#[careless whisper intensifies] | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

happilyhertale · 18 days ago

Text

Satin and Sin – Modern Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

Summary: You spent the afternoon getting ready for an event later that evening. When Daemon joins you, he has other things on his mind besides going to the event immediately.

Pairing: Modern Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: Smut; 18+; NSFW; Dry humping, Fingering

Author’s note: English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 1.2 k

Other stories of mine

12 Days of Smuffmas

12 Days of Smuff

The evening buzzes with anticipation as you stand before the full-length mirror in your bedroom, meticulously adjusting the hem of your satin dress. The fabric gleames under the soft golden light, hugging your curves just right, with a high slit that teases your leg and a neckline that balances elegance and allure. You tilt your head, inspecting the way the earrings sparkle, wondering if they matched the fire you hoped to ignite tonight.

The faint creak of the door behind you draw your attention, but you don’t need to look to know who had entered. His presence fills the room, like the low hum of thunder before a storm.

You turn your head slightly, catching his reflection in the mirror. He wears a tailored black suit that seema to have been made with him in mind—sharp lapels, crisp lines, and the faintest sheen of fabric that shimmered like dragon scales under the light. The deep crimson of his tie, a nod to his fiery heritage, is the perfect touch. His silver hair is swept back with careless precision, making him look both regal and roguish.

“You look…” His voice is a low purr as his eyes roam over you, “…ravishing.”

“Thank you,” you reply, a hint of playful defiance in your tone. “We’re going to be late if we don’t leave soon.”

Daemon’s lips curl into a smirk, the kind that always make your pulse quicken. He doesn’t respond immediately, instead stepping closer, his polished shoes clicking softly against the hardwood floor. When he reaches you, he doesn’t stand beside you—Daemon stands behind you, so close you could feel the heat radiating from his body.

He places his hands on your hips, his fingers grazing the satin with deliberate slowness. His touch sends a shiver down your spine as his lips brush against your bare shoulder, trailing up to the sensitive curve of your neck.

“You know,” he murmurs against your skin, his breath warm and teasing, “we could always be fashionably late.”

You try to hold your ground, keeping your eyes on your reflection as his kisses become more insistent. “Daemon,” you protest, though the words come out weaker than intended. His hands slide up, fingers tracing the line of your waist, pressing you back into him.

“You’re always so composed,” he whispers, his tone a mix of admiration and mischief. “But right now, I’d rather see you come undone.”

Your breath hitches as he nudges your legs apart with his knee, sliding one of his thighs between them. The friction is gentle but insistent, the tension building with every deliberate movement. His hands tighten on your waist, pulling you closer against him as his grin deepened in the mirror. His thigh presses against you in just the right way, and the fire that has been simmering beneath the surface threatened to consume you.

“Daemon…” you start again, though your resolve was already crumbling. “We’re going to ruin my dress.”

His lips find your ear, his voice a dark promise. “But if you’re so worried, you could grind against my thigh”

His thigh shifts slightly, intensifying the pressure in a way that makes your knees go weak. He catches you effortlessly, one arm looping around your waist to steady you while his other hand slid up to cup your jaw, tilting your face so he could kiss you properly.

Effortlessly, his free hand pushes your dress aside and you gasp against his lips as you feel him press his thigh against your core. His hands slide to your waist, grab you. You feel your walls clench around nothing as he dictates your movements, letting you grind against his thigh. The warmth and wetness between your thighs attracts your attention – you are sure that you are soaking your panties right now.

“My panties...” you whimper, and he grins slightly but immediately understanding that you are about to soak your panties. His hand glides around your body and with a practiced move, he pushes your panties aside. During this movement, you feel it – the almost touch of your clit. This only intensifies the throbbing and an impatient whimper escapes your lips as you try to move your hips more to create more friction.

He follows your movements, senses the impatience growing inside you. His hands grip you tighter, push you down slightly onto his thigh, “Come on... grind against my thigh, I can feel how wet you already are,” he murmurs in his deep voice.

You whimper again, but you give in, grinding against him. The throbbing becomes almost unbearable as you let your clit slide along his thigh. You feel him tense his muscles and increase the friction for you as you grind yourself against his thigh again and again.

You moan, Daemon's lips glide along your neck. His warm breath caresses your soft skin as you grind against him. His hand makes you slide faster and you feel how you soak the fabric of his trousers. You feel his hardness pressed against your bottom, but his attention is focused on you.

Daemon bites your neck lightly and your pussy throbs, while you whimper. His hand glides to your core and without hesitation, he rubs your clit and your eyes flutter closed. You moan again, his circular movements become faster.

Your head falls back, leaning against his shoulder, while your hand slides into his hair, gripping it as you press his head against your neck and feel him smile against your skin. “That's it... show me how much you need it...” he murmurs and you whimper. He nibbles lightly on your earlobe. You gasp as he slaps your clit, your pussy clenching around nothing.

“Daemon!” you gasp and he growls as he rubs your clit again. You grind against his thigh faster, feeling the pressure spreading in your abdomen. His mouth closes around the flesh below your ear, sucking your skin, eliciting a cry from you. You pull his hair lightly, making him growl as his fingers moving faster, putting more pressure on your clit. You grind your core harder against his thigh while he pinches your clit. You cry out, feeling your wet walls flutter. Daemon bites your neck as he rubs your clit again, almost to soothe the sharp pain of the pinch, but his movements are too rough for anything but that. Then you feel the overwhelming feeling.

Your hand grabs his hair tighter and he growls again, his fingers rubbing faster as his other hand lets you slide along his thigh more firmly.

“Come on, baby... pour yourself over my thigh,” he growls, pushing you over the edge.

You squeeze your eyes shut as the warm feeling washes over you, your juice soaking his trousers, but your grinding movements don't stop as you try to catch your breath, whimpering and moaning.

His lips caress your neck while he continues to caress your sensitive pearl, letting you enjoy your climax. You breathe heavily and slowly open your eyes. Daemon is still kissing your neck and you feel the smile on his lips. “Look... panties almost dry and the dress not ruined,” he murmurs in your ear and you smile.

Slowly, he fixes your panties before releasing his grip on you. You are still breathing heavily and turn to him. He grins and slowly begins to unbutton his trousers.

“Daemon...?“ you ask, a little confused. “We don't have time for...” you start, but he stops you.

“Calm down, you soaked my trousers... can't show up there with trousers soaked in your juice, now, can I?” he says, turning around as he walks away, his trousers slipping down, revealing his butt.

96 notes · View notes

gallade-x-treme · 7 months ago

Text

[ careless whisper intensifies ]

#Delicious in Dungeon #Laios Touden #Marcille Donato #Senshi of Izganda #ELF SENSHI

86 notes · View notes

neteyamyawne · 1 year ago

Text

🦋 — Thigh Riding

✧ 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : ᴅɪʟꜰ!ᴛᴏɴᴏᴡᴀʀɪ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ᴍᴀᴛᴇ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

✧ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : ᴛᴏɴᴏᴡᴀʀɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ɢɪᴠᴇ ʜɪꜱ ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ ᴡɪꜰᴇ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪꜱ ᴛᴏ ɢɪᴠᴇ, ᴇᴠᴇɴ ɪꜰ ɪᴛ ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ʜᴏʟᴅɪɴɢ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ʜɪꜱ ᴏᴡɴ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴜʀᴇꜱ

MDNI ✯

❈ Warning : Thigh Riding, fingering (f receiving), breast play, soft dom tonowari, edging, tsaheylu making, dry humping.

❈ Word count : 0.8k proof read.

"word" - dialogue

❈ Note : I loveeeeee Tonowari's thighs omgg those damn thiccc thighs! (I want him to squish my face between them)

❈ Glossary : Tweng - loin cloth, Yawne - beloved, paskalin - sweet berry, Muntxate - wife, mawey - calm

ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ | ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ

Moonlight filtered through the flaps of your mauri as your desperate moans sounded through the thin walls of your shelter, your wet gliding over the expanse of your mate’s thigh, his skin glistening with your juices as your breaths labored with the effort to get some kind of friction, hips rolling over his thick thigh as he squatted in front of your quivering body riding his thigh.

“My My yawne, you really need to cum, huh?” He whispered in your ear as it was pinned back to your skull, your breaths shaking as his large hands rested on your waist, guiding your hips in smooth rolls, moving one of his hands to your heated core, pressing his fingers against your throbbing clit, rubbing circles with them, heightening your already overwhelming pleasure.

“Ummm fuck… wari, kiss me!” your demand was immediately satisfied, lips colliding, his tongue taking over your senses, your languid thrusts on his thigh sent tingles running up your body, the sound of wet slaps of the skin was imprinted into the back of your haze fucked out mind. “What do you want, honey? Tell me, do you want my cock to fill you up? Hmm?” He crooned in the kiss, placing and marking the skin below your chin and Jaw.

Your eyes rolled back in your skull, incoherent words spilling out of your mouth but he took the sign, he leaned back on the wall of your shared mauri, his thigh so wet with your slick that you slipped right down with a yelp at the sudden change of position when he tilted his thighs upward, the mound of your pussy bumping on the joint of his hip, a moan pilling from your plump lips “what was- that for?” you rasped out, grinding your cunt on the tight bulge under his tweng, the bud of your orgasm was just starting to unravel, he groaned throwing his head back pushing down on you down on his tight little problem while gritting his teeth “shhh I need you soakin’ loose for me, honey, when i stretch you open with my cock, i want you nice and loose f’me” his low whispers where enough to send shivers running down your spine.

He quickly slid a hand down burying two digits deep inside your gummy walls, curling and scissoring them until you were a whimpering mess above him, head buried in his chest, hips still moving in fluid motion, fucking yourself on his fingers nice and slow, taking your pleasure, getting more and more vocal as you neared your release, just mere hair length away.

Your pants and whines were music to his ears as they flicked back and forth at your sweet voice, as you begged him for more, voice loud and careless from the amount of pleasure coursing through you, his fingers brushing against your sweet spot repeatedly making stars burst through your vision “wari… I’m gonna… I’m gonna cumm'' you don’t know that was a demand, a plea or a request because you were far too gone to think about it “cum for me, paskalin, let me taste you” as if on command, the coil snapped, gushing over his thick fingers as your head fell over his shoulder, eyes drooping close, sweat beading on your pristine teal skin bathed in fire light “good girl, yawne” he growled massaging and rolling your swollen clit between his fingers, not giving your poor pussy a break, even while you came down your high.

Your breathy moans kept his cock throbbing hard, to intensify the aftermath even more, he connected your Queues together, a series of moans could be heard as he kept you nestled in his lap, toying with your pussy, nipping at your shoulder and neck with a content sigh as this sight was only for him.

He pulled back within a blink of an eye, he laid you down on the mat hovering above you as he trailed a line of kisses from to the base of your throat, to the valley of your breasts, kissing and sucking on one of them while kneading the other roughly, his other hand spreading your legs wide, finally resting it on the plush of your thigh as he nuzzled his hips between them, rubbing his clothed cock against your dripping folds, you groaned as you felt his tightness, your hands coming up and tangling them in his long locks, thrusting your hips up, eyes closed, lips parted, begging for more.

His warm taunting chuckle on the swell of your breast made goosebumps rise on your torso, seeing your desperate need for him to dick you down “mawey, Muntxate, have patience” his hand cupping your wet cunt, sneaking in his middle finger and claiming another desperate whine from you “wari… please!!” another chuckle from him was your only answer from him, throwing your legs over his shoulder as he removed his fingers and his loincloth, brandishing his cock out and pressing it on your folds, coating it with your juices before aligning it with your awaiting hole “you ready, baby girl?” your eager nod made his smirk widen “don’t worry, pearl, we just started for tonight” he chuckled as he pulnged in…

𝐀/𝐧 : Tonowari and his thighs are going to be the death of me!!!

Yawne : @taylormarieee, @persefolli, @eyweveng, @deadgirlrin, @eyrina-avatar, @avatarsslut, @neteyamsoare, @bobthe-turmpetman29, @nonniesworld, @zanabelle99, @thehoneymushroomhealer, @neteyamgfs, @xylianasblog.

325 notes · View notes

elryuse · 9 months ago

Note

yandere stepsister Yeseo?

Forbidden Boundaries

YANDERE STEPSISTER YESEO X MALE READER

Yeseo clutched the worn teddy bear tighter, its fur damp with silent tears. Her brother, her only solace after their mother's passing, was a memory kept alive by that threadbare friend. Now, even that comfort was threatened. Her father, a man shrunk by grief, announced he was getting married. Relief battled with a cold, venomous fury in Yeseo's gut. Relief because Dad wouldn't be alone, fury because it meant sharing him, sharing everything. Especially when she found out her new step-family included a son.

Y/n. Broad-shouldered with a mop of black hair that perpetually seemed to fall across his forehead, he had eyes the color of storm clouds. Unsettlingly familiar yet undeniably foreign, they held a depth Yeseo couldn't quite decipher. He offered a hesitant smile, the kind that belonged on a nervous puppy, not the annoying boy who now claimed half her house.

"H-hi," he mumbled, his voice barely audible.

Yeseo scoffed, refusing to acknowledge him. The traitorous warmth that bloomed in her chest was a betrayal to her brother's memory. He wouldn't want her sharing their space, their life, with anyone. Yet, a twisted part of her couldn't deny the strange pull towards Y/n, a feeling that intensified with every stolen glance over the following weeks.

The animosity simmered, expressed in barbed comments from Yeseo and awkward silences at the dinner table. But fate, with a cruel sense of humor, threw them together one stormy night. Teenage angst and a dare fuelled by boredom led Yeseo out into the downpour. One careless turn, a screech of tires, and then…nothing.

She woke to the sterile white of a hospital room, the rhythmic beep of a machine a harsh counterpoint to the dull ache in her head. A hand, warm and surprisingly calloused, held hers. It was Y/n, his own face bruised and scraped, his eyes reflecting a concern that sent a tremor through Yeseo. Shame burned in her gut for her initial animosity.

"H-hey," he croaked, his voice hoarse. "You scared the living shit out of me."

Yeseo wanted to scoff, to maintain her facade of indifference. But the words wouldn't come. Instead, she squeezed his hand, a silent apology. That small gesture became a bridge, their unspoken connection strengthening with each shared secret whispered in the dead of night.

Years flew by, marked by stolen glances across the breakfast table and late-night talks under a tapestry of stars. Y/n matured, his once-gawky frame hardening into that of a man, and Yeseo found herself drawn to him with a fierceness that both scared and excited her. One day, as she peeked out the window, she saw him. Laughing, carefree, with a girl with sunshine-colored hair hanging onto his arm.

A white-hot rage flooded Yeseo's veins. This wasn't supposed to happen. Y/n wasn't supposed to find anyone else. He understood her darkness, the shadows that clung to her like a second skin. He belonged to her.

When he returned home, a lovestruck grin plastered on his face, Yeseo was waiting. Her own smile was a stark contrast, cold and predatory. "Where were you?" she hissed, her voice low and dangerous.

Y/n froze, the smile dropping from his face like a discarded mask. "Just…hanging out with Sarah," he stammered, a flicker of unease crossing his features.

"Sarah?" Yeseo spat the name, the sound dripping with venom. "Let me think.. Hmm.. Isn't that what people call a date?" She snatched a nearby jump rope, its rough fibers sending chills down Y/n's spine.

Panic flared in his eyes, but before he could speak, the lights flickered and died, plunging the room into darkness. It was either a cruel twist of fate or perhaps a carefully orchestrated plan of Yeseo's.

Hours crawled by, measured only by the rasp of Yeseo's voice, laced with a possessiveness that made Y/n want to run. Every denial, every mention of Sarah, fueled her torment. The room reeked of burnt sugar – a makeshift candle fashioned from spilled wine – and the stifling weight of fear.

"She doesn't understand you," Yeseo hissed, her voice barely a whisper in the darkness. "She can't see the real you, the broken you, like I can."

Tears pricked at Y/n's eyes. He choked out a desperate plea, "Yeseo, please…this isn't love. This is…crazy. You're my stepsister."

A strangled sob escaped Yeseo's lips. "Maybe it is. But it's all I have left."

Finally, his voice, choked and ...cracked with despair. "You can't lock me up here forever, Yeseo. My parents will be worried sick."

The flickering candlelight danced across his face, revealing a mix of terror and defiance that ignited a flicker of something akin to pity in Yeseo's heart. But it was quickly extinguished by the possessive fire burning brighter. "They don't understand you," she countered, her voice softer now, a dangerous kind of sweet. "They can't understand the darkness that lives inside you. Only I can."

Y/n scoffed, the sound harsh in the confined space. "Darkness? That's your darkness, Yeseo. Not mine."

His words struck a raw nerve, and a tremor ran through her. But before she could retort, a distant rumble of thunder echoed through the night, followed by a sudden flash of lightning that illuminated the room for a brief, shocking moment. In that split second, Y/n saw the desperation in her eyes, the deep well of loneliness that mirrored his own. It was a fleeting glimpse, overshadowed by the possessiveness that returned just as quickly as the darkness.

Days bled into nights, punctuated by interrogations, forced confessions, and a chilling intimacy that repulsed Y/n as much as it terrified him. He tried reasoning with Yeseo, appealing to the memories they shared, the moments of genuine connection. But it was like speaking to a wall. Her mind was consumed by a twisted sense of ownership, fueled by her grief and fear of abandonment.

One morning, he woke up to a strange stillness. The makeshift candle had burned itself out, leaving the room in complete darkness. He called out for Yeseo, a tremor in his voice, but there was no answer. Panic surged through him as he realized he was still bound by the jump rope. He strained against the rough fibers, his heart pounding in his chest.

Suddenly, a soft glow appeared at the doorway. Yeseo stood there, her silhouette framed by the faint light filtering through the hallway. In her hand, she held a cell phone, the screen displaying a picture of Sarah, smiling brightly.

"Look at her," Yeseo said, her voice devoid of emotion. "So carefree, so innocent. Doesn't she deserve someone who can be normal? Someone who isn't…broken?"

Y/n's breath hitched. He realized with a horrifying certainty what Yeseo was planning. "No, Yeseo, please," he croaked. "Don't hurt her."

A chilling smile played on Yeseo's lips. "This isn't about hurting her," she said, her voice a mere whisper. "It's about protecting you. Protecting you from her, from forgetting me."

Tears welled up in Y/n's eyes. He knew there was no reasoning with her in this state. He had to escape. With a desperate surge of strength, he yanked on the jump rope, the coarse fibers digging into his wrists. To his surprise, it snapped, frayed from days of use.

Yeseo's smile faltered for a moment, then hardened back into a mask of cold fury. She lunged for him, but he scrambled back, adrenaline fueling his movements. He stumbled towards the doorway, his eyes adjusting to the dim light.

"You'll regret this!" Yeseo screamed behind him.

Y/n didn't dare look back. He burst out of the room and raced down the hallway, his bare feet slapping against the cold floor. He reached the front door, his hands shaking as he fumbled with the lock. Finally, it clicked, and he flung the door open, escaping into the cool night air.

He didn't stop running until his lungs burned and his legs threatened to give out. He found himself in a park, panting heavily, the familiar scent of wet grass and blooming night jasmine filling his nostrils.

Looking back, he realized he had no phone, no wallet, no plan. All he had was the memory of Yeseo's twisted love and the chilling realization that he might never be free of her darkness. As dawn painted the sky with streaks of pink and orange, Y/n curled up under a park bench, the weight of his ordeal crushing him. He had escaped Yeseo's prison, but the scars she had left on his soul would take a lifetime to heal.

Despite the exhaustion gnawing at him, Y/n couldn't stay hidden. The image of Sarah, vulnerable and alone, fueled a surge of determination. He had to get to her, warn her. Stealing back into the house, the adrenaline rush from escape fading, was replaced by a chilling dread. The silence of the house was deafening. Had Yeseo followed him?

He found his phone on the kitchen counter, a cruel taunt. He dialed Sarah's number, praying she'd pick up. The first ring was met with silence, then her sleepy voice. Relief washed over him.

"Sarah, listen to me carefully," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Don't come here, don't come near this house. There's…danger."

He heard the confusion in her voice, but then, thankfully, understanding. "Y/n? What's going on? Where are you?"

He couldn't explain everything, not over the phone. He mumbled a lie, about being out late with friends, and promised to call her properly in the morning. Hanging up, a sense of despair settled over him. He'd protected Sarah, but what awaited him back in the room?

The climb back to his prison felt like an eternity. As he approached the door, he braced himself for the confrontation. But the room was empty. Relief turned to apprehension. Where had Yeseo gone?

He found his answer on the bedside table – a single white rose, its thorn pricked with a single drop of blood. It was a chilling message, a promise. Yeseo wouldn't let him go, not entirely.

Days turned into weeks, then months. Sarah, worried at his sudden distance, grew distant herself. Y/n knew he had to explain, but the fear of Yeseo's wrath kept him silent. He became a prisoner in his own right, living a double life – the happy friend with Sarah, the terrified captive with Yeseo.

One night, Yeseo returned from wherever she disappeared to, a glint of triumph in her eyes. She held up a newspaper clipping – a picture of Sarah, smiling brightly, next to a man with his arm around her. The caption read: "Local Artist Sarah Finds Love."

Yeseo watched his reaction, a predator gauging its prey. She expected a jealous outburst, a fight for freedom. But Y/n surprised himself. He felt…relief. He was genuinely happy for Sarah.

Yeseo's smile faltered. Perhaps she'd expected a different reaction. Instead, she saw a quiet acceptance in his eyes, a resignation bordering on despair.

For a long moment, they just stared at each other. Then, Yeseo spoke, her voice a chilling whisper that sent shivers down Y/n's spine. "So, you finally figured it out, didn't you? Sarah doesn't see the real you. She doesn't understand the darkness that lives inside you, the darkness that only I can love."

Y/n swallowed hard, her words a painful echo of the justifications she'd woven in his mind for weeks. "Maybe you're right," he choked out. "Maybe I need someone who…understands."

Yeseo's smile returned, but it didn't reach her eyes. It was a smile laced with victory, but also a hint of something else – a flicker of doubt. "But what about her? What about your precious Sarah?"

Y/n looked down at his calloused hands, the guilt of his deception a heavy weight in his chest. "I'll…tell her the truth. It won't be easy, but it's the right thing to do."

A guttural laugh erupted from Yeseo, devoid of humor and full of a chilling possessiveness. "The right thing, huh? Don't be a fool, Y/n. You won't tell her a thing. You won't risk losing me, not after everything you've seen."

He looked up, meeting her gaze with a newfound resolve. "Maybe you're right again. Maybe I won't tell her everything. But I will see her. I won't be your prisoner anymore, Yeseo. I'll see Sarah, live my life…as long as you let me."

Yeseo's eyes narrowed, the playful glint extinguished by a cold fury. She took a step closer, her voice dropping to a dangerous hiss. "Don't test me, Y/n. You know what I'm capable of. You wouldn't want me to…hurt her, would you? Or maybe even you yourself?"

Y/n stood his ground, the fear a dull ache in his chest. "I know what you're capable of," he said, his voice surprisingly steady.

Y/n's heart hammered against his ribs as he watched Yeseo pack a duffel bag with frantic energy. The air crackled with a manic excitement that sent shivers down his spine. "Where are we going?" he croaked, his voice barely a whisper.

Yeseo, clad in a sleek black dress, her eyes gleaming with a feverish light, turned to him. "Away," she said, a single, chilling word. "To a place where they can't find us. Where our love can finally bloom."

Panic bloomed in Y/n's chest. He'd hoped for a compromise, a way to appease Yeseo while maintaining some semblance of normalcy with Sarah. But this…this was a nightmare unfolding.

"No, Yeseo, we can't just leave. What about Sarah?" he pleaded, desperation lacing his voice.

A cruel smile twisted Yeseo's lips. "Sarah? She'll forget you eventually. The heart wants what it wants, Y/n, and it wants you. With me."

Before Y/n could protest further, Yeseo grabbed his hand, her grip surprisingly strong. She dragged him out of the house, the world blurring into a kaleidoscope of fear and dread. He stole a final glance back, a silent apology hanging in the air for the love he was leaving behind.

Weeks bled into months. Yeseo had orchestrated a meticulously planned elopement, whisking him away to a secluded island off the coast of Thailand. They lived in a luxurious penthouse overlooking the turquoise water, a stark contrast to the prison it felt like.

Yeseo, initially clingy and possessive, gradually settled into a semblance of normalcy. But for Y/n, normalcy was a distant dream. Every stolen glance at his phone, every suppressed urge to contact Sarah, was a constant reminder of his stolen life.

Meanwhile, Sarah's world had crumbled. Y/n's disappearance was a cruel puzzle with no missing piece. Days turned into weeks, then months, filled with frantic searches and dead ends. The police, initially helpful, grew dismissive as time passed. Yeseo had covered her tracks well.

One scorching afternoon, Yeseo returned from a shopping spree, a triumphant glint in her eyes. She tossed a magazine onto the plush living room couch, the cover emblazoned with a picture of Sarah, a haunting sadness in her eyes.

"Look," Yeseo said, her voice laced with a cruel satisfaction. "Seems your precious Sarah has moved on. Found someone new."

Y/n snatched the magazine, his heart clenching at the sight of Sarah's downcast expression. The article spoke of a new relationship, a feeble attempt to mend a broken heart. A wave of guilt washed over him, a suffocating weight that threatened to consume him.

He looked up at Yeseo, her face a mask of triumph. In that moment, a cold resolve solidified within him. He would never win her love, but he wouldn't be her prisoner any longer.

As Yeseo busied herself in the kitchen, Y/n grabbed his phone, his fingers trembling as he dialed a familiar number. The phone rang once, twice, then Sarah's voice, laced with a weary hope, filled his ears.

"Hello?"

Tears welled up in Y/n's eyes, blurring his vision. He couldn't tell her everything, not yet. But he had to start somewhere.

"Sarah," he choked out, his voice thick with emotion. "It's me…Y/n."

On the other end of the line, a startled gasp escaped Sarah's lips. Then, a stunned silence hung heavy in the air.

Y/n took a deep breath. He had a long story to tell, a story of a twisted love and a desperate escape. But for the first time since his abduction, a flicker of hope ignited within him. He might be trapped in a gilded cage, but he wouldn't let the bars silence him forever. The fight for his freedom, and perhaps even his love, had just begun, unbeknownst to Yeseo, who stood mere feet away, a cruel smile playing on her lips as she listened to the muffled conversation, the taste of victory already bitter on her tongue.

#yeseo #kang yeseo #kep1er yeseo #kpop #kpop x reader #kpop x y/n #x male reader #beautiful #yandere #yandere roleplay #yandere x reader #yandere blog

113 notes · View notes

celestialbruise · 3 months ago

Note

Can you give Taxian-jun and Chu-Fei a happy ending in their timeline? ❤️🙏

let me just say I LOVE YOU for this!! this truly feels like fate, because the morning I received this beautiful prompt the first thing I thought of when I woke up was 0.5 ranwan and I spent the entirety of my morning routine thinking about a canon divergent fic where taxian-jun and chu fei get their happy ending then I logged onto Tumblr and found this ask in my inbox :’)

I’ve had this idea in my head for awhile and some day I would love to turn it into a fully-realized fic, but the basic premise is a month before Mo Ran lays siege to Taxue palace and Chu Wanning dies, he has a dream detailing the event, every last gory detail. it disturbs Mo Ran so much that he temporarily calls off the plan, and while he’s busy thinking of a way to destroy Xue Meng that won’t have Chu Wanning sacrificing himself, Chu Wanning manages to save him in the interim.

spoilers past erha volume six ahead!

to be completely honest I don’t know entirely how the flower works (I know about its existence but not much else) but in my head canon, aka for my own personal sanity, I do believe that there is a way for it to be removed, and in this AU Chu Wanning removes it, and though it would take time, and healing, in the 0.5 timeline, they would find their way back to each other, and they would never again part.

I hope I was able to do your prompt justice, as I truly had such a wonderful time writing this<3

In the lonely dark, deep into the night, Taxian-jun woke with a scream trapped in his throat, desperately grasping a body that was no longer in his arms.

He was alone in his bed. No longer was he laying siege to Taxue Palace, kneeling in the blood-spattered snow, holding a deathly cold, winter-pale Chu Wanning who had whispered….

Who had asked him with his dying breath-

“Mo Ran…forgive yourself.”

Mo Ran tore out of Wushan Palace like hell’s hounds were nipping at his heels, ignoring how the winter wind bitterly nipped at his cheeks, at the wetness staining his face, intensifying the chill and its painful bite.

He couldn’t be gone. He just couldn’t be.

He couldn’t leave Taxian-jun. Chu Wanning couldn’t leave Mo Ran.

If Chu Wanning left-

If he was dead, then-

What would Mo Ran have left? Who would he even be?

What would be the point of living in a world devoid of Chu Wanning?

Mo Ran ripped open the doors of the Red Lotus Pavilion, his feet automatically carrying him to Chu Wanning’s room, where he found Chu Wanning, lying in his bed, wrapped tightly in blood-red sheets, curled into a tiny ball, just as he always was. The sight both eased and aggravated something that seethed deep within Taxian-jun’s chest. He wasn’t able to breathe. Not yet.

In his haste he stumbled, almost fell, hurrying over the Chu Wanning’s side and without preamble or finesse, yanked one of his arms free from the blankets to clutch desperately as his wrist, searching for a pulse. Mo Ran only needed a single heartbeat to discern that, while softened by slumber, life did indeed still live inside Chu Wanning’s body. And then another heartbeat later, phoenix eyes fluttered open, moonlight catching on long, dark lashes that lifted to reveal hazy amber eyes.

“What-” Chu Wanning started, voice slurring with sleep, eyes only beginning to sharpen with that familiar hate when, without hesitation, Mo Ran pulled Chu Wanning into his arms.

“Wanning!” Taxian-jun gasped, wet, against the side of Chu Wanning’s neck. “You’re here. You’re okay,” Taxian-jun said this as if he couldn’t quite believe it. As if he daren’t hope.

“Mo Ran!” Chu Wanning thrashed inside his arms, hitting his shoulders, but Mo Ran bore it. He wouldn’t risk loosening his grip even a fraction. If he did, if he was careless, if he allowed Chu Wanning to slip away from him, a ghost once more…..Mo Ran hugged him tighter, tight enough to break him. Tight enough to break them both. Soon, Chu Wanning’s struggle ceased. He stilled, stiff and awkward in the cage of Mo Ran’s embrace. When he spoke next, his voice was quieter, a question Mo Ran had no idea how to answer, unable to grasp what the question even truly was.

“Mo Ran?”

Mo Ran shuddered, pulling away, looking into Chu Wanning’s sharp phoenix eyes, eyes that glimmered with light, with life. Eyes that had gone openly, nakedly wide.

“You aren’t allowed to leave this Venerable One,” Taxian-jun hissed vehemently, his heart a painful beat inside of his chest as his hands cupped Chu Wanning’s face, forcing him to meet the fire raging in Taxian-jun’s eyes, the flames that threatened to swallow them both. “Do you understand? This Venerable One forbids it! I forbid you from - who do you think you are……”

“Mo Ran,” Chu Wanning gripped his wrists, pulling Mo Ran’s hands away from his face. A face, Mo Ran realized with a start, that was shadowed, filled with too many lines to ignore. “Calm down. You’re shaking.”

Was he? Impossible. But as Mo Ran glanced down to where Chu Wanning’s pale hands tightly gripped his wrist, he noticed his fingers flexing, curling around nothing, wracked with unceasing tremors.

It was cold outside. He’d run straight out of his bedroom, dressed in only his inner robe….of course, he was shaking. He was furious - Taxian-jun was livid, filled with fiery anger that would not abate, that roiled through his veins like fire. It was maddening. It had nowhere to go. Taxian-jun couldn’t understand it, couldn’t make sense of it, why it felt like he was being torn apart from the inside out. All he knew was that he had held Chu Wanning’s cold, lifeless body inside of his arms, and it had felt real, in the way nothing had in a long, long time. Chu Wanning had left him. Chu Wanning had left him behind, and he wasn’t supposed to leave Taxian-jun, not until Taxian-jun allowed it, which he never would, because Chu Wanning was his, dammit. Despite his hatred, or because of it, Chu Wanning was Taxian-jun’s, and Taxian-jun was-

A cough crawled up his throat, and another, and another, until soon his chest was heaving, his ribs shuddering, his lungs bereft of all breath. Distantly, Taxian-jun registered the taste of blood filling his mouth, cloying and astringent. Taxian-jun felt like laughing. Mo Ran felt like crying.

But when Mo Ran saw Chu Wanning lift a hand towards his wound, a flare of panic ripped through his heart, an icy-cold, paralytic horror he hadn’t felt in years. Mo Ran caught Chu Wanning’s wrist, squeezing, needing the reassurance of a pulse.

“Don’t. Don’t do it,” Mo Ran rasped, hating how his voice broke. “If you heal this wound….I’ll never forgive you. You can’t.”

Chu Wanning looked at him, brows furrowed, mouth set in a soft frown. Taxian-jun hated it. Hated how Chu Wanning would take this pathetic display as weakness. He was probably judging Mo Ran right now, sneering at him inside his heart, thinking him such a fool-

Taxian-jun almost flinched when the back of a soft, cool hand came to rest against his forehead. He felt his lips part, but no words came to rush out. No insults, no curses, no words of pure, unadulterated hate.

Foolishly, for a moment, Mo Ran wanted to call a name that he hadn’t in years, “....Shizun?”

“Mo Ran,” Chu Wanning whispered, a cold hand cupping his cheek, a gentle thumb drying a stray tear he hadn’t realized had fallen. “You must wake up.”

Taxian-jun stared at him, dazed. “Wake up?” He muttered, shaking his head, voice shrinking as he breathed, hesitantly. “This is….just a dream?”

The delicate jut of Chu Wanning’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, “Mn,” and then, with featherlight fingers, ever-so-carefully, he tucked a loose strand of hair behind Taxian-jun’s ear. For a second, Mo Ran found himself leaning into the touch. “It’s just a dream.”

“I didn’t know,” Mo Ran told him, hushed like a secret. “It felt so real. This Venerable One….is confused. I’ve just been so confused, lately. It’s Xue Meng’s fault. This fucking wound - it hurts, all of the time. My chest won’t stop hurting. It’s driving me insane.”

Mo Ran bit his tongue before he could reveal more. Even in a dream, it felt far too vulnerable, far too stupid to reveal such a fear. Mo Ran had ears and he heard all the rumors the people whispered below his throne. He was a tyrant. He was bloodthirsty, cruel, worse than a beast. He was losing himself.

He was going mad.

“Wanning, how do I….how do I know what is real?” Mo Ran muttered, burying his face inside his hands to hide his burning eyes. He was just-

Mo Ran was tired. So, so very tired. He ached, down to his very bones.

“Lie down,” Chu Wanning murmured, guiding Mo Ran to the bed. “You’ll feel better after you’ve slept.”

Something in Mo Ran protested this gentleness - surely it was only a prelude to more cruelty? But exhaustion was a heavy, pressing force. Inescapable. Like a limp puppet, all strings cut, Taxian-jun allowed himself to be arranged supine, and though every fiber of his being shied away from the almost gentle way the blankets were tucked in around his body, for some reason he couldn’t muster up the strength to bat Chu Wanning away, like he normally would have. In fact, Mo Ran couldn’t seem to tear his eyes, lucifugous and hot, away from Chu Wanning at all. And when Chu Wanning stood it was entirely involuntary, the way Mo Ran’s hand shot out to grab his wrist.

“Will you be here, when this Venerable One wakes?” Taxian-jun asked, and maybe he meant it as a threat, but it came out as a desperate plea. Still, the derision and contempt he had come to expect from Chu Wanning was nowhere to be seen on his visage which looked in the shadows, simply put, haunted. Conflicted.

Lovelorn.

“Mn,” Chu Wanning sat down beside him, and didn’t try to free himself from Mo Ran’s grip. “I’ll be here.”

“You won’t leave?”

“I won’t leave.”

“Promise?”

“....I promise.”

Taxian-jun nodded, and though he began to drift, caught in-between veils of the living world and the insensate realm of black, his grip around Chu Wanning did not loosen, and he still found himself whispering a question, one he somehow knew only Chu Wanning held the answer to.

“Do you think dreams have any meaning?”

Just before unconsciousness could claim him once more, a whisper rang through his ears, soft-spoken yet achingly clear.

“Sometimes.”

Then….Mo Ran just wouldn’t go. Chu Wanning couldn’t do anything foolish so long as Mo Ran stayed to make sure he behaved. Right? He couldn’t let Xue Meng live, or that damn Mei Hanxue - but he could think up another plan. He had time.

Chu Wanning didn’t know how long it had been since Mo Ran had cried in front of him. Certainly, not since he was a boy

That meant he was still in there, somewhere. A heart still beat within the blackened, thorny brambles wrapped around Mo Ran’s chest.

There was still hope.

There was still a way back from hell.

Chu Wanning’s breath shuddered as it left his lungs.

He wouldn’t leave his disciple. He wouldn’t stand back and watch as Mo Ran lost any more of himself than he already had.

“It will be okay, Mo Ran,” Chu Wanning murmured, watching how the moonlight flickered across Mo Ran’s sleeping face, and how the knot of tension in between his brows only smoothed out when Chu Wanning squeezed his hand, tight, tight enough to leave his mark. “This master promises. I won’t leave you behind.”

#ranwan #mo ran 0.5 #chu wanning #mo ran x chu wanning #0.5 timeline #erha #erha fic #erha he ta de bai mao shizun #my fanfiction #danmei fanfic nightclub

29 notes · View notes

doiefics · 2 years ago

Text

shameless sexy stranger

pairing: jeno x afab!reader

prologue: what could go wrong in the middle of one hot moment with a shameless stranger in denim?

genre: smut

wordcount: 414

warnings: sexual content [ fingering + biting + risky ] + language

College fest days meant chaos everywhere. As if everyone was wearing rainbow tinted glasses.

But they also meant calm, at unusual places.

The best place to find solace for a blatant activity or two was indeed the library, otherwise too busy and tensed.

"Fuck!" You moaned at the boy's touch, again.

"You like it too much, huh?" He groaned back.

You gripped his ripped and muscular arm, this time a bit tighter than before as he brought his lean yet powerful physique closer to yours.

His face wore an attractive sinister smile on it, the smile that totally wanted to ruin you, exactly like you desired.

"What if someone catches us here?" His seductive whisper next to you ear sent shivers down as he ran his fingers tracing your flesh, never stopping and going deeper, and deeper.

"That won't be a problem." You mumbled, and the leering wink you gave him appeared to intensify his hormones.

"Such a freak!" He cursed under his breath.

It was not more than a few hours ago that your eyes happened to lock with this pretty boy on the street.

You had never seen him on campus before.

He dressed entirely in denim, with a sleeveless jacket shamelessly exposing his arms with and a pair of jeans that you wished could have been dropped to the ground.

"Hurry up!" This hot guy in denim was making you desperate.

He wasted zero time and lifted up your mini skirt, which was also denim, coincidently.

You glanced at his wrists as fingers were almost going to be invisible inside you by now.

Each wrist adorned with a silver chain bracelet.

He was fancy.

Simultaneously, the same fingers that only started with drawing careless circles around your clothed core, moved naturally as though they had mastered the technique by this point.

"More" You whined.

"Wait for it." He soothed.

Next thing you knew, he bit your neck, earning hisses out of a pain that you were enjoying.

He must have been feeling the same need as you since he considered moving your underwear to the side.

This activity was about to get more intense.

"Over there!" The cry was shrill.

Even in the pitch blackness of the book room, it appeared as though you had been caught.

"We're in trouble." He glared into your eyes and whispered in a low, husky voice.

"Are we?" Your ask was shameless, and sure was he, for he wasn't going to stop until you wished.

masterlist please refrain from plagiarising, translating or posting outside of this platform

have a request? prompt fic game is OPEN!

#jeno #jeno smut #jeno hard thoughts #jeno hard hours #jeno ff #nct smut #nct sream smut #nct hard thoughts #nct dream hard hours #nct dream smut #nct dream #nct dream scenarios #nct dream ff #nct drabbles #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct dream drabbles #nct fanfic #jeno lee

333 notes · View notes

goldfades · 1 year ago

Note

🧊 with nico <3

NOOO NOT NICO ANGST. IM GONNA THROW UP AND CRY, i love writing angst sm tho

im not the biggest fan of cheating plots but i've been listening to 'babe' by taylor on repeat for like 3 weeks straight, blame tay not me 🫢😗

there is calm after every storm, the quiet and peacefulness. the sky, once a tranquil painting of sky blue, now darkened with dark clouds that rolled like giant ships into an angry sea.

distant thunder echoed through a valley, quickening heartbeats. the air grew thick with tension, carrying the scent of rain and electricity. the wind rustled leaves and branches, whispering secrets only the brave dared to hear. rain, at first hesitant, intensified, assaulting the earth. lightning streaked the sky, revealing nature's wild dance. amidst chaos, beauty bloomed. the storm's fury held an undeniable allure, a reminder of nature's power.

there is calm after every storm, the quiet and peacefulness that follows the tempest. but in that moment, as nature waged its war, the world trembled, and the storm reigned supreme.

and that's exactly what happened with you and nico; a storm, the biggest storm possible. the very worst kind, relentless downpour of broken promises and the dissolution of a once-loving relationship.

in the wake of the turmoil, the skies above your hearts darkened with resentment and disappointment. the thunderous echoes of arguments and unspoken grievances reverberated in the spaces between you. just like a storm, it arrived without warning, tearing through the tranquility that once defined your love.

the tension in your connection grew as thick as the humid air before a summer shower. words, like angry gusts of wind, whipped through your conversations, leaving wounds that would refuse to heal. you both grasped at the fragments of your past, trying to piece together what had once been beautiful. but it seemed as though every effort you made only fueled a storm's rage.

lightning strikes of resentment and hurt lit up your interactions, revealing the jagged edges of your broken love. the storm of emotions seemed unending that left you drenched in sorrow and confusion.

there's always calm after a storm, a sense of peace that follows even the most tempestuous of times. but in that cold moment, as you and nico stared at one another, there seemed to be no calm.

the image kept replaying in your mind; the girl's hands on what he promised was only yours, her fingers running through his soft hair as she stared into his once beautiful and innocent eyes; your favorite thing on his face.

it was a betrayal that cut deeper than any words could ever convey, leaving an extensive gap between you and nico. in that silence, there was no solace, no reassurance, only the painful awareness that the storm within your relationship was caused because of him.

it wasn't just the physicality of their connection that hurt the most; it was the emotional intimacy that gnawed at your soul. those hands that once traced your body with affection now caressed another, you saw a connection that cut deeper than any physical act. it was the emotional betrayal that tore at your heart, a betrayal of trust and shared moments.

you would have almost preferred it to be purely physical, something purely carnal that could be dismissed. but it wasn't just that; it was the depth of their emotional connection that had been breached. it was the shared secrets, the whispered dreams, and the cherished memories that now felt tainted, forever marred by the storm within their relationship, a storm caused by him. it felt like a betrayal of the soul, as if he had given away something that was meant only for you.

his beauty was always undeniable, everyone knew that. he had the prettiest of eyes, the most precious smile and most importantly, the biggest of hearts. that's why it hurt so much, watching him be so careless with your heart.

his carelessness felt like a betrayal of everything he was supposed to represent ─ kindness, compassion, and love. the pain of seeing him treat your heart so thoughtlessly cut to the core, leaving a wound that was felt never-ending, that felt like it would never heal.

his eyes had once been a safe haven, a place where she found solace and comfort. but now, when she gazed into them, the kindness she once saw had faded. they no longer held the same warmth, the same promise of security. instead, they seemed cloudy, their depths concealing secrets and uncertainties like a storm that has yet to be studied. those eyes, once a source of unwavering trust, now left her feeling adrift in a storm of doubt.

silence hung heavy in the room as nico packed his belongings. it was as if the gravity of your pain didn't register with him, or maybe he just didn't care. you even would've considered giving him another chance, fighting to salvage what was left of your relationship, but it appeared that he had made up his mind. he was willing to walk away, to leave you behind for her, and that realization cut deeper than any words could ever convey.

as nico zipped up his bag and slung it over his shoulder, he turned to face you. his expression was unreadable, a stark contrast to the countless emotions swirling within you. his once familiar and comforting presence now felt foreign and distant.

"how could you do this?" " your voice carried the weight of a hundred emotions, from the searing pain of betrayal to the disbelief that the person she loved could cause such hurt.

in that moment, you realized that some storms couldn't be weathered, some betrayals couldn't be forgiven, and some love stories were destined for an agonizing end.

nico turned away and walked out of your life, leaving behind a void that no amount of time or healing could ever fill. the storm had passed, but the damage it had wrought would linger, a painful reminder of a love that was, and a love that would never be again.

MY 100 FOLLOWER CELLY!

122 notes · View notes

samstree · 1 year ago

Text

A Careless Omission

Jaskier reveals he has a type. Geralt behaves strangely. (Or, the "Jaskier likes a dilf" fic, 2.9k, on ao3)

Jaskier doesn’t try to hide his interest.

His face has been slowly heating up with a blush, his lips worried and bitten with nervousness. It nearly makes him feel like a blushing maiden at the sight of her first crush, stomach fluttering and all. Who can blame him? His eyes have been caught by the barkeep since he sat down at the table.

Distantly, he knows Geralt is able to tell, sitting in front of him across the table. A witcher’s senses are too sharp for Jaskier to hide his intentions for anyone they meet on the road, but there’s no room for self-consciousness. His attention is away, following the other man as he works.

The barkeep is tall and burly, with wide shoulders and long legs, hair slightly wet with sweat from working in the kitchens. A few strands of grey hair pepper his brown curls beautifully, as well as his well-groomed beard. The simple clothing cannot hide the taut muscles underneath. Every time he rolls up the sleeves to show the strong lines of his forearm, Jaskier lets out an audible gasp.

Meeting Jaskier’s eyes, he comes to their table and serves two cups of ale with a bright, warm smile.

A bright, warm smile, and a little girl trailing behind him.

“Aww,” Jaskier whispers to Geralt as the man walks away. “Look at him with his daughter.”

The barkeep has brought his daughter to work. The girl looks no older than six, demanding bedtime stories and tugging at his apron constantly. He has to gently coax her to let him finish work first, all the while leaning down to kiss her on the head.

Jaskier’s breath catches, the hammering of his heart so loud he can practically hear it in his ears.

“Hmm.”

Geralt only gives a noncommittal hum while sipping his ale.

“Here we go.” The barkeep returns to their table with two bowls of soup, his smile still bright despite the late hour and his daughter’s chirping. “How do you find our establishment, kind sirs? Hope you liked the ale?”

Before Jaskier can chat up the guy, Geralt cuts in quickly.

“A bit sour,” he says, seemingly grouchier than usual. “And the place is loud.”

It’s entirely too rude, but before Jaskier can apologize for his friend, the barkeep scratches his head shyly and does it first, which makes him all the lovelier.

“Apologies,” he says sincerely. “My Lucja can be a menace when she’s tired. It’s a shame her bedtime happens to be our rush hour. She’s not bothering you too much, is she?”

“No, no!” Jaskier answers, rather too eagerly. “She’s adorable! I hope she’s not making your job difficult, is all.”

Jaskier’s face becomes even hotter when he takes his bowl, their fingers brushing, lingering. Finally, the barkeep is looking at Jaskier properly. His smile grows, stretching almost to his ears.

They hold each other’s gaze, until Geralt sets down his cup suddenly, much louder than necessary, breaking the moment.

“It can get hard at times, but I don’t mind,” the barkeep answers, eyeing Geralt for a moment before turning his attention back to Jaskier. “She’s the best thing that ever happened to me, you see. I’d choose raising her on my own every time.”

“Oh? Where is her mother?” Jaskier frowns.

“I do not know where she is, sir, nor Lucja’s real father, for she was left at my doorstep as a babe. I meant to send her to the orphanage, but in the end, I just couldn’t see a little girl without a home. She is as much my daughter as she can be. We are a family, as destiny intended.”

What a sweet, sweet man.

Jaskier holds his chest as the fluttering inside intensifies. He’s nearly melting on the spot “Aww…” he sighs softly. “Such sadness, and such a happy ending. You truly are a kind man, sir…?”

“Andrej.”

“I’m Jaskier.” They shake hands, lingering some more.

“Still, it must get lonely for you, being on your own. Would you ever seek other forms of companionship, Andrej, when the long nights are difficult to pass?”

The hopeful hint hides so well under the concern in Jaskier’s voice. He’d like to think he’s rather smooth in his probing, after all these years.

“Well.” Andrej looks as flushed as Jaskier feels. His eyes lower, before lifting up again, looking at Jaskier from under his lashes. “I try to find company when I can, but none as fine as yourself, Jaskier.”

He drags out Jaskier’s name, patiently, sensually, making his bones hum.

The man leaves Jaskier with a suggestive look, and finds Lucja again. He lifts the girl easily, muttering about how he can finally tuck her in bed now. They disappear upstairs, with the girl draped over Andrej’s shoulder, her cheeks round with happiness.

Jaskier stares at them as they leave, eyes following the man until he cannot see them any longer, and then turns back with a dreamy sigh. He stirs his soup absently, occasionally letting out a goofy smile and a quiet giggle, ears still burning. Thoughts of Andrej fill the whole world, his eyes, his smile, his loving heart.

Jaskier knows he’s quickly, entirely, and head over heels, falling in love.

He lets out another giggle at the thought.

Their interaction replays over and over in Jaskier’s head, making him completely oblivious to his surroundings.

Out of nowhere, Geralt clears his throat.

“Oh, dear!” Jaskier startles, blinking. “Geralt, um… You are… still here.”

Huh, he seems to have completely forgotten about Geralt.

“My, my,” Geralt snorts. He looks like he’s trying very hard not to roll his eyes. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

Jaskier has no intention of being mortified. He is no longer capable of that emotion when the stars align and hit him with a spell of love. Still, he gives some attention to his friend.

“Sorry, I was a little… beside myself,” he says, his spirit too high to be ruined by Geralt’s inexplicably bad mood. “You know,” Jaskier whispers, revealing the great secret. “It’s my weakness.”

“Weakness?” Geralt narrows his eyes.

“Yes, a man like Andrej.” Jaskier’s eyes brighten in fondness. “I happen to have no resistance around a good father like him.”

A pause of silence, and Geralt squints harder.

“A good… father,” he states, very, very slowly.

“Of course! Did you not notice? He was so good with his daughter earlier, so gentle and loving. I bet he tells the best bedtime stories, and little Lucja will want for nothing in her life. Oh, I cannot help myself, and I—” Jaskier sighs, once again. The amount of sighing today is a bit excessive, even for a poet. He’s well aware. “I think I’m falling in love.”

Geralt looks like he’s trying to suppress a growl, but ends up with an unpleasant grimace.

And Jaskier takes issue with that. He makes an unhappy noise.

“Oh, stop with that face. I know you want to mock me,” Jaskier admonishes, mouth forming a pout. “But I am not ashamed, I’ll have you know. I see being a good father as one of the most attractive qualities in a man, if not the most attractive! Though I admit, I have a soft spot, especially for him. Did you hear the story? To think Andrej took in an orphan girl under such tragic circumstances, just to give her a home… How can my heart not go out to him?”

Jaskier looks into the distance, lapsing into silence. The soup is no longer hot, and he digs into it slowly, mood still chirpy and stomach still full of warm fuzziness.

For some reason, Geralt keeps staring at Jaskier.

He seems offended, even.

“Hmm,” Geralt deadpans, stressing every word. “You are in love, because he is a good father?”

“Mm-hmm,” Jaskier hums absently.

Geralt stares for another moment, and another, his food and drink forgotten. It’s disconcerting. He simply slurps his soup loudly, filling the silence.

Tentatively, Geralt opens his mouth, and closes it, and then, he does it again a few times more.

Jaskier raises an eyebrow. Geralt does the same.

“What?” The bard is running out of patience.

“Nothing,” Geralt answers at the end, rather pointedly, looking directly at Jaskier. “So… Ciri.”

Jaskier blinks at the non sequitur. “Hmm?”

“You do remember her,” Geralt adds, “Ciri?”

Frowning, Jaskier is slightly concerned for Geralt’s sanity. Or his.

“Yes? I’ve not suffered a blow to the head, Geralt. I remember Ciri.”

“Just checking.”

The tiniest pout forms around Geralt’s mouth, a hint of dissatisfaction tugging at his lips like an overgrown child. His eyes are still boring into Jaskier’s face. He pauses for a beat, as if waiting for Jaskier to catch up on something.

Jaskier is even more confused about the weird mood of his witcher. He waits with bated breath for a moment longer, but Geralt is still looking at him expectantly.

Losing patience, Jaskier gestures for him to go on. “Well, what about Ciri?”

Geralt sighs, somehow sounding defeated.

“She wrote to me,” he says, finally dropping the grouchy tone when talking about Ciri. “I got the letter today.”

“Oh.” The mention of Ciri’s letter brings joy to Jaskier’s heart. The girl tends to write to them sporadically during her travels, and Geralt always discusses everything about her with Jaskier. It’s nice to hear from their little witcher-princess, who is actually not so little anymore. “That’s good, Geralt. What did she say?”

Taking a very deep breath, Geralt continues.

“She’s traveling, mostly. Took contracts here and there. Also—” Geralt says carefully, “said she missed me.”

“Yeah?” Jaskier smiles, proudly.

“Yeah, you know. She does… um, miss me, because I—um, you know, I’m her…” Geralt doesn’t finish the sentence, but leaves room for it to be finished. With what, Jaskier isn’t sure.

But Jaskier’s heart twists in sympathy. He misses Ciri dearly too, and it could explain Geralt’s strange behavior today, so he tries something else. “You know, we could visit her,” he suggests. “Write back, see if we can meet up and travel together for a while.”

Geralt’s eyebrows lift, ever so slightly, at those words.

“We can,” he agrees, voice lighter. “And… you remember how she has nightmares. If we travel together, I can stay with her at night until she falls asleep.” He thinks for a second. “Tell her a story or two, chase away the bad dreams, perhaps. It is my duty for her, as she is my… um, Ciri.”

The phrasing is perplexing. She is… all of their Ciri, of course. There’s no telling why Geralt said it like that.

“That’s a shame.” Still, Jaskier doesn’t like the idea of their little girl having nightmares, but then— “Wait, does she still let you tuck her in? She’s turning… twenty this summer, I believe? And now an independently working witcher. Isn’t she too old?”

It seems to dawn on Geralt too.

“Oh.” He blinks. “So she is,” Geralt splutters. “Never mind, then.”

Jaskier can’t blame him. Sometimes, they both forget how fast their little girl grows. She is now a proper grown woman, slaying monsters with better witchering skills and magical powers than anyone could have imagined.

He understands Geralt’s tendency for nostalgia, though. When you find a scared little girl and help her become this confident version of herself over the course of a decade, you’d want to linger in those memories, even though she can easily stand on her own feet now.

“Still, I believe it if you say so,” Jaskier muses. “She’s been through so much before, and past hurt fades slowly. Seeing you could be good for her too.”

Geralt looks down, suddenly stabbing the gooey soup with his spoon as if it’s a particularly difficult fiend. After a moment, he sighs. The excessive sighing seems to be catching on today.

For all of Geralt’s emotional constipation Jaskier has witnessed over the years, today’s grumpy episode is truly a bad one. And then, he thinks more about Geralt’s behavior all day, mentioning Ciri out of nowhere, insisting that she still needs care even though she’s grown. It’s nearly like Geralt is trying to make up for something, or drive a point home.

It’s just that Jaskier has been missing the point all along.

It clicks, all of a sudden.

Oh.

Of course.

How could he be so blind?

“Oh, I see.” He places a hand on Geralt’s arm, exhaling in relief. “Forgive me, Geralt dear, but I see it now.”

“You do?” Hope shines in Geralt’s eyes.

“I do!” Jaskier confirms. “It’s terrible I have not realized earlier. I have been incredibly neglectful of you.”

Eyes wide with hope, Geralt seems to have stopped breathing in anticipation. “Go on,” he prompts.

“It all makes sense. You have been acting weird since we sat down, and with me fussing over Andrej and his daughter…” Jaskier states gently, eyes bright. “Your guilt is acting up again! Am I correct?”

Geralt is frozen like a statue, incredulous.

He must want to deny it, but everything about him says he’s been caught off guard, which means Jaskier must be right on point. He pats himself on the back mentally, proud for having figured out his witcher’s internal struggles. After a few decades, he has become an expert in reading Geralt’s every mood.

Jaskier pulls the chair to the side of the table so they sit closer together, their knees touching. He wraps an arm around Geralt, hands running small circles on his back, a familiar soothing motion for when his witcher’s mind is being unkind to him.

“Um, Jask…”

“You don’t need to deny it, you know.” It’s silly that Geralt still has trouble accepting Jaskier’s help sometimes, so he remains patient. “It’s perfectly reasonable, with Ciri traveling alone, being away from your protection. You still feel responsible for her, as you should. The bond between the two of you is stronger than destiny itself.”

Geralt pinches between his eyes, looking torn. “You don’t need to tell me these things, Jask. That’s… really not what I’m thinking.”

This ridiculous, stubborn man. Jaskier shakes his head.

“Nonsense. You don’t need to hide it from me, Geralt. It’s only me.” Jaskier smiles encouragingly. “I’m always here when you have these doubts. Always. Ciri has to leave you—leave all of us—precisely because you’ve taught her well. You have prepared her in every way you can, and now the world will see what she can do.” He hugs Geralt tighter, knowing his touch is comforting for Geralt in these bouts of self-deprecation. “It’s okay to feel at a loss, but it’s not like she’ll never need you again. You are her father, and nothing will ever change that.”

The words settle quietly, genuinely, and Jaskier feels the tenseness in Geralt’s body fade. He takes pride in himself again, a grin stretching across his face, feeling incredibly achieved.

“Yes,” Geralt whispers, looking directly into Jaskier’s eyes. Their faces are only a hand’s breadth away, his tone intimate and sincere. “I am her father.”

“That’s the spirit,” Jaskier agrees happily. “You are the best father she could ever ask for.”

“Yeah?”

Geralt breathes in, his gaze lowering. They are leaning into each other’s space, with barely any distance in between. Jaskier’s hand is still wrapped around Geralt’s shoulder, and now Geralt has placed a hand on Jaskier’s knee.

For some reason, the fluttering in Jaskier’s stomach returns. The sensation is such a surprise that he nearly falls out of the chair.

“Geralt…”

“Jaskier, look,” Geralt breathes, lips parting, “I—”

Before he could finish a sentence, they are interrupted by someone coming down the stairs, their footsteps echoing loudly in the tavern. Jaskier snaps his attention away in an instant.

Oh, Andrej is back!

Jaskier lets out a delighted squeal, all thoughts replaced by the barkeep’s warm smile.

“Hold that thought, dear,” Jaskier says absently, patting Geralt on the back. “I should be… going.”

“But I—”

Geralt’s eyes are wide, darting between Andrej and Jaskier.

Jaskier stands up, checking on Geralt again. “Hmm? What is it? Do you still need me here?”

He would stay with Geralt, comforting him for the rest of the night if those old insecurities still plague his friend. A good night with a handsome and kind man will always come second when it comes to Geralt, but…

But, but, but…

Jaskier’s heart is already soaring away.

Luckily, the moment of panic in Geralt’s eyes fades into calm acceptance.

“Nothing,” Geralt says, resigned with a quiet smile. “I don’t need you here, Jaskier. You should go.”

His posture goes slack. It must be the relief after all of Jaskier’s words, all the doubt eased, judging from the way Geralt’s face morphs into an emotionless neutrality. Once again, Jaskier mentally pats himself on the back for having cracked the problem.

He beams at the thought, bending down to press a good night kiss on Geralt’s cheek, who lets out a little gasp, leaning into the chaste kiss.

“Don’t wait up!”

Jaskier winks before turning away, not looking back again. When he takes Andrej’s hand, there’s even a spring in his steps.

Oh, Jaskier should be allowed to feel a little smug, just a little bit. He has had the most wonderful night. On top of seeing right through Geralt’s emotional turmoil, he’s also landed himself a fine companion until morning.

The wonderful night can still get a lot better, he thinks.

#geraskier #geraskier fic #they are idiots your honor #but mostly jaskier #he should fundraise for a braincell

197 notes · View notes

ruhzero · 2 years ago

Text

*Saxophone Intensifies*

Imagine coming back home on a friday night to rest and spend the weekend with your F/O(s), but when you arrive at your place you get surprised by your F/O with a romantic dinner, there are candles, roses, red lights and everything a cliché romantic dinner would have. But as if it couldn't get worse (better) they reach for their phone and Careless Whisper starts to play.

"We're having a home date tonight love, hope you don't mind the decoration."

Bonus: if your F/O really doesn't know that the environment is a bit exaggerated.

Prosh*ppers DNI!

(I'm running out of ideas for my imagines, maybe I need to go back to read fanfics.)

#f/o #self shipping #self ship #fictional other #fictional character #f/o positivity #f/o stuff #f/o prompts #imagine your f/o #proshippers dni #proshitters dni

88 notes · View notes

janzoo · 1 year ago

Text

The Lord Commander's Charity Pin-Up

(Or: Astarion Lends Aymeric a Shirt)

*"Careless Whisper" intensifies*

Feat. general lounging and "come hither"/"take my hand" poses

Dedicated to @brookhorse 💙 and the good folks on the FFXIV Swap Discord server who helped me out earlier, as well as introduced me to Heliosphere 💙

I found a fancy, slutty shirt mod and did the only reasonable thing: I put it on Aymeric and posed him like a romance novel cover. The long hair for Aymeric mod seemed fitting for this, too. I'll probably slap it on Estinien at some point as well.

Love that little peek of treasure trail at the bottom there 👌👍🙌👌👍

Bonus long Elezen neck under the readmore

LONG LONG MAN

#suggestive #janzoo plays ffxiv #ffxiv #aymeric de borel

7 notes · View notes

atomicalmondpersonoperator · 6 months ago

Text

Sunghoon's heavy footsteps resonated through the floorboards as he approached the staircase. His name alone was a siren's call to every hormone in my body, setting them into a frenzied symphony. The gym bag slung over his broad shoulder looked like it had seen better days, but it couldn't diminish the aura of power and vitality that clung to him. His muscles rippled beneath his sweat-soaked shirt, each step a testament to his relentless dedication to his physique. I stifled a sigh, trying to keep my eyes glued to the pages of my book, even though my mind was racing with thoughts of what lay beneath those clothes.

The sound of the shower upstairs grew louder as the water pressure increased. The pipes groaned in protest, adding a white noise backdrop to my stealthy mission. I had to admit, my curiosity had gotten the better of me. His scent was a heady mix of sweat and something uniquely him, a musk that made my heart race and my palms sweat. It was a scent I craved, one that I could never get enough of. I waited for what felt like an eternity, my ears straining to catch the faintest sign that he was done.

Finally, the water stopped, and the silence that followed was deafening. I set my book aside and tiptoed up the stairs, my heart hammering in my chest like a drum. The bathroom door was ajar, the steam rolling out like a cloud of temptation. His gym clothes were scattered on the floor, a careless mess that seemed to dare me to come closer. And so, I did. I hovered over his sweaty shirt, the fabric clinging to the tiles, and took a deep breath. The scent was intoxicating, a blend of sweat and something primal that made me feel alive.

SUMMARY^1: The narrator, driven by desire, sneaks upstairs to Sunghoon's bathroom while he showers. The scent of his stepbrother's sweat fills the room, and the sight of his discarded gym clothes only intensifies their longing. The act of smelling his shirt pushes them over the edge into a haze of desire.

With trembling hands, I picked up his damp underwear. The fabric was warm, and I could almost feel the imprint of his body on it. My cheeks flushed with heat as I brought it to my nose, inhaling deeply. The scent of him washed over me, making me dizzy. But before I could indulge any further, a shadow fell over me, and a firm hand grabbed my wrist. Sunghoon's voice, low and gruff, broke the silence. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" His eyes narrowed, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He was out of the shower, wearing nothing but a towel, his hair still damp and curling around his ears. The room felt like it had shrunk to the size of a shoe box, the air thick with tension and the promise of something forbidden.

I stumbled backward, my eyes darting to the floor, unable to meet his gaze. "I... I'm sorry," I mumbled, my voice barely a whisper. "I just..."

He stepped closer, the towel loosening slightly with each step. His abs flexed, and droplets of water glistened on his chest. "You just what?" His question hung in the air, thick with accusation and a hint of amusement. "You like the way I smell?" His smirk grew, and he tilted his head, watching me with a predatory glint in his eye.

My heart was racing, and I could feel his heat radiating off of him. I nodded, unable to find the words to explain my obsession. His grip tightened, and he pulled me closer to him. "Is that all?" His voice was a dark whisper, his breath hot against my ear.

SUMMARY^1: The narrator is caught by Sunghoon with his underwear, leading to a tense confrontation where the stepbrother's attraction is revealed. Sunghoon's playful dominance emerges as he questions the narrator's intentions, leaving them speechless and trapped in a moment of intense desire.

The room spun around me as I nodded again. His eyes searched mine, looking for something, anything that would give him the upper hand. And then, without warning, he yanked the towel away, exposing his hardened length. "If you want to smell me, you can start here." He grabbed my chin, forcing my gaze down to his crotch. My eyes widened, and I gulped, my mouth suddenly dry. The air in the room crackled with energy, and I could feel the electricity arcing between us.

He stepped closer still, his erection pressing against my stomach. "But if you're going to play with me, you have to be ready for what comes next." His hand slid down my body, resting on my waist. "You want to taste it?" His question was rhetorical, his thumb brushing against my bottom lip, coaxing it open. And before I could even think to protest, he had pushed himself into my mouth, his hands tight in my hair. My eyes watered as he began to face fuck me, his hips thrusting forward and back in a punishing rhythm. The taste of him was overwhelming, a mix of salt and sweat that only made me want more.

Sunghoon's grip grew stronger, his breathing more ragged. He pulled my head back, exposing my neck to the cool air. "You're going to be my good little slut, aren't you?" His voice was a growl, and his eyes burned with a desire that mirrored my own.

SUMMARY^1: The confrontation escalates as Sunghoon exposes himself and initiates a face fucking scene, establishing his dominance. He challenges the narrator to accept their new dynamic, calling them a "good little slut" and setting the tone for the aggressive, rough sex that follows.

I nodded, my mouth still full of his cock. The words barely made it past the thickness in my throat, but they were all he needed to hear. With a final, brutal thrust, he pulled out of my mouth and bent me over the sink. "You're going to pay for snooping," he murmured, his voice a dark promise. And with that, he pushed into me without warning, filling me up in a way that was both painful and exquisite.

The sensation of him inside me was like nothing I had ever felt before. His girth stretched me wide, and his grip on my hips was bruising as he began to fuck me mercilessly. I could feel every inch of him, every ridge and vein, as he claimed me in a way that was raw and primal. I moaned into the porcelain, my nails digging into the countertop as he ravaged my body. His breathing grew harsher, his thrusts more erratic, and I knew he was close.

But he wasn't the only one. The pressure building inside me was unbearable, a coil of need that was about to snap. And when it did, I came with a scream that echoed through the house, my body shaking with the force of it. Sunghoon followed soon after, his grip tightening until he was buried to the hilt, his warmth flooding me.

We stayed there for a moment, both of us panting, before he pulled out and turned me to face him. His eyes searched mine, looking for any sign of regret. But all I could feel was a burning desire to do it again. And as he leaned in to kiss me, I knew that this was just the beginning of a dark and thrilling journey.

SUMMARY^1: Sunghoon initiates rough, unprotected anal sex as punishment for the narrator's actions, establishing his dominance. Despite the intensity and pain, the narrator finds themselves enjoying the experience, leading to a shared orgasm and the acknowledgment that this is the start of a new, taboo relationship between them.

SUMMARY^2: The narrator is caught sniffing Sunghoon's sweaty clothes, leading to a confrontation where Sunghoon's dominant side emerges. He initiates a face fucking session, calling the narrator a "good little slut," which transitions into rough, unprotected anal sex. Despite the aggression, the narrator finds pleasure, and they both climax together, solidifying their newfound stepcest dynamic.

Sunghoon's kiss was demanding, his tongue invading my mouth with the same intensity he had used to fuck me. He tasted like sweat and musk, a flavor that I found myself craving more and more. His hands roamed my body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. They slid down to my throat, his grip firm but not painful, as he pulled away from the kiss. "You're mine now," he murmured, his voice a dark promise.

I nodded, my eyes glazed with lust. "Yeah," I breathed, "I'm yours."

He smirked, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Good," he said, "Because I'm not done with you yet." He pushed me to my knees, his cock still rock hard. "Open your mouth," he ordered, and I obeyed without hesitation. He began to face fuck me again, his hips snapping forward as he buried himself deep in my throat. I could feel his cock swell with each stroke, and the thought of his release made me wetter.

The sound of his zipper was like a gunshot in the quiet room. He pulled out of my mouth and stepped back, letting his pants fall to the floor. "Take off your clothes," he said, his voice low and commanding. I obeyed, my trembling hands fumbling with the buttons of my shirt. He watched me with a hungry gaze, his cock bobbing with each heavy breath he took.

SUMMARY^1: The narrator confirms their submissive role in their newfound relationship with Sunghoon, who continues to face fuck them. Sunghoon's dominance is reinforced by his ownership claim and commands for further intimate actions, which the narrator eagerly obeys, stripping naked under his watchful eyes.

Once I was naked, he grabbed me by the arm and pulled me to the bedroom. The mattress groaned under his weight as he sat down and spread his legs, gesturing for me to come closer. "You're going to earn it," he said, his eyes on my erect nipples. "You want it? You're going to work for it."

Without a word, I leaned in and began to lick his armpit, the taste of his sweat and musk making me lightheaded. His body was a feast, and I was the starving guest. I licked and kissed my way down his abs, savoring every inch of his defined muscles. His chest heaved with each breath, his skin slick with a sheen of sweat that made him glisten like a Greek god.

When I reached his cock, I didn't hesitate. I took him in my mouth again, eager to feel his power, his dominance. His hand tangled in my hair, guiding my movements as he grew harder and harder. The saliva dripped down my chin, and I knew he was close.

"On the bed," he said, his voice a growl. "Ass up."

I scurried to the bed, my heart racing with anticipation. I positioned myself on all fours, my ass in the air, waiting for his next move. And when it came, it was with the force of a hurricane. He slammed into me without warning, his grip on my hips bruising as he fucked me roughly. The sound of our bodies slapping together filled the room, a symphony of lust and need.

SUMMARY^1: Sunghoon orders the narrator to perform submissive acts, including licking his armpits, reinforcing his dominance. He then commands the narrator to the bedroom for more aggressive sex, culminating in a rough, unprotected anal encounter with the narrator eagerly receiving his stepbrother's aggressive thrusts.

Sunghoon leaned over me, his mouth at my ear. "You like it rough, don't you?" His breath was hot, his words a taunt. I nodded, unable to speak as he pounded into me. The pleasure was almost painful, a sensation that I never wanted to end.

He reached around and began to play with my clit, his movements precise and calculated. I moaned, my body responding to his touch like a well-tuned instrument. And then, just as I was about to come again, he pulled out and slapped my ass, leaving a stinging sensation that only added to the fire building inside me.

"Now," he said, his voice strained, "it's time for the main event."

He grabbed my hair and yanked my head back, his cock pressing against my asshole. I felt a moment of panic, but it was quickly overridden by the desire to please him. I took a deep breath and relaxed my muscles, and with one swift motion, he pushed inside.

The pain was intense, but it was quickly overshadowed by the feeling of fullness, the sensation of being owned by him. He began to fuck me in long, slow strokes, each one pushing me closer and closer to the edge. His hands were everywhere, leaving no part of my body untouched. His spit-slicked thumb traced my lips before pushing into my mouth, the taste of him mingling with my own saliva. His other hand found my clit, and he began to rub it in time with his thrusts.

SUMMARY^1: During their intimate encounter, Sunghoon continues to assert his dominance, asking if the narrator enjoys the roughness. He teases them with clitoral stimulation before moving to anal penetration, which the narrator accepts despite the initial pain. The use of spit as lube and saliva play during the act highlights their shared kinks and the depth of their depraved bond.

Sunghoon's hand left my clit, and I felt a warm trickle of liquid run down my thigh. I looked back to see him smiling cruelly, his hand glistening with the evidence of his pleasure. He brought his fingers to my face, and without a word, I licked them clean, savoring the taste of his sweat and pre-cum. The action only served to stoke the fire inside me, and I began to beg for more.

He leaned down, his mouth at my ear. "You want it all, don't you?" His voice was a purr, and I nodded, my eyes squeezed shut with desire. "You want me to fill you up with my cum?"

"Yes," I moaned, my voice hoarse from his earlier assault. "Please, Sunghoon."

With a chuckle, he pulled out of my ass and flipped me onto my back. He climbed onto the bed, his cock bobbing in front of my face. "Open your mouth," he said, his voice a command. I obeyed, and he began to face fuck me again, his cock sliding in and out of my mouth with ease. He was so close, and I could feel his excitement growing with each stroke.

As he fucked my mouth, he leaned down and began to lick my sweat-drenched armpits, his tongue swirling and teasing the sensitive flesh. The sensation was electric, and I could feel myself getting wetter and wetter. He pulled away and spit into my mouth, the saliva mixing with his precum and my own desire. I swallowed, eager for more, and he obliged, spitting again and again until I was gagging.

The room was filled with the sound of our heavy breathing and the wet smack of skin on skin. He pulled out of my mouth and began to fuck my face, his balls slapping against my chin. I could feel his orgasm building, his movements growing more erratic. And when he finally came, it was with a roar that shook the walls.

His cum shot out in thick ropes, spraying my face and chest. I licked it up greedily, my tongue darting out to catch every drop. He watched me with a smug expression, his chest heaving with exertion. "Good girl," he murmured, his hand stroking my cheek. "Now, clean me up."

I eagerly took his cock back into my mouth, my tongue swirling around the head and cleaning off any remaining cum. His musky taste was addictive, and I couldn't get enough of it. He groaned with pleasure, his hand guiding my movements as I swallowed his seed.

When he was clean, he leaned back, his eyes never leaving mine. "Now, get on your knees," he said, his voice still thick with desire. I complied, my body trembling with anticipation. He stood before me, his cock still semi-hard. "Open your mouth," he instructed, and I did so without question.

With a wicked grin, he began to piss into my open mouth. The warm liquid filled my cheeks, and I swallowed quickly to keep up with the flow. It was humiliating, degrading, and yet, I had never felt more alive. The taste of him was intoxicating, and I lapped it up like a kitten at a bowl of milk.

As the last drops fell, he leaned down and kissed me, our tongues dancing together in a dance of dominance and submission. "You're a natural," he murmured against my lips, his breath hot and sweet with the scent of our shared taboo. "And now that you've had a taste, you're going to crave it every day."

And as we lay there, our bodies entwined in the aftermath of our passion, I knew he was right. This was just the beginning of our twisted love affair, one that would push the boundaries of what was acceptable and test the very fabric of our family ties. But in that moment, all that mattered was the feel of his arms around me, the taste of him still lingering on my tongue, and the promise of more to come.

He pulled me closer, his hand sliding down my body to cup my still-throbbing cock. "You liked that, didn't you?" he murmured, his voice a dark caress. I nodded, unable to form coherent words as he began to stroke me, his touch firm and knowing. "You're going to be my little slut, aren't you?" His thumb flicked over the head of my cock, and I gasped, the sensation sending shockwaves through me.

I nodded again, my eyes never leaving his. "Yes," I breathed, the word barely audible. "I want to be your slut."

Sunghoon's grin grew wider, his eyes gleaming with excitement. He rolled me onto my back and straddled my chest, his cock bobbing in front of my face. "Open up," he said, and I eagerly did so. He leaned down and spit into my open mouth, the saliva dripping down my chin as I swallowed. He chuckled, the sound sending a thrill down my spine. "That's a good boy," he said, his voice filled with satisfaction.

He leaned down further, his armpit hovering just above my face. The scent of his sweat was overpowering, and I couldn't help but lick at the crevice, eager to taste him once more. He groaned, his hand tightening around my shaft as I lavished his armpit with kisses and licks. His musky flavor was addictive, and I found myself lost in the moment, the world outside the bedroom fading away to nothing but the two of us.

"You're so eager," he said, his voice thick with lust. He leaned back, giving me better access. "Keep going." And so, I did, my tongue tracing the contours of his muscled pit, savoring every drop of sweat that I could find. His hand worked me in time with my movements, the pleasure building with every passing second.

Suddenly, he sat up and pulled my legs apart, his gaze never leaving mine. "It's your turn," he said, his voice a growl. And before I could even protest, he leaned in and began to lick my sweaty armpit, his tongue swirling and dipping into the sensitive skin. I moaned, the sensation unexpected and incredibly erotic. His mouth moved to the other side, and I felt a jolt of pleasure shoot through me, my cock throbbing with each stroke of his tongue.

The saliva pooled in my mouth, and I could feel the beginnings of an erection growing. Sunghoon noticed and took it as a challenge, his licks becoming more insistent, his teeth nipping at my flesh. I arched my back, my moans growing louder, as he claimed me in a way that was both thrilling and overwhelming.

"You taste so good," he murmured, his breath hot against my skin. "I could do this all night."

And in that moment, I knew that we would. Our bodies were a canvas for our desires, and we were about to paint a masterpiece of depravity and lust. The air was thick with the scent of us, a heady mix of sweat, sex, and something undeniably taboo.

He sat up, his eyes never leaving mine, and grabbed a bottle of lube from the nightstand. "Ready for round two?" His voice was a challenge, and I nodded, my heart racing with anticipation. He squeezed a generous amount onto his fingers and slid them into my mouth, watching as I sucked them clean. "Good boy," he said, his voice a purr. "Now, let's see if you can handle the real thing."

Without warning, he slammed back into my ass, his cock now slick with the cool gel. The sensation was indescribable, a mix of pleasure and pain that made me see stars. I moaned, my body begging for more as he began to fuck me with a ferocity that left me breathless.

The room was a blur of movement, our bodies slapping together in a symphony of need. His hand reached around to my cock, his grip firm as he stroked me in time with his thrusts. The feeling of his hot breath on my neck sent shivers down my spine, and I couldn't help but arch back into him, begging for more.

Sunghoon leaned down, his armpit hovering just above my face. The scent of his sweat was intoxicating, and I found myself eager to taste it again. He watched me, a knowing smirk playing on his lips as I tentatively licked the crevice of his muscled pit. The taste was salty and warm, a heady mix of man and desire that made my cock throb in his hand.

He groaned, his strokes growing more urgent as I licked and kissed his armpit. His other hand reached up to grip the back of my head, pushing me closer, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "That's it," he murmured, his voice a low growl. "Take it all in."

I didn't need any more encouragement. I buried my face in his armpit, my tongue lapping up every drop of sweat I could find. His hand on my cock grew rougher, the friction sending waves of pleasure through me. I could feel his muscles tensing, his orgasm approaching.

With a final, deep lick, I felt him come inside me, his warmth flooding my ass as he roared with pleasure. His hand gripped my hair tightly, holding me in place as he spasmed and filled me completely. And as he did, I felt a strange sense of satisfaction, of belonging.

The aftermath was a tangle of limbs and heavy breathing, our bodies sticky with sweat and cum. He pulled out slowly, his cock still semi-hard. "You liked that, didn't you?" he said, his voice filled with a smug satisfaction. I nodded, unable to form words as I tried to catch my breath.

He leaned over and kissed me deeply, his tongue delving into my mouth and tasting himself on my tongue. "Good," he murmured against my lips. "Because we're not done yet."

He reached for the lube again, his eyes never leaving mine. "I want to feel you," he said, his voice a dark promise. "I want to see how much you can take."

I nodded, my heart racing. The thought of his thick cock filling me up again was almost too much to handle. He smeared the gel over my cock, his hand moving with a confidence that left me trembling. And then, with a wicked smile, he turned me onto my stomach and pushed my legs apart.

The cold lube was a shock against my skin, but it was quickly warmed by his touch. He spread my cheeks and slid his cock against my hole, the tip teasing me before he pushed inside. I gasped, the sensation of fullness overwhelming.

He began to move, his strokes long and slow. I could feel every inch of him, his girth stretching me to the limit. His hand reached around to my cock, his movements in sync with his thrusts. The room was filled with the sound of our wet, sloppy fucking, a symphony of desire that was all our own.

And as he fucked me, I knew that there was no going back. We were bound together by this forbidden lust, our bodies speaking a language that only we understood. The line between love and obsession was blurred, and I didn't care. All that mattered was the feeling of his cock deep inside me, the taste of his sweat on my tongue, and the promise of more to come.

Our rhythm grew more frantic, our moans louder. His hand tightened around my cock, and I knew I was close. I could feel my orgasm building, a pressure that was almost painful in its intensity. And then, with one final, powerful thrust, I came, my body shaking with the force of it.

Sunghoon followed soon after, his cock pulsing deep inside me. He collapsed onto the bed, his chest heaving. We lay there, our bodies entwined, the world outside the bedroom forgotten. The only thing that existed was the two of us, our hearts beating in time with the aftershocks of our passion.

As the minutes ticked by, the reality of what we had done began to sink in. The guilt was a knot in my stomach, but the desire was stronger. This was a path we had chosen, and there was no turning back now. Sunghoon rolled off me, his chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. He reached for the bottle of lube, his eyes never leaving mine. "It's not enough," he murmured, his voice a dark promise. "I want to mark you."

He squeezed a generous amount onto his hand and began to spread it over my body, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He coated my chest, my stomach, and my thighs, his fingers lingering on my most sensitive spots. And then, without warning, he leaned down and began to lick the slick substance from my skin, his tongue tracing patterns that made me shiver. His saliva mixed with the lube, creating a slick, sticky mess that made me squirm with pleasure.

He spit onto my ass, the warm liquid dripping down my crack. His tongue followed, his mouth exploring every inch of me with a hunger that was almost feral. I could feel my hole clench with anticipation, begging for his touch. He chuckled, the sound sending vibrations through my body. "So eager," he said, his voice a low purr. "But we're not done yet."

He stood up and grabbed my shoulders, pulling me to the edge of the bed. His cock was hard again, a testament to his insatiable hunger. He bent me over, my face pressed into the pillow, and positioned himself behind me. "Spread your legs," he ordered, his voice a growl. I obeyed, my body trembling with a mix of fear and excitement.

He began to fuck me again, his strokes deep and powerful. Each thrust was punctuated by a spurt of his saliva, the wet sound echoing through the room. He spit on my back, the warm liquid sliding down my spine and pooling at the base of my neck. He licked it up, his tongue tracing a line from my neck to my shoulder blades, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His spit was everywhere, coating my skin like a second layer of sweat.

Sunghoon's saliva dripped from his mouth onto my ass, mixing with the lube and my own arousal. He leaned down and licked it up, his tongue rough and demanding. He spit again, this time directly onto my hole, the sound of it hitting my skin making me jolt. He chuckled, his teeth nipping at my skin. "You like that, don't you?" His voice was a low rumble, and I nodded, my moans muffled by the pillow.

He grabbed my hips and pulled me back, his cock sliding out with a wet pop. He bent down and licked me from behind, his tongue probing my ass, his spit mixing with my lubricant. The sensation was intense, a mix of pleasure and humiliation that had me panting for more. He groaned, his tongue swirling around my hole before pushing inside.

He pulled out and stood, his hand moving to his mouth. He spit into his palm and reached around to stroke my cock, his saliva mixing with the precum that was already leaking from the tip. His hand was a blur of motion, his spit making the sensation almost unbearable. I bucked my hips, desperate for release, but he held me down, his grip on my hips firm. "Not yet," he murmured, his breath hot against my ear. "First, I want to see how much you can take."

He leaned down and spit into my ear, the sensation making me shiver. His saliva trailed down my neck, and I felt his breath as he whispered, "You're going to be my little whore, aren't you?" His hand tightened around my cock, and I could feel the stickiness of his spit mixing with my precum. It was a strange sensation, one that made me feel even more exposed and vulnerable than I already was.

Sunghoon stepped back and admired his handiwork, his eyes gleaming with lust. He spit into his palm once more and reached down to rub it into my asshole, his fingers slipping in easily thanks to the lube and his saliva. The feeling of his spit being pushed into me was almost too much, but I didn't dare protest. His every touch was a command, one that my body responded to with a desperate need for more.

He climbed back onto the bed, his knees on either side of my shoulders. His cock hovered just above my face, and I could see the glisten of his spit on the tip. Without prompting, I opened my mouth and took him in, my tongue swirling around his head as he began to fuck my throat once again. His saliva coated my cheeks and chin, and I felt a strange sense of satisfaction with each spit-soaked gasp for air.

As he fucked my mouth, his other hand slid down to my cock, stroking me in time with his thrusts. I could feel the tension building, the pressure in my balls growing with each passing moment. His spit dripped down my throat, a constant reminder of his dominance. It was as if he was marking me from the inside out, claiming me in a way that was raw and primal.

And when I couldn't take it anymore, when the pleasure was too intense, I felt his hot seed fill my mouth. He pulled out and shot the rest onto my face, his cum mixing with the saliva that already covered me. I licked my lips, savoring the taste of him, my eyes never leaving his.

Sunghoon's smile was one of pure satisfaction as he leaned down and kissed me, his tongue delving into my mouth to taste his own cum. He pulled away, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "It's not enough," he murmured, his voice a dark promise. "I want to see you drenched in it."

With that, he grabbed the bottle of lube and squirted a generous amount into his palm. He leaned in and began to smear it over my face, his hand moving in slow, deliberate strokes that made me shiver with anticipation. His thumb traced my cheekbone, the cool gel a stark contrast to the heat of my skin. I could feel his cock, still hard, pressing against my thigh, a silent demand for more.

He leaned in and began to lick the lube from my face, his tongue slow and deliberate. Each pass of his tongue was like a brand, marking me as his. He spit into his hand and began to rub it into my hair, the sound of his palm against my scalp making me moan. His saliva dripped down my forehead, mingling with the lube to create a sticky mess. And when he was done, he pulled back and admired his handiwork, his cock bobbing with excitement.

"Open your mouth," he ordered, his voice a low growl. I obeyed, and he spit into my open mouth, his saliva landing on my tongue with a wet splat. He watched as I swirled it around, the taste of him mixing with the bitter lube. He leaned in and licked my cheek, his tongue sliding over the slick surface before he claimed my mouth again, his kiss deep and possessive. Our tongues danced together, our saliva mixing as we kissed like we were trying to devour each other.

And then, without warning, he pulled away and spit into my open mouth, his eyes never leaving mine. I closed my lips, the warm liquid pooling on my tongue. He leaned in and whispered, "Swallow," and I did, the act of submission making me harder than I had ever been before. He chuckled, the sound low and dark. "Good boy."

He stood and pulled me to my knees, my face staring up at his muscular form. His cock was still semi-hard, glistening with the remnants of our encounter. "Now, let's see if you can handle more," he said, a glint in his eye.

Without waiting for a response, he leaned down and licked my face, his tongue tracing the contours of my cheekbones and nose before reaching my mouth. His saliva was warm and tasted faintly of the minty toothpaste he had used earlier. He pulled back and spit into his hand, the glob of spit hanging for a moment before he reached out and smeared it across my cheek. "Lick it," he ordered, and I did, the act making me feel more submissive than ever before.

He watched as I cleaned his hand with my tongue, a pleased smile playing on his lips. "Good," he murmured, his voice a caress. "Now, let's get you nice and wet." He leaned down and spit into the palm of his hand again, this time bringing it to my mouth and forcing it in with his fingers. I gagged and choked, but he held my jaw open, his eyes never leaving mine as he spit more and more into my mouth.

The feeling of his saliva filling my mouth, mixed with the faint taste of lube and his cum, was overwhelming. And yet, I found myself eager to please him, eager to be used by him in any way he saw fit. I swallowed, the saliva trickling down my throat, and he nodded in approval. "That's it," he cooed, his thumb brushing over my lower lip. "Take it all."

Sunghoon straddled my chest, his legs spread wide. He leaned back, his cock pointing at the ceiling, and began to spit into his hand once more. This time, he didn't bother to hide his smile as he brought his hand to my face, the spit pooling in his palm. "You're going to lick it off me," he said, his voice a command. "Every last drop."

He leaned forward, his spit-covered hand coming closer to my face. He painted my cheeks, my nose, my forehead with his saliva, creating a sticky, glistening mask. His eyes never left mine, a challenge in his gaze that I eagerly accepted. I stuck out my tongue and licked the spit from his palm, the taste of him making me even more desperate for his touch. He watched me, his chest rising and falling with his heavy breaths, his cock growing harder with each swipe of my tongue.

With a smirk, Sunghoon leaned in and spit into my open mouth again, filling it to the brim. I had to swallow quickly to keep up, but the act of being so thoroughly used by him only turned me on more. He reached down and stroked my neck, his grip firm but gentle. "That's my good slut," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm to my aching body. "You're going to take everything I give you."

He pulled away, his hand moving to his cock. He began to stroke himself slowly, the sound of his palm against his shaft echoing through the room. He leaned down and spit onto my face again, the warm liquid mixing with the sweat already pooling on my skin. "Lick it up," he said, his voice a low growl. "Every drop."

I eagerly obeyed, my tongue darting out to clean his hand. The taste of him was addictive, a heady mix of lust and dominance that I couldn't get enough of. He watched me, his eyes hooded with desire, his strokes growing faster. "You're going to be so good for me," he murmured, his voice a dark promise. "So very good."

As I licked the last of his spit from his hand, he leaned down and kissed me again, his tongue delving into my mouth. Our saliva mingled as we kissed with a passion that was almost feral. His hand slid down my body, his fingers finding my clit and playing with it mercilessly. The pleasure was intense, a white-hot fire that consumed me.

Sunghoon pulled away and flipped me onto my back, his eyes burning with a hunger that I couldn't resist. He positioned himself between my legs, his cock slick with our combined fluids. Without wasting a moment, he thrust into me, the sensation making me cry out. He fucked me with a ferocity that was both terrifying and exhilarating, his muscles rippling with each movement. I could feel his desire in every inch of him, his need to claim me and make me his own.

As our bodies moved together, the world outside the bedroom ceased to exist. All that mattered was the rhythm of his hips and the feeling of his cock filling me up. His spit was everywhere, a constant reminder of his dominance. Each time he leaned down to kiss me, our mouths met in a dance of tongues and teeth, the taste of him overwhelming my senses.

The pressure was building, my body tightening around him. I could feel my orgasm approaching, a crescendo of pleasure that threatened to consume me. Sunghoon's eyes bore into mine, his gaze never wavering as he whispered, "Cum for me, baby." And with those words, I did, my body shuddering with the force of my release.

He followed soon after, his own orgasm ripping through him like a storm. His cock pulsed inside me, filling me with his hot seed. He collapsed onto me, his body heavy but welcome, his breaths hot against my neck. We lay there, panting and sticky with sweat and spit, our hearts beating in time with one another.

The silence was deafening as we both processed what had just happened. The guilt began to creep in, the reality of our actions weighing heavily on my chest. But it was drowned out by the desire that still pulsed through my veins, the need to feel him inside me again. I looked up at Sunghoon, his eyes still dark with lust, and I knew that this was just the beginning.

He rolled off me and stood, his cock still semi-hard and gleaming with our combined juices. He grabbed a towel and wiped himself off, tossing it to me with a smirk. "Clean up," he said, his voice still laced with dominance. I took the towel and began to wipe away the sticky mess that covered my face and chest, my body still trembling from the intensity of our encounter.

As I cleaned up, Sunghoon disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of running water signaling his intention to wash away the sweat and spit that clung to him. I couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness that our moment was over, but the excitement of what was to come lingered in the air.

When he emerged, he was dressed in nothing but a pair of low-slung sweatpants, his chest still damp and glistening. He sat on the edge of the bed, watching me with a lazy smile. "You know," he said, his voice casual, "this isn't going to be enough."

I froze, the towel in mid-air. "What do you mean?" I asked, my voice small.

He leaned back, his hands behind his head. "I mean," he said, his eyes never leaving mine, "that you're going to need more. And I'm going to give it to you."

My heart raced at his words, a mix of fear and excitement coursing through me. "What are you saying?"

Sunghoon's smile grew, a predatory glint in his eye. "I'm saying that you're mine now," he said, his voice a purr. "And I'm going to use you whenever and however I want."

The reality of our situation washed over me like a cold shower. We had crossed a line that could never be uncrossed, entered a world of taboo and desire that was both terrifying and exhilarating. And yet, as he stood and held out his hand to help me up, I found myself eager to follow him down this dark path.

2 notes · View notes