it wasn't long before she was screaming in pleasure, her voice cracking as her cum leaked down your shaft and pooled there.

She was shaking as she came down from that peak, and you used the opportunity to put the camera aside, sit up, wrap your arms around her and wrestle her to the bottom. As she was lying on the cold, hard studio floor, you got on top of her and began to fuck her as hard as she had fucked you. Olivia Hye was immediately submissive, her orgasm washing away all of the dominatrix character she had been putting on.

Her ample breasts jiggled in time with your quick, rough thrusts. You brought her to the edge of orgasm again and her nails dug into your back as she grabbed you to steady herself through the second climax. The contracting of her pussy during the orgasm sent you over the edge, and once more you could feel the cum begin to work its way up your shaft. You pulled out just in time to cum all over her gorgeous face without any extra strokes. After you had spent yourself, Olivia Hye's face looked like three different men had cum on her instead of just one.

That's what she gets for edging me you thought to yourself with a smirk as you wiped off what she hadn't licked up and swallowed.

The first shoot of the second day had gone well. You surveyed the set as a crew member mopped up the puddles of piss and cum. You only saw one of the nipple tassels on the floor that Olivia Hye had been wearing, the other one was nowhere to be seen. You headed to the bathroom to wash your face and prepare for the next shoot.

Yeojin was next. Although she was the youngest and smallest member of the group, she certainly wasn't the most innocent...

#kpop smut #kpop fanfic #loona smut #olivia hye smut #male reader #girl group #kpop #lussemble smut #loossemble smut

[bm-blog01]

My number one favourite Kate Look: The Peacock Pelisse

And now we are my number one favourite Kate look.  Some managed to guess which one it was, so well done!  

I have loved this look from the moment I first saw it.  I think that Kate looks every inch the Viscountess (not that she doesn't any other time) in this look, and it is an iconic Kate look.  Within season 2 this look was seen at the beginning of episode 5 when the Sharmas, and Anthony, met with the Queen.  

The dress was previously worn by Kate on the Sharmas arrival at Aubrey Hall where it was paired with a Pashmina shawl, blue gloves and different jewellery to what we see in episode 5, and the promotional material.  The dress itself is a bright teal green with a sheer blue overlay, it is relatively unadorned with the exception of some blue stripes adding interest on the bodice, and the sleeves which have a button detail from the bottom of the sleeve to the top at the shoulder, where the sleeves are slightly puffed.  

What makes this look so stunning is the lighter teal green pelisse over the dress, made of velvet with peacock motifs in gold and a lighter teal colour.  The pattern is detailed all over the pelisse to give a stunning look to the garment.  The pelisse is held together in the front with a gold brooch inlaid with a teal coloured stone.  The pattern of the gold filagree appears to reflect the pattern details on her pelisse, and lends a delicacy to the brooch.  

The dress and Pelisse is paired with matching jewellery, teal gloves and a teal and black fan with a teal coloured tassel. Kate's necklace is gold filagree detail and alternating teal stones joined by a gold chain, that match with the brooch fastening her pelisse, her earrings are gold filagree and teal stone drops. 

Kate's hair is in an updo, featuring her signature plaits (braids), and has some loose tendrils framing her face.  She has one simple hair accessory that appears to be similar to the brooch on her pelisse, but only a half size of it. 

Overall this look is one that is regal and majestic, and the dress and Pelisse can be very dramatic as Kate moves, something that was underutilised in the show, but shown to perfection in one of the promotional shorts. 

It is disappointing that there is not more information about this look from the costume designer as it is such an iconic look for Kate. 

Thank you all for reading about some of my favourite Kate looks, next week I will look at the top 5 of the rest.  There were so many great looks for Kate in season 2 that I did find this a more difficult exercise than I thought it would be, I am looking forward to seeing her looks for season 3.  

#kate sharma #bridgerton season 2 #bridgerton

[glazelilyy]

before the roar of thunder

pairings (separately!) - diluc ragnvindr, kaeya alberich, childe/tartaglia, xiao x gender neutral reader (no pronouns used!)

word count - 4597

genre - angst, hurt/comfort

format - drabbles

warnings - blood/injury/wound mentions, cataclysmic destruction, violence, crying, kissing, character deaths with no graphic description (but not for the paired character or reader EXCEPT in childe's)

summary - a storm approaches but just before it does, you share a tender moment with your beloved for the last time

a/n - i have been mia for a while :') but this idea just kinda hit me out of nowhere so i decided to write about it :P i don't know if this writing will live up to expectations or any of my work from the past because i haven't written in a while but i'm trying to enjoy writing just because i like it rather than to live up to an expectation, so i'm gonna try and do my best :) i hope you enjoy this piece and thank you all so much for your patience and love these past few months i could not be more grateful that i am being interacted with and sent such wonderful messages <3 (also fun fact i listened to multiple vbs songs while writing most of this which just doesn't fit in with anything happening in these drabbles and majority of the time i had akito rapping in my ear while writing about death LMAO)

diluc loved.

he loved his city, born from the death of corruption and nurtured by the souls and free spirits of her people. he loved the crisp breeze that swept by falcon coast and cradled its peak in a bough of brevity where his worries would fly away and cast themselves up into the sky to become stars. he loved the shade from beneath the towering tree at windrise where memories of summers and picnics and childhood mischief came alight with a single glance towards her wavering leaves. he loved the cool touch of a crystalfly's perch upon his gloved finger.

he loved his companions; silently from afar he'd send well wishes in quiet messages meant only for their hands to caress or ears to indulge. he loved lisa; lazy as she might appear not once had she ever let him down. he loved jean: hardworking, disciplined, strong, courageous, but for every pedestal she was placed on was she ever more human—flesh and blood with a heart that pounded for others and never herself. he loved kaeya—his beloved little brother who always preferred the cool shade of his shadow and shielded his back from the many blades that sought his head.

he loved you. you who brought light with gentle hands and placed it within his heart. you who illuminated the dark, winding pathway of justice he thought he'd walk alone forever. you who showed him trust, who knew how he liked his tea (sweet, for a man who was even sweeter). you, who braided cecilias into his hair and peppered kisses across his ruddy cheeks and doused him in all the sugary sweetness that love could ever provide.

diluc loved, and loved, and loved, tremendously.

and he still loved, even as mondstat burned in a storm of fire.

he still loved, even as he stood over lisa and jean whose eyes had lost their brilliance and sparkle of life.

he still loved, even as he wept for his little brother who had feared death and spent his remaining strength gripping onto the tassels of his jacket and begged for him to stay; to reassure him in his last moments.

he stayed, despite the agony that coursed through his body and the never-ending sorrow that scorched his heart when kaeya stilled.

he still loved, even as he gripped your hand with tenacity laced in his veins.

soot and ash coated both of your bodies and faces as you stood at the gates of mondstat and watched the world before you crumble beneath your feet.

diluc felt his heart bob up and down in the narrow passageway of his throat.

he was always too late.

too late for his city. too late for his friends. for his brother.

the love in his heart was never enough. he was never enough. and now everything was gone. burning.

never before had he despised looking at his vision so much.

"they'll be back," you whispered hoarsely, and diluc turned to look at you, "the abyss order."

your hand seemed to squeeze his with every ounce of strength you had left, eyes wide and trembling with the flickering flames of destruction reflected in the glassy haze of your irises. the fresh tear tracks on your face twisted his heart into a knot.

"i know," he replied, never once casting his gaze away from you, "i'm still alive, after all."

diluc would not tell you that he could smell the unmistakable stench of abyssal magic from over the horizon. he couldn't. you'd seen horror after horror and now was not the time to tell you that more bloodshed approached. the abyssal army approached slowly and steadily, and soon they would be here to have his head on a stick. there was no running, there was no use escaping the inevitable.

"diluc..." you turned to him, doll-like and devoid of life with a tremble of sorrow buried in the abyss in your expression, "what do we do?" you whispered to him, as if he contained secrets of the universe that should only be shared between the two of you.

wordlessly, he pulled you close and rubbed a soothing hand in gentle strokes up and down your back. his embrace guarded you from the inevitable end that slowly crouched closer, rising with newborn sun. gloved, soot-covered hands slid up to your cheeks to thumb away at the tears that collected near your eyes.

diluc's heart wrenched in his throat uncomfortably, knowing well and good that this may be the last tender moment he'll ever share with you.

to that end, he found himself asking, "would you care for a dance?"

the question came out broken and hoarse, just barely under a whisper and lost was the man who once held a burning flame of retribution and tenacious blaze of justice in his eyes. you peered into a pool of tired red, glossed over with a misty haze of sorrow.

wordlessly, you allowed him to guide your hands and let him set the tempo as you moved carefully to avoid the debris scattered at your feet.

you'd always joke that he was much like a prince when he danced; so elegant and refined with the composure of royalty itself, he spun and dipped you much like a silk ribbon weaving through the air.

this time, however, diluc held you close and swayed to an invisible song. no elegant movements or dips from your prince. now, he was but a man clinging to the last remnants of life in his soul; the only thing tethering him to this world.

your hearts wildly pounded against each other's chests, horribly out of sync yet still so tremendously close that you'd fuse together if you could.

as the sun rose and illuminated his once beloved city, home to the people he loved, diluc leaned in and captured your lips one last time in a kiss that touched your soul and wrapped your heart in a blazing warmth of flame.

his hand wrapped so tightly around your waist and held itself firm at the back of your head, desperate to drink every last drop of your love and desperate to not let your eyes open and see that the abyssal army had breached what was left of mondstat's defenses.

diluc loved, and loved, and he loved you more than life itself. but in the end his love was never enough.

(continued utc!)

once, at the tender age of five or six, kaeya alberich witnessed death for the first time.

he'd grown fond of the butterflies that fluttered near the crystal clear lake behind dawn winery. their vibrant colors were foreign and new and his childhood intrigue urged him to watch with glowing eyes at each flap of its multicolored wings.

it was on one of these days where he found himself in the presence of the gleaming scythe of death itself when a colossal frog leapt from the waters and captured a butterfly within its maw.

he'd never felt such fear, and he convinced himself he'd never feel that fear again.

he now realized he was wrong.

he felt it again when diluc screamed, a horrifying sound, for his fallen father and kaeya did not know how to handle the immensive wave of relief that flooded over him. he felt it when a fiery blade swung itself down against his eye and believed his punishment was nigh. he felt it now, as mondstat burned to the ground and the corpses of citizens, knights, and abyssal monsters alike littered the once love-filled, lively streets.

death had always followed him closely like a friend—like a lover, he corrected himself. its arms wrapped around his body and cooed sweet nothings to him. death trotted after him wherever he went.

perhaps he should've gave into its embrace. maybe if he had, death wouldn't have found a lover in his home and snuffed the life and vivacity out of every mondstatian and every building within the city's walls. death would not have sunk its claws into jean, who took the abyssal army's leader with her when she pounded at the gates of celestia. or lisa and albedo, who fought at the western front for days on end only to succumb to the overwhelming onslaught of enemies with not enough manpower. what a shame, kaeya thought; he was rather looking forward to his daily midnight tea session with lisa and bothering albedo during his experiments. in some other universe, he is there and he is happy.

he loathed to think of it, but death had latched its talons into the flesh of little klee. a child was no exception to this hoard of monsters, but was the monster not truly him for failing them all? he wondered as he held her cold body close and wept.

death had always followed him but kaeya came to the conclusion that he was the one who truly wielded death. where he went, bodies dropped and lives fell into ruin. his prime example: his brother, who now lay at his feet with a sword through his back. a sword through his back, he seethed, because his attackers were so cowardly that they knew this uncrowned king would not go down so easy. it filled kaeya with an ugly rage that blotted out the tears in his eye. his shirt remained caked in diluc's blood from when the man brought him into a hug as he dangled at death's edge and whispered apology after apology into his ear.

always caught between the worlds of the blessed and the sinned, kaeya believed that he had grown quick enough to outmaneuver fate itself. but death remained steadfast and tenacious.

death was his lover and he was doomed to dance an everlasting tango so long as he lived. if not for him, the imposter in an aviary full of beautiful, golden-winged seabirds, perhaps the abyssal army would have left mondstat alone. jean would be here, ready to give him an earful for getting carried away with all the scars littering his body. albedo would chide him as he dressed his wounds while klee went on about another dodoco story while her little legs swung back and forth in the air. lisa would hand him a cup of tea and enjoy his company in silence. diluc...oh diluc, all the things he wished to tell his brother.

the only problem in his death theory was you.

you were still here.

you held him close as he wept for his beloved friends, for the little girl who always called him big brother, and for his beloved most treasured big brother whose fiery hair blazed no more.

how were you still here? was death not his lover? did he not bring death and sorrow wherever he went?

but if anything you were life. in your hands he renewed himself again, much like a butterfly unfurling its wings after cocooning for so long. warm smiles and fluttering kisses always greeted him after a long day's work. even now, as you wept beside him for your fallen friends, you remained his last thread of life keeping him tethered to this world.

"everyone's dead." you whispered from the crook of his neck as you both sat on the dust covered ground where the statue of barbatos once stood, mighty and proud.

"i'm sorry." he pleaded in return.

you shot your head up, bewildered and...offended.

"it's not- it's not your fault!"

kaeya laughed dryly, "oh, darling, you know it is."

death was his lover and he was succumbing to it. death was his lover and he drank in each of its poisonous kisses and sneaky touches.

you wasted no time in bringing him close, effectively delaying off death for a while longer. "it. is. not. your. fault."

"they'd be elsewhere if not for me-"

"mondstat would have fallen a lot quicker without you, kaeya," you interrupted, "you are no harbinger or vessel of death. you protected this city and its people with your life."

how did you always know what to say? perhaps you were an archon—that would be funny, wouldn't it? a sinner and an archon in love. kaeya wanted to laugh at the thought of it but all that left his lips was a broken whine that slid into a muffled sob. you were there to catch him as he fell into the overwhelming onslaught of sorrow that flickered around him much like the distant flames of burning houses and crinkle of crackling wood and stone.

"it should have been me." he croaked.

you shook your head and swept away the locks that clung to his sweaty forehead. "if it were ever you, i would go as well."

his heart ached in the cavity of his chest, eager to run away from this all. but he lay tired in your arms as you peppered kisses to his skin. even as you sunk to the ground on your side and gathered him in your arms, all he felt was the overwhelming tide wash over him.

death was not his lover, you were. and you were life. he loved living with you and with his beloved friends and comrades.

he lay beside you and kissed every inch of your face, covering you in his love. he cared not for the distant roar of abyssal mages and monsters anymore, not when he held life itself within his arms. life who kissed him back with just as much love and sweet tenderness that set his heart alight.

on this day, two butterflies sat perched on a perfect calla lily, waiting for the inevitable end of a frog's maw; their hearts and souls forever intertwined.

childe can't remember many of his dreams, but there is one he's clung onto for years.

he is in a soft bank of snow, surrounded by his darling siblings and cherished parents. his father does not look at him as if he's seen a beast dredged up from the darkest of nightmares. the world around him is pure and crafted of childhood dreams: there is no evil and there is no heart ache.

you are there and you are smiling at him, waiting for him with open arms.

this has remained but a mere dream of his for a reason.

in reality, there was only the cold, concrete ground of the fatui jail cell and dry, underground air that left him suffocating. slivers of eerie, ghostly blue light trickled in from the false candles that lined the underground jail. the rust-caked iron bars bathed reluctantly in the ghastly glow.

his eyes flickered up to the ceiling, hoping to make out shapes or cracks within the foundation. just give me some hope, archons if you're listening—please! but the gods stayed silent and the ceiling remained unchanged.

his vision and delusion had been stripped, weapons all but ripped from his hands. there was no hope left. childe let his gaze wander to you.

you lay in the cell across, face down, unconscious after taking the butt of a fatui gun to the nape. how cruel—to involve the lover of a scorned harbinger. for the god of love the tsaritsa was awfully sadistic. no matter how much he struggled and screamed that you should not bear the burden of his crimes it did nothing but urge the fatui to get their hands on you even more urgently.

childe wishes that he had accepted reality—wishes that he had never tried to desert from the fatui. steal away under the cover of night with you in hooded cloaks and cross the snezhnayan border for a life free of misery and a life where it'd be you and him together.

as much as the fatui have given him power, you have given him strength and courage and hope and love. there was no place for childe among the fatui, not when he wanted his place to be by your side. to feel your love each and every day and wake up to your smile.

you stirred from your cell, snapping childe from his thoughts. his hands snatched themselves at the bars, eyes blown wide and searching for signs that you were okay.

"hmmn...childe? where...where are we?"

his heart ached tremendously and beat against the skin of his throat.

"jail." he whispered.

"what?! but...but we were just about to cross the border when-"

"when we were caught by pulcinella's men," childe finished, "and brought here. i've been charged with desertion and my punishment is at sunrise."

childe hated seeing you feel anything but happiness—anything but love and the sunshine of emotions that you deserved to experience. he failed you when tears gathered in your eyes.

"but the punishment for desertion..."

childe smiled with eyes that swam in a sea of sorrow, "execution." he finished.

you lifted yourself up onto your forearms and dragged your semi-awake body to the edge of the jail cell. between each cell lay a narrow path, where you desperately reached your hand out to the other side. the tears that had gathered in your eyes streaked their way down in hazes across your cheeks as you suppressed your sobs and whines. your fingers shook with everything within you as you stretched and reached out to him, this beautiful, golden man whose wings would be clipped at sunrise.

childe scrambled to shove his hand past the bars and reach your hand. he only managed to grab onto the tips of your fingers but it was enough for him. you were in his grasp, it was enough for him.

he was thankful his family would not have to bear the brunt of his desertion, he should really thank mister zhongli for sneaking them out of the country into liyue. he regrets not having you go along with his family, but you insisted on going with him. it's his fault you were in jail.

reality was far too cruel.

"you'll escape, right? you've always got a plan." you pleaded between heaving breaths.

childe weakly laughed from an ugly, hopeless place.

he wished to make all your dreams come true, protect all your wishes and hold your smiles and laughter close like a warm trinket tied around his neck. anything but this ceaseless crying and sorrow that he felt slither from your heart through your arm and into your connected hands.

"come now, no tears, sunshine. you know i'll be okay, i'll figure something out." childe cooed, though he knew better. oh, lord, these lies would swallow him whole, but it is fated.

"do you promise?" you whispered brokenly.

his heart screamed at him not to do it, conscience pounding at the doors of self control in his mind. but childe was a protector of dreams and happiness.

a lean, scar riddled pinky looped in your own, holding tight to the invisible promise that linked the two of you. "i'll keep it all my life."

"if you break it i'll throw you on the ice myself."

the warbled smile on your face was enough. your watery eyes and tender touch gave him light that was not reminiscent of death like the flickering blue candles that lined the jail.

"of course. i'll owe you a duel as well. do you think you'll best me this time?"

you scoffed and tugged on his fingers, "of course i will, so you have to stay alive for me to beat you."

"well, i can't ignore orders from the top now can i?" he joked and reveled in the muted laugh that bubbled past your lips.

even in the bleakest of moments you gave him hope, like a light shining in a sea of never ending darkness.

"you'll always have me, no matter where i am. i promise you i won't let them hurt you." he whispered, and unlike that last promise, he meant it.

you held his hand until the guards came and even as you screamed and pleaded and cried with all your heart for him to stay, there was some morbid part of childe that was glad he got to hold your hand for the last time. he called out his declarations of love one last time as he fought against the grip of the guards and shoved his hands through your jailcell bars to cup to face and swipe away your tears. agony coursed through his veins as the guards ripped him from your grip and your fingers slipped through his hands like the sands of an hourglass. the last picture of your face would be one of horror and tear-stricken as the guards dragged him off. he whispered your name and as it rolled off his tongue it left in its wake a taste of sunshine and mirth.

i love you, more than anything in this world. more than power and glory and all the temptations of this world. you are my dream.

as he kneeled before the tsaritsa in handcuffs and chains nailed to the floor with her hand raised to deal the strike of death upon him, he smiled once more at the dream he cherished.

he is safe, and warm, and everyone he loves knows no sorrow.

though he promised to protect that dream, he knows his tongue will freeze over so that he may never spew lies again.

for as long as he's lived, xiao has prepared himself extensively for only a single thing: his death.

it wasn't a matter of sorting out the wares and material items he didn't own—such things weren't of importance to an adeptus like himself. rather, it was the acceptance of death itself. he was no stranger to this cloaked figure of fear that knocked on its hosts doors or barged in uninvited. blood covered his hands, dripped down the slope of his jaw and pooled at his feet. death invaded every crevice of his life much like a persistent parasite that sought to drive him to the brink of madness and back again. but it was familiar and offered a morbid sense of comfort.

as far as he could ever consider, xiao had waited for death for as long as he'd known the stars to dot the sky.

those same stars flickered down back at him, almost pitifully, as the ground shook with tremors that made the grass come alive and dance a morbid waltz of terror. crimson smoke painted the sky and blotted out the overhead glow of the stars. screams cried out in the distance and clashed with the sounds of blades and battle cries and war horns to produce a macabre melody that twisted a knot in his stomach.

fading bodies of monsters lay at his feet, numbers in the dozens. his breath caught in his throat, desperate to retreat yet needing to escape. he clenched his blood-bathed spear, fingers curling taut around the metal to cling to the last shred of hope he could muster.

his eyes flickered up to you, who mimicked his breathless, tired disposition as a mitachurl fell at your feet. your weapon clattered to the ground, your knees following shortly after.

xiao raced to your side in a blip, quick to grip your forearms before you could hit the ground. his polearm laid abandoned where he once stood, now its final resting place. his arms were now full of you and eyes clouded in worry. exhaustion crept its way onto your face and it was then he knew: hope was all lost.

the abyssal armies and undead, ancient gods raged onwards in the distance, they harrowing sounds a mere whisper in comparison to the loud thundering beat of your heart against his body.

reluctant as he was to touch you for fear of his karmic debt, xiao found himself hesitant to let go. for you to slip through his fingers and the fear of never allowing his fingers to trace the slopes and edges of your face invaded him like an intruder. your arms reciprocated and slid around his shoulders as a silent plea. this madness would never end, let's stop. you seemed to cry out.

perhaps this was the very moment he'd been preparing what felt like eons for. death crept its way around the corner, leaving war and destruction in its wake and its march to sink its fangs into both him and you was inevitable.

his knees buckled as you both sank to the grassy bed, bodies and limbs entangled and intertwined in a connection that seemed impossible to sever. as much as his conscience begged him to move and enact his long written duty, his body cried out a different tune, his heart a different dance altogether.

you shifted his body and laid his head on your lap, bracing yourself on a palm as your other hand worked to move the sticky strands of lush, forest-green locks from his sweat-covered forehead.

"rest, you've done well." you murmured with a gentleness in your eyes that made his stomach swim up to his throat and choked him ever so sweetly.

had he done enough? war raged on, lives devoured by the endless deluge of monsters and evil beings that sought death. his most reliable companion, death, would soon march up to his door and barge in with a demand for his head.

all the while, xiao believed that he was ready to embrace death. he pictured it perfectly: he'd meet his end in the midst of battle and his death would contribute towards a greater good. some would garner a chance to escape while the monsters gorged themselves on his death and feasted on his powers.

now, however, an unsettling sense of dread settled in his chest. the world around him burned and crashed and yet you remained intact, gently stroking his hair and humming a sweet song that you'd often coo to the birds on the railings of wangshu inn (and he loathed to look west and see the silhouette of a once towering, proud inn now toppled to the ground).

had he not readied himself for the one, singular thing that has been constant in his life? had he not witnessed enough to resolve the conflict that was life or death?

as he listened to the melody that fell from your lips with the world around him blotted out to nothing but you and him, he realized a truly frightening thing: he was not ready yet. death could not guarantee that you would be there to sit silently beside him on cool, summer nights and fold butterflies out of leaves or go crystalfly watching in the early mornings of spring. death would not ensure that he felt an uncomfortable yet welcoming warmth in his stomach when your eyes met his and a smile bloomed on your face (and though he'd never know how he should respond, you always seemed to somehow know how he felt).

he was not ready to be without you. a dreadful realization. he had failed at preparing himself for the one thing he knew was inevitable. but in this moment, as the world caved in and crumbled around you, he felt peace. his worn body lay tired and supplicant in your arms. once a weapon, now he found himself rusted and worn beyond repair left with only this beautiful longing in his heart to be filled with all of you. his eyes fluttered up to your visage and behind your kind eyes and warbling smile, the stars glimmered back down at him.

in these final moments, xiao wished to be nowhere else. with a heart so full of love, its wings unfurling and stretching high towards the sky where it'd soar on forever in an unmarked destination.

date published: january 30th, 2023

#genshin impact x reader #diluc x reader #kaeya x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #xiao x reader #genshin impact angst #TW: MCD #TW: blood #TW: death #works—☆

[thesovereignsring-if]

She hides it well, but there is a softness in her usually hard topaz gold eyes. There is a wistfulness to her and something else- something more vulnerable and precious.

Wordcount: 2.3k+

It's out! This monster that has consumed my life and every waking thought for the past few days. (T﹏T`) This started out as a funny and simple idea that ran away from me and that's how we got here. Honestly it's kind of spoilery and I honestly don't know if I'm releasing it too early or not, but I don't care!! Take this horrid plot bunny and enjoy it. I'll answer any questions to the best of my abilities without spoilers! It's angsty to me because I've been with these characters from the beginning, but I have no idea how you guys will take it lmaoo.

AO3 Link

Yearning

Nephilim Palace is easy to infiltrate if one knows her deepest secrets- and he knew all of them. The traveler spent a few of his boy years running through Nephilim’s hidden passageways. 

He’s dressed in a navy blue uniform with gold tassels, white trousers and brown boots. The standard issue attire for imperial officers. He had swiped the uniform years ago and still manages to fit into them today. Like all things in the empire- nothing changed. So no one had batted an eye when he slipped into the palace and joined the bustling rush of knights, officers and servants. It helps that his figure has not changed much over the years. He takes care of himself. 

The empress is in the gardens, which is strange for her. Maeve never had a love or interest in such frivolous things like flowers- well, except for standing next to them to enhance the beauty of the garden with her presence. She is vain in that way. But it was endearing. 

Today however, the traveller thinks that is not the case. Today, the gold tiara she typically wears is not sitting on her pretty head. 

Maeve is dressed in a simple white blouse and trousers. Her thick blonde hair is pulled up into a ponytail,reminiscent of her days as a Shield Maiden. It’s been five years since Maeve Nibel Astrea ascended the throne and during that time, that stylish chair with the fancy cushion had not softened her slender, but toned figure. In her fitting attire, the traveler could admire the hard curve of her biceps, the slope of her thighs- and, of course, her shapely, supple round ass. Yes, she was still every bit the warrior queen she was when they had first met. She takes care of herself too. 

She is leaning against a stone pillar draped in a swirling mess of vines with her back facing him. The traveller can tell she is fiddling with something in her hands and is getting frustrated, tapping the toe of her boot against the marble tiles incessantly. 

Curious, the traveler leans over her shoulder. 

“Aren’t you a bit too old to play with teddy bears?” He says. 

“Spite the Herald!” The empress jumps and swerves around to face him, slapping his chest at the sight of him. “Lugh!” Maeve rasps, looking absolutely winded and ravishing. “By the Light of the Alfather- what are you doing here?” 

Lugh shrugs his shoulders with a wolfish grin, “I got your missive a fortnight ago and decided to visit.” 

Maeve cocks a brow, “aren’t you supposed to be running your own kingdom, Lugh?” 

“Is that not what my wives are for?” 

“Last I recall, your job is to ensure they don’t kill each other.” 

“Well,they do get along when left alone in their own territories,” the king chuckles, “they can play nice for a full moon's turn…I think?” 

Maeve juts her hip out crossing her arms, “that sounds very reassuring, Lugh.” 

“Humor me, Maeve. I traveled all the way here by boat thinking you’d like a shoulder to lean on. Let’s not think of civil war invoking hypotheticals,” Lugh laughs, guiding the empress away to a nearby bench in the shade. It’s behind a large bush of hydrangeas. Here they can have some time together away from curious eyes. 

Lugh pulls out the heavy wooden basket from behind his back, tugging back the lid, revealing an assortment of small fruits, cheese and most importantly Brigian Wines- her favourites. 

“I wouldn’t necessarily say this is an occasion worth celebrating,” Maeve says dryly as Lugh hands her a cup of wine. She swirls the glass, raising the rim to her nose so she could smell its sweet and fruity aroma. “I’m not as active as I used to be, Lugh. I’m going to get fat eating all this.” 

“Live a little, Maeve. A little cheese isn’t going to kill you. I’ll get you to work it off afterwards.” Lugh chuckles warmly as Maeve rolls her eyes, murmuring something akin to real smooth, Lugh.

Together, the king and empress enjoy the silence of the garden and Lugh’s basket of goodies. At some point, Lugh decides it was time to break the silence. He hums, plucking a grape from the basket and dropping into his mouth. “Murder or natural causes?” He asks. 

There is a thoughtful pause before she speaks, “Neither, surprisingly enough. ” Maeve stares grimly off into the distance, “she took it herself.”

Lugh nearly winces as the acidic sweet-sour wine splashes on his tongue. “Shit,” the king swears, turning to his companion, “Ledea had kids, didn’t she?” 

Maeve nods mutely, “the youngest one is but a babe. Five years old.” Lugh’s heart sinks. Thea, one of his own babes was five years old as well. She was a precious thing. “And the eldest turned thirteen last fall.” 

“The cripple?” The king asks, recalling Prince Vayne's eldest child. 

“Yes,” Maeve nods, sipping her wine. “He has a good head on his shoulders- he had everything under control by the time I got there. 

Which is impressive for a child. He was running the duchy and taking care of the little one with great ease. He had assistance from his retainers and the middle child, of course, but he was more put together than I expected. I was impressed. The little one was clinging to him the entire time I was there.” 

There is a sweet wistfulness to Maeve’s voice, a tone Lugh doesn’t hear much from the usual high and mighty empress. 

Lugh’s eyes wander to her thighs, which are supple, but tone with muscle and stare at the flimsy brown teddy bear. Looks like an old thing, a relic from Maeve’s childhood that she must have loved dearly. It’s barely holding together at the seams. The thread looks frayed and ratty, but Lugh can see the glossy shine to the new thread she was attempting to sew in. The stitch work was pitiful at best; uneven and slanted in every direction. Spirits, she was terrible at needle work. 

“Is that why you were fixing up that little bear?” Lugh asks kindly, stifling a chuckle with his hand,”are you planning to send it to the babe?” 

Maeve shoots him a dirty glare as her cheeks turn pink. She’s so pretty. Then takes the teddy bear and hides it behind her back, away from his line of sight. She squirms in her spot. “I’m not sending Joseph anywhere. He’s going to be a gift. The children are coming to the capital to stay with me.” 

Oh, that was a surprise. “All three of them?” Lugh blinks, “and the Duchy is fine with their new lord living so far from home?” 

“I’m not going to separate the children after their mother died and I wasn’t very keen on the idea of having them away from family,” Maeve says hotly, furrowing her brows. “Look. I may hate Ledea, but I’m not going to let my blood suffer so far away from me. They’re all wards to the Crown now, so I can do as I please. I’d like to see anyone try to stop me.”

Lugh could relate. His little brood of children stayed with their mothers, but they were never far from his reach, they were, at most, a day's worth of travel from the castle. 

But there are more Maeve’s words than just that, Lugh realizes, watching the empress as she sips her wine with flushed cheeks. She hides it well, but there is a softness in her usually hard topaz gold eyes. There is a wistfulness to her and something else- something more vulnerable and precious. A softness he’s only seen under the soft glow of candlelight. 

Lugh chuckles to himself, feeling a sharp tug in his gut. He understands what it is. It draws Maeve’s attention, but he says nothing. Instead, he reaches into his basket, pulls out a round pomegranate and cracks it in two, presenting a bountiful cluster of bright red and juicy seeds. The king takes a ruby seed and rolls it between his index finger and thumb before slipping it into his mouth and crushing it against the roof of his mouth with his tongue. 

It tastes bittersweet. 

Lugh swallows. “You know, I could have given you a babe years ago if that’s what you really wanted.” 

“The only babe I’ll ever have would belong to my lord husband,” Maeve says quietly, averting her eyes the moment they met his, but in that brief moment, one no shorter than a breath, Lugh saw a flash of pain behind her golden eyes. 

Lugh drags his tongue along the blunt rim of his teeth, revelling in the sour-sweetness of the pomegranate. “Your great Empire would never tolerate their empress being one of many wives to a foreign king,” Lugh shakes head, his lips straining to smile. “Well, you never liked sharing to begin with.” 

“I wouldn’t have been your first choice anyway- and more than sharing, I hate being second place,” Maeve says quietly. It stabs him like a hot knife to the chest. He hates hurting her. He’d rather claw his eyes out before any harm comes to her first. 

But…he could not deny it. Horrible as it may sound. He loved Giselle, she left an imprint on his heart that no one could usurp, but that did not mean his feelings for Maeve were any less than true. Giselle was gone. Their time together was over. And yet, her ghost still sits between them.  

“…Perhaps in another life, where we met and married first, we’d have our own gaggle of children to coddle- but that’s not reality,” Maeve says, throwing her head back and downing her glass of wine in one go. When she finishes she sets the glass aside and plucks a few seeds from Lugh’s pomegranate and tosses them into her mouth. 

That’s a surprise, Lugh thought. The pomegranate was for him. Maeve usually had no taste for tart and sour things. 

“I don’t know what it means to be a mother,” Maeve says to the sky, rising to her feet with her teddy bear in hand. “Mine died giving birth to me. I have no real frame of reference- but I want…I want to try. Ledea’s little babe…When I first laid on them, I never thought I’d ever feel this way towards someone else in my life. There’s a connection, a pull that I can’t help but feel.” Then she sighs, looking down at the ratty teddy bear. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to replace Ledea as a mother…but if I could be there or look after the children in her place…I think that will be enough.” 

“You’ll be a good mother,” Lugh says firmly, setting the fruit aside to stand next to her, cupping her face, flushed and rosy from wine, with his hands. “Even if the children won’t say it to your face, even if they ignore your efforts or appreciate you. I know you, Maeve. That child will know nothing, but love.”    

“...You’re not angry with me?” She asks softly. Her gold eyes flickering with a soft, fragile light. Her voice is so small… 

It hurts. It hurts so much he feels like drowning. There is nothing Lugh wants more than a child with her gold woven hair and sparkling topaz eyes. A babe with her bright, all consuming smile.. but Lugh’s made his peace. He’ll take whatever she gives him and he’ll accept it gladly because it’s better than not having her at all. That would be death. 

“I’ll love any child of yours, Maeve,” he says instead. And that is the truth. “Even if it’s not a babe of my own. I’ll love it. I won’t be able to physically be there every step of the way, but my spirit, my light, will be with you, my love. I mean it.” 

Her lips taste bitter, tart and sweet all at once and he doesn’t mind. Such is life. He swallows it all without protest and if he drowns he’d welcome it gladly. There is no place he’d rather be than right here, with her in his arms. 

When they part her golden eyes are shimmering with a hint of tears, but her smile is brighter than the sun. Then she laughs, bright and fluttery, then pries his hands from her cheeks. “Your hands are sticky! I’m going to get pimples, Lugh!” 

“You’d still be pretty, don’t worry,” Lugh apologies with a small smile on his face as she smacks his arm in protest. He’s glad that she’s happy. It’s all he’d ever wanted for her. Perhaps with the children with her, Maeve will be less lonely in the palace. Nephilim was a lonely place to live alone. 

“Come on, let’s go inside and wash up, then maybe you can put me to work like you promised,” Maeve says coyly, tucking the teddy bear away in one hand and reaching for his own hand with the other. 

“So soon, Maeve?” Lugh asks, “it’s hardly midday and there’s still so much food to eat. I don’t think there’ll be a lot to work off. ” 

“I’ve had my fill. And…I’ve missed you,” Maeve confesses with a bashful, hooded stare. 

Ah, well, Lugh is definitely not going to argue against that. 

The king takes the empress’s hand, enjoying the way her slender fingers wrap around his own and takes the heavy basket in the other. He likes the way her thick head of hair feels on his shoulder and how her smile lifts his heart. 

They leave towards the palace hand in hand. Lugh wonders what the servants and the guards will think when they see him dressed in a simple officer’s uniform. There is no way to hide his identity when he’s next to her. He thinks it’ll be funny. 

“Oh! That reminds me,” Maeve pipes up, “the little one’s birthday is coming up in a few moons. If it’s not too much trouble, I was thinking…” 

#tsr #The Sovereign’s Ring #the sovereign's ring: Sidestory #side story #twine wip #twine if #interactive fiction #maeve #the empress #Lugh #the king

[dxstopiaa]

For me..?

Summary: Your college had decided to incorporate a festive gift-giving event, ever more better in secrecy….Oh you’ve been caught… What do you give your assigned student?

Characters: Modern AU! Xiao, Kazuha, Wanderer, Zhongli, Childe.

If you have any characters you’d like to see in my posts, lmk! + i was going to make this with more characters but ideas weren’t coming into my head at the time :(

Xiao

•You -> An authentic jade bracelet, a white tassel attached in the middle of it, gold accented clasps -> Xiao

•Honestly, choosing this gift for him was not that difficult, the only downside being the rather pricey cost, but you thought it was worth it. After all, he has always assisted you whenever you needed it.

•You decided to quite riskily knock on his dormitory door and bolt down the corridor in hopes he didn’t see you making your grand escape. Seconds later, a sleep-deprived student stepped outside his room, glancing around whilst clinging onto the door handle.

•Xiao sighed lightly, crouching down to retrieve the small parcel on his doorstep, which delicately embellished in tones of marigold and teal, resembling himself. At first, he thought a skittery postman had fled to complete his next order, that’s how panicked the knocks upon the wood sounded.

•He shut the door behind him, indolently slouching onto the couch and inspecting the present, opening up its contents. Xiao had to physically stop his jaw from dropping at the sight of such expensive jewellery, who would give such an exorbitant gift?

•It didn’t take him much time to figure out it was you, given that you were the closest to him and due to his reserved nature, not many others. Xiao did consider the possibility of his sister, Ganyu, gifting him such, but she had already told him she was assigned with somebody else.

•He smiled to himself, admiring the bracelet and clasping it upon his wrist. Would he ever take this off? Certainly not. He was positive he would make it up to you, either via a similar gift in nature, or with dozens of drinks and meals whenever you came round.

•Xiao chose the former, synonymously leaving another package at your accommodation, except he concealed himself behind a wall to experience your reaction, chucking quietly. You couldn’t stifle the gasp escaping from your lips at the reciprocated gesture. Besides, you can’t have jewels without the remaining half, can you?

Xiao -> An amethyst beaded bracelet, marbled initials of his and your own name, polished with sterling silver clasps -> You

Kazuha

You -> A gorgeously embroidered scarf, crimson in colour, his initials carefully inscribed within it, soft to the touch with crotchet hearts for tassels -> Kazuha

•Kazuha’s admiration for the vermillion colour was evident since you two met, when you had asked him why, it seemed he was pondering a way to formulate what he would tell you. His soft, gentle voice complimented the words that articulately whispered from his lips told you so in such a poetic way it would put the most esteemed writers to shame.

•’It symbolises many ideas, like love but also bloodshed, i find it can express all emotions solely by its presence.’ So of course, a gift with this fond hue was necessary. You spent a couple of days wondering what to get him before the scarf came into mind.

•Though you didn’t want this to be the regular autumn accessory, going to a shop and buying one won’t carry the message you wished to give your dear friend. You knitted it yourself, despite the effort required for it, appending small hearts in exchange for tassels at the rim of it, and finally embroidering his name into it with a lighter ruby shade, hugging it tightly once you finished.

•It wasn’t difficult to see Kazuha outside from his accommodation, which gave you the perfect chance to enter it secretly and place the item onto his armchair, an envelope placed delicately on top of it containing a cute chibi sketch of him wearing it. Guilty to say this was on your mind for the past week, you just had to!

•When you had made your escape, Kazuha returned a few minutes later, furrowing his eyebrows at the sight of the unlocked door, sighing to himself at his forgetfulness. In case, he checked his dorm to see if any of his items had been displaced or stolen.

•He was delighted to see the accessory on the chair, moving it onto his lap to inspect it, before swaddling himself with the scarf. Opening the letter, Kazuha chuckled lightly at the sight of himself and set the illustration on his desk. He knew it was you, for this was quite obviously a dear fashion student’s work.

•Don’t be surprised if you are seized with a gentle embrace, with Kazuha handing you a miniature box, as this is precisely what you deserved.

Kazuha -> A signet ring from his own heritage, a precious gem inscribed in the centre, from valuable silver. -> You

Wanderer

You -> A scrapbooking journal, complete with ink calligraphy pens, various stickers and equipment, also with a small diary -> Kuni

•You knew he would guess exactly who sent him such the moment he got it, though it was too good of an opportunity to pass up. Why? Well, You and Kuni had inside jokes, mainly on him, for he was amusing to tease.

•For example, You recalled the one time when you found him quite literally looking like he could strangle you when you asked him what was wrong as he groggily sat on his bed with a laptop on a pillow. Only after tons of investigation, did you find out it was due to the fact he had submitted his assignment just to find it was the ‘wrong one, as it had been tampered with’, jumping to his own defense.

•It was obvious he had a difficult time suppressing his emotions, specifically such of anger. You had suggested him to try out journaling but he only side eyed you with malice and claimed he ‘didn’t need time-wasting outlets’ So much for that.

•What did you do in spite? Get him exactly as described. Whilst you visited him, and he was occupied in the kitchen of his dormitory, you snook into his resting area and slid the set under his pillow, before casually strolling outside of it despite his critical glare.

•Once you left, and he deemed it time to sleep, was when he found it, quizzically lifting his pillow to see the disturbance. He took it in his hands, even though he was partially embarrassed, Kuni admired the quality of it and your intent.

•Let’s just say he spent the rest of the night sitting in his bed decorating the said journal in a way he felt aesthetically pleasing. Would he ever let you know so? Never, the topic essentially vanished.

Zhongli

You -> A traditional tea brewer and press, with exquisite flavours to try, dainty yet precious -> Zhongli

•Zhongli certainly lived up to his title of an old soul in a young body, his interests seemed to be that of mythology and cultures from various dynasties in his home country.

•Of course, the right thing to do would be to give him a present in this category, for it was undeniable he’d treasure it. Although it would be quite difficult to seek what you had in mind, your determination kept you focused.

•You located an antique store about a mile away from campus, from what you have seen, priceless family heirlooms from elder people had found themselves here in abundance. A gorgeously intricate tea set had you fixtured to it the minute you entered the shop. Just what you needed.

•The young student was curious to see a rather large gift bag on his kitchen countertop the following day, though he couldn’t repress his enchantment at the traditional china, his golden irises fluttering with glee whilst he admired it for what seemed like ages.

•Zhongli was not particularly sure who had gave him this gift, but you were his primary ‘suspect’, to which he decided to approach your lecture hall and wait outside, a small gift bag in his hands, the contents within perfectly concealed.

•You expected him to catch on, after all, Zhongli’s sense of perception was never faulty. You pushed open the large doors only to see him smiling warmly at you, lightly squeezing your hand and guiding you to his dormitory.

• A compromised sort of tea ceremony was laid out before you and him, he poured you your own customary cup and then his, caressing your hand which was laying on the table, idle. Zhongli chucked quietly at your flushed state, ‘Thank you for this gift, i can only give one back to you, please.’ He motioned the present to you, urging you to open it.

Zhongli -> A beautiful folding fan, illustrative dragons and cranes covered one side, the other with lapis and jade mines, resembling the treasure hidden beneath -> You

Childe

You -> A cerulean whale plushie with the most adorable expression, accompanied by another rosy one, wearing a smiley face -> Childe

•You and Childe instantly clicked when he first joined, partly due to the fact you were both exchange students, though he was of Russian descent and you from your respective country.

•The other reason was his humorous and gentle personality, the last quality was seen by only you, as Childe typically seemed a little eccentric and carefree to others. You adored the way he would wait for you outside your dorm to walk you to your next class, or how he traced his fingers in spiralling patterns upon your palm to soothe you when feeling overwhelmed.

•Truly, Childe was the most compassionate person you had ever met, so of course you were delighted at the opportunity at gifting him a present. Once your lectures were finished for the day, you decided to catch the local train into the city centre. Yes, Childe did have a car, but you wouldn’t want him to find out about this gift.

•Browsing the spectrum of stores within the mall, a certain one caught your eye. This particular shop was overflowing with cute plushies and stationary, it was difficult to resist the urge to vigorously purchase everything inside it. You skimmed the shelves until you found your gift, a squishy plush whale accompanied with another, one in azure whilst the other in rose.

•When you returned to your dorm, it was early evening at least, giving you enough time to wrap your presents and to anonymously deliver them to his own. You did this with the traditional ‘knock and run’ method, leaving it on his doorstep as you hastily sprinted back.

•Childe was quite puzzled, clutching onto the doorknob and motioning the door open whilst balancing his laptop on his forearm. He looked down to see the dainty gift bag, it’s contents concealed neatly and carefully, before picking it up and placing it on the chair beside where he previously sat to investigate it.

•Childe discarded the wrapping paper, sighting the precious little animal and rather childishly hugging it whilst grinning to himself. The small label on the ribbon around his neck claimed it was a 2 piece bundle, though he couldn’t find one in the bag. After some careful thought, he came to the conclusion it was you, besides, he didn’t think anyone else he knew would give him a gift of this nature, right?

•The following day, Childe waited upon your own doorstep, to whom you opened the door to and let him in. He was right, he immediately saw the other matching plush on your bed, surrounded by pillows in a poor attempt to conceal it. Smirking lightly as he read your rather nervous expression.

•He leaned into you, gently grasping your face in his palms as he admired your now flustered countenance, pressing his lips onto your forehead with pure affection, then embracing you in his arms whilst he caressed your hair.

•’I find it adorable how you got us matching plushies, though you seem to be competing with that action.’ Childe teased, chuckling lightly whilst you bashfully hid your face in your hands. Welp, you suppose you weren’t so good at hiding your identity, but he would argue he liked this outcome more.

#genshin impact #we’re zhongli and xiao lovers here #xiao #zhongli #childe #wanderer #kunikuzushi #college au #genshin impact xiao #genshin impact zhongli #genshin impact scaramouche #genshin impact kazuha #kazuha #genshin impact childe #genshin x reader #genshin #xiao x reader #zhongli x reader #childe x reader #kazuha x reader #scaramouche x reader #genshin alatus #anemo boys #kuni #genshin modern au #genshin fluff #fluff #genshin morax #alatus #was gonna add more characters

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

It Was Only Supposed to be a One Night Stand (Part 9)

Tw: smut, sexual content, fatshaming, skinny shaming, dub-con but from reader, monty's parents bullying n shit

Vote belows i will only consider the first 21 votes

"I love you..." He mumbled into your neck. His strong, scarred arms trap you flush against his massive form.

You told him to quit it, you need to unpack your suitcase that's on the floral sheets.

The bedroom that you and he will be sharing is... quaint and very old-fashioned. The wallpaper is made of small repeating patterns of sunflowers and the bed has a sepia tint to it. Probably due to oldness.

The lampshades are from the 70s, dusty and yellowed with tassels on its brim. The floor is made of creaky wooden boards and almost all the furniture is made of antique oak; there is even an old box TV with protruding antennas. But the overall vibe of the room does give you a strange sense of nostalgia and comfort.

Montgomery did not let go, instead, he let his hands roam under your shirt and grope wherever he wanted freely. No wonder he closed and locked the door as soon as you entered his room. He nipped at the skin on your neck, and you let him.

He pushed the suitcase away, and you turned around to give him a kiss on the lips, which then progressed to a full makeout session. Montgomery gently pushed you onto the bed, where he straddled your hips as you scooted backward until your head rested on the pillows. Mouths still move against each other, filling the desolate room with loud smooches and smacks.

"Please be quiet for me, darlin'. These walls are thin." He whispered, with a worried gaze in his eyes. He then went back to kissing you, effectively silencing any other noise except muffled moans. His calloused hands slid down to your pants, unbuttoning them and fondling you through your underwear.

You wrapped your arms around his neck as he did all the work, just like how it usually goes. Montgomery would love for you to just relax as he pleasures you with his mouth, hands, or cock. You worked so hard for him, don't you deserve a rest?

He tucked a hand into your underwear, toying with your sex and making you hitch your breath. The other hand was busy unzipping and undoing his Jeans.

You grunted when he pressed down on your sweet spot. Montgomery only hushed you as he continued assaulting your neck, suckling on that one sensitive spot that made you mewl under him.

"Shh..." He lets go of your skin and captures your wet lips in his again, not wanting to risk anyone hearing the both of you. Montgomery only then pulled his briefs down, soaked in precum as soon as you shivered from your first orgasm. You're now fully prepped and lubed for the real action. He rubbed the tip teasingly at your entrance, making it slicker and ensuring that this would be painless and pleasurable. A hand of his was still toying with your genitals, wanting to see you climax one more time very soon.

You arched your back when he finally entered you, he pressed his hips firmly against yours and kissed you deeper.

The pressure of his weight on you felt nice, you felt secure as he fucked you into the bed. He slowed down when he realized how creaky it was, it would be very obvious to whoever's listening that you and him were making love vigorously. He gently rocked himself back and forth, providing the much-needed stimulation for you to be in this familiar bliss.

It was cold, but you had each other to keep warm.

He slid his lips down to your neck, continuing to litter hickeys all over your skin. Montgomery used a free hand to clamp your mouth shut, not tightly that it causes bruising, but enough to muffle any lewd sounds.

"You're... so unbelievably hot. I just can't keep my hands off ya'." He whined softly before licking at your earlobe. He was stirring your guts as quietly as he could, but the impact kept making your head explode euphorically.

Fluids from you and Montgomery leaked out at the site of action, ruining the sheets and filling the scent of sex in the air. He didn't mind how he got some of your juices onto his shirt, he can always change them later.

You surprised him by wrapping your legs around his lower torso and forcefully slamming him down into you. He lets out a yelp before slapping a hand over his mouth, watching you with wide eyes. You only grinned as you squeezed your walls around him.

"N-no... w-wait...!" He whimpered and gasped as you took control of the situation. Grabbing him by the collar, you yanked him to your lips and shoved your tongue down his needy throat.

He went limp as you ran your fingers through his hair, you swore you saw his eyeballs rolled back into his skull and his upper eyelids fluttered erratically. Manipulating his thrusts using your legs, making the springs in the mattress scream and the headboards slam against the wall.

Montgomery pules weakly as he emptied his balls into your hole, letting hot cum drip out of it. But you kept going, thrusting your hips upwards onto him, making him pump into you more and splattering semen everywhere. He was visibly lightheaded and woozy, yet you took advantage of that.

He must have really found you irresistible because he kept ejaculating consecutively over a few minutes. The slightest bit of movement caused him to go over the edge and blow another load inside, cum drooling down his testicles and pooling down to his knees that are digging into the soft foam. Each time he climaxed, his muscles would tense up and he would struggle to stifle the loudest moan of his life.

You realized that you went too far with him when he was completely unresponsive, sprawled on top of you with spit dribbling down his chin. But his dick is still awake, it gets momentarily limp for every rope he shoots, but then it became hard once more from the smallest twitches.

In the end, you decided to stop, pushing him off you and pulling him out after the final orgasm.

You're worried because tears were building up in his eyes, they rolled down his already wet cheeks. You shook him, but he was like a ragdoll that was leaking more cum from his exhausted member. You checked his pulse, it's a little elevated but he's definitely still alive and breathing. He's just stuck in his personal heaven... or hell, by the looks of it.

You then realized how much of a mess you had made, you don't think you would be comfortable sleeping in these sheets tonight.

You continued shaking him until his eyes had some light back into it.

"W-what...?" He slurred, wiping his chin with the back of his hand, it was instantly wet with drool and tears.

You immediately apologized, you shouldn't have done that.

"No! Don't- Don't be sorry, I love you." He hastily shot back up to kiss you on the forehead, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into a bear hug. "You're amazing..." He mumbled absentmindedly as he had yet to recover from the mind-numbing rapture he experienced.

Montgomery became cuddly and affectionate, showering you with kisses all over your face and arm. He would complain when you tried pulling away, he doesn't care about unpacking right now, Montgomery just wants you in his arms.

He clung onto you like a vine, muttering about how you're his divinity and his savior. Breathlessly worshipping you for being in his life and giving him yet another spectacular session, where you took care of him, instead of Montgomery's original plan to make you a freeloading, pillow royalty.

You sighed. It will take a while before he comes down from his high.

__

You and he had to walk down the stairs of shame, to the dining table. In new sets of clothes and new sets of memories seared into each other's brains.

"Well if it ain't the lovebirds! Glad y'all could make it to dinner." Greeted Mr. Yeller, Montgomery's father.

"Hey, Pa. Hey, y'all." Montgomery awkwardly waved at everyone sitting at the table. You finally saw the rest of them from the picture, this is one crowded table. His siblings didn't care to spare him a glance, except for Baby-Ruth, who was genuinely excited to say hi to you.

"I'm surprised! You two were goin' at it like a jackhammer and some concrete, y'all ain't all plum tuckered out?" Mrs. Yeller sets down a casserole dish on a coaster before removing her oven mittens.

Montgomery's face and ears suddenly turned bright red and his eyes were bulging out of his sockets. He kept his lips sealed and pulled your seat out for you.

"Oh yeah! We heard ya'. Goin' hog wild in there-"

"Oh my god Dad, can we just eat?" The youngest, Noel, scowled.

Montgomery let his shoulders sag in relief as his younger brother came to his aid.

Mr. Yeller frowned but decided against saying anything in retaliation.

Mary-Grace decided to proceed with the dinner. "Let's say grace."

Everyone at the table bowed their heads down as they clasped their hands together. You mirrored them and closed your eyes as well.

You didn't really care to pay attention to the words, it was all generic and the same anyway. So you only said Amen when everyone did.

"Alright, dig in!" Mr. Yeller gestured towards the spread. "Let our city dwellin' guest do the honors."

However, no one moved an inch except Montgomery. He was filling your plate for you as they all silently watched. He then built his own plate of dinner.

The next person to take the food was Mary-Grace, but it doesn't seem like she's taking them for herself due to the sheer amount.

It was confirmed when she stood up and walked to where all the children were seated. They all shriek in joy at the sight of food.

Emerson went next, she only took half a spoonful of collard greens.

"Aw, Emerson! Ya' gotta take s'more, you ain't need no diet. If anyone needed a diet, it's Betty!" Mrs. Yeller guffawed. All eyes were on the sibling with the most uncomfortable expression on her face. She pulled on her already oversized sweater and made herself smaller.

You shot her a sympathetic look.

Betty ends up excusing herself from the table.

"Oh! I forgot I have some pecan pie bakin' away in the oven!" Mrs. Yeller shot up and hurried to the kitchen.

So Beau's wife went next, filling her handsome husband's plate with all his favorite foods.

"Y'know, Monty. I expected our little guest there to do that for ya'. But ya' did it for them instead. I guess you're not the one wearin' the pants in the relationship!" Laughed Mr. Yeller.

Beau and his wife simply had a blank expression. Montgomery looked annoyed, but he was quiet.

"I guess it's an ugly thing, seein' the ones bein' pampered are prettier than their partners." Laughed Mr. Yeller. "Don't tell Ma I said that she still fixes my plate."

Beau's wife looked like she was already used to it. Beau didn't react, but Montgomery seemed insecure.

You said that she's beautiful and Montgomery is handsome. Earning a surprised look from everyone at the table.

Mr. Yeller simply shook his head. "You city people have some real weird tastes. Anyways, where's Rufus?"

"He said he will be skippin' dinner." Baby Ruth informed her father as she went ahead to gather her food.

"Damn, work is the only thing on that boy's mind. And booze too."

Finally, it's Noel's turn. Shockingly, there were no insulting comments made.

Everyone ate in silence, you poked at your plate, thinking that it was too greasy for your liking. But for the sake of keeping the peace, you decided to pretend to like it.

You couldn't keep your mind off Betty, though. Poor girl, you hope that she isn't feeling too upset over that.

"Here comes my pecan pie! Hot, hot!" Mrs. Yeller came rushing in, holding a tray of steaming pie.

No one bats an eye, everyone seems to eat fast as if they're trying to get it over with. It was insanely awkward, no one else was interested in you or what Montgomery had experienced living in the city for years.

You felt immense regret agreeing to come with him. This is such an appalling family dynamic.

"So, how did y'all meet?" All heads were turned to Baby-Ruth, she had a beaming smile and eyes filled with interest.

Everyone whipped their head to look at you, even Montgomery.

You took a few seconds to think about your reply.

#yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere male #yandere concept #yandere #tw yandere #yandere x you #yandere oc x reader #male yandere oc x reader #oc montgomery #tw fatshaming #tw skinnyshaming #tw smut #tw dubcon #tw dubious consent

[thosewickedlovelies]

Messenger Bird  |  Oberyn Martell x afab!Reader x Ellaria Sand

Rating: E for Explicit

Summary: Your flight path finally brings you to the bedchamber of the Prince of Dorne

Tags: SMUT: oral (f recieving), unprotected PiV sex, mention of bondage; Ellaria is in bed with yous but I wouldn’t necessarily call this a threesome; reader vaguely describes themself as being less experienced than Oberyn but I don’t think that should exclude many people lol

Word count: 5,991

Note: This fic is inspired solely by a scene in @radiowallet‘s fabulous Oberyn fic, to which I responded "10/10 would be the person who ends up in bed with Oberyn because he answers the door with his dick out 🤷🏻‍♀️”

This is like, a roughly canon au where Oberyn and Ellaria are married and the regents of Dorne. It's also mostly PWP, so. enjoy lmao <3

Masterlist

“There are few good reasons to be disturbing a prince this early-”

The door opens-

“-but there is one reason I am generally inclined to forgive.”

-and the first thing you see is Prince Oberyn’s hand, wrapped around his cock.

You gape, stupefied. Though cast in bronze, not iron, the wholly naked body of the Prince of Dorne seizes your attention like a magnet. All of your good sense screams at you to avert your gaze, but how can you? 

His hand, and the length it grips, are both shiny, smudged with damp. Is it the same fluid beading at the tip of his cock? 

Or has it a different source? In the background you hear sheets rustling, and a familiar feminine voice drawling.

“Oberyn darling, you know what your advisors say about answering the door in your skin.”

The prince’s eyes had widened infinitesimally upon seeing you, surprise and delight flaring for a split second. That hand moved- up and down, ever so slightly. The faintest motion, just enough to convey that he knew exactly what he was doing.

Something secretive sparkled in Oberyn’s eyes, just barely curled the corners of his full mouth. “What my advisors say, and what our little raven’s face says are two very different things, my love.”

“Oh?”

You wrench your gaze back up to Oberyn’s face, eyes wide. Heat prickles and swarms over your skin. Your tongue has dried up in your mouth, leaving you quite unable to address Princess Ellaria even had you retained the wits to.

“What are you doing up so early, my little messenger bird? Surely there cannot be any urgent demands of me with the day barely dawned?” 

Emboldened, Oberyn leans more comfortably against the door frame, titling his head as he awaits your response. He continues to tug on his cock, an almost idle motion- except his pace is decidedly deliberate. His dark eyes gleam.

Oh, gods, what could you say? That you’d been driven mad by your own need? That there was an itch under your skin which nothing could satisfy, one that had only grown stronger since the bloom of summer and the carelessly revealing fashions Dorne and its prince preferred?

The truth was that you’d barely finished your tea this morn, anticipating that indeed, there should be no important messages for the prince this early, when the Maester’s bark had startled you to wakefulness. Now the small scroll he’d given you was all but crushed in your fist, and doubtless sweat-stained besides.

Mutely, you lift your hand. Small mercies- the tiny seal closing the parchment hadn’t cracked in your grip.

Oberyn measures you for another long moment, eyes narrowing slightly. Scoffing, he takes the scroll from you, releasing his cock with clear displeasure.

A faint breeze blows past you through the open door. It carries the distant murmur of waves crashing, and the ever-present scents of salt and oleander. Silk hangings above the bed sway, glimmering in the rich, fiery colors of the Martell family, tassels fluttering.

Oberyn’s fingers are still wet. They leave fingerprint smudges where he adjusts his grip on the paper. His cock bobs with the faint shifting of his body, his eyes narrowing as he reads. Taking advantage of his distraction, you risk a longer look at the utterly bare body of Oberyn Martell.

Stripped of his usual flowing robes, the prince somehow appears taller. Every part of him is long and lean, rangy muscles stretched along his shapely frame. Despite his frequent act as the long-suffering hedonist forced to rule, there is a sharp intelligence about him- a calculating mind turning beneath hair often mussed by sleep, sex, or spearwork.

His cock is as long and sturdy as he is. As bronze, too. A trim thatch of hair curls neatly around the base, climbing up and stopping teasingly short of his navel. You wonder if the prince sunbathes nude, to achieve such uniformly sun-dipped skin. The moisture coating the hair and skin of his groin shimmers and winks, scattering your thoughts, and you swallow thickly.

You look up again, but you’d lingered too long- Oberyn is watching you already, his mouth curved up the slightest bit. 

He drops the parchment carelessly to the floor. “Tell me true, now, messenger bird. It is only unfortunate happenstance that has kept us from meeting in my bedchamber before now, yes?”

If before there was mischief in his eyes, now it is tempered by a clear, hard demand for truth. Of all the whispers throughout the palace of the prince’s exploits, one unquestionable feature was always present: Oberyn didn’t take unwilling lovers. One entered his bed out of desire, not obligation.

You allow your professional façade to thaw, shaking yourself free of the shock and focusing on the other feelings that the prince always inspired. Delight. Desire. Hunger.

“Yes, my prince.” You dip your head coyly, lashes fluttering.

Oberyn’s smile is that of one who has just learned his long-laid plans have come to fruition- and he intends to savor the results.

“Would you like to come in now? I hope you will not mind my wife’s presence- it is the princess’s bed too, you understand.”

Oberyn steps back in invitation, opening the door wider for you. That hardness has not completely left his eyes- there is flint to it, an almost-challenge sparking.

But your attention is no longer on the prince.

His movement has revealed the princess, still abed behind him. Ellaria has turned on her side toward the door, supported by a cushion pulled to her chest. The fact that it covers the delicate parts of her otherwise bare torso is plainly more by accident than design- the outer curve of her right breast is clearly visible, tan skin an obvious contrast against the orchid-purple silk of the pillow. Her slim frame is barely a ripple in the sheets of the enormous bed, yet her presence commands- no eye could resist her allure. Your lips part.

Ellaria smiles lazily, hooded eyes shimmering with laughter at the knowledge between you.

“I can think of little I would mind less, my lord.” Ellaria’s reaction warms you, inspires a bit more confidence, and you manage to stand a little straighter as you enter the room.

Oberyn glances between you and his wife. “Have I missed something?” he inquires. 

The door closes, and then you’re aware of Oberyn behind you, so close you can feel the heat radiating from all of his bare flesh.

Your mouth goes dry again. If Ellaria was the encouraging warmth of an arm around the shoulders, Oberyn was heat- mercurial as a desert wind. A temperature vacillating on the cusp of dangerous.

Thankfully, Ellaria seems immune to Oberyn’s effect. “I’m afraid our sweet messenger bird made a rather…special delivery to me last week, while you were otherwise occupied, my prince.”

“My heart! You did not tell me?” You can feel Oberyn puffing up behind you, his tone full of indignance.

The princess presses her lips together, clearly stifling amusement. “It was entirely too brief an affair, in honesty. Everything was busy during that period- it must have simply slipped my mind. Truly, I’m sorry, my love.” Her dark eyes shine, but the apology is sincere. Sweet and simple as sugared almonds.

“Hmmm.” Oberyn’s considering hum rumbles through you, like the purr of a great cat. “This morn is my turn, then. After that we will be even.”

You jump at the brush of his hands on your waist. The prince was out of sight behind your back, and his touch was a surprise that sent gooseflesh rippling over you.

“How does that sound, sweet bird? Will you let me ravish you like such a one as lovely as you deserves to be ravished? Will you share a morning of pleasure with your prince?” Oberyn lowers his voice to a deep rasp in your ear; he toys with the raven-black sash of your messenger’s uniform, but does not loosen it.��

Your body tightens and warms from top to toe. Ellaria has not taken her eyes off you; her gaze scorches like a fresh coal in a warming pan.

“I would be honored, my prince.” 

It would be a lie to say you weren’t nervous. There were rumors, of course, of the prince’s inclinations in the bedchamber. If nothing else, his experience far surpassed your own; he liked things to go his way, but this, at least, would suit you fine.

Finally, Oberyn pulls free the tie of your sash. He draws it off your shoulders, but then, still holding it, comes to stand in front of you. The gather of fabric is just enough to block your view of his sex.

“You must promise me one thing, Bird. You will tell me, if we veer too close to anything you do not want. Any activity, any place on that lovely body. I do not force things on my companions.

“I am a man of many desires, but among them will never be thus. I am your prince, not your master.” Oberyn holds your gaze.

A fragment of uncertainty still holding tight in your chest dissipates. “I understand. I promise, my prince.”

Those obsidian eyes soften slightly. “You may use my name.”

You hesitate. Even your fantasies had not dared to dream of such familiarities. “I promise…Prince Oberyn.”

Oberyn smiles then, a wide, pleased expression. He tosses your sash to the side, revealing his cock still proud and alert. He moves closer, and you’re reminded of the great cats that stalk the mountains in the north of Dorne- all sleek, bunching muscles and a singular focus on the object of their hunt. In this moment, you suppose that would make you the prey. It’s a dizzying, thrilling  thought: that the prince of Dorne, the Viper himself, seeks you.

As his hands seek your jaw now, sliding along your skin with the slowness of one who knows well the effect his touch has. Oberyn cradles your face in his hands, lifting your chin, your mouth- a cup from which he intends to drink deep. His breath brushes your lips, syrupy with the taste of wine. 

Oberyn’s dark eyes bore into your face. “Sweet bird,” he murmurs. His rasp is the last thing you hear before his mouth touches yours, and then your head fills with wind. Blood rushing and roaring in your ears, blotting out all other sensation but Oberyn’s mouth, full and soft and confident, urging you to follow his motions, guiding you into his world of sensual wonder.

And you follow willingly. You part your lips to the prince’s tongue, and relish the confidence with which he slips inside, weaving layers of sensation into the kiss.

Oberyn still holds your face to his. His hands span the entire length of your jaw, and they are not idle: his fingertips stroke and massage in small motions, sending tingles down your neck, pleasure rippling through you like wind through tall grass. You become aware, suddenly, of Oberyn’s body- it’s easing gradually closer to your own, the entire burning mass of it sending heat through your clothes, like leaning against the chimney of a great hearthfire. You inhale sharply. 

The prince withdraws from your kiss. He studies your wide, dreamstruck eyes, your lips, now appropriately kiss-swollen. Smirking, he looks to Ellaria for approval. His wife’s gaze travels down your body.

“I didn’t get to see her last time.” The princess pouts. “Undress her for me, darling?”

“Anything for you, my love.”

Oberyn returns his attention to you. “Yes?” His hands skate meaningfully down your back, to the laces of your dress.

“Yes,” you answer, and his hands are already working. “-to both.”

Oberyn laughs once, loud and bright with surprise. “Careful, sweet bird, or I will think you are here only to steal my wife from me.”

Ellaria’s eyes sparkle. “Sweet words from a sweet bird, indeed.” She shifts to lie more comfortably, relocating her long fall of curls with the sweep of a practiced hand. The cushion is carelessly adjusted, and then her right breast is fully visible, as pert and lovely as you only briefly glimpsed during your meeting. 

Ellaria faintly smirks at your expression, but a moment later you are both distracted. Your gown sags in the familiar shapelessness of undone laces, and Oberyn is quick to take advantage. He traces the exposed skin up your spine, and you arch at his touch, your lungs filling. You move to help him remove the gown, but he stops you.

“Slowly, now,” Oberyn whispers in your ear. “Give the princess something to long for.”

He draws your dress slowly down your shoulders, and you mark the speed. As slow and languorous as a drizzle of honey pools on a cake. Your heart beats fast. You have never made a performance of undressing for a lover- surely the lovemaking itself ought to be the show?

But as you grip the bodice of your dress, lowering it with exaggerated slowness, pulling the fabric tight to emphasize your breasts about to spill free- you think you understand. Ellaria’s gaze rivets to your chest, growing hungrier the longer you and Oberyn take to bare you. What is a main act, after all, without the opening scenes?

Your own hunger rises as you witness Ellaria’s. You finally lower the gown to bare your breasts entirely, but Oberyn’s hands immediately cover them. You gasp. His movement was unexpected…and very distracting. A small sound of pleasure breaks from you as the prince’s callused hands massage the tender flesh in a way that feels entirely deliberate. Knowledgeable. Like he knows exactly what this will do- this squeeze, this twist of your nipple, this-

“Keep going,” Oberyn purrs.

-this command, given in his sensual rasp.

Between the prince at your back and the princess to your front, you have nowhere to hide. No way to. Everywhere you are confronted with something that stokes the flame of desire steadily growing within you.

Oberyn had told you to keep going. One by one, you free your arms from their sleeves, letting the morning sun play on your skin, the sea breeze raise the fine hairs. The prince’s hands continue to massage your breasts, exploring every dip and curve of your torso as your gown drops further. Finally it’s at your hips, and without any extra encouragement you push it down to pool around your feet.

Wearing nothing but the morning light, you stand before the regents of Dorne. 

Or you try to- Oberyn has molded himself to your back, mouthing at your neck, and suddenly your knees struggle to hold you upright.

Any self-consciousness you thought you’d feel fades away as you turn in Oberyn’s arms to kiss him, and are welcomed eagerly. The prince rewards your initiative with an approving groan, hauling you to him, encouraging you to get as close as you wish. Every inch of him is firm with muscle, standing sturdy against your desperate grasping. You can’t decide what to reach for first- you want to touch all of him.

Especially the burning length trapped between your hips. You reach for it, and Oberyn lets out another low sound of pleasure, breaking your kiss as you tip your head down to watch yourself touch him.

Oberyn wraps his hand around yours, stilling your motions. “Patience, Bird.” His eyes dance, warm and amused. “We have plenty of time. I think the princess is getting lonely, yes?”

He herds you gently toward the bed, where Ellaria is indeed waiting, with something like envy on her face.

What could she possibly have to be envious of? The princess had no reason to suffer such an emotion. She could end this, remove you from her husband’s arms, with but a word.

What you don’t see, as Oberyn's handful of your rear interferes with your tentative climb into the bed, is that Ellaria’s gaze is not on the prince, but on you.

Your elbows buckle and you squeak. 

“Hurry up, or I will assume you wish to be kept in this position,” Oberyn growls from behind you- from over you. He has clambered over your back, draping himself over you and planting his hands on your wrists.

His tone is light with jest, but you have no doubt he means it. This is a common theme in many of the oft-whispered stories- if the prince and princess like someone enough, they might keep them a whole day, or night, or any length of time, really. For their use and pleasure alone. Even restrained, if the guest wishes- and from what you’ve heard, enough have wished it to make you wonder.

The thought makes you shiver. As does Oberyn’s grip, dragging your hands gently upward, forcing your face and chest flat against the silk sheets. Your breathing quickens. Oberyn’s hips press into your rear, his cock rubbing between your cheeks, and with your knees spread the way they are, you can feel the wetness of your own arousal smeared cool against your inner thighs. 

Heat flares in your cheeks. Is Oberyn going to fuck you already?

“Mmm,” he rumbles into your neck. “That is very tempting, but I shall take my own advice, I think. Patience.”

And Oberyn demonstrates a great store of patience, indeed. You lie, belly down in slippery silk, for an immeasurable length of time as the prince drags his mouth along every inch of your skin. You squirm and pant and moan under the delicious assault, fresh slick welling when he lingers where your thighs meet. His weight lifts off you as Oberyn finally descends, imprinting new damp patches down your left leg.

You take the opportunity to shift, half turning on your side toward Ellaria. She’s watching you, eyes slumberous and knowing. Her fingers trace light paths across your arms and chest- the first time she’s touched so much of your bare skin.

“Will you bring us songs as well as messages in the future, sweet bird? You sound so lovely when you sing.”

“If the prince and princess wish it,” you answer honestly.

You yelp as Oberyn switches legs, nipping your right ankle. Your flinch draws Ellaria’s attention to your chest. Her hand moves lower, boldly caressing the supple, sensitive flesh, all the while watching your face. She thumbs your nipple experimentally, and you bite your lip. She pinches it, and you gasp, the touch zinging straight to your core. 

This time your motion twitches your thigh away from Oberyn’s mouth. With a growl, he crawls back up the bed, shoving himself unceremoniously between you and Ellaria. 

“You have already had your fun, my love.” The prince falls atop his wife, his teeth at her neck. “Do not make me restrain you this morn.” 

He swallows the princess’s giggles with a shamelessly wanton, thorough kiss. 

“That would be a terrible torture, indeed.” Ellaria is finally able to agree, teasingly, breathlessly. “Very well, my love. I shall not interrupt your designs.”

Oberyn kisses her again, quick and soft. Resting his forehead against hers, he turns his head to you. “Perhaps after I am through with her, you can give me a reenactment of your meeting.”

His eyes gleam wickedly as he looks at you while addressing his wife.

They are both impossibly beautiful. Inky hair and rich coloring- the very sun yearns to embrace them, its golden arms reaching across the bed. They appear all the more unearthly when gilded with its light; untouchable as muses, models which sculptors might strive their whole lives to do justice.

But they are as physical as you. The illusion is broken when Oberyn again slides his body across yours, pleasure striking like sparks over your skin.

“Come, sweet one. I wish for my messenger bird to perch upon my face.”

Oberyn wants you to…sit on his face? Why? 

The prince stretches out on your other side. You sit up, wanting to oblige him but unsure of his intent. You don’t understand until Oberyn reaches for your sex, stroking lightly in a beckoning gesture. He growls in satisfaction at the slickness that readily coats his fingers.

Oberyn reads the hesitation in your face. “You have not done this before.”

“No, my prince. I’m sorry.”

“Do not apologize. It is an honor to teach new pleasures to the subjects in my care.”

The sheets rustle as Ellaria strokes your thigh comfortingly. “Oberyn had much to teach me, as well, when I first came to his bed. You will like this,” she assures you.

Oberyn makes no objection to his wife’s touch this time. “What is going to happen is you, lovely bird, are going to sit that shapely bottom here-” he pats his chest “-which will allow me to taste your sweetness directly from the source.” He dips the tips of those beckoning fingers into your cunt, leaving no doubt as to his meaning.

You are stunned all over again. Although this time some of your bemusement is surely due to the way the prince’s thumb joins his fingers, pressing at the bud of your sex even while his fingers continue to rub at something divine inside you.

You arch and whimper. “Prince Oberyn-!”

He chuckles, a pleased, approving sound. “That’s right, sweet bird. Come, take your perch and sing.”

The prince tugs and maneuvers you just so, arranging you above his mouth. His fingers are wet on your thigh.

His mouth is wetter. You moan, high and long and helpless, when Oberyn’s mouth engulfs your sex. Past lovers have done this for you (albeit in more traditional positions), but Oberyn has clearly received a prince’s education even in the carnal arts. Slippery heat and suction, concentrated pressure and indiscriminate lapping- somehow he knows precisely what to do and where, and when, and for how long-

“Ah~!” you cry out again as pleasure rushes up all too suddenly, pressure about to burst like a geyser. You squirm and try to lift away from Oberyn, but his arms are wrapped around your thighs, keeping you firmly in place. Surely it would be rude to climax before the prince?

Ellaria’s grip above your knee has tightened. In your parted lips, your heaving chest, she reads the signs.

“Take your pleasure, sweet bird.” Her eyes are now wide, rather than sleepy. “You needn’t wait to reach your peak.”

Her intent gaze is all the permission you need- as is Oberyn’s tongue, twisting relentlessly at your clit. Your uncertainty snaps at his wordless demand. Pleasure floods your system, climax shuddering through every muscle, everything pulling abruptly tight before releasing

The onslaught of bliss gradually recedes. Accompanying the very last of it is a long, deep sigh- a confirmation of relief if there ever was one. Your thighs tremble suddenly, after holding tense for so long. Your hands fall to Oberyn’s head to support yourself, fingers instinctively stroking through the short, bristly strands of his hair.

The prince tips his head back into your caress, revealing his mouth and chin shiny with your release. His eyes glint with satisfaction. 

“Was that as sweet for you as it was for me, Songbird?” 

“I daresay it was, my prince.” You are breathless and overcome with the sudden urge to giggle.

You begin to ease off of Oberyn, your limbs clumsy as if affected by the same buzzing that fills your head. It’s a giddy, bubbling sensation; it reminds you of a party the palace hosted, not long ago. You don’t remember the reason, now. Only that the prince had used it as an excuse to share a marvelous new kind of wine he’d discovered on his travels- a sweet, white vintage which fizzed, in which bubbles rose endlessly, seemingly without source or cause. It sparkled in mouths and in spirits all night long. He’d invited all the palace staff to the celebration, to try this magical wine, and had caught your eye that night. Your spirit lifted by the bubbles, you’d smiled at Oberyn.

Nothing came of it that night, of course. But now, with your body loose as if that wine were still fizzing in your veins…you cannot find it in you to feel disappointed. 

Oberyn takes a second to ensure that you are again lying snugly between him and Ellaria. Then he leans over you entirely, his mouth still shiny, and Ellaria sits up slightly to meet him. She moans at the taste of you in his kiss.

Oberyn’s manhood presses into your thigh. It is insistently hard, a ruddy flush to it now, and leaking freely. The fluid smears onto your skin. Eyes wide, you are entranced by the prince and princess all over again.

The ends of Ellaria’s raven curls brush your arm, soft and sweet-smelling. Following them upward, your eye catches on a necklace encircling her throat. A slender gold chain rests atop her collarbone. From it dangles small stones, their polished surfaces catching the light in shades suggesting a sunrise: pink, lavender, topaz. It seems to glimmer with a light all its own, the chain links shifting and tinkling as Ellaria moves.

“Perhaps you will have to try our topsy-turvy position with her as well, my love.” Oberyn murmurs against Ellaria’s lips, and you’d swear her cheeks colored the slightest tinge.

Turning his head, the prince notices what has caught your attention.

“Do you like her necklace, sweet bird?”

Oberyn shifts his body over yours as he speaks. Distracted by his words, you almost don’t notice the prince’s body sinking between your legs- until you feel a cool brush of air where there hadn’t been, and something rigid, long, and hot settle at the seam of your cunt. You draw a startled breath.

“I like how it sparkles and chimes when I fuck her, “ Oberyn croons in your ear. His tongue flickers at your neck, every inch the viper; the sensation crackles down your spine like a whip-strike of fresh pleasure. “Shall we find one for you?”

Your mouth hangs open, but no air or sound passes in either direction. Perhaps there are too many sounds you could make, and not enough air in the room; all you can do is stare.

Taking your shock as assent, Oberyn directs Ellaria to pick something for you. “We keep a jewelry box by the bed for this very purpose.” The prince smirks.

Ellaria stretches toward the nightstand at Oberyn’s bid, the sheets slithering down her back. She could be a sea-nymph, reaching out from a pool of gold, the silk glimmering like water around her. It is a mesmerizing sight: Ellaria’s long back, a slim braid of muscles flickering as she rummages in a drawer. Her arm arcs upward suddenly, triumphant, and when she turns back the silk slips lower still, and you glimpse what you had only felt between her legs that day…

Ellaria dangles her prize before your face. A short chain of gold like hers, but from which hang smaller stones like clusters of grapes, winking in the light. You can’t imagine wearing something so fine- but then, you couldn’t imagine being welcomed into the prince and princess’s bed before this morning, either. Being adored and adorned by two such breathtaking individuals at once.

“Perfect.” Oberyn’s declaration is hushed and reverent. “This will shine like stars against your skin.” 

“Put it on,” he orders. Then he nearly whispers, “Let us get you ready for me, songbird.”

In his tone is a wicked desire that you realize had been banked, before now. But now- as he pins your legs open with his own body, with his own hand- you sense there is no stopping it.

Oberyn slips two fingers into you, the first rush of the flood he had thus far contained. You gasp, thighs spasming. But Oberyn had drawn from you a flood of your own earlier, and there was no pain, only sudden recognition of an ache- a hunger for more than just the prince’s fingers.

Ellaria drags the end of the necklace over your chest. The metal scrapes gently over your nipples, a startling but not unpleasant sensation, and you squirm at the onslaught of stimulation- Oberyn’s fingers filling you, Ellaria’s fingers brushing your throat- and finally, the close-fitting chain clasping snugly around your neck.

You swallow, and feel the resistance of the unyielding metal against the bob of your throat. Oberyn watches you intently, hungrily. His fingers still move inside you, experimenting with one motion, then another, tracking your reaction to each one. You hitch your thighs open wider as sensations compete for your attention. You tip your head back, exposing your now-bejeweled throat to Oberyn.

“Do I sparkle enough for you, my prince?”

One corner of his mouth curls up, but it’s an almost mocking effect combined with the glitter in his eyes. “Let us find out, little raven.”

Without further warning, Oberyn’s fingers withdraw from your cunt. Every muscle in you tightens, your awareness narrowing in anticipation. Oberyn strokes his cock through your sex, readying you. Your hips lift toward the sensation. Your eyes lock.

The prince of Dorne plunges his cock into you in a single, breathtaking stroke. Your head drops back; your eyes roll heavenward. Oberyn’s loud, satisfied moan fills the room. He relishes this moment as fully as he enjoys everything else he does, his hips grinding forward into yours like he cannot get enough of himself inside you.

Your eyes are squeezed shut, your breathing short. Oberyn’s cock fills you like nothing you’ve ever felt, until there is no room for you to focus on anything but the thick, burning length of him.

“Look at me, Bird. Open your eyes.”

How can you do anything but obey? 

Oberyn’s gaze is fiercely alive, shining with joy and triumph at the pleasure connecting you.

You can hardly speak, but he sees it in your eyes; you have never been so thrilled to feel like a mouse in the cat’s claws. 

After that there is nothing more to be said. Oberyn ravishes you as he promised, raining praises like word of law, scandalous declarations that make you blush despite your position beneath him. Every stroke of his cock is a work of art. The prince draws out your pleasure from a seemingly endless spool, until you are unraveled, trembling, teetering on the knife’s edge of bliss.

The necklace around your throat did indeed glitter like a chain of stars. Oberyn thrusts into you hard, taking it as a challenge to make the stones chime louder than you sobbed each time. He thoroughly enjoys the way each thrust makes your curves ripple. He enjoys, too, the sight of his wife plastering herself to your shoulder, cooing encouragement even as she contributes to Oberyn’s treatment.

“You’re doing so well, sweet bird. My husband does have stamina, doesn’t he? And this after he had me earlier this morn…” Ellaria’s voice is lush and silky as flower petals- and as erotic dragging over your skin. “I had no idea you could sing so sweetly.”

Oberyn slows his pace. “I should not be the only one to have you today, my heart. I wish to hear what songs you make together.”

Oberyn grips your chin in his large hand and turns your face toward the princess. “What do you say, Songbird? Will you eat my wife’s cunt when I’m through with yours?”

You would have agreed to anything as long he brought you back to that dazzling edge, but this was a bargain you’d be happy to fulfill.

“Yes,” you gasp. “Gladly.”

A small smile tilts up Ellaria’s mouth. “I would be most intrigued to experience the talents of this lovely mouth,” she muses. “But perhaps I would rather eat yours, instead. You know how I like to taste you, my prince.”

She direct the last words to her husband, sultry mischief in her dark eyes. Her fingertips dance between your bodies, down, down, to where you are split around him. You jolt at the targeted pressure she places on your clit. 

Oberyn groans, his forehead lowering to your shoulder. “I fear you shall not have long to wait, my love. This cunt is truly divine- it may deserve further worship after all…”

His words trail away, praises only half-formed grunted into your neck. His thrusts speed up again. The two of them on either side of you, commanding your pleasure so sweetly, overwhelms your senses- as do Ellaria’s fingers, pressing precisely where you need.

Your mouth opens in a soundless cry as you tip over the precipice. Oberyn jerks his head up to see, and the gorgeous pleasure-pain contorting your features, your cunt fluttering in time with your body’s convulsions, yanks the prince after you. 

Ellaria watches raptly. Her husband’s long body, muscles rippling as he pistons into another, was a sight she never tired of. Neither was his near-snarl as he climaxed, his body seizing and shuddering in ecstasy.

The prince continues moving until your cries turn to whimpers, and your thighs clamp around his hips. A sinister thought briefly quirks his mouth- if he had not been additionally sated by Ellaria earlier, it would have taken much more effort indeed to slow him. Oberyn is rarely satisfied unless his lovers are all but unable to rise from his bed. 

A good thing then, that a familiar gleam has appeared in his wife’s eye.

As Oberyn lowers himself back down to your side, Ellaria takes his place, her body undulating atop yours like a serpent. The prince watches with lazy satisfaction. Despite both his recent releases, his blood maintains a low simmer at the sight of the two of you, the feminine swells of you squishing and spilling against one another. Like the overflow of cream from a bun, he thinks dreamily. Exactly how he likes his cream- overflowing. Perhaps he will be able to sleep now, and he can request some custard puffs from the kitchens later for a second reenactment…

You have barely caught your breath from Oberyn’s attention when Ellaria steals it again, her tongue slipping against yours in a familiar dance. Unencumbered by gowns this time, you are able to touch all of her, caressing down her spine and lower, marveling at the smoothness of her skin. She sits up slightly, and slickness that's not your own lets her rock easily against your sex.

“You sing too sweetly to release so soon, lovely bird. Have you any urgent appointments today?”

Your gaze falls to the black sash which Oberyn had so carelessly tossed aside. Before you can respond, another knock sounds at the door.

Oberyn lets out a half-hearted snarl. “By all the gods-”

Again fully nude, but appearing even more debauched than when you’d arrived, the prince stalks to the door and flings it open.

“Yes?”

It’s another messenger, although her reaction is very different from yours: she stares rigidly ahead, her voice quavering at the sight of Oberyn’s naked, recently exerted body. 

“My prince, the Maester sent me to look for…” she trails off when she spots you, her eyes flitting to you for a split second when Oberyn shifts impatiently. “I’m sorry for disturbing you, my lord.” She bows her head, her voice going squeaky.

“Tell him I have need of this raven for a special task today. I will answer his missive later.”

Oberyn is closing the door before he’s done speaking. When he turns back to the bed, he finds you with your head thrown back, writhing as Ellaria toys deliberately with your nipples. 

He chuckles. “And you tell me I am the incorrigible one, my love.”

Oberyn burrows languidly into the sheets again, stretching out comfortably by your side. You’re whimpering by now, a furrow in your brow rapidly taking the shape of disbelief. It’s a feeling he knows well. 

“Oh, sweet bird, my wife is a rare talent with her fingers, is she not? We have hardly begun all the things we would do to you…”

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