“Come over here, chère Hélène,” Anna Pavlovna said to the beautiful princess, who was sitting some way off, forming the center of another circle.
Princess Hélène was smiling; she got up with the same unchanging smile of a perfectly beautiful woman with which she had entered the drawing room. Lightly rustling her white ball gown trimmed with ivy and moss, her white shoulders gleaming, her hair and diamonds shining, she walked straight on between the parted men, not looking at anyone, but smiling to everyone, and as if kindly granting each of them the right to admire the beauty of her figure, her full shoulders, her very exposed bosom and back, as the fashion then was, and, as if bringing with her the brilliance of a ball, approached Anna Pavlovna. Hélène was so good-looking that there was not only not a trace of coquetry to be seen in her, but, on the contrary, it was as if she was embarrassed by her unquestionable and all too strongly and triumphantly effective beauty. It was as if she wished but was unable to diminished the effect of her beauty.
ELENA ‘HÉLÈNE’ VASSILIEVNA KURAGINA, WAR AND PEACE.
Dazed and Distracted, Can’t You Tell? (GastonxFemale!Reader fanfic)
Hey-Howdy-Ho! New obsession, new fics, and new blogs! Enjoy! If you’d like to be on the tag list, just message me!
Dazed and Distracted, Can’t You Tell? Chapter 1
word count: 854
“Must you go join the war?“ You asked for the uptenth time, grasping hold of the 15 year old boys off white peasant shirt. Though he was barely three years older than you, he had already sprouted up over a head taller, so when he looked down at you, you had to crane your neck to look at him in his blue eyes.
Jean-Léon Gérôme [French. 1824–1904] Phryne revealed before the Areopagus 1861 ___
The subject matter is Phryne, a legendary courtesan in ancient Greece who was put on trial for impiety. Phryne was on trial for profaning the Eleusinian Mysteries. Phryne was acquitted after her defender Hypereides removed her robe and exposed her naked bosom to the jury when it appeared the verdict would be unfavourable. The sight of her nude body apparently so moved the judges that they acquitted her. Some authorities claim that this story is a later invention.
This little stand-alone fic is a missing scene from Outlander book 1, set in Leoch after Jamie and Claire were married. It’s my explanation as to why Laoghaire left the ill wish beneath Claire’s pillow. Warning: It has approximately no redeeming value, and is purely an excuse to write Drunk Claire, Horny Jamie, and smut. Plus bonus Jealous Laoghaire.
We were drunk on Colum’s Rhenish. Or rather, I was drunk on Colum’s Rhenish. Jamie had only had ale at dinner, and was tipsy at worst, while the Mackenzie had plied me with glass after glass of his potent alcohol. I only realized sometime during my third glass, when he asked me all too casually about my parentage, that he still wondered whether I was a spy and hoped I was drunk enough to loosen my tongue. Now that I was Jamie’s wife, I was technically related by marriage, but our rushed and unexpected nuptials had done little to erase his suspicion. Nor did my arrest and capture by Jack Randall. While Dougal seemed convinced of my innocence, having seen firsthand the bruises that resulted from my encounters with the Captain, his brother was not. I could hardly blame him. I couldn’t be entirely honest with him, though I was hardly the threat he imagined me to be. But though I couldn’t tell him everything about me, I happily disclosed everything I remembered about Randall and Fort William.
As I took another sip, I glanced over at my new groom, who was deep in conversation with Alec and Murtagh. I didn’t know what they were talking about, nor did I care. I was entranced by the planes of Jamie’s face in the firelight, the defined jawline, the sparkling blue eyes, the flame of his hair. My attraction to him was undeniable. It had started earlier than I was willing to admit, and had only gotten stronger as I knew him better. Between his exuberant love making and the gradual, sincere opening of his heart, I was becoming quickly enamored of my young husband. He broke out in a gale of startled laughter at something Murtagh said, and I found myself involuntarily smiling at him. He caught me watching and gave me one of his solemn, owlish attempts at a wink.
Feyre and Rhys find themselves dancing in the rain after a night of celebrations, much to their delight. ~ The celebration courtyard was filled with raucous laughter and the heady scents of sweat, roses, and fine ale. Between the long tables set on either side of the courtyard was a crowd of dancers, twirling and swaying in bright silks.
Seated at one of the tables, Feyre gazed at the dancers with her head propped up on her fist. The vibrant colors and spinning shapes blurred before her tired eyes, becoming a cloud of navy- and peach-colored chiffon. To her left, Cassian roared with laughter at something someone had said. But Feyre was too exhausted to pay attention to any conversation being held at the table tonight.
It was just after midnight in Velaris, and the entire city was celebrating the full moon. The streets were crowded with vendors and stalls selling moon-shaped trinkets and sweets. Music floated in the air throughout the city, echoing in every alley and every clearing.
Little candles were lit in the house windows and lined up along the edges of the streets, making it appear as if the entire city was speckled with tiny stars.
The band finished that charming, plucky tune they’d been playing, and the entire courtyard erupted into applause. Face alight with a wide grin, Mor plopped onto the bench across from Feyre. A moment later, Azriel—whose shadows had disappeared for the evening—slid into the seat next to her. Mor turned to grin at him as she tucked her hair back up into its delicate braids.
“I haven’t had that much fun in a century,” she said, twisting back to face Feyre. Beside the golden-haired dreamer, Azriel was fingering a piece of bread, his face strangely red. Feyre suppressed her smile—the shadow warrior had finally build up enough courage to ask Mor to dance, but evidently didn’t know what action to take next. As if he could feel her gazing at him, Azriel looked up, brows furrowed.
In the distance, the band started a slow, calming melody and pairs of dancers began to stand.
Feyre slowly grinned at Azriel. She let her mind reach out and touch his mental wall, and he opened up enough to let her voice through. Ask her to dance again, she said. She won’t say no.
After a moment of gazing down at his hands, Azriel turned to Mor and hesitantly murmured something in her ear. She grinned widely and nodded, letting him take her hand and lead her to the dance floor. Mor’s golden dress swayed in the breeze and she touched Azriel’s cheek, and then they were lost in the crowd.
Those two will take a century to admit their love for each other, came a familiar, deep voice in Feyre’s mind. She smiled despite herself, her tiredness disappeared somewhat.
At least you were brave enough to do it sooner, she replied. Any longer and I would’ve had to resort to flirting with Cassian. She felt him laugh through the bond, his joy like a wave of golden sparks in her mind.
Feyre sat up straight, gazing around the courtyard. While we are on the topic of adoration, where might I find you, my love?
Over by the giggling women dressed rather revealingly. I must say, some of them are more daring in their fashion than you are. Though I daresay what you are wearing tonight is revealing enough.
Feyre stood immediately, clamping down on her annoyance. Prick, she hissed at him, and then slammed her mental wall shut—but not before the echoes of her mate’s laugh reached her.
She made her way around the table, her dress swishing. She had chosen a peacock-colored number for the occasion, with complicated, delicate indigo accents threaded throughout. The silk wrapped tightly across her bodice, coming to a sharp V and exposing her bosom, and flowed out into a billowing skirt that barely touched the ground. Cerridwen had braided her hair up into a style like Mor’s, letting a few pieces hang down, and had given her small, turquoise earrings that glinted in the light to wear.
The music quivered through the air as Feyre made her way around the edge of the courtyard. Groups of fae were gathered here, chatting and laughing and sipping mulled wine. Here and there, hidden in the darkness, were couples kissing passionately. Feyre quickly avoided her gaze, cheeks burning, and glanced around for Rhysand’s dark hair and trimmed attire.
And there he was.
Leaning against one of the stone walls, half in the shadows, smirking and eyes glinting and hair ruffled as he listened to the female fae before him talk. Feyre started towards him and, as if he could feel her presence, he looked up. His eyes glowed as he took in her appearance, gaze sweeping up and down her form and making her cheeks blaze.
She would never grow used to his intense stare, she realized, as she slowly walked towards him. Never, despite the years they would be together. Rhys looked back down to the woman before him, politely saying something, and then turned back to face her. He wore a fitted jacket and tunic, all black, with gold accents on the wrists and collar. His hair was half swept back and the shadows played with the planes of his face.
My High Lord, thought Feyre, and Rhys grinned.
Hello, Feyre darling, he purred, reaching out to wrap his arms around her when she neared. He pulled her to his chest and she breathed in his musky scent, eyes shuttering closed.
“You left us as soon as we arrived at the festival,” she whispered, hands clutching the back of his jacket. He pulled away slightly, eyes filled with an unspoken apology.
“I had business.” He kissed her forehead. “I promise that it won’t happen again.”
Business with pretty, underdressed girls? thought Feyre, but Rhys just shook his head—half smiling—and pulled her onto the dance floor.
“Rhys,” pleaded Feyre. “Rhys, my love, not tonight. I’m tired, please—”
He just smiled wickedly once more and said, “Those manners are only for the bedroom, Feyre darling.” He inclined his head towards the whirling crowd before them. “Let’s dance.”
Feyre tried protesting once more, pulling on Rhys in an attempt to avoid the inevitable, but soon gave in and was swept into the crowd. Infinitely grateful that she had chosen such a freeing dress, she linked her hands around his neck and whirled along to the music. The tune became lively, joyful, and—all tiredness suddenly gone—Feyre laughed and spun in Rhys’s grip.
The world around them became a blur of blues and pinks and silks and light, and they themselves became—became the music, the night, the stars and moon, the vibrant colors and laughter. Feyre threw back her head and let the joy consume her, giving in to the moment. When she looked back up at Rhys, he was smiling with delight and gazing upon Feyre as if she was the only light he could see in this infinite blackness, as if she was his world.
Of course, she was his world, and he was hers. Because they were mates, together for eternity, bound by some ancient and wild thing that lit up between them as if it were alive.
The music reached its end and the pair paused in their dancing, both panting. Feyre stared at her mate, memorizing the happiness in his eyes, the youngness he seemed to display, the lack of anything that associated him with darkness or pain or fear, before it was too late. Because in this moment, he wasn’t Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court. He was Rhys, her friend despite the troubles, her other half for all time, her mate throughout the ages.
You’re mine, she said to him, and took his face in her hands and kissed him passionately.
His hands found her waist, gently tracing invisible lines there. Her mouth opened and his tongue swept in, eliciting in a groan from her. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear another tune starting—but that didn’t matter. Rhys’s fingers began tracing up her dress, towards her breasts, and every thought in her head vanished.
With an effort, she pulled back. Not now, she said to him. Even in her mind her voice sounded breathless. Rhys’s smile turned feral.
What better time than now? he said to her, but he pulled away despite his words. He held her close to him, fingers tracing a line up and down her back, as a slower song began. Feyre turned her head, listening to Rhys’s heartbeat that seemed to match her own. She closed her eyes for a moment and when she opened them again, she caught a glimpse of Mor and Azriel, still dancing. The pair were pressed close, their foreheads together, Azriel’s hands around Mor’s back and hers around his neck.
Mor sported a happy expression and, oddly, Azriel was smiling.
Feyre felt her lips twitch upwards and closed her eyes again.
And then the first drop of rain fell on her nose.
“What—” She looked upwards, squinting against the other drops falling. Sometime in the night, the sky had clouded over and was now dropping water onto the celebrators. The other dancers paused as well as the warm rain began to fall more quickly, glancing at one another. Then they simply laughed and began twirling and swaying again, letting the rain drench their clothes and hair.
“You look absolutely stunning,” whispered Rhys in her ear, and Feyre pressed her lips to his cheek.
“As do you.”
He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, a smirk forming. “It almost makes me want to lick the water running down your pretty little face.”
Her heart jumped, but she managed stay composed and whisper, “Shhh.” She pressed a finger against his lips, but he just bit her soft skin gently.
It was damning that her heart skipped a beat the moment his teeth met her skin.
You can lick me all you want, she said through their bond, once we’re alone. Later tonight.
Who said it had to be later?
A wicked grin and his arms tightly around her were all the warning she was given before Rhys shot into the air, lifted through the rain and the warm breeze by his powerful wings. She yelped and clung to him, still unaccustomed to his sudden flying. He strengthened his grip and smiled down at her, water drenching his hair and face.
Feyre smiled back and then closed her eyes, creating a little bubble of water-free air around them. She felt approval drift down the bond.
They flew on, Rhys tracing an invisible pattern into her back.
And Feyre let the wind wrap around her, giving herself up to the night and the stars.
As you gaze out onto Asgard, your dress flowing in the wind as your hair wafts around your shoulders, you take yet another look down at the ring sitting atop of your finger.
The beautiful band, gold in structure, held a glistening emerald surrounded by chocolate diamonds.
Its beauty held your gaze for longer than you would’ve liked to admit.
“Now you know how it feels to look at you.”
Jumping at his voice, you whirl around as your hair begins to flutter around your face, your eyes wide with surprise as Loki’s towering form, still clad in his wedding armor, as you take in his grin.
“I didn’t mean to startle you, my Queen,” he lulls.
You blushed under the nickname.
“It is quite alright,” you say as you slowly turn back out to the scenery, the nighttime sky draping Asgard in stars you didn’t recognize as Loki walks up slowly behind you, his hands slowly settling into the light dip of your waist as he presses his chest into your head.
Your height estimation was spot-on.
As Loki begins mumbling the foreign constellations in your ear, the warmth of his breath cascading down your neck, you find your eyes lightly fluttering shut as your chest begins to flush.
And it didn’t go unnoticed by your husband.
Soon, the names of the stars were punctuated by fluttering kisses on your neck. His hands began to slowly roam your sides as his long fingers took sensual strides over your clothed skin.
He even nipped a couple of times at your ear, causing your hands to reach out for the balcony banister as you hold on, desperate to keep yourself upright.
“I would catch you, you know,” Loki mutters into your skin as your breath audibly hitches.
It was the first sound of that sort that he had elicited from you.
“If you fell,” he whispers as you feel your knees grow weak.
The foreign sensations were too much to take as you find yourself whipping around quickly, a part of you wanting to look at him and a part of you frightened and wishing to get away.
But when you spun around, Loki’s body stepped forward, pinning you to the banister as your eyes connect with his broad, armored chest.
You watched your breath condensate on the shining metal as Loki’s hands wrap around the banister, trapping you in between a plummeting fall and his warm, strong body.
“I know that it is my duty,” you begin with a trembling voice, “as your wife, to succumb to certain…duties…”
Loki’s eyes locked hard onto the top of your head as you continue to stare into your reflection in his armor.
“…all I ask is that you be gentle…” you whisper as your eyes begin to water.
“Is that all you see it as?” Loki asks as his hand leaves the banister, crooking his finger up under your chin as he tilts your watery gaze up to him.
It hurt his soul that you were holding back tears on your wedding night.
“Because if that is all this is, we do not have to indulge in anything.”
You felt yourself furrowing your brow.
“I have just never been a fan of pain,” you choke out, desperate to keep your fear at bay as it rages out of control within the confines of your chest.
“Pain can be pleasurable, under the right circumstances,” Loki muses as his eyes dance across your face.
And that is when you felt a tear slip out of the corner of your eye, it traveling down next to your nose as it cascades over the cliff of your lip, dropping onto your exposed bosom as your jaw begins to quiver.
“Ssssshhhhh…” Loki soothes, dipping down to kiss the side of your nose.
“I am not going to hurt you,” Loki soothes lowly, kissing the cliff of your lip as your mouth puckers instantaneously to his.
“We don’t hurt the things we love on Asgard,” Loki whispers, his hot breath trailing against your skin as his lips connect with the salty trail along your bosom, his tongue darting out over your skin as he sucks in a patch as you let out an audible gasp.
He knew that that was your ultimate fear. That he would turn into your father, tossing you around and ordering you to do things you didn’t wish, only to have to obey because you were his property.
And Loki was determined to communicate with you that you were not anyone’s property. Only his to cherish and protect.
But just as Loki goes to rear his head back, your hands fly to his hair, your fingers twisting into his long, raven tendrils as you pull his face back into your bosom.
The chuckle that left his lips vibrated your breasts, causing your nipples to stand at peaks underneath your clothing.
Opening his mouth as his tongue darts out, he draws a wet trail before going back, nipping at it with his teeth as you gasp and lob your head back.
“My Queen…” Loki rumbles as his hands trail underneath your wedding dress.
Feeling the pads of his fingers work their way up your legs, you lob your head forward, kissing the top of his head as you run your fingers through his hair before he finds the luscious meat of your thighs.
“Oh, yes,” he growls, biting down into your breast as an audible groan leaves your throat.
The feeling his his fingertips kneading into your flesh was nothing short of euphoric.
“Hu-uh,” you hitch as your grasp into Loki’s hair gets tighter.
Soon, his lips were latching onto your neck, sucking in patches after patches of skin as he teeters the line of pleasure and pain, your muffled gasps and throaty groans slipping more frequently from your lips as Loki’s arms trail your massive dress up to your waist.
Your entire lower body was exposed to the whole of Asgard.
“Lift your arms,” Loki murmurs into your ear.
And you found yourself doing nothing but obeying.
Feeling him slip the dress off, you hear it fall to the side on the balcony floor as the wind picks up yet again, blowing your hair in all different directions as you finally flutter your eyes open, only to be met with the beautiful green eyes of the man you had come to love and respect so dearly.
“No,” you state.
You saw the lustful stare lightly falter on Loki’s face as you raise your hand up to cup his cheek.
“It’s not just a duty,” you whisper.
Watching the many emotions dash around behind Loki’s eyes, the one that finally settles onto his face causes your breathing to pick up as you lock your eyes heavily with his.
You wanted to bask in the feeling of what it meant to be carnally desired.
All at once, Loki picks you up, throwing you over his shoulder as you let out a yelp, his hand coming up to crack against your ass as you suck in a bout of air, allowing the tingling sensation to work its way around your body.
Then? You felt yourself plummeting to the bed, your body and bosom bouncing for him to watch as your wide eyes take in his still-clothed form.
But he wasn’t that way for long.
As he crosses his arms against his chest, he thrusts them down to his sides as his clothing goes crashing to the floor, his naked form looming over you on the bed as your eyes slowly trail over the first naked man form your eyes would ever take in.
The first…and only…form.
But before your eyes could devour his body, his lips twisting into a lustful smirk, your eyes stop between his legs as you feel the blood drain from your face.
That…was supposed to fit…in you.
And Loki sensed the hesitancy rising again in your soul.
“Don’t worry,” he says gutturally as his knees his the mattress with a thud, “I will take my time, and I will be slow.”
And all you could do was swallow hard, and nod.
“Why am I not…?”
But by the time you could get the question out, Loki was hovering over you, his lips mere millimeters from yours.
“Because I want to peel it off of you,” he whispers.
Leaning your head up, you capture his lips in a long, slowly, sensuous kiss as your hands travel up his chest and slowly latch around his neck.
“I trust you,” you whisper into his mouth.
Releasing your lips as he trails kisses along your jawline, he buries his face into the crook of your neck as his hands slip behind your back, your body instinctively arching into him as he unclasps your undergarment, slowly allowing the fabric to pop back from your body as your breasts finally drop free, his mouth beginning to water as he takes in the voluptuous valley of your cleavage with his eyes.
He tosses the fabric haphazardly over the side of the bed.
“Oh, Y/N,” he growls, his mouth latching onto one of your peaks as you suck in a light bout of air.
“Ho…yeah…” you breathe out lightly.
Continuing his light journey down your body, his fingertips kneading into the excess of you as he kisses down your stomach, he nuzzles at your belly button before he hooks his fingers into your panties.
Flickering his gaze up as he takes in your flushed and panting chest, your breasts jiggling with every motion as your half-hooded eyes stare wantonly at the ceiling, he smirks to himself as he slowly pulls your panties off, lifting your legs one by one as his eyes get a glimpse of the growing wetness between your thighs.
One thing he had never experienced was sex with a woman who was bigger.
And when he saw your glistening thighs, your excess squeezing the juices from between your folds as it drips naturally onto your legs, he feels himself grow weak against his own control as he tosses your underwear over his shoulder before rushing to your center.
Feeling his hands settle on your knees, you feel your legs being parted as your hands wrap themselves into the sheets of the bed.
You weren’t quite sure what was coming next, but your entire body was humming with anticipation.
Feeling yourself spread for him, the cool air causing your skin to pucker, you feel Loki’s tongue lap up your inner thigh, causing you to jump slightly before he hops over to the other side, his throat audibly groaning as he tastes you on your own skin.
He felt his own resolve slowly melting with every lick of you he took.
“You taste divine,” he breathes desperately.
Your entire body was floating. Floating and sinking, as if Loki was simultaneously your anchor and your helium, destined to always change course and keep you on your toes.
Your curling, shaking toes.
Your mind was hazy and your fingertips white. Your body was humming and your soul aflight. Your skin was crawling, your hands were curling, your lips were trembling, and your legs were tight.
And just as if the words were brewed upon your tongue, the caffeinated words percolate behind your lips before slipping out into the essence of the room.
“Devour me,” you growl.
And it unleashed the beast.
Feeling his arms wrap around your legs, his long fingers coming back around as they part your dripping folds, his tongue licks a long, deep stripe from your entrance to your sensitive mound, your body jumping at the sensation as he holds your hips firmly to the bed.
“Mine,” he growls, his tongue starting its assault on your body as your brows stitch together tight, your hands flying instinctively to his hair as your hips begins to naturally roll into his face.
It was as if another switch in you had flipped, knowing exactly what to do as your mind drains empty, replaced with the a liquid only Loki could give you.
A liquid only Loki could fill you with.
As moans and groans and gasps tumble from your lips, your hips bucking into him as his face sinks into you, you feel his hands reach up and grabs fistfuls of your excess, hanging on to you as desperately as he can as your back arches off of the bed, a sound nothing short of animalistic peeling from your throat as your body trembles and your walls contract.
You could feel Loki smirking in between your legs as his tongue slowly rides your orgasm, lapping up every last bit of you as his lips travel down to your entrance, spitting all of you back out before his body rushes up to your lips, pressing a deep kiss into yours as your body continues to jump with every sensation of him upon you.
“Oh, Loki…” you breathe into him.
Feeling him probe at your entrance, your body automatically tenses up as he dips his face into the crook of your neck, his tongue massaging your pulse point as he feels your body relax.
“Nice and slow,” he croaks.
Feeling him press his tip in as you wince, he begins to kiss you once again, sucking in your skin lightly as he holds it between his teeth.
You felt your hands fly to his back as your fingertips dig into his rippling muscles.
“Oh,” he groans into your neck.
Running your toes lightly up the backs of his legs, he presses in a bit deeper as your body tenses up once more, causing his to shudder as he bites down playfully on the patch of skin as you groan and press your head into the pillow.
On and on this pattern went, his body trembling visibly above yours as he sinks himself to his hilt, his hips pressed deep into yours as your legs spread for him, welcoming his intrusion as your nails dig crescents into his back.
He was right.
Your mind was swimming.
“Take me,” you breathe.
“Don’t give me that command,” he begs, shaking his head back and forth as his rock hard length throbs inside of you.
And as you whip your eyes open, your fully-blown pupils latching on to his blackened eyes, you rear your head up as you capture his lower lip in between your teeth, suckling furiously as Loki groans darkly into your mouth.
“Take. Me,” you growl.
“As you wish, My Queen.”
Feeling him rear back, he pummels back into you as you throw your head back, calling out to the ceiling as he rears back once more, his arms propped up against your head as he slams back into your hips as your body begins to quake.
Oh, he was so, so right.
“I love you,” you breathe, your eyes fluttering open as Loki bends down to capture your lips in a final, loving kiss.
“And I love you,” he murmurs.
Watching him as he rears back onto his heels, he picks up your voluptuous legs, the crooks of them slinging over his shoulders as he grasps onto your hips, his hands pulling you towards him as he steaks you once more, your hands finding his rock-hard thighs as you dig your hands into them.
“I am going to ruin you,” he promises.
Thrusting into you, again and again, as your body writhes and your core begins to heat, you feel Loki wrap his hand around your right ankle as he removes it from his shoulder, pushing it out as he spreads you for the world, watching your every reaction as he continues to thrust.
And when your eyes flew open as your jaw unhinged, he knew he had found that beautiful sweet spot.
“Theeere it is,” he growls as your voice audibly calls out into the room.
Thrusting maniacally as his name tumbles from your lips, he hears your desperate pleas as your entire body begins to flush in wanton pleasure.
The assault of sensations on your body was so intense, you didn’t know if you wanted to keep going or stop.
And all at once, as if the heavens above parted the ceiling and began lifting your body unto its light, your back arches and your jaw unhinges, your sounds going silent as your hands fly to the sheets.
“Uuuuuuhhhhhh…” you croak.
Feeling him release your legs, your walls pulsating around him as he drops back down onto you, he props himself up on his forearms as he grasps your hair, pulling your head to the side as his eyes connect sharply with yours.
“Don’t you dare hold back on me,” he growls.
Thrusting into you as yet another orgasm begins to barrel over your body, your hands wrap around underneath Loki’s arms as your hands dig into his back, your palms smacking his skin over and over and over again as your body quakes underneath him.
“Yes. Oh, Jotuns. Yes. Fuck, Y/N. Oh, GOD!”
The only sounds pouring from your lips were drones and pants, your senses so overwhelmed that tears started to spring to your eyes as your hands slap your husband’s back over and over again, your body screaming to stop as your gluttonous lust wishes still for the attack.
And all at once, as Loki sinks his teeth into the meat of your collarbone, you feel his length pulsate inside of you as you clasp your ankles around his hips, your walls sucking him in deeper as Loki’s arms thread behind you, holding you close to him as he pumps you full of his rapture.
Your drones finally way to whimpers as you bury your face, dwarfed by his shoulders, into the crook of his neck.
Panting into each other’s skin as Loki stays sheathed, the pounding of your palms gives way to the soothing rubbing of his back as you finally find your voice once more.
“Oh, my god,” you choke out as tears stream down your face.
Dropping your head back to the pillow, you feel Loki slowly pull out from between your legs, the sensation earning yet another shudder as he chuckles lightly into your skin.
Hearing you sniffle, he raises his head to look at your face as he hovers his sweating form over yours.
“Are you alright, my love?” he asks, his fingertips swiping your sweat-drenched hair from your forehead as his thumbs lightly wipe at the tears spilling down your face.
“I am more than alright, Loki,” you breathe as your hand slides from his back to his shoulder, squeezing it lightly before cupping his reddened cheek.
“I am home.”
And as a broad smile graces Loki’s cheeks, his eyes sparkling as he continues to lay in between your sprawling legs, your fingertips run along his face, tucking a rogue strand of hair behind his ear as your eyes dance in between his.
“Could you teach me to do that to you?” you ask.
“That thing you did. In between my legs. I am sure there’s a male-centric version?”
You watched his eyes darken as he holds tight onto you, rolling the two of you over as his back hits the bed, your body laying on top of his as his length begins to grow once again against your leg.
“There is,” he says, his voice a bit darker than before.
“Teach me how to please you,” you beg, your eyes searching his as his hand comes up and cups your face.
“Make good on your promise,” you add, your voice gaining a sultry edge as a light growl emanates from Loki’s throat.
“My word it my bond,” he murmurs, raising his head as he captures your lips, his tongue thrusting inside as your hands dig into the mattress to hold your body steady.
the day I was going to die wouldn’t have been such a big deal, but knowing I was going to die way before Jaebum would was tough. I
loved him almost immediately, maybe not as quickly as love at first sight, but
it didn’t take me very long to know that he was the one I wanted to spend the
rest of my life with, as short as it was. It also didn’t take long to know that
he would live a long, wonderful life, while I had less than a year left myself.
can you do a mgg one where the reader dated a friend of his (like quang or steve or something) but they’ve broken up & the reader is still around so they get to know each other and hit it off right away? maybe dealing with his friends jealousy and stuff? love your writing, so happy you’re doing requests again ❤️
You knew that you would deal with backlash.
You knew that finding your ex-boyfriend’s friend handsome was crossing into territory you should never step foot in.
You knew that Matthew thought the same thing, listening to Steve go on and on about how he was glad the two of you were broken up, and then going out that evening and grabbing a bite to eat with you…all the while feeling the need to keep it from his friend.
But when he introduced Steve to a woman he worked with, he saw how much they hit it off.
“They seem to really like each other,” Matthew said before slurping up a lo mein noodle between his lips.
“That’s really good,” you say sincerely, hoping that maybe the two of you could progress on what you knew was brewing between the two of you.
What you didn’t expect was the random knock on your door.
What you didn’t expect was Steve to be standing there, a bag full of things he had found still strewn about his home.
What you didn’t expect was him to actually turn up on your doorstep and wish to deliver those items face to face.
So when Matthew answered the door, Steve’s face started to burn.
“What are you doing here?” Steve breathes.
Furrowing your brow as you set your tray of food down, you slowly walk up behind Matthew, your eyes meeting Steve’s as he takes in your outfit.
“The two of you?” he asks.
But you cut Matthew’s statement off with a statement of your own.
“Yes. Is that a problem?”
You had startled both of the men. Not so much with what you said, but how coolly you had said it.
You watched as Steve swung the bag into your floor, the contents spilling out onto the ground as you slowly rake your eyes back up to him.
“How long?” he asks, his voice a bit harsher this time.
“Is that any of your business?” you ask.
“A couple months. Nothing more,” Matthew says.
“You don’t owe him an explanation,” you say breathlessly.
“You two might not be friends, but he’s still mine,” he says as he looks back at you, fear and anxiousness wafting behind his eyes as Steve’s voice pipes up.
“How long did it take before you swooped in on her?” Steve asks.
“Dude, it’s not like that. We just…have a good time with each other.”
“Well, if you haven’t yet, you’re about to,” Steve says, raking his eyes down your body one more time before casting his gaze back to Matthew.
“What does that mean?” you ask.
“It means that you never bare much cleavage unless you think you’re gonna get laid,” Steve spits as he turns on his heels.
The statement caused your jaw to drop as your hand drifts mindlessly to your lightly exposed bosom.
Casting a helpless glance back at you, you swallow hard as you listen to Matthew’s footfalls retreat outside.
And the sound of your shutting door was heavy on your ears that night.
It had been three weeks since Steve had happened on your doorstep.
He was happily in a new relationship, as seen by your eyes the one time you attempted society to get groceries.
But you weren’t allowed to be…
…even if it was with his friend.
You had hoped, for Matthew’s sake, that they were able to repair their relationship. You knew how much they meant to one another, but you couldn’t help but be angry at both of them for the situation at hand.
The bag of things from Steve’s house soon made its way to the trash can, your eyes not even bothering to scan the bag as you stuff it all the way to the bottom.
You had pulled all the curtains in your small home closed, wanting to block out any and all things that reminded you of him.
Of his eyes.
Of his smile.
Of his jokes.
Of his magic tricks…
You had pulled the battery from your cell phone, determined to let life pass you by as you wallowed in your own lonely self-pity.
But Matthew wasn’t easily blocked out.
Just as you were lulling off for a nap on your couch, you hear a loud banging at your bedroom window.
Hearing Matthew’s muffled voice as it hits your ears, you furrow your brow as you sit your aching body up on the couch.
“Y/N? Are you in there!?”
As the knocking on the window slowly shifts down the side of the house, it eventually winds up at your door, the knocking hard and swift as you groan getting up from the couch.
You let the door swing open slowly, revealing a panicked, worried, disheveled Matthew.
His eyes slowly scanned your body, taking in the bags under your eyes, the paleness of your skin, and the greasiness of your hair.
“Y-your…your phone is off,” he stammers.
“I know,” you croak.
“You…uh…haven’t been at work either.”
“I know,” you lull.
“Steve seems happy!” he says much too perky, trying to find a piece of conversation to pull you from your deadpan glare.
But all you did was sigh heavily and begin to shut the door.
Jutting his foot into the door, it stops it in its tracks as you stand out of the way, not wanting Matthew to see you as tears stream down your face.
“I should’ve never left that night,” he admits.
He was only met with silence.
“I miss you,” he whimpers lightly.
And again, only silence as you close your eyes and lean your forehead against the back of the door.
“I could launch into some explanation of why I haven’t come around or why I went after Steve instead of staying with you…but all I can really say is that Steve means a lot to me. I’ve known him for a very long time. But…but I never planned on falling for his ex.”
You found yourself furrowing your brow lightly as he continues.
“And I explained that to him. A-a-and I told him that, since the two of you were over, it shouldn’t be an issue. That we were adults.”
“You said that to him?” you breathe.
“Yes,” Matthew sighs, relieved to hear your voice pipe up, “yes…I-I-I did.”
You found yourself slowly swinging the door back open, coming face to face with the man who’s presence your heart ached for.
His eyes steadily raked up and down your body again.
“Have-…you been eating?” he asks lightly, his brow furrowed in worry as you close your eyes.
“Tried grocery shopping two weeks ago. Saw Steve with his new girl and got mad that I couldn’t be with you but he could be happy, so I left.”
“Without food?” Matthew croaks lightly, tears cresting his eyes as your gaze falls to your bare feet.
“Haven’t really been hungry anyway…” you trail off.
Matthew couldn’t stop himself from stepping towards you and cloaking his arms around your back.
And god, how good it felt to be back in his arms.
Sobbing into his chest as he buries his face into the crook of your neck, he slowly backs you into your home as he kicks the door shut with his foot, darkness descending upon your little home once again as the two of you stumble to find the couch.
“Here here here. Sit,” he coos, pulling out his cell phone as you slump back into the cushions.
“Yes. I would, uh…like to place an order for delivery?” he begins to speak into his phone as you close your eyes, his voice wafting over your ears as you listen to him place a very large order for Chinese food.
You had even missed the way he ate.
“I’ll pay with cash when you get here. A-a-alright. Thanks.”
Feeling him sit down beside you, his hand resting on your knee as you roll your head in his general direction, you smile lightly through your tears as you find your hand laying lightly down on top of his.
What other woman? For Rick Grimes, there is clearly only Michonne. I mean, look at him, on top of Michonne, holding on to a phallic shaped object, squirting liquid over her exposed heaving bosom, while she lies underneath him writhing. Sexually suggestive blocking much? Equally obvious is that Andrew Lincoln has been playing Rick as extremely thirsty for Michonne.
There is no way some other woman, Rick doesn’t know, is going to believably come in and abruptly turn Rick’s eye away from the woman he’s been lusting over for about a year in their timeline.
Why? Because Rick is loyal, because he doesn’t move on quickly, because he’s extremely distrustful and most importantly, because since his wife died, he has only ever been shown lustful for Michonne when there have already been plenty of other women he could have shown sexual interest in and didn’t. Why would the King of the Zombie Apocalypse want anyone else when he’s already met Queen Michonne? There would only be crappy, contrived as hell, soap opera reasons and/or racist reasons he would. Despite all the speculation to the contrary, I believe Rick is going to get lucky and start a romantic relationship with Michonne as soon as they get someplace safe as set up by all these lustful glances. I believe in Richonne.
She must have fallen into an uneasy slumber, the muscles in her legs cramped as she uncurled them from the ruffled sheets. She sensed someone by her side, her hands reached out of their own accord and she grunted, in need of contact with the strange presence in her bed.
“Please…” She called out, her voice deep with sleep, her fingertips brushing against a thick fabric, one that wasn’t her bed sheets. She jumped awake, startled she bolted and nearly fell from the bed. A pair of strong arms gathered her up before she hit the floor.
“Sassenach! Woah, dinna fash, tis only me, Jamie…” He whispered as he pulled her close to his chest, coo-ing and calming her. She allowed herself to melt against him, her hands now gripping at his half open shirt.
“You’d gone, you promised you wouldn’t – but you were gone.” She yawned accusatorially against him, the sweet warmth of her breath fanning across the exposed expanse of his chest. His arms tightened around her.
“Aye, I broke my word to ye. I didna think it right that ye were fetching and carrying for me and I wanted to make sure ye were safe, so I left. I followed ye for a way, but the redcoats, they were everywhere and I had to hide. I thought it best that I tried to get out of the city, it’s a wee bit dangerous for me now, ken. Being alone wi'out any other Scots about. But I was a coward, Sassenach. I was too much a coward to leave ye, so I came back.”
He was talking to himself now, his voice so low. She’d been listening though and managed to hear every word. Her eyes filled with tears at hearing his tone change from playful to sad. Coward? That wasn’t a word she’d have used to describe him. Claire had fallen asleep thinking she’d never see him again, and now, to wake with him next to her once more, she was certain that it had taken more bravery than cowardice to turn on his heel and return to her.
She kissed the exposed skin of his upper chest, and tugged gently at his shirt.
“Come to bed, Jamie. Let’s just sleep, please.” His hands had stilled at her show of outward affection. Hers went directly to his belt buckle as she fumbled with the clasp, pulling and shifting it until it fell open. He knelt motionless on the bed as Claire pushed the fabric of his kilt over his hips, leaving his shirt as the only thing left covering him, luckily it was long enough to keep him decent.
“Jamie?…” Claire prodded, trying to gain his attention, his head slowly twisted to meet her eye. “…lie with me, just to sleep.” Her gaze was clouded and sleepy, her eyelids drooping as she pushed herself up and under the duvet, Jamie followed, unable to talk himself out of it. He was extremely fatigued, and she would be so soft and warm against him.
He quickly pushed his boots and stockings off and crawled into bed beside her, allowing her to wrap herself around him. She was already asleep, he noticed. Her legs pressed skin to skin against his. He sighed and allowed his eyes to close, sleep wouldn’t be hard, but his mind couldn’t stop nagging him. He shouldn’t be letting himself get too close to her, yet now he was half naked and in her bed.
He’d slept, but only a few hours at a time. Every move Claire made woke him, she started off close, but as the night wore on she curled herself around him so fully that he couldn’t tell her limbs from his. Her head was settled in the crook of his neck, her soft breaths fanning over his collarbones, giving him the most delicious sensations. His skin was prickled with gooseflesh. His fingers twitched, the soft hairs that lay over her back tickling the pads of his fingertips.
Her mouth caressed his pliant, damp skin. She could taste the subtle salty undertones of sweat, she could feel the slow beat of his heart. Her tongue wetted her lips as she slipped it along the length of his throat. He had stilled. She felt his muscles go taut at her touch, but that didn’t stop her. Claire gently rolled her hips against his, her shift having bunched up around her middle, leaving her bared to him. She sucked a delicate section of his skin into her mouth, clasping it under her teeth as she tasted him.
All of a sudden he bucked against her, and then he was gone. The cool air of the bedroom swirled around Claire as she bolted upright, her hands and knees settling against the mattress and she caught her breath. For a moment she didn’t dare look up at Jamie, frightened that she’d pushed it too far. A small part of her felt ashamed. She’d known what she was doing, she’d read anatomy books, even though Uncle Lamb wouldn’t have approved. She knew the basic premise of how the male species worked. She’d been engaged to be married for goodness sake!
Taking a lungful of air she braced herself and looked up at him from under her lashes, her cheeks flaming red. He was pacing the floor by the door, his hands clenching and un-clenching as his bare feet hit the wood over and over again. She could tell he was fighting with himself, his cheeks were as flushed as hers, his chest rising unevenly and his eyes unfocused. She’d roused him, his shirt couldn’t hide that from her.
She swallowed audibly, and pushed herself upright. Her movement caused him to stop still, and he turned to face her, his eyes alight in the dim pre-dawn. Her hands moved to the lace tie of her shift. It was sat askew, half on, half off her shoulders, exposing part of her bosom to him. His eyes caught it and widened as she slipped the light fabric completely off, letting it fall dramatically to the bed. He couldn’t help but stare at her chest, the steady rise and fall captivating him. She was slightly chilled, having been surrounded by his warmth previously, but now left exposed and alone. Her nipples were hard as bullets. If she could see his arousal, he could guess at hers.
She sat back on her heels now, her hands lying open against her milky white thighs, the linen of her shift encircling her small waist covering only her crotch as she dipped her head and waited, her curls falling over her rosy cheeks. From the tilt of her chin he could see her mouth was slightly parted, panting out small gasps of air. Her eyelashes fluttered, open and closed and open once more.
A chill of pleasure ran down Jamie’s spine as he watched her, his whole being alight, her body calling to his. She was offering herself up to him. He could answer her call, or he could leave her be, but he knew whichever he chose would determine their path, decisively.
the concept of furries is actually precious. you draw yourself as a humanoid bunny or kitten, it’s cute. it’s harmless. i could see it being lots of fun if you like drawing characters or making cosplay costumes. the only thing that creeps me out is when people are giving these anime puppy people heaving bosoms or exposed genitals or what have you. that’s where I have a problem