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wri0thesley · 7 months

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gift wrap - wriothesley x reader (2.7k)

you're just so excited to show wriothesley your newest purchase - but the duke can't help but think it would look better on the floor.

cw: not sfw, minors dni. reader is afab and wears a dress, corset, stockings, etc, but no gendered terms are used. reader is implied to be chubby. soft dom wriothesley, pet names 'sweetheart, pretty baby'. reader keeps calling wriothesley 'your grace'.

“Do you like it?” You twirl in front of Wriothesley, making sure that the full dramatic effect of your new gown is not lost; that Wriothesley is able to see every ruffle, every carefully embroidered rainbow rose, every neatly tied bow. It’s a complicated confection of a dress, and you had delighted in sending missives to the dressmaker with every new idea you’d had, your measurements carefully taken by the Duke himself--

(“Tighter!” You’d urged, the tape measure around your waist. Wriothesley had huffed out a noise that might be fondness and might be exhaustion.

“You’re not going to be able to breathe in it,” he’d said, but he’d pulled the tape more snugly even so.

“I’ve got a new corset coming,” you’d told him. “And you’re not going to complain about it showing off all of my assets, are you?”

Wriothesley had paused.

“ . . . No,” he’d said, and he’d shown you the number on the tape for you to rush off and scribble down before it went out of your head).

“So,” you urge him, coming to a stop in front of him and striking a pose you hope is effective. You certainly feel good in it; the new corset underneath, and the new chemise (silk and trimmed with exquisite lace) and the new stockings and new shoes all working together to make you feel like the most exquisite flower in the garden - not that such a thing is hard, in the Fortress of Meropide. “Do you like it?”

Wriothesley rests his chin on his hand behind his desk and motions you over with the other, beckoning you to come closer. You eagerly follow instruction, and he reaches out and tweaks one of your ribbons, his expression not changing.

“So this is what you’re spending my Mora on?” He asks you. You pout at him, and the tension breaks - he lets out a gruff bark of laughter. “Yes, yes, sweetheart. I like it plenty.”

You beam at him, and he shakes his head, an expression as familiar to you as your own hands playing across his face - an attempt to be tough and maintain his reputation, tempered with his inability to say no to you and his tendency to break whenever you exert the slightest bit of pressure on him. Nobody else could say that they have the Duke of the Fortress wrapped around their finger the way you do.

“It’s not the only new thing that arrived in the mail room for me today!” You chirp at him, and his eyes go dark as he remembers you chattering idly in bed next to him about all of the other fripperies and fancies you were having made.

Nobody would accuse Wriothesley, normally, of excess in anything but the amount and variety of teas that he orders for himself. Unfortunately, when it’s you beside him, fluttering lashes and sighing and pouting and saying “Your Grace, please” . . . he has a lot of willpower, but he’s not made of stone.

“I take it back,” Wriothesley says, taking a sip of the fragrant tea resting on his desk. It’s supposed to calm him before bed, but he’s no longer feeling sleepy at all - not with the promise of what might be beneath your gown calling to him. “I’d like it much, much more if it were on the floor.”

“I only just put it on--” You say to him, teasing, batting your lashes - and Wriothesley places the teacup down and puts his fists upon his desk. That dark cast in his eye does not abate, and he uses a voice that means business when he opens his mouth again;

“Now.”

You know what that tone means. You take a shuddering breath, and then say to him, your own voice wavering;

“I’ll need your help. Sigewinne helped me put it on . . .” As you speak, you turn slowly, showing the row of buttons down your back - they’re helped along by both ribbon lacing and hooks and eyes, and you can practically feel Wriothesley’s displeasure emanating off of him as he surveys them.

“Blasted thing,” he grumbles to himself, and you hear the heavy footfall of his boots as he stands up and comes around the desk to be closer to you. You gasp as strong, work-roughened hands grab you by the indent of your waist and haul you bodily closer to him. “Why make this so complicated?”

Despite his grumblings, his fingertips are tender as he undoes the first hook and begins to work on the small satin-covered buttons.

“I ought to just rip it off you,” he breathes into your ear, breath hot against your neck. “Save me all of the trouble.”

“I just bought it,” you repeat, helplessly, as the Duke deftly reaches the lacing at your hips, and you feel the gown fall from your shoulders. His lips press against the nape of your neck. “Th-that would definitely be a waste of Mora--”

“Anything that ends with you naked,” Wriothesley murmurs, “is not a waste of anything.”

“Your Grace--”

He chuckles roughly at the title, hand reaching around to pull your face towards him. Standing there in chemise and corset and stockings and heels, aware that you would be most embarrassed were anyone to walk into Wriothesley’s office looking for an audience with him, you are nevertheless helpless to do anything but let your lover draw you into a kiss as deep and hungry as there’s ever been.

Teeth dig into your bottom lip and you whine into his mouth, as Wriothesley’s calloused hands trace the shape of you. Where the corset makes your waist smaller, your hips all the rounder, the swell of your chest as ripe and heaving as it can be.

“You know,” he breaks the kiss to say to you, his voice dropping semitones with every syllable, his throat clogged with want. “I’m a simple man. I don’t need my gifts to be in fancy wrapping or anything; you could walk in here in brown paper and string and I would devour you just as eagerly . . . But,” and he cracks a grin, his teeth bright and sharp and wolfish. “Well. This makes a man re-evaluate.”

He squeezes the globe of your ass through your chemise and you whine, your hands coming up to rest on his chest, fingertips curling about the lapels of his waistcoat.

“Still,” he slides his hands up, and deftly, without even looking - like a master criminal, a master thief - you feel your corset lacings loosen, and then the beautifully embroidered garment is falling from you too and you feel your chest, freed from the stricture of the corset, spill forward to fill out your chemise. “It’s hard not to prefer you . . . au naturel. You don’t need the ornamentation, sweetheart. You’re the nicest thing to look at down here for miles. In fact, every time I catch one of the inmates looking at you I wanna punch them out myself.”

“I like it,” you whisper, helplessly, because your stomach is rolling pleasantly and your head has gone light and fluffy like cotton wool, egged on by the palpable lust in the Duke’s voice as he slowly strips you of your accoutrements. “I know I don’t . . . need to . . . for you . . .”

Wriothesley’s fingers on your chin, smile on his face as he kisses you again, gentler this time.

“As long as you know,” he murmurs, sweet as honey. “The day I don’t want to throw you over my desk and fuck your pretty little brains out the minute I see you, call the Chief Justice and have the idiot tried and incarcerated for impersonation.”

He does this, sometimes; says the most vulgar things whilst sitting in his luxurious office, his title obvious in his regal bearing - and every time, it does not fail to make you wet.

“This, though . . .” He tugs at the lace hem of the chemise; the fabric clings to you, the true shape of your body without any need for whalebone and ribbons. “Ooh, I daresay you can keep this on.”

“What are you going to do to me, Your Grace?” You ask him, your heart pounding in your ears - or perhaps between your thighs. You feel a little too out of sorts to locate it properly.

He answers by lifting you up, uncaring of how much you weigh - all of that time in the Pankration ring has made it so you barely ever see him break a sweat, regardless of what he’s doing. The only time you’ve ever really seen him sweating, he’s been above you, eyes fever bright, hips pistoning in and out of you, veins prominent on his scarred forearms as he caged you beneath him. You find yourself deposited onto the edge of his desk, and then Wriothesley is fumbling with his trousers and slotting himself between your thighs.

“Another time,” he says to you, in between rough kisses and bites to your lower lip, your earlobe, your throat. “I’d take my time with you, sweetheart. Get on my knees, use my tongue on you until you’re nice and wet and trembling . . . Really taste you. But . . . Ah.” He heaves a wistful sigh. One of his fingers slides into the top of your stocking, twanging it against the fullness of your thigh where it pinches just enough to drive him wild. “S’taken me too long to get you out of all of that nonsense, and now . . . well, I’m only flesh and blood.”

You gasp out his name as you feel something slap against your thigh, slick and hard and hot. You can feel his shaft pulsing even now, and you let your eyes drift down to see Wriothesley’s impressive length in his fist, tip flushed purple-red with want, a bead of silvery precome dripping onto your new stockings.

His other hand carefully drags the strap of your chemise down, urging you to shrug it off your top half - and then your chest is free, your nipples hardening in the cool air, the soft bounce of them being unrestrained making Wriothesley unconsciously lick his lips.

He’s still fully clothed, but for his cock, and the knowledge of just how exposed you are - thighs spread wide to allow him space between them, chemise pushed down to below your breasts and up to above your hips. Anyone who walked in on you right now would see how shameless you’re being for the Duke of the Fortress, and you could not care less.

“At least you’re well-behaved,” Wriothesley grunts, pinching your nipple with one hand - the shock goes through you, straight to your cunt. “You’re wet, sweetheart. Ah. You want me to fuck you?”

“Yes,” your voice comes out a soft little whine. You can’t think straight; his cock slaps against the outside of your cunt, your slick mingling with his precome, the head barely brushing your clit.

“Can’t hear you,” he says, smiling down at you. “These old pipes get loud this time of night, y’know. Downside to the whole underwater fortress thing.” The calloused palm travels over your breast, over your collarbone, brushing your throat with the lightest of touches until he’s gripping your jaw firmly in his hand. His thumb brushes over your lips, gently pressing down on the lower one until your mouth opens for him.

Your tongue shyly probes at his thumb, and you see a spot of colour high on his cheeks.

“Say it again,” he says, though from the crack in his voice you can tell it’s taking all of his self-control to wait. Through the thumb in your mouth, you say to him, all want and need and soft panting;

“Please fuck me, Your Grace.”

“Good,” Wriothesley praises you - and then, he presses his hips forward and his cock catches on your opening and you lose the ability to do anything but let him push forward, opening you up.

The hand formerly on his cock comes to grip onto your hip in order to act as leverage. Your eyes roll back into your head, your lips closing about his thumb so you can suckle on it as a distraction to the sting of being opened wider than your body thinks it can handle. It’s an almost-sting, not-quite-burn - Wriothesley’s thick length almost too much for you to bear, bullying itself inside of you and almost making the channel of your cunt mould to the shape of his. His tip bullies further and further into you, and he grits his teeth and lets a low guttural groan fall from his mouth.

“Shit,” he grunts. “Always forget how tight you are. Ought to fuck you more.”

He spends every night inside of you that he can, and plenty of lunchtimes and ‘afternoon tea breaks’ too - but you’re not sure Wriothesley could be satisfied even if he had nothing to do all day but fuck you. His stamina is something to be marvelled at. You’ve lost count of the number of times you’ve been beneath him, whimpering out as he filled you with another round of his come, that you don’t think you can take any more - and every time, Wriothesley has soothed and kissed and cajoled - and every time, you’ve been left so full of his release that you feel it leaking out of your cunt and onto the bed sheets as Wriothesley turns ‘just one more’ into ‘just three more’.

You wrap your own arms around his neck, fingers tangling into the mass of his hair, and let him set the pace as he always does.

Thrust comes after fast, hungry thrust - Wriothesley is as merciless in this as he is in all things, though you know from experience he has it in him to be tender, when things get too much. Right now, though, he has no time for tenderness - you helplessly suckle on his thumb, grateful for the distraction, as Wriothesley snarls and grunts and teaches your body to take him with every squelching cant of his hips. You feel your own slick drip down your inner thighs to make a mess of whatever it is you’re perched on, and you hope Wriothesley wasn’t working on any important paperwork when you’d flounced in here to show off your newest wardrobe addition.

The beautiful dress you’d waited to be delivered lies in a crumpled heap on the floor, though, and it seems far less important right now than the growing ache between your legs - the tension that builds with Wriothesley’s groans. You can’t breathe. You can’t do anything, as Wriothesley notices how you react and shifts his body just so, so that his cock batters against a sensitive spot with every fast-paced thrust he fucks into you. Your fingers twist deep into the hair at the nape of his neck, drool escaping your mouth and trickling down from around Wriothesley’s thumb.

“You close, sweetheart?” Wriothesley murmurs. “Come on, pretty baby. Are you gonna come for me?”

You nod, dazed, and as Wriothesley presses a kiss to your forehead that’s as tender as his fucking is brutal, you feel your body contract and then explode into a hundred pinpricks of light. It’s a sharp kind of pleasure; an explosion of sensation that starts between your thighs and travels into all of your fingers, all of your toes. Sweat beads on your forehead and you whine out unintelligible drooling noises as your vision goes white in sparks of electricity, your cunt pulsating around Wriothesley’s length as he slows his thrusts just enough to let you crest over the hill of your orgasm.

When you come back down, aftershocks of pleasure still making you tremble and shudder, Wriothesley’s cock is still inside of you. There’s a twist to his lip, an amused little smile.

“Good?” He asks you, voice rough. You nod dazedly. “Good. There’s a reward for looking so fucking pretty in everything I buy for you.”

He pauses.

“Now. Are you gonna give me a reward for spending all my hard-earned Mora on you, huh?”

You blink at him, your eyelids syrupy thick. As the final waves of your orgasm ebb away, and your heart slows to a rhythm that no longer worries you, you’re once more made aware of just how hard Wriothesley is inside of you. How his thighs are flexing with want; the mess of his hair, his clothes in disarray.

You lock your thighs about his waist, pulling him closer in.

“Of course, Your Grace,” you murmur, your tongue heavy. Wriothesley lets out a chuckle, another kiss bestowed upon your forehead as he murmurs into your hair;

“That’s what I like to hear, sweetheart. How about we order you three new dresses tomorrow?”

#writing #not sfw text #genshin impact smut #wriothesley smut #wriothesley x reader #genshin impact x reader

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marzipanandminutiae · 4 months

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there is a reproduced 1909 magazine story in this book I read recently (The Female Economy by Wendy Gamber it is amazing oh my god) that just makes my soul depart my body

it's about a woman who decides to make her own new dress undersleeves to save money, and enlists a dressmaker to do the actual sewing. but she can Totally Cut The Sleeves Out Herself With This Paper Pattern So She's The One Making It Really

for reference as to why this is absolutely insane, cutting/fitting is the single hardest part of Victorian and Edwardian dressmaking. this is where all the Mathing and Thinking and Make Two-Dimensional Shapes Into Three-Dimensional Garments come into play. and contrary to popular belief, while most women at the time were accomplished seamstresses- in the sense of "putting fabric together using stitches, and likely also mending" -they didn't necessarily have a clue how to shape a garment. especially not the highly fitted bodices and imaginative sleeve shapes of the day. custom-made clothes from dressmakers were commonplace for most social strata in urban and suburban areas; even lower-middle and working-class women had "lesser" dressmakers they patronized

you do start seeing commercial patterns and home dressmaking manuals steadily increasing throughout the latter half of the 19th century and the early 20th, but in general there was no reason to assume that a random woman on the street could make herself a properly-fitted gown- or even just sleeves -from scratch. (not even with a pattern, which were notoriously scant on instructions back then)

a modern hobbyist historical costumer probably has more knowledge of how to actually make clothing from 1909 than the average woman living in 1909

so anyway this lady tells the professional dressmaker to stop giving her advice, she's got this, she's FINE HONEST. and then gets pissed at the dressmaker for not telling her she needed to include seam allowance in her pieces

for more reference, that is...

...the absolute most basic Day One sewing knowledge

#sewing #history #I am on the astral plane #someone page instagram user Can You Sew This For Me #edwardian

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edenesth · 3 months

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The Way to His Heart [8]

Pairing: general!Seonghwa x wife!reader

AU: arranged marriage au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: Life has been hell ever since your mother's passing many years ago. Despite being from a prominent family, you've never received the privileges associated with it. It only got worse with the arrival of your stepmother and her daughters. When the intimidating General Park was in search of a wife, your father seized the opportunity to dispose of you, simultaneously securing a connection with the powerful general—killing two birds with one stone.

Part 7 | Fic Masterlist | Part 9

"Sir, the dressmaker has arrived with the mistress' first batch of clothes. Should I send him directly to the House of Lotus?" Jongho asked tentatively from the entrance of his master's study.

Removing his hands from his head, Seonghwa looked up and shook his head miserably, "Lord, no. Send him to me first," The assistant bowed and went to do as he was told, "Right away, sir."

Hongjoong entered the study without bothering to knock, hands propped on his hip as he stared at your husband, unamused, "Would you mind explaining why I'm here instead of presenting the new clothes to your wife, Park Seonghwa?"

"I need advice, Hongjoong." The general croaked, feeling quite lost for once. He had rarely ever been in such a situation; who knew all it took was one woman to put him in such misery. Not even the most vicious enemies he had fought in war could have ever fazed him this much.

He returned from work the day before, enthusiastically sharing his plans for the grand wedding he wanted to give you. However, things went south when he dropped the bomb about the visit to your old home, foolishly believing you would express joy at the prospect of flaunting your newfound happiness to your wicked family. Instead, you were gripped with fear at the idea. You ended up retiring to your quarters early and refused to come out ever since.

Goddamnit, I'm the biggest moron ever.

The dressmaker raised an amused brow, having never seen Seonghwa like this before. He went over to sit down across from his friend, "Hmm, I didn't think you'd be having trouble in paradise this soon. Let's hear it; we'll see if there's anything I can do for you and that lovely wife of yours."

Taking a deep breath, your husband started from the beginning, recounting every single thing that happened from the start of your arranged marriage until the present.

"Wait, you're taking her back to that wretched place? No wonder she's upset, you idiot! You said it yourself; she suffered so badly being caged in there all her life. I mean, sure, your cause is very noble—wanting to make her family pay for what they've done with this plan of yours. But you'd been so focused on that, you forgot how traumatising it could be for her, huh? You really didn't think that one through, my friend."

Letting out a groan, the general pulled at his hair, "Yes, thank you for repeating it all to me like I didn't already know what I did wrong. Now, tell me what exactly it is that I can do to make it all better."

"You're welcome. Oh, I'll tell you what to do, all right. You best keep your dumbass seated here while I talk to her," instructed Hongjoong, watching expectantly as your husband frowned, "What? Why should you talk to her? It's my mess; I should be the one to clean it up."

Sighing, the dressmaker explained, "Look, we all know the only way for you to make things better is to not take her back to the damn house at all. But you do have a point, okay? You've come this far with your plan, and as much as it sucks, she must go there with you in order for this to work out. So, you stay put, and let me convince her to go willingly with you, got it?"

Seonghwa nodded reluctantly, realising his friend was right. As much as he hated how charming Hongjoong was and how persuasive he could be, he would have to rely on those skills to help you see things in the bigger picture. Sure, you were not privy to any details about the revenge, but hopefully, he will be able to make you at least want to stand up to your family for once.

"Lady Park, it's Hongjoong. I've brought your first batch of clothing. May I have permission to enter?" Blinking in surprise, you straightened up, not expecting to hear the dressmaker's voice, "O-okay, please come in."

Despite the anxious state you'd been in since the revelation your husband had dropped upon you the night before, you couldn't help but smile at the unusually colourful outfit of your visitor. Eunsook followed behind him with a group of servants filing in to deliver the precious cargo into your quarters.

The head maid felt relieved to see you smiling again, even if it was only a little. She had been concerned about you after witnessing your retreat into your old shell the previous night, as the fear you demonstrated reminded everyone of your initial arrival.

In an effort to distract you from your upsetting thoughts, the dressmaker quickly pulled out a few designs he thought you'd love, "Come, take a look at this! I made it the way you preferred and added a little touch of my magic. What do you think?"

Fortunately, his strategy worked like a charm, and you immediately moved over to him with sparkly eyes, marvelling at some of the most beautiful hanboks you'd ever seen, even prettier than the ones he had displayed in his shop.

As you admired the clothes in front of you, Hongjoong exchanged a knowing look with the elderly woman. Nodding, she quietly exited your room along with the rest of the servants, leaving you alone with your husband's old friend.

But you weren't entirely alone, of course.

Unbeknownst to you, Seonghwa was right outside, listening intently. He didn't spare any of his servants a glance as they all passed by him with a deep bow, waving his hand carelessly in a gesture to ask them to leave quickly.

"Hey, you haven't answered me. Do you like them, Lady Park?" The dressmaker asked, a teasing smile on his face as he found your endearing shyness adorable.

You nodded quickly, "Yes, I do. I love them. They're all perfect. I just... don't know if I deserve to wear any of these." The general felt his heart clench at your response, realising you were still far from being able to love yourself.

With a scoff, Hongjoong moved to stand beside you, "I'll have you know I only make dresses for people I deem worthy of them. Not just anyone can wear my designs, you know. And you, by far, are probably my favourite client. So that says a lot."

Your husband silently agreed with those words, resisting the urge to rush in there and hold you tight, to tell you that you deserved only the best, that you deserved everything good in the world.

Lowering your head, you fiddled with your fingers before replying in a small voice, "You're only saying that because I'm the general's wife..."

Sighing lightly, the dressmaker turned to face you, "You're not wrong... but that's exactly because not just anyone can be Lady Park. Many women before you tried to be in your position. Regardless of their efforts, he never would have given them the time of day. Yet, he wholeheartedly accepted you."

Recognising the doubt in your eyes, he further explained, "I understand if you think these are just words. But that's probably because you don't know the general like I do. We've known each other since joining the military in our teens. Back then, the Seonghwa I knew would never bat an eyelash at any woman."

As you slowly looked up to meet his kind eyes, intrigued to learn more about your husband's past, he continued, "Those rumours about him being the cold-blooded general were not lies. He really was as merciless as they say. He still is, just not to you. When I saw him again for the first time after years that day, I couldn't believe the man in front of me was the same friend I once knew. He's different around you; he's different because of you."

"It's evident that you're special to him, that you mean something to him. He cares so much about you; do you realise that?"

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you hurriedly blinked them back. The thought of someone genuinely caring for you still seemed surreal despite the amount of care that had been shown to you since living here. However, you were starting to understand that he was right.

Hongjoong grinned, seeing the effectiveness of his words, "You're the first and only woman who can tame Park Seonghwa, so you are beyond worthy of my dresses."

Before you could even attempt to protest, he held up a hand, "And don't bother telling me I'm wrong because I'm never wrong."

You couldn't help but giggle at his sassy words, and he smiled sincerely at you, saying, "So don't you dare question whether you deserve these clothes. You're the only one who deserves them because these are made only for you, do you understand?"

This time, you nodded with a wide smile.

"I want you to wear my dresses proudly and show the world who you are: the great Lady Park, the only woman General Park wants as his wife. No one will dare disrespect or look down on you again."

Feeling as if he knew exactly what had been worrying you, you felt touched. He was right; you were not who you used to be. You had no reason to cower from your family, recalling their belittling assumptions about your survival in this marriage. Now was your chance to prove them wrong.

With newfound determination, you nodded firmly, "You're right, I will. Thank you, Hongjoong. You're a good friend; Seonghwa is lucky to have you."

He crossed his arms over his chest cheekily, "I sure am. That fool hasn't a clue how fortunate he is."

Mission accomplished.

Pumping his fists in victory, your husband silently cheered outside, brushing off the playful taunts from his friend. Just this once, he would forgive Kim Hongjoong.

"Are you ready, my dear?"

The general turned to you as your carriage came to a stop, marking your arrival at what you assumed to be the Jang estate, your former prison. With a resolute nod, you smiled up at him, "I am."

As you moved to exit the vehicle, your husband halted you. Cupping your face in his hands, he gazed reassuringly into your eyes, "Remember, whatever happens, I'm here with you. You're not alone from now on; I'll always be here to protect you."

"I know, Seonghwa. I believe in you."

His heart melted at those words, and he couldn't resist pressing a lingering kiss onto your forehead. You fluttered your eyes closed, holding onto his wrists, cherishing the warmth he was providing.

"Alright, let's go." Leaving one final peck on your cheek, he got out of the carriage and swiftly helped you down, his strong arm securely wrapped around your waist. Eunsook stood there, mouth agape, that was initially meant to be her responsibility but she realised her assistance was no longer needed at the moment.

Jongho grinned, nudging the elderly woman on the shoulder as they followed their master and mistress into the minister's estate, "Come on, we've got work to do."

Taking a deep breath, you surveyed the familiar surroundings that once made you feel small. Feeling a reassuring squeeze on your hand, you found comfort in your husband's presence.

Yes, he's here with you now.

Nothing bad will happen.

His grip on your hand tightened, and his warm smile, reserved only for you, vanished when a few of your father's servants nervously stumbled out, bowing deeply before both of you, "Good morning, General Park. Welcome to the Jang estate."

The brave front you had put on seemed to falter slightly as you realised the servants here remained the same, showing no acknowledgement despite you no longer being their prisoner. Seonghwa, glaring at the maids in front of him, growled in a low voice, "You've left out Lady Park. Will you not greet my wife?"

Gulping on behalf of the servants, you witnessed the return of the general's intimidating demeanour. Hongjoong was right; he was still terrifying, just not to you.

The maids bowed deeper, "B-but sir—"

"What is going on here?" That voice resonated across the courtyard, causing your heart to plummet to the lowest pit of your stomach. Perhaps you weren't ready to face them at all. Your father emerged from the main hall, wearing an expression that was far from pleased.

You pressed closer to your husband, and instinctively, he wrapped an arm around your back, pulling you close. The minister's eyebrow raised in surprise at your refined appearance; he nearly did not recognise you. You were even more stunning than on the day you left this place, seemingly given a complete makeover.

Aside from that, he realised the general had meant his words when he had spoken so highly of you during assembly. Witnessing the intimacy between the two of you, there was undeniable evidence of shared affection. Your father began to question whether marrying you to his enemy was a mistake in the first place.

Seonghwa smirked, "Ahh, Minister Jang, it seems your servants do not know proper manners. They did not greet my wife, and that, to me, is punishable."

The old man felt his eye twitch at the general's satisfied grin before responding, "Well, I'm their master, so I decide what is punishable, General Park."

"Right, well, I'm just looking out for you. Wouldn't want people to find out what rotten-mannered staff my father-in-law has in his estate, not knowing how to show respect to even the general's wife."

"You do realise that before she became your wife, she's my daughter first." Your father sneered, and you felt sick at that, to be called his daughter when you've never once been treated as such.

Remaining unfazed, your husband retorted, "All the more reasons for them to show respect to their eldest miss then, no?"

Jongho and Eunsook bowed their heads in an effort to hide their snickers at the minister's red face flushing in embarrassment. He should have known better than to think he could win the general in an argument, "R-right. What are you fools standing around for? Show Lady Park some bloody respect!"

The line of servants bowed all the way down pathetically, "Yes, master! Good morning, General Park and Lady Park! Welcome to the Jang estate!" They chanted loudly, enough to bring about the rest of your family, coming out to witness what all the fuss was about.

"Very well, let us head in then." With a bored expression, Seonghwa walked into the hall with you, moving right past your stepmother and stepsisters intentionally, paying them no mind as he helped you into a seat before settling down beside you.

All four of the women standing in the main hall were rooted to their spots, eyes bulging as they took in the sight of you and your husband. First of all, you were nearly unrecognisable. If they thought you looked pretty on the day you got married, you were now almost a hundred times more beautiful, though they would rather die than ever admit it out loud.

Beyond your enhanced appearance, they were more taken aback by the general's beauty. He was nothing like they had imagined; he must have been one of the most attractive men ever, or at least the most handsome one they had seen so far.

Suddenly, your stepsisters were even angrier than they were upon learning about your stupid grand wedding. They were now furious with their father for never having told them about how good-looking General Park truly was. If only they knew, they would have volunteered to marry him themselves.

But what if there was still hope for them?

What if they had a chance?

After all, you hadn't officially wed Seonghwa yet and were merely here to discuss plans for the upcoming ceremony. Perhaps, with enough effort, they could still win him over. If a peasant like you could seduce the general, why couldn't any of them? With this determination in mind, the three stepsisters promptly began adjusting their appearances as you all gathered around the main hall.

You didn't appreciate the way your stepsisters were eyeing your husband, although you understood their motives. Sensing your discomfort, Seonghwa moved closer to you in his seat, whispering in your ear, "Are you feeling alright, my dear?"

Nodding lightly, you looked up with a small smile, "I am, as long as you're with me," He couldn't resist smiling at your words as he gave you a gentle peck on the head, "Good."

That should be me!

The three stepsisters clenched their fists, their fury intensifying as they witnessed the handsome general being affectionate with you. It should have been them; the title of the general's wife was more befitting a noblewoman like them, not a rat like you. How dare you sit there in their place as if you deserved it?

In an attempt to break the silence, Jinah cleared her throat and made her move, "Have you been well, unnie? I missed you so much! Did you know how worried I was about you? You must have had such a hard time, especially after you adamantly refused to marry General Park."

Seonghwa raised a brow in amusement, while you remained quiet, unsure how to respond to such a blatant lie. Jinjoo scoffed at your lack of response, "Unnie! Will you really not answer Jinah at all? You've always been like that, so ungrateful when we care so much about you!"

"Really? My wife being ungrateful? That's wild. I cannot imagine her like that at all." Your husband chuckled, holding you close when he felt you begin to tremble.

Jinhee's fists shook with envy as she nodded pitifully, "Yes, that's because you haven't known her well enough, my lord. She can be so scary when she's mad, you know how the eldest usually are."

Minister Jang rubbed a tired hand over his head when he realised what his stepdaughters were trying to do. Of course, these foolish girls would easily be blinded by the general's appearance. Even his own wife, seated beside him, found it difficult to take her eyes off the gorgeous young man.

Jongho and Eunsook, positioned behind you and their master, were making every effort to contain the irritation they felt. The audacity of these women to feign innocence after what they've put you through all these years. They were once again thankful not to have any of these conniving foxes as their mistress.

Rubbing his thumbs over your hands, Seonghwa laughed sarcastically in disbelief, "I'm sorry, I just find that so hard to believe. Are you sure you're not all talking about yourselves?" In an instant, his smile dropped, and he sent your stepsisters a death stare as if daring them to continue spouting more ridiculous lies about you.

Left in stunned silence, they blinked nervously and avoided his eyes, unprepared for his questioning. It was clear that they hadn't planned their silly little act thoroughly.

Damn it, how did that worthless thing manage to gain his favour?

"That's enough." The minister declared firmly, not wanting his stepdaughters to continue embarrassing themselves. All he wanted was to get the general out of his house as soon as possible. Every moment that Seonghwa remained felt like a threat; your father was walking on eggshells around him.

Pushing himself off his seat, the old man addressed your husband, "You mentioned wanting to see the environment your wife grew up in, right? Let's proceed with that before we delve into discussions about your wedding arrangements. I don't have all day."

"Sure, can't wait." Seonghwa responded smugly, standing up with your hand securely in his. A sense of unease washed over you as you wondered what kind of deception your father would employ. Surely, they wouldn't be stupid enough to reveal your actual room to the general. Dread filled you, and you longed to return home.

Your real home, not this nightmare.

« Preview of Part 9 »

As you all followed the minister around the estate while he showed the general what was supposed to be your old room, Jongho exchanged a glance with the private investigator who was still posing as a staff member in the estate.

"This is unnie's room; she has the biggest and nicest one out of all of us. She's so lucky and doesn't even know it. I'm the youngest and I have the smallest room; I'd honestly be happy to have anything at all." Jinjoo said innocently, playing with a strand of hair as she batted her eyelashes at Seonghwa.

You stared blankly at the room supposedly designated as yours. It was merely a guest room rearranged with some of your stepsisters' belongings to create the illusion of long-term habitation. Sensing Jinah and Jinhee's intense gazes on you, you turned to find them glaring daggers at you as if daring you to speak up and disclose the truth to your husband.

If you voiced your denial, who would believe you? It was your entire family against you alone. Would there even be a point in trying?

Just as doubt started to creep in, Seonghwa wrapped an arm around you, reminding you of his support, "Is that true, my dear? Is this your room? It doesn't really seem to be your style at all."

Everyone held their breath, awaiting your response, but you remained silent, fixing your gaze on the familiar space where you spent your entire life, now masquerading as a storeroom.

"What is it that you're staring at so intently, hm? Let's go take a look."

Oh, crap.

Shit will go down in the next part, I assure you. Patience, my dearest readers, patience HAHA this part was focused more on setting the stage for the main event.😈

Also, I've created a mood board for this fic. If you haven't already checked it out, go take a look! I might consider making another one that depicts Seonghwa's estate if I'm able to find the right images.

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

Tag list (1/3): @huachengsbestie01 @evidive @weedforthoughtz @ssrnghwa @yunnieo @sunnyhokyu @lynnsqueendom @frobin4ever @chwesuh-imnida @thunderous-wolf @itstheghostofmypast @professormingisglasses @deltamoon666 @avantalem @famishalll @yungilia @soobiverse @joongified @scuzmunkie @http-gyu @mentoslol @atinyreads @angel-hyuckie @anxiousskylar @onedumbho3 @narashii @ddaeing @sanstreasure0305 @sohnfile @scarfac3 @dreamingofyeo @puppyminnnie @tinyteezer @vantediary @satsuri3su @mismatchfluffysocks @aliona124754 @bts-army380 @lilactangerine @atinyniki @pay13 @1117promises @xoxkii @st4rcig4r @hikarii02 @nescaffei @xdolls-crownx @ashrocker123 @skzline @minkiflwr @starssongs98 @baeksofty @skz1-4-3 @kawaiikels @madnpan @maoyueze @en-happiness @cheolliehugs @persnyako @startinystay @chngbnwf @fatspecimen @christinerose380 @stfu-rina @kyukyustar @taytayy178

Tag list (cont.): see comment/reply section

#edenesth #the way to this heart #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #park seonghwa #ateez seonghwa #arranged marriage au #joseon era #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa x you #ateez fic #historical au

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grandline-fics · 5 months

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Do you think I can request a seamstress y/n being part of the strawhat crew and how they need to make new outfits for the crew as disguises and when it came to luffys turn, it was kinda difficult for them because they have a huge crush on him and seeing him bare for measurements kills them a little-

Kinda just a sorta oblivious luffy witnessing y/n get flustered a little!

Really curious how you’re going to make it end lol

(Love your writing sm! Thank you for advanced!)

DESCRIPTION: You’re the crew’s seamstress and measuring Luffy leaves you flustered

WARNINGS: none

CHARACTERS: Luffy

WORDS: 934

A/N: Sorry this took so long but I hope it was worth it and that you like how it all turned out

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

MASTERLIST

———————

When it came to your passion of designing and making clothes you were unbelievably focussed. It was to the point that if the crew wanted to distract you from something they’d bring up the topic of a new design they had in mind. Some of the crew were more subtle about this tactic than others, for instance when Sanji needed you away from the kitchen for a few hours so he could work on your surprise birthday banquet, Robin expertly brought up a floral skirt and top combination she wanted to wear but couldn’t find the right colour scheme anywhere.

On that occasion you’d gotten so motivated that by the time you were needed for the banquet you had to be physically dragged out of your workshop. Oppositely there was one time Zoro had stolen your dressmaker’s mannequin to test out which angle would be best to attack someone from for his new technique. When you’d found out and went to rescue your possession Zoro had tried the distraction method but merely said ‘buttons’ which only bewildered you for the briefest of moments before you took back what was yours while it was thankfully still in tact. Yes, there was no way your focus could be shaken when it came to your work…well except when it came to your Captain. Your very oblivious Captain.

You kept telling yourself that it was just a crush, that he didn’t feel that way about you and he was just affectionate and energetic by nature and you were good with that, you really were. The last thing you ever wanted to do was jeopardise the amazing friendship you’d made with Luffy. So you kept your crush to yourself and things continued as normal. The only time things threatened to reveal themselves was at moments like these. The ship was heading into dangerous territory governed by another rival pirate which meant keeping as low a profile as possible and that meant they were depending on you for appropriate disguises.

“Luffy please just stand still.” You lightly begged, watching your Captain excitedly move about your workspace, touching the bolts of different fabrics and flicking through your design book with glee like it was his very first time in the room when in reality you’d lost count how often his presence had been in and out. At your plea he stopped running his fingers through the soft patterned material that had caught his attention and turned to face you with his usual carefree grin. You sighed in relief and slowly reached for your measuring tape while trying to keep your expression as relaxed as possible. This was always the hard part so you just tried to go as quickly as possible. “Shirt off.”

You had no problem seeing any of the other guys shirtless, yeah most of them were impressive but the only one to get you to be a shaking, blushing mess was Luffy. When Luffy’s hands moved to his shirt you dropped your gaze away, mostly out of respect but also because you could already hear your heart slamming against your chest and feel your skin begin to heat. When you heard the fabric of his shirt fall on the ground you looked up, trying to keep your gaze focussed on Luffy’s eyes but you couldn’t help but let it drop for the briefest of moments to peek at his impressive physique. Snapping out of it you instructed quickly. “Arms out.”

You didn’t know whether to laugh or scowl when Luffy grinned and extended his arms out to you as though inviting you in for a hug as opposed to putting his arms outward so you could accurately measure his frame. You knew it wasn’t his intention to fluster you like this, it was just Luffy being Luffy but it made things so much harder to deal with. Resisting the urge to give in to temptation you took hold of Luffy’s wrist and pulled to manoeuvre him correctly. Quickly you stood behind him and began to lift your tape towards him. With every adventure and fight meant Luffy’s body got only more and more defined and it made measuring him a greater struggle.

It was a relief that you managed to make it through most of the process without making too much of an idiot of yourself but by the end of it all you were beet red and trying to look anywhere but the cause. Through it all Luffy was his happy, oblivious self, talking excitedly about the disguise he wanted but when you stepped away he finally took a proper look at you. “Huh? Are you feeling okay?” He asked, leaning in closer and pressing his hand against your head. However that action meant his still bare chest was against you too which only made your condition worse. “You shouldn’t have been working if you’re sick. I’ll go get Chopper, okay?”

“N-no! I’ll be fine!” Your guilt for making him worry managed to pull you back from your inner spiral. “I’m just…too warm! Something cool to drink and I’ll be back to normal.” You reassured only for Luffy to grin and pull you out of your workshop and straight to the kitchen so you could cool down. Finally feeling more yourself and no longer overheating thanks to Luffy sitting back you could focus on the design. “So you never said what colours you wanted for this disguise, Luffy.”

Luffy blinked at you and gave you a look as though you were the oblivious one. “Well as long as it matches you I’ll be happy.”

#one piece #one piece fic #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece imagines #luffy x reader #one piece scenario #one piece fanfiction #monkey d. luffy #luffy #one piece luffy #straw hat luffy #luffy x you #monkey d luffy x you #monkey d luffy x reader

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pasta-in-the-pudding · 2 months

Note

Can I please have scenarios for EJ, Toby, Julius, and bloody painter helping their nonbinary s/o through a panic attack and comforting them? Thank you and have a wonderful evening

𝔹𝕃𝕆𝕆𝔻𝕐 ℙ𝔸𝕀ℕ𝕋𝔼ℝ!!!! 𝕄𝕐 𝕊ℙ𝔼ℂ𝕀𝔸𝕃 𝔻𝕌𝔻𝔼!!!

ℂ𝕣𝕖𝕕𝕚𝕥𝕤 𝕥𝕠 𝕕𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕘𝕠 𝕥𝕠 @𝕒𝕟𝕚𝕞𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕕𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕘𝕣𝕒𝕡𝕙𝕚𝕔𝕤-𝕟-𝕞𝕠𝕣𝕖!! 𝔾𝕠 𝕗𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕠𝕨 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕞 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕤𝕦𝕡𝕡𝕠𝕣𝕥 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕚𝕣 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕜!

𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕜 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕤𝕠 𝕞𝕦𝕔𝕙 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕣𝕖𝕢𝕦𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘!!

Eyeless Jack

Whenever Jack sees you in a state of panic, his brain immediately shifts to a more medical state

He isn't good with emotions, but facts he can work with

So he starts instructing you on what to do

He doesn't touch you, as he doesn't want to induce more panic

He instructs you to stand up and do jumping jacks, which you very much do not want to do

He insists you do it anyways, and while you are doing your jumping jacks he is off getting you a big cup of very cold water

When he comes back, he tells you to take at least 3 big gulps of the water

Once you've drank all the water you want, he tells you to lay on your back and breathe through your stomach (basically meaning your stomach rises instead of your chest)

You do this until you are calm, and while he waits, Jack records your heart's pace

Once you are calm, if you want anything like cuddles, you'll have to tell him

Because on his own, he saw this as purely medical and not a reason to be all lovey with each other

However, he is happy to oblige with your requests for a little bit before going back to whatever he was doing before

Sorry guys his ass does not understand emotional intimacy

Toby

When Toby sees you panicking, he starts to panic

What happened? How long have you been like this? How does he help?

He tries to not make that panic known though, because he knows that would likely stress you out and he doesn't want that

So he instead comes to where you are and sits in front of you, whispering to you how it's gonna be ok, and how he's gonna make it better

He cradles you in his arms and rocks you back and forth, rubbing your back and telling you to just breathe, don't even think about anything just breathe

And he will sit there just like that, for minutes, hours, days, however long you need to feel ok

He will wipe away your tears and kiss where they were

He will give you breathing exercises and try them with you

He will brush your hair (if you have any, if you don't he will give you some soothing hand lotion and tell you to just breathe in the calming scent)

He will literally do anything for you, and once you are calmed he will kiss you all over and take you out to celebrate overcoming such an obstacle

Julius The Dressmaker

He's typically a more goofy guy, so he gets kind of awkward in emotional situations

He will still care for you of course, but it will be slightly unconventional

"Hey dummy, there's nothing to panic about"

"Come on, take your meds and be done with it"

He'll likely end up taking you to one of the more mental health practiced doctors of the manor, so you won't get to see Jack, sorry pookies

You will however, get to see Dr. Smiley! (He isn't allowed to do any physical medical practices because he's stupid, so he's a psychologist now. Yes i did just make this up right now, why do you ask?)

Julius will kind of just...drop you off there and hope for the best

Surprisingly enough, Smiley is in fact qualified for his job and does help you out quite a lot!

You are still kind of upset, but it's definetly way better than before

Julius will comment about how much he "missed the happy you" before insisting that he cuddle with you for hours

Just to be sure you're 100% ok

Bloody Painter

Being a very quiet and observant person, Helen likely noticed something was wrong before you even did

So he was on top of it instantly, instructing you to drink water, breathe, and practice coping skills

He stays glued to you the entire time

While you pour yourself water from the pitcher, he is holding you from behind and pressing kisses to the crook of your neck

While you are breathing, he helps you count the seconds that pass

And to try to distract you from your oncoming panic, he will bring you to his studio and let you paint

And if you don't want to paint, he sets up some of his "failed projects" outside and let's you go ham on them

Awww your own personal rage room <333

Of course, it's nothing like a fancy tv, but you do get to stab some canvases and shatter some pottery so it's still fun

While you do this, he kind of just stands back, his hands on his hips with an observant expression on his face

When he is certain you are calm, he will gently take your hand and hold it high up while muttering how good you did and pressing a kiss to your head

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windflowerofskellige · 5 months

Text

In a move surprising literally no one, I am once again thinking about Philippa Eilhart. Dress and how Philippa is dressed in the books as a whole are very important to her characterisation but the outfit I think is peak characterisation is her Thanedd Banquet Dress.

We consume this banquet from Geralt's point of view, we see the politics at play, are told the politics at play, but Geralt does not have a wider understanding because he is not a politician. The outfits are meant to describe a lot about the characters, they're easy to pick out at first, Sabrina, Keira with her Ankh juxtaposing her dress so sheer you can see the mole on her left breast, etc. And then Dorregaray of Vole talks with Geralt. Geralt has been pulled every which way told everyone is spying for someone and Dijkstra and Philippa are the most obvious yes? No. Dorregaray points out Philippa's dress is trimmed with an extinct fur, Diamond Ermine. When Philippa comes to steal Geralt away he points it out explicitly, he even adds that the species was officially declared extinct twenty years ago. No, corrects Philippa Eilhart, it was thirty years ago. She even mocks it, saying that she thought about instructing her dressmaker to trim it was raw flax, but then the colours wouldn't have matched.

This says nothing to Geralt, this says EVERYTHING to the reader. The two most notable aspects, the trim of her dress is a fur that is extinct now. The trim of her dress is ermine.

Ermine has historically been defined by heavy sumptuary laws and is a status symbol of royalty. The pointing out of its extinct nature serves to show you the reader she's been at this longer than we suspected.

This dress trim tells us many things about Philippa Eilhart Geralt doesn't know, that he will see through Keira's eyes next chapter more clearly. Philippa Eilhart is not Redania's spy, Dijkstra is. Philippa Eilhart is Redania's Queen Regnant, a puppet master. She has brought Redania's spy, and is there dressed as Redania's Queen in the interest of Redania as well as to have an alibi for the usurping of Vizimir the Second of Redania.

As Tissaia says in the next chapter, Redania hasn't had a King, not for a very long time. This dress shows that.

#meda rambles #the witcher books #the witcher meta #witcher meta #Philippa Eilhart #Thanedd #meda writes

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rosanna-writer · 3 months

Text

Dress

Summary: Sparks are flying between Mor and Emerie. And fortunately for them, the rest of Nesta's bridesmaids love to play matchmaker. Warnings: None Rating: Explicit Word Count: ~2.7k

A fluffy Emorie oneshot for @sjmromanceweek Day 3: Weddings! You can read it below or Here on AO3.

It started with a dress fitting.

Nesta's entire bridal party—Feyre, Elain, Gwyn, Emerie, and Mor—had squeezed themselves into a dressmaker's shop tucked away in a corner of the Palace of Thread and Jewels, ready for one last round of pinning and hemming before her upcoming mating ceremony.

The dresses matched, a nod to human traditions intended to confuse any faeries who might make mischief for the happy couple. Rhys had chosen them—Nesta had requested a soft shade of violet and instructed her brother-in-law to handle selecting a style that suited everyone and accommodated wings. He'd more than delivered.

Emerie emerged from a dressing room, awkwardly reaching under her wings for the buttons on the back of the dress. "Gwyn, can I get a hand with this?"

"Sorry, still changing!" Gwyn called from another dressing room.

"Mor, go help her," Feyre said, an unexpected note of command creeping into her voice, as if this were a matter of life and death. The voice of the High Lady.

That was odd—Mor would have offered anyway. But perhaps Feyre was just concerned with making sure everything went smoothly for her sister's mating ceremony.

Emerie turned, and Mor stepped closer. She was no stranger to Illyrian wings, but there was something different about standing at the center of Emerie's impressive wingspan.

Something that Mor felt right behind her ribs, almost like a tug on a string tied around her heart.

Emerie twisted her head to peer over her shoulder. "Alright back there?"

"The buttons are just harder to find than I'd originally thought," Mor said, and thank the Mother the words came out sounding cheerful and—more importantly—normal.

It wasn't a lie, either; Rhys had chosen gowns with a hidden button placket. Mor gripped the fabric with one hand, her knuckles brushing Emerie's warm skin. The backless design showed off the swirling tattoos that ran up her spine, over her shoulders, and down the tops of her arms, a new addition she'd earned after the Blood Rite.

It would be so easy to trace them, slowly trailing a hand up the center of her back. Mor imagined the way the other female might arch into her touch, the noises she'd make if Mor dared to caress the membrane of her wings….

But she was supposed to be getting Emerie into the dress, not out of it. Mor shook her head as if to clear it, then kept her fingers steady as she made quick work of fastening the buttons.

"All done," Mor said, taking a step back.

"Need me to do you next?"

Mor flushed crimson, as if she were a schoolgirl and not the seasoned five-hundred-year-old warrior she was. There was something in Emerie's smile that was just a bit too knowing.

Just a crush. A crush. Nothing more, and that tug in her chest had been so subtle that she'd probably imagined it.

Mor had already done up her own buttons herself—it was easier without wings in the way. She tamped down the strange sense of disappointment. "No, but thank you. Maybe next time."

Gods, why had she responded to the question as if it had been an invitation?

Something sparked in Emerie's eyes. "I'll keep that in mind."

Perhaps if Mor hadn't been quite so flustered, she would have noticed Gwyn flashing Feyre a grin and an approving thumbs-up.

And what started with a dress fitting, continued with the invitations.

Emerie hadn't understood why Nesta had been so insistent she needed help sealing envelopes. Apparently it wouldn't do to simply magic them closed, even though most of the guests who weren't family were the priestesses who'd trained with them or the few Illyrians who liked Cassian. The invitations weren't going far. But Nesta was happy, so Emerie would limit herself to rolling her eyes only when her friend's back was turned.

The other two Archerons and Mor were already in the sitting room in the House of Wind when Emerie made her way down after training. A pile of cards and envelopes covered the table.

Elain smiled sweetly at her. "I have seeds for your garden," she said, indicating a packet she'd placed at the chair to her right. The chair across from Mor.

Perhaps Emerie should have been suspicious, but Elain's smile was the picture of innocence. And they had struck up a conversation about the upcoming planting season last time Nesta had them all over for dinner at the House of Wind.

Emerie shrugged off the top half of her leathers, revealing the tight undershirt she wore beneath. Mor's throat bobbed. Or perhaps it hadn't and that was just stupid, wishful thinking on Emerie's part.

She sank into the chair and eyed the size of the pile. "I didn't think the guest list was that large?"

"Official mating announcements need to be sent out, too," Elain said, a bit primly.

Gwyn snickered. "In case you forgot, Em, Nesta is technically a princess."

Emerie supposed that was true—Nesta was the High Lady's sister, and if the mating ceremony was small, perhaps the cards were making up for it. She didn't know how the High Fae nobility did things. Maybe this was just tradition.

Maybe she wasn't actually being set up for something.

Or she definitely was because Nesta smirked, looked her in the eye, and said, "The envelopes won't take care of themselves. Get licking."

Emerie spent the next half hour trying to pay attention to the chitchat about Gwyn's research and Nyx's first words—and not the way the tip of Mor's tongue was repeatedly darting out from between her lips. It was nearly impossible not to stare.

Nearly impossible not to think about what it would feel like to have that tongue against her skin or in her mouth.

Emerie really didn't want to ruin any of this; Nesta had asked Mor to be a bridesmaid to extend a tentative olive branch to one of her mate's oldest friends. It felt like a small miracle that everyone was getting along for once. There might have been a spark between them when Mor had buttoned up her dress, but misreading that could be….disastrous.

It seemed to take an eternity, but eventually, there was a neat pile of sealed envelopes. The group began to disperse, making their way down to the library or readying to flown back down to the street by Feyre. Emerie had just stood up when a hand on her arm made her freeze.

"Are you finding that this is durable? Mine always wear out from the way they rub against the leathers," Mor was saying, fingering the fabric of Emerie's shirt.

Emerie relaxed. She owned a clothing store—fabric care was, at least, familiar territory. "You might do better with something with a tighter weave."

"And the extra backstitching?"

That was a small detail, one that Emerie wouldn't have expected someone to notice unless they knew clothing construction. Which Mor apparently did. "Yes. It makes more of a difference than you'd think."

There was admiration in Mor's eyes, and at first Emerie assumed the other female just knew quality tailoring when she saw it. But Mor didn't move her hand—she squeezed lightly, feeling the muscle of Emerie's bicep beneath.

Emerie stretched her wings a bit, preening. She hadn't misread anything at all. Mor smiled. If Emerie hadn't been so struck by the beauty of it, she might have noticed Nesta and Elain silently bumping their fists together.

And what started with a dress fitting and continued with invitations, all came to a head at Nesta and Cassian's mating ceremony.

Feyre was off somewhere wrestling Nyx into a tiny suit jacket, and Rhys had insisted Elain was the only one he trusted to handle a last-minute problem with the florist. Gwyn was sitting with Nesta, which left just…Mor and Emerie.

Mor emerged from behind a dressing screen. "Does your offer to do me next time still stand?"

"And the time after that if you wanted," Emerie said.

Mor laughed, tossing her golden hair over a shoulder to keep it out of the way. She tried not to shiver at the brush of Emerie's knuckles on her lower back.

It was a easier, though, to speak the truth with her back turned. A bit more softly, Mor added, "You look beautiful, by the way."

For a moment, Emerie didn't say anything, just leaned in, her breath warm against Mor's bare shoulder. Something went tight in Mor's chest as she tipped her head to the side, baring the side of her neck.

"I was going to say that dress looks gorgeous on you, but…" Emerie dropped her voice lower, trailing off as she finished the last of the buttons.

Mor turned around, her smile widening into a grin. "But it looks even better on you?"

"Come to the training ring more often, and maybe you'll have something to show off in a sleeveless dress, too," Emerie said.

She turned around, a wordless request for help with the buttons again, and for once, it wasn't the wingspan that made Mor's breath catch. It had been the implication in those words—come to the training ring and see me again after this.

And somehow, it was the easiest thing in the world to slip into easy banter with her, as if they'd always known each other. "I know it's been a while since I've swung a sword, but be careful what you wish for. Unless you're asking to get pummeled into the dirt."

"That's rich coming from a five-hundred-year-old with creaky knees—"

"—who was gracing the battlefield before you were even born."

"Fine. See you in the ring at dawn."

Mor had spent enough time around Illyrians to know that was as good as asking her on a date. And that Emerie was completely serious about the early hour, even if it was the morning after Nesta and Cassian's mating ceremony. She muttered something under her breath that made Emerie snort, then finished buttoning the dress.

The ceremony was perfect, not a dry eye in the temple as the priestess declared Nesta and Cassian officially mated. When it was over, the guests made their way to the River House—Rhys and Feyre had offered to host so that the House of Wind could remain a quiet retreat for the happy couple at the end of the night.

Mor sat next to Emerie at dinner, and there had been more of that comfortable, easy banter. At some point during the meal, her hand came to rest on Emerie's thigh. But it had still been a shock when the rest of the table had gone to dance or get dessert and Emerie leaned in and murmured something about finding a place they could be alone.

"Nesta's only just started talking to me without flinging insults. She'll kill me if we run off now," Mor whispered. There were few enough guests that their absence would be noted, even with the dancing in full swing.

"I'm one of her best friends. She'll be fine with it as long as I finish first," Emerie said. If Mor had still been drinking the glass of wine in front of her, she would have spit it out. Emerie laughed and added, "Besides, if anyone asks, we can always say I was helping you fix a rip in your dress."

It was a fair point. Mor let Emerie tug her out of her chair and into the garden.

There was a bench shaped to accommodate wings, tucked away in a secluded corner of the courtyard. It was covered by a trellis of night-blooming flowers—Elain's doing, no doubt—but Mor still put up a shield around them as Emerie sat down.

"There's room for you too," Emerie said, indicating the space next to her with a jerk of her chin.

And maybe Mor should have sat, leaned in, and kissed her softly, done this right. But at some point the thread that she felt faintly in her chest had wound itself into a knot of need.

On some level, she knew: after five hundred years, waiting was becoming excruciating.

"Can I…touch your wings?" Mor said, fully aware of what she was asking, that Emerie had every right to be outraged she'd even suggest it when they hadn't so much as kissed yet.

Emerie stared at her, her gaze sharp and assessing, the look of a warrior who didn't back down from anything. Mor held it.

"Yes." Permission, and that she'd given it at all was evidence enough that Emerie knew what they were to each other.

Mor stepped around to the back of the bench, where Emerie's wings were hanging over it. She leaned in, kissing a straight line down Emerie's spine as she knelt in the grass with the other female's back at eye level.

"Tell me if it's too much," Mor said, reaching out a tentative hand.

Emerie's wings rustled at the first brush of Mor's fingertips. Mor's touch had been light, just ghosting across the membrane, but that had been enough.

"Too much?" Emerie said, her voice going rough. "It's not enough."

Mor raised both hands this time, pressing a bit harder against the silky membranes. They were soft in the places that weren't covered in jagged, brutal scars, oddly cool to the touch, and stiff—too stiff, another lingering reminder of old injuries that wouldn't fade.

Emerie sighed—an invitation. Mor pressed a kiss to the central tendon of a wing, where the scarring was concentrated. She paused, waiting for a cry of pain or to be told to stop, but Emerie just made a low, contented sound in the back of her throat.

Mor's blood heated in answer. She'd been sitting back on her heels, but she rose up on her knees, running one hand up, up, up Emerie's back, around to her front, dipping it under her gown to palm a breast.

"Is this better?" Mor said, sliding her finger up the rest of the way to circle a peaked nipple. Emerie's back arched.

"Yes. Don't stop."

"I'm not stopping anytime soon, beautiful. Not when I've thought about getting my hands on you since I saw you at Windhaven." Mor hadn't meant for the endearment or the admission to slip out like that, but both were true. And her gift was truth.

Before Emerie could answer, Mor swept a hand along her wing again. Emerie threw her head back, and suddenly there was no possibility of conversation, not when the Illyrian had been reduced to moans and it took all of Mor's concentration to circle a nipple with one hand and caress all the most sensitive places on a wing with the other.

Mor pressed another kiss to Emerie's back, just as Emerie came with a cry. She stood, brushing grass from her gown, and stepped back to the front of the bench, admiring the sight of Emerie flushed and panting.

Mor extended a hand, and Emerie took it, getting up and stepping closer on pleasantly unsteady feet. As Mor snaked an arm around her waist, Emerie stretched her wings, encircling them both. And finally kissed her.

It was soft, almost chaste. The sort of kiss they probably should have started all of this with. When they broke apart, Emerie let her head rest on Mor's shoulder.

"I meant what I said about doing you next," Emerie said, smiling against Mor's collarbone.

Mor brushed a lock of Emerie's hair back into place. "Then come home with me tonight." Or every night. Move into Athelwood.

"I'd love to."

They stood quietly for a long moment, pressed against each other at the center of twin circles of arms and wings. But there was still a party, and they would be missed. Before long, Mor was casting a glamour to cover the scent of arousal, spelling away grass stains, and making sure no one looked disheveled.

Mor and Emerie attempted to slip back into the party without any fanfare. They'd walked back in together, not even holding hands, ready with a story about a torn strap on Mor's dress and Emerie's emergency sewing kit.

But four heads whipped around at the sight of them. Nesta was sitting at the head table with the rest of her bridesmaids, a glass in front of each of them. The bride winked.

And as a team, the Archerons and Gwyn toasted to the sight of Emerie and Mor together and a job well done.

#sjmromanceweek2024 #emorie #mor acotar #emerie of illyria

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hastyprovocateur · 1 year

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Well-Suited To Your Taste- Sevika×Seamstress

1.6k words

Tl/dr: Sevika gets begrudgingly fitted for a suit upon Silco's instruction, taking a shine to the seamstress

Tw: bondage, fingering, spanking

Sevika rasped cigar smoke from her lips, the streets barely thrumming. She stood waiting for it to die before she entered the swish boutique. It was late evening and a little past closing. The neon board above the awning glowed; in fancy letters it read: "The Vestiarium~ For the Well-Heeled"

Sevika stared at the glass display, mannequins sporting sharp, expertly stitched outfits. Some of the best you could acquire in Zaun. Or so Silco attested about his choice of dressmakers. He instructed, rather requested, her to consult them for a new outfit for an upcoming caucus.

Silco's deputy wasn't one to indulge appearances or care for expensive attire. If anything, her simple clothes helped divert attention away from herself. An edge in a fist fight or ambush. But the gathering was more for formal talk. An arena her strongest suits lay far outside of.

She flicked the butt of the cigarette in the ground, swinging into the shop as a bell tinkled above. Immediately, she felt out of place. There was a time, she could only peer inside into places like these, shooed away eventually with sticks, her grimy fingerprints being promptly wiped.

But not tonight

"Ah, hi! We're closed- OW" Sevika heard a crashing sound from somewhere inside the dimly lit shopfront. She stood her ground, rolling her neck and waiting for the store owner. Instead, out popped a woman. Small, bespectacled and frazzled as she massaged the knee she banged on her way out.

"I'm sorry, ma'am... we're-" her words cut off her eyes travelled up Sevika's tall, burly frame, gulping "Oh... Lieutenant..." she adjusted her glasses "How can I be of assistance?" she asked timidly. Sevika gave her a once over.

Her wavy hair were loosely knotted at the base of her neck, frizzy strands framing her face. Her simple shirt and skirt were trimmed by green ribbon, feet strapped in cuffed, rounded flats. She couldn't be beyond a mere tailor or sales clerk.

"I'm looking for the owner"

"He-he left the store to me. Said his wife has the chills so he's taking care of her. I was in the back clearing up after closing time. But it's no biggie! I just live upstairs, actually... pretty sweet gig if you ask me. You need not fret, I'm his assistant so I'm sure I can get you sorted-"

"I'll come by later"

Sevika turned to leave but felt an audacious grip on her elbow, yanking her back swiftly. Eyes bewildered, she stared down at the seamstress in shock. The lady seemed to belatedly catch onto what she's done. She released her immediately, scooting back with her hands melded.

"I'm so terribly sorry... its just... I can't let such a... high-value customer like you just leave..." she tucked some loose hair behind her ear "I'm new and I really want to do right by this job... if you tell me what you need... I will do my best to deliver" she proferred.

Sevika eyed her warily, sighing "I need a suit... someone said this is the place for it"

"Yes, of course... the Vestiarium. The one stop shop for the well-heeled" she smiled, cocking her head "A suit you say... do you have a colour and design in mind? An outline or... maybe you've taken a shine to one of our client's garb?" she asked.

Sevika shrugged "I don't know... I've never taken note of such things before"

"That's perfectly fine... I'll work it out for you. Let me take a look..." she moved with sprightly grace, touching her shoulder and tracing her fingers down to her elbow, taking in her muscular waist and the dip of her spine. She lifted Sevika's cybernetic arm slightly, glancing past her shoulders.

"Broad shoulders... beautiful neck... strong arms... long legs... fitted... lots of curves... would you prefer a dramatic, voguish look or simple and old school?" she asked and Sevika raised a brow "Your pick, love. As long as it's not a lot, it matters zilch to me"

"Oh, dear... what an exciting journey for me" the dressmaker blushed, readjusting her glasses and muttering "Short-sleeved shirt... cotton-linen... stitched into a... waistcoat... low... three buttons across... a cape blazer... high waisted pants with a boot cut... pockets, pockets, pockets"

She stood on her tippy toes, fingers barely grazing over Sevika's choker "a tie... with a clip on jewel?" she whispered "Unless you don't like being tied down..." Sevika gazed down at the seamstress' face "Long as its not too tight" she smiled jauntily.

The woman jerked back, late to realize what she was doing once again. "Ah... let me fetch the fabrics I have in mind. I'll be right back" she rushed off to one of the backrooms, fetching some rolls of cloth. She propped them against a chair and wheeled in a mirror "So... I envisioned you in..."

Unrolling a metre from each roll one by one, "This cotton with vicuña" she draped it across Sevika's shoulder "Dark... smooth... chocolate... with cream stripes... it's breathable... stretchy... easy to work in... and it looks lovely with your skin tone" she gulped as Sevika stared at her.

"I'll pair this with a cotton-linen blend white shirt... There's midnight plum and pure black in this suit fabric too. I-if you don't like this I can do more navies and greys too... perhaps a claret..." she turned to step away but felt Sevika's arm wrap hold her by the waist, pulling her back in.

"Are you purposely being this sweet with me or is it just part of your hospitality?" she asked and the seamstress turned pink, holding the fabric across her face to hide it "I'm just... doing my job... ma'am." Sevika released her promptly, composing herself in front of the mirror.

"The brown'll do" she finally said and the assistant nodded "Good choice! Great choice! Now time for accessories..." she wrung her hands, bringing over a choice selection of ties, buttons and tie clasps. She held up two ties "umber or navy?" she asked and Sevika pointed to umber.

"Hmm..." she studied the display trays "I'm going to pick the brass buttons with the Zaunite sigil and the guilded tiger tie clasp with amber eyes... is that okay?" she proposed, holding up her choices and Sevika smiled a little "Playing mind reader... are we?"

The tailor separated all of Sevika's selections, looking up at her "I think I... now know what you like..." she simply said, carting all the stuff away except the mirror. She brought a wooden stool in, setting it down before Sevika and fetching a measuring tape, notepad and pencil.

"Forgive me if I struggle a bit... I usually have someone to help..." she tucked the pencil behind her ear and held the notepad between her teeth, standing up on the stool. She gestured with a hand for Sevika to straighten up and look in the mirror as she began measuring her.

She stretched the tape across her chest, almost tripping from the edge of the stool but felt Sevika's hands hold her waist, steadying her. Her ears turned red but she lowered her head, powering through.

The circumference of her neck, arm, bicep... she cast the tape behind Sevika, noting the width of her back and shoulders, sizing her waist and stomach. The smoke from her cigar... boozy notes on her shirt and the scent of sandalwood and leather enveloped her, their faces inches apart.

The assistant struggled to focus, pulling the pencil and jotting down the numbers in her notebook. She felt Sevika's gaze burning through her skin, watching her leisurely yet intensely. Hopping off the stool, the seamstress kneeled, fingers slightly shaky as she measured from her hip to ankle, knee to ankle.

She took a deep breath, doing the inseam and brushing Sevika's crotch. "S-sorry" her voice broke and she feared looking up as she circled her knee, thigh and hip, measuring from near her hem across the taint and up her butt. She felt Sevika's groin muscles flex and quickly set the tape down, scribbling in her notepad.

She felt her heartbeat quicken, the page blurring before her eyes.

"You okay down there...?" Sevika asked in her husky voice and the seamstress froze, nodding microscopically. She felt Sevika's rough, warm fingers curl under her chin and lift her face "Can't say you're the first woman to kneel breathlessly before me..." she whispered.

"I'm just... doing my job..." the assistant uttered as Sevika snaked behind her head, loosening her hair, hand resting heavily on her shoulder, staring at her heaving chest. Sevika gently slipped her glasses down her nose "How about we take the hospitality upstairs...? In that nice, little bedroom of yours..." she proposed.

"Aaaah!" the seamstress screamed, eyes rolling back as she gripping the bedpost from where her hands were tied to it with her own panties. She saw Sevika's hand curling around her wrists, pounding her between the legs with her knee, her big body weighing down on her.

"Damn your clothes" she sat up, ripping up her underskirt completely and shoving it inside her as she whimpered, soaking through it all. Sevika stared at her spread legs, dress bunched up under her with her blouse and sleeves ripped to expose her breasts, body undulating, butt squeezing and begging for her.

She smiled wickedly, smacking her cheeks hard till they turned red with finger marks, tears sprouted from the woman's eyes. Sevika curled her arm under her belly, rubbing her sensitive bud and forcing her fingers inside her, pushing the mess of cloth deeper as she returned to pounding.

The seamstress' moans grew louder, face pressing into the sheets as she picked the pace up, thrusts steady and hard. "Is this too much for you?" Sevika asked, pinching her clitoris and forcing another finger inside her. The tailor shook her head, arching her back more. Sevika seemed impressed despite herself, tilting the woman's face "You'll go far..." she kissed her drooling lips.

"I'll make sure your business...

never dries up"

***

#sevika #arcane sevika #sevika my beloved #arcane headcanon #sevika fanfic #sevika headcanon #arcane league of lesbians #arcane fanfic #sevika x reader #sevika imagine #sevika x you #sevika x oc #sevika smut #arcane milfs #arcane smut

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professorpski · 2 years

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Threads, Fall 2022

This article has a good range of topics from making use of quilts to replicating a vintage collar to fitting and embellishments. The cover story by Judith Neukam on quilted jackets ponders re-using a vintage quilt as well as collaging with new fabric scraps. Related to this accidentally is the article by Lindsay Ostlie who offers a zero-waste blouse which you see here in brown with cut-on dolman sleeves and the fabric selvedges used as trim along the buttoned opening. Now, if all the dressmakers could get together with the quiltmakers, I think we could put to good use all those fabric scraps from more conventionally cut garments.

Anna Mazur explains how to create a flower motif using self-fabric petals with sealant applied around the edges and paillettes, crystals and beads. You see here the pale green blouse that results. You can well imagine different designs to develop using this technique from the quieter self-trim like this to more dramatic contrasting colors.

Kenneth King analyzes the circa 1940 dress in black, white and red on the back cover with an unusual collar created with a center ring through which the two scarf collar edges loop to button down high up on the bodice. He explains how it can be done and his version is quieter than the playful version on the back cover with two-tone covered buttons in order to avoid what he calls a “costumey” look. If on the other hand you are interesting in theater costuming, you will enjoy the articles on Bernadette Banner who recreates period clothing from the late 19th and early 20th Century and on Arnold S. Levine, author and millinery, who does Broadway and carnival millinery work of all kinds and who shares some of his favorite supplies.

There are also more technical articles on ways to make knit pants, on fitting garments through the shoulders, bust and torso, plus reviews of new patterns and fashion trends for fall.

Threads is my favorite airplane reading as you can enjoy the pictures when your brain is tired or dig into the details of a new technique and learn how to do it.

You can find it at your favorite bookstore, fabric store, or online here: https://www.threadsmagazine.com/

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badassindistress · 2 years

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Floofy Shirt Sew-along Step 2 Extra: Shoulder pieces

It's too hot to go on my usual lunchwalk, so I filmed a little explanation on how the shoulder pieces fold in and over the shoulder instead

#a talia original #talia's adventures in dressmaking #excerpts from my life #sewing #sewing progress #talia's adventures in videomaking #I'm not going to do editing for this #but i hope it's clear #floofy shirt sewalong instructions #floofy shirt sewalong

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sanjoongie · 1 year

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Dr. Frankenstein and Your Monster~ 2

♡Pairing: Jeong Yunho x Reader (f) x Park Seonghwa ♡Genre: smut with no plot ♡Au: Novel(frankenstein by mary shelley) inspired au, established relationship au ♡Word Count: 2,955 ♡Warnings: dom!yunho, sub!hwa, sub!reader, water/bath sex, penetrative sex without barrier, oral receiving (m), nipple play, mxm, foreplay for hwa and reader a la yunho, voyeurism, bukake, double penetration, deep throating, f/m/m orgasm ♡Rated: 18+ MDNI ♡Part One~ ♡Dedication~ @mejuii & @downtoamagicalland the unholy trinity beta team. one of you loves these aries and the other one is an aries and i can never decide if i'm blessed or cursed by this ><

Bathtime~

It was during times like these where you really understood why certain people in Yunho’s community, and sometimes the town, labeled Yunho as an ‘evil genius’. As his wife, you were certainly aware of his sadistic tendencies, that coupled with his brilliant mind, made a perfect equation for this label. However, no one would truly understand how deep this ran in Yunho, unless they were a fly on the wall of your bathroom, of course.

The large, clawed-foot tub was built to hold you and Yunho, so of course, it was easy for you and Seonghwa to bathe in it. With the heated tiling, the room was above room temperature. Yunho turns the faucets so that steaming water could begin to fill the bath. He drops in some choice bath oils, because he knew you liked it so, and then promptly begins to loosen his tie and remove certain items of clothing.

“Seonghwa, honey, let me help you.” You motioned for your favorite monster to come to you when he struggles with removing the harness over his shirt. How he managed to get it on in the first place is a mystery to you.

He patiently stands in front of you, eyes shining with adoration as you undo the clasps and bend so that you can lift it over his head. Next is taking your time and unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it out from his waistband. You are loath to remove it completely, you do love how it looks against his skin. Seonghwa’s head is ducked as your eyes take in his revealed skin.

“Mistress,” He murmurs, closing his eyes and getting embarrassed.

You hush him, “Let me enjoy you, Seonghwa.”

Small splashing noises can be heard from behind you, and you know that Yunho is doing his best to wash up in a small basin so that he can orchestrate the bathtime that he had ordered. So you continue to help Seonghwa out of his clothes. You make small noises at the sight of Seonghwa’s cock covered in his blue cum. It’s still a glorious sight, even though his cock has softened.

“Poor baby,” You coo, well aware that Seonghwa despises being dirty, regardless of the reason for his creation.

“Dirty,” Seonghwa whines, playing into your caretaker role.

“I’ll take care of you, Hwa, don’t worry.” You beam up at him and his pout lessens, but only slightly.

“Let me take care of you too,” Seonghwa insists.

You turn around so that he can begin on the many buttons down the back of your dress. He stumbles for a while, the small buttons causing him trouble. When he starts to whine and huff, Yunho moves around behind you to help Seonghwa. “Slow, Seonghwa,” Yunho instructs him, “You have to take your time.”

“But!” Seonghwa protests.

You don’t know what is exchanged between your husband or your fuck toy, but suddenly you hear a rip and you keen at the lose of another, yes another, good dress. “Yunho! I just had that one made.”

“We’ll go to the dressmakers this week. I’m home now, so it's not a problem to escort you.” And just like that Yunho dismisses your issues.

Yunho pulls down the dress, so that your arms pull out of the sleeves and then Seonghwa holds your hand as you daintily step out of the dress pooled at your feet. You are left in a simple sheath but it does nothing to hide how pert your nipples are--and the air is not cool enough to blame.

Yunho’s hands cup your breasts and his fingers begin to play with your nipples. “Excited for bath time?” He murmurs in your ear.

“You know it’s my favorite,” You can’t help but whine again.

Seonghwa eyes up the steam coming from the bath. “It’s going to be too hot!”

“You’ll be fine, Seonghwa,” Yunho reassures his creation, “Besides, half of it will slosh out while you’re fucking my wife.”

“Yun!” Your back bows as Yunho pinches your nipples and then yanks your sheathe down until it is also a pool of material at your feet.

“In the tub, the both of you,” Yunho orders.

“Come on, Hwa,” You cajole the monster.

Seonghwa doesn’t move from his spot but you slip into the bath nonetheless. You groan as the hot water hits your skin. “Oh god, this is exactly what I needed.”

“Because of your muscles or because of your dirty cunt,” Yunho teases again.

“Both,” You say, unable to keep the pout from your voice.

Seonghwa has wrapped his arms around his body stubbornly now. Sometimes he can’t be budged when he makes up his mind.

Yunho’s lips purse in disapproval. “Seonghwa. In the bath. Now.”

Seonghwa shakes his head. “No.”

Yunho storms over to his creation and grips Seonghwa’s jaw harshly. “Did you just disobey a direct order from your master?”

Seonghwa whimpers. “But--”

Yunho may sound bored but his tone is a direct indication of how pissed off he is at this moment. “If you want, I can fuck her again. Show you how your technique could improve. And tomorrow morning in bed and tomorrow afternoon at the dressmakers and tomorrow evening on the balcony. I can fuck her for every time slot that you should be. And you won’t get to touch her for the week. I’m fine with that, Seonghwa, but are you?”

You and Seonghwa shiver at the implications of Yunho’s sentence. Yes, once Yunho is home, he is your primary and Seonghwa is not necessarily needed but it was not of your typical practice to simply discard Seonghwa like an unwanted toy. Seonghwa was needy, certainly, and Yunho enjoyed playing with his boundaries, yes, but it was always a push and pull. Without the pull, Seonghwa might actually go crazy with need.

Seonghwa’s eyes are downcast now, knowing he will not win with Yunho’s stern temperament. “No, I don’t want that.”

“Then you get in the damn tub,” Yunho said harshly one more time and then let go of Seonghwa with a wretch.

After discarding his pants, Seonghwa hisses all the while he gets into the tub. He whines about it being too hot and you can't help but giggle at what a big baby he is being. Once he was sitting down, you reach for a washcloth but Yunho put his hand over you. “That’s my privilege, darling,” He corrects you.

Yunho lathers up the cloth with soap and then plunges his hand under the water. He rubs your cunt gently and you open your legs wider for him. His fingers play through the soft material of the cloth, making sure to wipe all his cum from you--that he could reach, anyways. Who knows how much decided to remain deep inside of you. You close your eyes, enjoying the sensation of Yunho playing with your cunt. It is too soon when he takes it away and you whimper at the loss.

“I have to clean Seonghwa too,” Yunho reassures you.

That’s when your eyes fly open. Yunho is acting differently again. Typically, he did not have this kind of interaction with Seonghwa, but you were suddenly desperate to see what else he had planned, after kissing Seonghwa with such fervor previously.

You watch as Yunho dutifully lathers up the cloth again. Seonghwa watches with trusting eyes as Yunho put a heavy hand on one of Seonghwa’s already-spread thighs and wraps his hand, and the cloth, around Seonghwa’s dick. Seonghwa’s spine bows at the feeling, hissing and moaning at Yunho’s ‘cleaning’. Even after it is clear that all of Seonghwa’s cum was gone, Yunho continues to pump his creation’s dick, making it grow larger and larger, until Seonghwa is surely at full mast. You almost think Yunho is going to make Seonghwa come again, when he pulls his hand off of Seonghwa. Yunho dips the cloth into the water and wrings the cloth of all the water from it.

Seonghwa is fully leaning against the bathtub, panting with need, eyes hooded and clearly ready for the bathtime fuck that Yunho has decided the both of you need. All you want is to lean over and push his hair from his eyes, but you know better than to start something without Yunho’s permission.

"Stay where you are, sweetheart," yunho murmurs, "I want to see Seonghwa fuck you."

You swallow loudly but keep your legs open as Seonghwa switches positions carefully. He places a hand on the lip of the tub, on each side of your head, and carefully lies between your legs. His straining cock nudges your outer lips and you buck against the feeling. You are sensitive from Yunho playing with you. Although you are still quite full from Yunho being inside of you, there was something about having Yunho watch you with his calculating eyes while Hwa fucks you that really did create butterflies in your stomach.

This time you do reach up to card through Seonghwa’s hair. It was damp and wet at the ends. Seonghwa sucks in his bottom lip as you did such a gentle gesture. "Please," he whines.

"Think you can handle him, Sweetheart?" Yunho says lowly into your ear. He dots kisses along your shoulder and his hands come down to knead your muscles there. "Let me watch him enter slowly, inch by inch."

You whimper at Yunho’s words. "Hwa. Slowly," You whisper.

Seonghwa angles his hips and then he's sinking into you with small cries pulling from his throat. "So good, so good, so good."

"Isn't she so inviting, Toy?" Yunho spoke to Seonghwa with an even tone. He almost purrs as his fingertips swirl patterns with the water drops on your skin. "She feels so wet and tight and warm."

"Don't," Seonghwa moans, eyes rolling into the back of his head.

You arch your back and let out a string of moans as Seonghwa pushes into you until he is fully sheathed inside. His forehead is touching yours now, lips sending tiny puffs of warm air against your lips. "Seonghwa!" You couldn't help but moan his name too.

"Good?" is all that Seonghwa can manage through his fucked-out state.

"Move!" You groan, bucking your hips and allowing for some movement inside of you.

Seonghwa’s hips begin to move of their own volition, a tiny snap at the end of his thrusts, ensuring that he is hitting that spongy part inside of you that makes your breath catch in your throat. "Fuck master's wife good, fuck master's wife good," He starts to chant.

You groan even louder when Yunho slants his lips over yours and his hands descend over your shoulders so that his hand could grip your boob in an upside down motion, pointer fingers poised to play with your nipples. Yunho eats up all your noises, tongue playing with yours.

The sloshing of the water, paired with the orchestra of noises of pleasure coming from you and Seonghwa, are all that can be heard for a while and you let yourself float amongst that atmosphere. Until Seonghwa begins to whine.

"I can't--I need--!" A sense of urgency sweeps across his face.

Yunho breaks your kiss, a long string of saliva pulling between your lips before ultimately breaking when Yunho's tongue runs along his upper lip. "Not yet," he commands.

Seonghwa lets out a loud noise of frustration but slows his thrusts so the water only gently laps at the sides of the tub. "Yunho, why?" You cry out at the loss of your impending orgasm as well.

"Because, Sweetheart, I want to come all over that sweet face of yours," Yunho admits, grinning widely.

"Yunho," You groan when you realize you're about to be double stuffed. Your hand claws at the space between his hip bone and his cock.

"You've got a cock deep inside of you and you still need mine?" Yunho teases once again, "Either that means Seonghwa isn't truly doing his job good enough, or, you are just that cock hungry."

Seonghwa’s thrusts jerk heavily against your body and your body moves upwards with the sudden jerk. "I'm doing good!" He insists, eyes shaky with worry.

"I'm cock hungry, so fucking cock hungry," You babble as your hand makes way to Yunho's cock imprint through his pants. It's all he's got remaining of his clothes. "That's why you made Seonghwa, right? Because I needed cock so much while you were gone?"

Yunho knows you are once again trying to put yourself between him and Seonghwa but he lets you win the game this time. He is amazed that you are still desperate for him even when you had Seonghwa taking care of you the entire time. His hand cups one side of your face. "Show me how much you need me," He says.

Eagerly, you open his pants so that you can guide him to your lips. You wrap your hand around his base and hollow your cheeks, and take as much of him as you can before meeting your fingers on his length. Yunho's hand sinks into your hair to control your head. He thrusts lazily into your mouth, hitting the soft inside of your cheek as your head lies back against the tub and eventually let his cock go.

"That's it, Sweetheart," Yunho says with hooded eyes, "Take both our cocks, hmm? You like being stuffed by both of us, don't you?"

"Can I come now?" Seonghwa whines.

"No, Toy," Yunho replies back casually, "You cannot. Make her moan again, show me how you fuck her."

"But--!" Seonghwa frowns heavily, "I can't come!"

Yunho lifts an eyebrow at Seonghwa. "Can't you fuck and not come?"

"I'm too close!" Seonghwa protests.

You are in the deep headspace of simply being a hole for the two men in your life. Subconsciously, you know the two of them are arguing but truly all you can focus on is the way the head of Yunho's cock hits the inside of your cheek and Seonghwa's slow but steady thrusting is driving you crazy.

"If you come before me, I will tie you spread eagle to our bedposts and you will have to endure being below my wife while I fuck her. I know how to stem the flow of your cum so you can do nothing but continuously feel stimulation but no release." The threat comes out in a soft tone that, if you weren't listening to the words, would have seemed like Yunho is sweet-talking Seonghwa instead of threatening him.

Seonghwa is quiet, for a bit, and it seems like perhaps Yunho has tamed his creation. But Seonghwa simply took a moment longer than necessary to process what he is being threatened with. "...can we?"

Yunho lets out a short bark of laughter as you groan at the fact that what Yunho had suggested wasn't a threat to Seonghwa but a good time, in his eyes. "I made you perfectly for us, didn't I?"

Us?

The grip on your hair tightens as Yunho quickly changes gears. Whether he is simply enjoying the moment, or he is looking to make Seonghwa's endeavor not so torturous, that is up for debate, but Yunho is now fucking your throat. You have to focus on timing your breathing with his thrusts. Seonghwa doesn't make it easy. His thrusts begin to become sloppy and his heavy breathing increases.

"Gonna fill you up," He whines, eyes closed tightly, "Gonna make you come."

Your other free hand searches out Seonghwa's nipple and begins to pull on it. Seonghwa whines loudly, "Don't! Gonna get me in trouble!"

Yunho suddenly pulls out of your mouth so suddenly that you have a moment to gasp for air loudly and then his seed spurts all over your face. Belatedly, you push out your tongue, looking to catch some there. When Yunho decides your face is painted well enough with his cum, he rests the head of his cock against your tongue and lets his seed pool there.

"That's it, Sweetheart, take it all for me," Yunho coaches you.

"Hwa," You whimper, feeling your climax come to a head once again, "Just like that, don't stop, you're such a good toy, such a good b--" Your climax rips through you, lighting up all your nerve endings with pleasure.

Seonghwa can't hold it back any longer once your inner walls clamp down on him again and again. He came with a high pitched whine that was so drawn out that it almost sounded downright painful. "So good so good so good," He pants as he thrusts into you until he has no more to give you.

You are feeling gently used and enjoying the fact that Yunho had gotten off to Seonghwa fucking you. “Yunnie?”

“Yes, sweetheart?” Yunho crouches down by the tub to give you a gentle kiss at your temple.

“You’re going to have to walk me through this newfound desire for my toy,” You say lazily.

“Your toy, huh?” Yunho can't help but smile, “You do remember I’m his master.”

"But--!" Your protests were cut off with a deep kiss that mimicked the one he gave Hwa; like he was searching for his own cum in your mouth and it makes you wet all over again.

"If you make love, can I watch?" Seonghwa asks, slightly interrupting the moment.

Yunho releases your lips, if only to laugh at Seonghwa, but he continues to stare at you. "Is it okay for our toy to watch us, Sweetheart?"

You sigh happily, getting the message. Yunho didn't have to explain, Seonghwa had always been the both of yours, and it just felt right. "Yes, please."

"Well," Yunho can't help but grin boyishly, "Guess I'll be showing you how to fuck my wife after all."

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themotherofblood · 2 years

Text

Caught Up in a Moment

Tywin Lannister x Reader

Tears of Gold Au

A/N: now if somebody had truly protected Sansa in the books/show

tw: Mentions of blood, animal death and suicidal ideation. Smut! breeding kink vibes, unprotected p in v (wrap before you tap lovelies), quickie

Yet another fitting, another horde of dressmakers had invaded the Red keep, this time both you and Tywin were the subjects of this torture. The dressmakers laid fabrics on his shoulders to choose from as he mostly replied in grunts and glares, you could barely breathe in the corset they had put you in, to fit the metal armoured corset out front. One thing your good daughter had major influence over, was how the ladies dressed in King’s Landing. Though you would go along with it, just so the dressmakers give her good reports, only to change it near last minute. You took a deep breath of relief as you ladies undid the outlandishly tight corset, you were sure that had you worn it any longer. It would have bruised you.

You were let out earlier than your husband, to your surprise. You sons had laid out in the sun, out in the varenda with pillows and sheets on the ground. Around them were different coloured berries that now their nurses were mushing into seperate bowls as per your order. The boys loved their about to be sister by law, and their lady “Sasa” loved them very much too. While she was child herself, you’d hoped that having her own children would give her more comfort, or perhaps a reason to find light in the situation she was imposed to. It would be rather daft to think she’d be elated at the union, Tyrion wasn’t a horrible person, a little explicit at times but a good man nonetheless.

A sheet of thick paper laid prepped on the ground as the handmaiden tried her best from letting the little lords rip at the paper, you watched as they garbled nonsense at one another, other than a few words they could already say. Like mama, papa, Sasa, Jams, Eci, and Tion. Both boys would turn one in three fortnights, and you looked at them as how so much time had already passed. Both boys positively lit up as they saw their mother approach them, Jamie stood up with the help of the handmaiden and slowly waddled over to you in wonky steps.

“Ah my love, mama missed you.” You kissed each of his pink cheeks making him giggle, walking over to lower yourself on the sheets, “Mhmm, the berries are yummy huh?” You asked Tyeon as he had already dipped is hand into the mushed pigmented fruit and began licking his hands. “We have a mission today. We are going to make a gift forLady Sansa’s wedding.”

Both boys looked at you like puppies trying to decipher what you said, Tyeon immediately picked it up by garbling out “Sasa!” Before screeching out a high pitched giggle and Jamie mumbled “Gif.” Under his breath as he played with your hair.

Tywin had taught you this, his experience in raising children was one up yours. He had strictly instructed the staff to not communicate with the children in a cooed voice, instead speak to them as if they understood every word. This worked perfectly to their merit as both boys quickly began picking up common words. While the mother in you couldn’t help but coo at them as you put them to bed, most days you spoke to them as normally as you could.

The handmaidens and you spent the next while, dipping your sons hands into the berry mush and making imprints of pigment with their hands, while originally this was to be done with the finest paint that money could buy, you weren’t sure if the raw minerals would be safe in their sensitive skin, instead you opted for berries. Even lion managed to get a few paw prints in, to which he spent a good while, licking at his paws to clean out the sour taste from his toe beans. You made a few thumb prints of your own, next to the tiny palm prints of your sons. By the end of it, the paper was covered in palm prints but you weren’t quite done, your sons held an admirable amount of concentration through this endeavour and yet both of them were covered in berry juice, same as the skirts of your gown and your chest.

“Dada.” Tyeon smiled with his half grown smile, Tywin was stood resting against the posts that held the varenda’s arch ways. He walked over to where the lot of you were sat, the maid stood up to bow at him while he waved her away.

He lifted Tyeon onto his lap as he sat down, “Quite the mess you’ve made huh?.” He asks as Tyeon pressed a sticky palm onto his father’s cheek. He caressed the little boys head before handing him to the maid.

“Have them bathed please.” You told the maid before kissing the top of Jamie’s head. “Get you all clean?” You asked him, hoping he would mimic one of the words and so he did, “keen.”

“I suppose I could use a basin of warm water and a new dress.” You said while inspecting the purple and red mess that coated your dress and neck, you placed four rocks on the corners of the parchment so it could dry in the heat of the sun. While Tywin inspected what it is that his sons and lady wife had attempted to make, you saw the confusion in his face an elaborated.

“The hands are petals, I’m going to paint the rest when it has dried.”

A basin of warm water was placed in your room, before the maid stood stead for anything else that you might require.

“Leave us.” And on cue, every staff personnel poured out your quarters, leaving you and your husband alone. The second the door shut, you were onto him. Legs on either side of his lap as you straddled him, your hands on his face as your lips met, frantic and needy. You had begun trying again, your moon cycle had held a perfect cycle again, since the birth of your boys eleven moons ago.

This time the act of procreation was different, with the conceiving of your sons, it was a subconscious duty that always remained at the back of yours and Tywin’s minds. It was duty to be fulfilled, your end of the bargain. For Tywin this time, it was appreciation, it was the view, the prospect of it. He wanted see you swell, and truly admire it, this part of him that wanted to keep you full of him was primal, animalistic and also a problem. Tywin Lannister had a reputation to uphold, which was hard to achieve when you would prance into a room, looking absolutely devour-able and salacious and all he wanted to do was bury his cock, balls deep within you and fill his seed to the brim within the warmth of your walls.

Every moment of time was used in efforts to see you full, baths together would end up with you bent over the edge, a hand on your mouth to silence your brazen moans as he fucked you on the small council table. Late nights when he would return from his day of work, only to rouse you with your cunt full of his cock. Any moment he could steal you away, he would to use your sweet little pussy and leave it full to its brim.

You had detached your lips from Tywin, getting up to walk to your room, hands working on the front bodice of your gown to undo it. Your husband followed close behind, pawing at your small clothes and then removing them off you. You rested your palms against the table, where a basin of warm water awaited you, to clean the sticky berry residue on you. Tywin beat you to it, taking the wash cloth and dipping it into the water, before pulling you to him, your back flush against his clothed chest. He ran the cloth on your chest, all the while finding himself occupied in marking your neck like the true multitasker that he was. You began to grow frustrated, however your husband was done soon enough.

You bent over the table, presenting your sweet little cunt to him, as he shook his head in amusement. His hand quickly undid his trousers and let his cock spring free from his breeches. He shamelessly took in the view in front of him, his eyes raking down your back to your pussy before resting the tip of his cock in your folds. Teasing his cock within your wetness as he slid his cock over your clit, circling it at the swollen flesh before pushing in, making you and him groan in unison. He spent no time in letting you adjust, his fingers held your hips as he drew himself back and pushed back in before setting a determined pace of full and hard strokes into you.

“This what you wanted wife?” He grunted

“Yes, yes!” Your breathless whimpers and whines filled the room as you clutched onto the table harder, as your head fell, pressed to the table in pleasure. You felt Tywin’s hand snake upward to lift your body up, his fingers digging into you jaw as his forehead fell on your shoulder. This was war for him, and he’s never lost one that he waged in his life

“Give me another babe.” He grunted in your ear, reaching forward to play with your now swollen clit. The pressure within you grew, his cock hammering within you as he whispered obscene things in your ears. You cried out as that ever so familiar tingle spread through your body, clenching around your husband’s cock as he fucked you through your peak

“Fuck.” He panted out, his rhythm faltering as his orgasm hit him, his arms tightening its hold on you as his body spasms, his seed spurts within you yet again, to the brim just as he promised.

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“Ah these are perfect!” You commended the dressmaker, admiring the fine blue tinted leather. You paid the man his gold before folding away the fineries, taking them along with you to visit Sansa. You felt terrible for not being around for quite a while, motherhood had you consumed in responsibilities and your desires in other, because if you weren’t mothering, you were fucking your husband.

The knight stationed by her quarters announced your arrival to Sansa before you entered, you immediately engulfed the girl in a hug, radiating all your comfort within you to her. As her wedding neared the more people were afraid that she’d run, making Sansa spend most her days in her chambers.

“I’ve missed you.” She whispered, her voice meek and sullen

“And I, you.” You reassured as you pulled back, it is only then you found a familiar face stood at the corner of the room. Shae. You tried not to react but Sansa cleared your confusion.

“She is my new handmaiden.” She clarified, with the certainty she said it, you were sure she had no idea who Shae was.

“Ah, well good. She can help dress you.” You said walking past her to lay down her present on the bed.

“Riding clothes?” She looked at you confused as her hands ran over the fine leather.

“You and I, the Kingswood and cake. Doesn’t that sound like a party?” You nudged her shoulder with yours.

“But, the queen-“

“You are not to step out the capitol.” You mocked Cersei’s words. “Being queen regent, especially with another on the way; gives her only so much power. Being the Hand’s wife, gives me more.” You smirked at her.

“Go on change! I bet you’d look fearsome in it.”

You had taken four of your household guard and Fredrick, you watched a small joy spread through Sansa as she saw the brown stallion you procured for her, you had taken the same route as the one Tywin took you down, you watched as Sansa took in the scenery, she looked content for a moment, feeling the chilly air through her hair and the earthen smell of the woods unlike the shit and perfume that coated Kings Landing. The green of the trees made the red of her hair strike out further as your trotted deeper into the woods, until you reached the clearing. The two of you set down the blanket and few snacks that you’d brought along with you, the whole while laughing about how the brown stallion had taken a liking to Starlight. You two spoke of all the things you’d missed at court, about the dresses Sansa had made for her and the ones being made for you, and yet a more serious issue lingered on her lips. Which she eventually voiced.

“Were you afraid of your wedding night?” Sansa asked hesitantly

“In truth, I was. Yes.” You did not want to lie to her anymore than the people around her already were. “Lord Tywin was kind about it though, as any well raised lord should be.” You reassured her,

“Di- did it hurt?” She finally asked what she really wanted to.

“For a bit, though it fel- felt good after a while.” You blushed and Sansa’s eyes widened. She’d changed the topic after that.

“Could you walk me down the aisle?” She asked

“I could ask.” This wasn’t a promise you could make since the wedding was to take place at the sept, and their rules were rather strict.

“I always envisioned that it would be my father, my mother would dress me in ivory and all my brothers would be there.” Her lip began to quiver the more she talked, you placed a comforting hand on her back, rubbing it up and down to console her.

“It isn’t much but, I will be there with you. The whole time.” You gave her a sympathetic smile.

“Promise?” She whispered

“Promise.” You tucked a loose hair behind her ear. “Now, would you like to learn how to shoot?”

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You sighed, dropping your quiver of arrows and your bow next to the door of your quarters, as you walked in, you stopped cold at Cersei sitting at your husband’s desk while he wrote his letters.

“Surprised you came back.” Cersei sneered

“And… why wouldn’t I have?” You questioned her, choosing to ignore her tone.

“You took Sansa beyond the capitol! What if she ran!” Cersei’s voice raised as your looked at her unamused.

“I suppose there is an explanation coming?” Tywin spoke up, leaning back into his chair.

“She is miserable, locked in her room of most days. A little kindness would hurt-“

“What if she ran!” Cersei cut you off.

“She wouldn’t have.”

“You do not know the first-“ This time you decided to cut your good daughter off.

“She wouldn’t have run. Sansa Stark is no good to us, if she throws herself from a balcony.” You huffed out an annoyed breath.

“Just like your mother.” She sneered before pushing her chair to get up.

You saw red at the way she mentioned your mother, there was much of what Cersei concocted that you had tolerated in the past year and a half, her harmful words, attempts to humiliate you, turn your husband against you but this is where you drew the line. Just as she was about to brush past you, you grabbed onto her forearm, your bloodied gloved fingers digging into her porcelain skin. She whipped her face at you, angered as she tried to pull her arm.

“Watch how you speak of my mother, you won’t be queen for long.” You dug your fingers in even harder as you levelled her up. She turned her head back to look at her father to defend her, but Tywin was intentionally focused on his correspondence. You pushed her arm away, freeing her from your hold as her eyes raged in furry before storming out of your quarters. You let out an annoyed breath, looking back to where your husband sat, who was now looking at you.

“She is right, Sansa Stark is a political ward, she would have run given the chance.” Tywin’s voice was stern. “But I understand what you did was necessary, I hope you took guards or we are about to have a much lengthier conversation.” He raised a brow at you.

“I took four, and said political ward is about to be your daughter by law. It would be unbecoming of me as a mother to not protect her, should I pray for a daughter for us some day.” You explained your positioning.

“What did you bring?” He asked, changing the subject as he eyes your blood stained gloves.

“Rabbits, would have tried for something bigger but Sansa was overcome.” You pulled your gloves off, walking to the basin to rinse your hands. “Had them sent to the kitchens for supper.”

“What’s with all the letters again?” You had taken note of all the correspondences again, he hadn’t received or answered these many since the battle of the Blackwater.

“Scullion crew of some sort, the brotherhood. It’s maddeness at Riverrun.” He explained while wiping the ink off his hands. Clearly looking forward to the supper as he walked towards you.

“I’d like to see you hunt someday.” He said, leading you to the hearth. That’s when something that you and Sansa were talking about, hit you.

“There was something I had been thinking of earlier, husband.” A smile spread on your lips as you thought more about it.

“Go on.” He narrowed his eyes at you.

“You were a knight once.” You smile grew further.

“I was. Yes.” He raised his brows, curious about where you were going with this.

“I wonder if Ser Tywin Lannister was as grim and broody as Tywin Lannister, The Great Lion, Lord of Castley Rock, Warden of West, Hand of the King and Saviour of King’s Landing.” You jested climbing onto his lap as you ran through all his titles. “Am I missing a title?” You giggled, making him scowl at your antics.

“Oh wait I am.” You cleared your throat before continuing “Sheild of Lannisport and Protector of the Realm.” You listed as if you were announcing his arrival to the court. “I wonder if sleeping with Ser Tywin Lannister would be different.”

His hands reached up to hold your face, pushing your stray hairs away from your face. “You are getting braver, aren’t you? His voice held a thrilling threat to it. “Behave, and tonight I just might show you how sleeping with Ser Tywin Lannister would feel like.”

Ah, toying with your husband was never a dull affair

next chapter

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