#JASMINE YOU ARE THE WOMAN EVER

[fancysilverfox]

✨ Jazzy Jolene ✨

[retromusician]

i am in love with trans drag queens 🤍💙💖

[hcneymooners]

⋆ our bodies, two wounds of love.

bodyguard!sevika x f!reader. men & minors dni.

synopsis: as the youngest daughter of a highly famous businessman, you're not at all what sevika is expecting upon receiving her assignment.

cw: modern setting, soft!sevika, reader is sugar sweet and slightly shy, reader has long hair, obsessive behavior, dubious consent, as in reader wakes sevi up properly like the eater she is but sevi consents when she wakes up, somnophilia, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, implied/referenced sex, via toys, implied strapping as god intended, overstimulation, impact play, it's pussy slapping, nipple play, squirting and vaginal ejaculation, praise kink, pet names, dom/sub undertones, minor violence, reader speaks german in this for no other reason than i've been watching the empress., soft dom!sevika, love confessions, near-death experiences, non-sexual intimacy, age difference, older woman/younger woman, mommy issues, implied lmfao, makeup sex, arguing, resolved sexual tension, masturbation in bathroom, accidental voyeurism notes: this is set to american by lana del rey. listen here. this is more emotionally heavy, but definitely my favorite. does this plot barely make sense? yes. but is the reward worth it? yes. this is a repost.

out of all her clients, you were the easiest.

sevika shouldn’t have been as surprised as she was, given the research she’d conducted. you were the youngest of four daughters, and the public fed off your penchant for privacy. finding someone like you in her line of work was a rarity: no scandals to cover up, no carefully curated drama for the tabloids. your reputation preceded you—sweet, quiet, and often tired. a homebody, mel had said with an almost indulgent smirk when sevika was handed the assignment.

“you’re lucky,” she added. “the others are a handful.”

sevika didn’t believe in luck.

the flat where she first met you was a monument to your family’s wealth. still it was tasteful—ornate without being garish, quiet grandeur woven into every polished surface. it was the kind of space that swallowed sound and softened the world's edges.

your apartment was beautiful in a way that felt intentional but not performative. soft cream and powder blue walls were traced with delicate vines and florals, the details long faded. it wasn’t pristine—scuffs on the wooden floor and fingerprints smudged onto the low, sculptural table in the center—but it was lived-in, loved in a way that gave the space its warmth.

the table itself was an anchor—organic and raw, its uneven edges smoothed by time, surrounded by cushions in muted grays and pale pinks that had lost some of their color to the steady heat of the sun. a shelf of books stretched to the ceiling, its rows crowded with novels and photography volumes, with stacks of loose papers and half-burnt cigarettes scattered between them. the window beside it was cracked open just enough to let in the sound of rustling leaves, the faint scent of rain-soaked greenery curling through the room like an invisible flatmate.

golden lamps shaped like oversized fans stood at either end of the space, their light pooling onto the woven rug beneath. it cast the room in a kind of half-glow—soft, forgiving—blurring the edges of things just enough to make them feel closer. there was something fragile about how it all fit together like it had been arranged for someone who might leave it behind at any moment.

and yet, it felt distinctly like you. the powdered jasmine in the air, the book splayed open on the armchair, the small dish of rings by the window—it was a home that asked nothing of you but to exist in it. sevika’s stormy gaze caught on an abandoned note on the window sill, the script delicate and curling.

cochem, it read. i miss you. i want to come back to you. i want to disappear inside of you and have you love me again. i want to get lost in the german morning. no one will ever know me, and i’ll be happy, less unfulfilled.

she fingered the edges of the paper, sun-bleached and flaking. then she began to walk again, navigating to what looked like the open door of your study.

you were waiting for her inside, perched in an armchair too big for your frame, as if the room had been designed to diminish you. at first glance, you looked as delicate as the furniture you sat on, barefaced and bathed in soft afternoon light that filtered through sheer curtains. it was the kind of light that made everything look fragile and translucent.

you wore an ivory blouse, thin and shimmering with embroidery that seemed to grow out of the fabric like frost patterns on glass. the neckline skimmed your collarbones, modest but deliberate, while the sleeves flared past your wrists, draping like petals. the cinched waist and pale drawstrings might have belonged to someone dressing for comfort, but on you, it was something else entirely—careless elegance.

the sweatpants should have broken the illusion. they didn’t. instead, they made you seem more unreachable, more unstudied. as if you’d wandered into this world from somewhere else—someplace softer—and were still too young to realize you didn’t belong.

sevika lingered in the doorway for a beat longer than she meant to, her presence large enough to make the room feel smaller. she expected you to bristle at the intrusion, to draw yourself up with the same cool hauteur that so often marked women of your standing. but you didn’t.

you looked up at her, eyes wide and unguarded, and smiled.

“hello,” you said. your voice was so soft, as though you feared disturbing her.

sevika’s eyes swept over you, cataloging every detail: the way your hair—long and heavy—spilled over your shoulders, catching the faint streaks of the incoming light; the way your blouse seemed to ripple as you moved, fabric clinging like a whisper to your skin.

“i’m sevika,” she said finally, voice low and steady. “your father hired my team's services to protect your family. i’ll be your bodyguard.”

you nodded and rose from the chair, the movement unhurried and deliberate. you smoothed your palms over the sides of your sweatpants—grey, nondescript, somehow lovely in the context of you—and stepped closer. you smelled faintly of something soft and fleeting: fresh linen, maybe, or soap.

“it’s nice to meet you,” you said, extending your hand, sincerity tucked neatly into every word.

sevika didn’t take it right away. there was something strange about you—something that tugged at her instincts and told her to look closer. your face was open, unguarded, but there was a sadness there, too, stitched into the curve of your mouth, in the way your lashes fell low. she watched the way you stood there, chin lifted just enough to suggest poise but not pride, eyes wide and unguarded as they searched hers for something she wasn’t used to giving.

trust.

and for the first time in a long while, sevika found herself unsure of what to do. you weren’t like the others, all obvious disdain and high expectations. nothing was demanding about you—nothing calculated or sharp. just the soft curve of your mouth, the quiet pull of your gaze, and a kindness she didn’t quite know how to meet.

she clasped your hand firmly but briefly, clearing her throat as she stepped back.

“we should go over security protocol,” she said gruffly, falling back into professionalism as a defense.

you only nodded, that same soft smile still lingering. “of course. whatever you need.”

whatever you need.

sevika didn’t believe in luck, but standing there, looking down at you—your long lashes fluttering as you turned your gaze away, the afternoon light casting faint shadows through the sheer sleeves of your blouse—she wondered, for just a second, if this was as close to it as she would ever get.

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

it took three years for both of you to understand that your relationship had outgrown the typical bounds of client and employee. yes, intimacy was inevitable given the circumstances, but even a stranger would’ve seen something uncanny about how you and sevika were… connected, even for a bodyguard.

love affairs always look different to those inside them. you thought nothing of how deeply you needed her, how fondness for her had quietly rooted itself in you. sevika risked her body—her life—to keep you from harm, and it felt natural to bond, to grow into one another. time spent apart became more agonizing only relieved by the hours you were together, yet you ignored the weight of it.

your sisters often spoke of it, though only behind closed doors. you rarely engaged in their chatter. you had always been this way: dreamy, untethered, with a mind like mist and the heart of a prey animal. lame, your mother had called you, her voice sharp with disappointment. sickly, she added, as if naming your frailty might cure it. over time, it became easier to withdraw, to wrap yourself in silence, and let the world chatter on without you.

but with sevika, life required less effort. you rediscovered a tenderness for the act of living in her presence. she was patient, grounding. she found you tolerable even at your worst, and for that, you adored her. no one else had made you feel this way—not men, not women.

while you preferred women, you had dabbled with men, more out of curiosity than desire. it felt clinical, an attempt to decode them like puzzles, perhaps to better understand why you and your father clashed. women, on the other hand, unraveled you.

the realization of your love came in two parts. the first arrived in the languid quiet of a holiday evening at your family’s upstate estate.

you had overexerted yourself in a lagree class, and sevika, ever watchful, had drawn you a warm bath. you watched her through the crack of the bathroom door, your gaze catching on the soft swell of her hips, the worn strength in her movements as she stretched after finishing readying the bed for sleeping. you often shared when traveling. she sat on the edge of it, her familiar perch, closest to the door. she always did this.

it was the smallest things about her that undid you: the way her hair slipped loose from its strict ponytail, the gentle sway of the gold chain brushing against her collarbones. you’d bought her that chain during a weekend in stockholm. now, the sight of it filled you with a sudden, vicious envy. you wanted to be that close to her—always.

the need consumed you. your body buzzed with an unnamed energy, teetering on the edge of itself. you wanted to crawl out of your skin and into hers, to dissolve completely against her warmth. you wanted her blood to run through your veins, her marrow to fuse with yours. your desire was feral, deranged, trembling like a dying pathetic thing.

without thinking, your hand slipped between your thighs. the thought of her—the sharpness of her profile, the tender press of her hands on your waist at the farmer’s market earlier—burned in your mind. you focused on the ridge of her nose, her beautiful nose. everything about her pleased you.

your fingertips pressed harder into the rosy pearl of your clit, and with a wounded cry, you came undone, trembling, your gaze locked on her through the crack in the door.

as if summoned by your thoughts, sevika lifted her head and met your eyes. her stern gaze pinned you, and you sank beneath the water with sudden embarrassment, your skin flush with heat.

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

the next morning, your pleasure still lingered via a morning glow on your skin. you woke to find sevika beside you, her strong shoulders rising and falling with the rhythm of her sleep. you lifted a hand and stroked her brow, cooing softly as she murmured from somewhere deep within her sleep.

she, you thought, is every woman i’ve ever wanted.

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

the second realization came during an attempt to kill you.

you were the chosen target—a calculated decision. your public image, carefully nurtured by those who sought to use you, made your death a tragedy worth orchestrating. the explosive had been hidden cleverly in the heart of your favorite restaurant, the one you frequented for its thick slices of fresh bread and macadamia milk.

when it detonated, your world fractured. your vision blurred, your ears rang, and blood trickled warm and sticky down your face. the floor rose to meet you, the lacquered wood pressing cold against your cheek. the world went in and out like the weak signal of a radio. someone was screaming—it might have been your mother, though you doubted she cared enough to wail like that.

through the haze, a hand cupped your jaw, firm but careful, and your head was turned until your eyes locked on sevika’s. her gray gaze steadied you, cutting through the chaos. you raised a hand, your french manicured tips trailing lightly against her cheek. one of them, you noticed, was broken.

“[name]. [name], look at me. don’t take your eyes off me.”

“vika,” you whispered, the name slipping from your lips like a prayer. for the first time, you saw fear flicker across her face.

“it’s me,” she said softly. “you’re going to be fine, but i need to get you up. i need to get you out of here.”

you didn’t want to move. here, cradled in her hands, was where you wanted to stay.

“i can hold you, princess,” she murmured, her voice impossibly tender. “if that’s what you want. but i have to move you first. deep breath, okay? here we go.”

she lifted you as though you weighed nothing, her strength unyielding. you clung to her, your broken nails digging into her skin as she carried you through the wreckage. bodies lay strewn across the floor, and your heart broke when you recognized the familiar face of a favorite server.

“it’s okay,” sevika said, her voice a steady anchor. “look at me. just keep looking at me.”

and you did. your gaze drifted to the soft curve of her throat; your face tilted toward her as though she were the sun.

when she laid you on the stretcher, a terrible fear seized you. you reached for her, desperation clawing at your chest.

“stay with me. bitte. bitte, ich flehe dich an.”

sevika froze. if it had been anyone else, she might have refused and headed back to assess the security breach. but it wasn’t anyone else. it was you.

“i’m right behind you, sweetheart,” she promised, her hand pressing firmly to your stomach. “right behind you. just in that car.”

“danke, vika,” you murmured, your voice breaking. “du bist das, was ich brauche. nur du.”

even as the ambulance doors closed, your eyes never left her. you focused on the faint hum of her engine trailing behind you, the sound steady against the fevered rush of your heart.

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

sevika was unforgiving after that, and you selfishly enjoyed the over-attention.

she stole you away, back to your flat, and hovered. always within reach, always watching, her presence as constant as the air you breathed. you hated it. you loved it.

she insisted on being in the room while you bathed, while you ate, while you tried to pretend your body wasn’t trembling from the aftershocks of the explosion. the weight of her gaze pressed into your skin like a second layer. she dressed your wounds with quiet efficiency, her fingers steady but firm, and even when you flinched, she refused to soften her touch.

“you should’ve told me this one was hurting,” she murmured one evening, crouched at your side with a damp cloth in hand. her voice was scolding, but there was an undercurrent of something wounded beneath it—something that hadn’t healed properly since the restaurant.

“it’s fine,” you said, looking anywhere but at her.

“it’s not fine,” she snapped, gripping your wrist a little too tightly before loosening her hold. “you don’t tell me when you’re in pain. you don’t—” she stopped herself, shaking her head as if to clear it.

her jaw worked, muscles tight, and you stared at the curve of her throat as she leaned over you, wiping dried blood away with the kind of precision that only made your chest ache.

“you’re smothering me,” you said softly, more to yourself than her, but her head snapped up like you’d struck her.

“you almost died,” she bit out, and the words made you flinch harder than her grip.

“but i didn’t,” you countered, hating the way your voice trembled.

you could be such a child. it crippled you, your desire to please her, to be less burdensome. she’d kill you if she knew what you were thinking. thank god it was your secret.

sevika’s lips parted, but no words came. just that unfaltering, infuriating look—one that said she knew better, that she always knew better, and that you knew this to be true. you raised a finger, traced the glistening edges of her teeth. she kept her mouth open; she never bit down.

and then one evening, you decided you’d had enough.

“i’m going out,” you said, pulling a thick coat of fur—vintage—over your shoulders.

sevika, seated in the chair by the window, didn’t look up from the blade she was sharpening. “no, you’re not.”

“yes, i am,” you replied, voice clipped.

her eyes flicked up to meet yours, the air thickening.

“why would i agree to that?” she asked, standing slowly, her full height suddenly overwhelming in the small space. “why would i let you walk out of here after i almost lost you last time?”

you laughed bitterly, shaking your head.

“let me? you’re not my keeper, vika.”

“really?” she said, stepping closer, her voice dropping to a dangerous octave. “should we do another read of my contact? i’m the person who pulled you out of the rubble. i’m the person who’s been keeping you alive, no thanks to your recklessness.”

“recklessness?” you snapped, whirling to face her fully. “if you’ve learned anything these past years, it is that i am rarely reckless. you promised me. you said you wouldn't be another dictator. you know what my life’s been like. i am allowed to have a life outside of this, outside of what has happened to me.”

her nostrils flared, and for a moment, she just stared at you, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

“you think i’m doing this for me?” she asked, her voice rough, uneven. “you think i like this?”

“yes,” you spat, the frustration spilling out of you in an unstoppable wave. “this is the most excitement i’ve given you. you must think i’m so fucking boring all of the time. so, yes, i think you’re enjoying it. it makes you feel important. ”

something in her cracked. she closed the distance between you in two steps, her hand shooting out to grip your chin, tilting your face up to hers.

“i'm enjoying this?” she growled, her breath hot against your skin. “watching you get hurt? wondering if this time i’ll be too late? don’t mistake my care for control.”

her grip softened, her thumb brushing your jaw, and suddenly, the room felt unbearably small. you could see the pulse in her throat, the heat in her gaze as her eyes searched yours.

“sevika,” you said. your self-righteousness had passed, and you were so deeply ashamed. “vika, that was unfair. i’m sorry. forgive me.”

her hand dropped to your waist, pulling you closer until you could feel the solid warmth of her body against yours. her breath was shallow, her jaw tight, but her eyes—god, her eyes. they burned with something that made your knees weak.

“bitte,” you whispered.

“i’m trying,” she said, her voice trembling, “to keep you safe. to keep myself from—”

she cut herself off, her gaze flicking to your lips. and before you could say anything, before you could breathe, her mouth was on yours.

the kiss was searing, all teeth and desperation, her hand tightening on your waist as if she was afraid you might disappear. you gasped against her, your hands finding their way to her shoulders, her neck, her hair. but just as quickly as it began, it ended. she pulled back, her breathing ragged, her eyes dark and stormy.

“don’t push me like that again,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

and then she was gone, the door slamming shut behind her, leaving you alone with the echo of her touch.

you crumpled like a paper doll and began to sob. outside, sevika, having turned back, pressed her forehead against the wall. absent-mindedly, the fingers of her prosthetic twitched and aborted their motions, jerking against the door as if fighting to feel you there.

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

you needed to repay her for your abhorrent behavior.

you tried through what you knew: lavish breakfasts, waking up early to purchase her favorite flowers and sweets. you’d even carefully cleaned and oiled her prosthetic. sevika said nothing, if only not to further provoke your guilt, but you could tell she felt it was unnecessary. she was always too easy on you.

the universe, however, seemed to agree with you, and the opportunity to protect sevika came faster than you ever expected.

it was another attempt, this time at a crowded gala in the heart of the city. you hadn’t wanted to go, but sevika had insisted—you wanted to go out. besides, you need to be seen. send a message. and she had been there, of course, always in the background, a silent shadow at your side.

you saw the glint of the blade before she did.

it was instinct. your body moved before your mind caught up, and suddenly, you were between sevika and the would-be assassin, your arm jerking upward to deflect the strike with the heavy bracelet you wore. the metal screeched against the blade, and a sharp pain radiated up your arm, but you didn’t falter.

with your other hand, you snatched a knife from the cocktail table behind you. it was small but sharp, and you used it without hesitation. you didn’t feel the burn of the blade as it nicked your palm on the thrust; you only felt the sickening resistance of flesh before the assailant crumpled at your feet.

“get down!” sevika’s voice was a thunderclap, her hand gripping your shoulder as she shoved you behind her. she moved with terrifying precision, her body a blur of strength and fury as she assessed the situation in seconds.

the room was instantly bursting with chaos. a flash of silver caught your eye as sevika swung her prosthetic arm, sending one of the other assailants sprawling. blood slicked the floor, and the copper tang of it hung heavy in the air. your ears rang with the cacophony of fists, steel, and slit flesh.

you shouldn’t have done that; you knew this. the headlines would be more than money could hide.

“fuck!” sevika’s voice cut through the din, sharp and furious, as she turned to find you standing there, breathing hard, your hands stained red. “what the hell did you do?”

“i—i had to,” you stammered, your chest heaving. “you didn’t see him—”

she grabbed your arm, dragging you toward the far side of the room where the air was clearer and less stifling. the fight was dwindling; the attackers were now being rounded up by security, but sevika’s fury was just beginning.

“what were you thinking?” she hissed, her voice trembling. “do you have a death wish?”

you ripped your arm from her grasp, your own anger bubbling to the surface.

“i was saving you! or would you rather i let him stab you in the back?”

“i don’t need you to save me!” she snapped, stepping closer, her broad shoulders towering over you.

“maybe i need to,” you shot back, tears pricking at your eyes. “i refuse to just sit here and watch you die for me. i won’t. you can’t ask that of me.”

her expression faltered, the rage in her eyes dimming, replaced by something heavier, something more understanding. she often forgot how young you were.

“princess, it's not—you don’t understand,” she said. “if anything happened to you—”

“you’d what?” you interrupted, your voice wavering as you stared up at her. “fall apart? i wouldn’t be any different, vika. you're far from inconsequential. i could not survive a world without you.”

the silence between you was deafening. her gaze dropped to your trembling hands, still clutching the bloodied knife, and she let out a low, shuddering breath. more security personnel arrived, breaking the stalemate. the room was secured, and sevika took that as her cue to remove you from the premises, dragging you through the back corridors, her hand iron-tight around your wrist.

the moment the door to your shared suite slammed shut, she spun on you. her eyes glistened as she glared at you, her body taut like a bowstring.

“you don’t get it, do you?” she said, stepping closer. “i can’t—” she broke off, her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

“you can’t what?” you asked, shifting toward her. “vika, tell me.”

her jaw worked, the muscles in her neck tightening as she tried to hold herself together.

“i feel like i’m so close to losing you,” she said finally, her voice low and broken.

the words hit you like a punch to the chest.

“you won’t,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “i can’t be without you in any way. i won’t allow it.”

her eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, neither of you moved. the space between you was so heavy. all you wanted was to smooth the worried line of her forehead, to share water with her, and wipe her clean.

“you can’t promise that,” she said finally.

you watched as she turned from you and slipped into the bathroom to begin getting ready for bed.

˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚

she woke up with your head between her thighs.

sevika might’ve been more pleased about it if it wasn’t in the middle of the night. still, it wasn’t the worst way to come to.

the warmth spidered from her thighs to her hips before coiling tightly in her stomach. her eyes fluttered open, disoriented and struggling to focus. she heard you first: the wet suck of your mouth against her swollen, brown folds. you moaned somewhere deep and hidden in your chest, your hands tightening around the thickness of her thighs even though she was not yet bucking.

it took a while for her to place herself, and then it crashed into her all at once. she gasped and tucked a hand into your hair, which you removed so that you could intertwine your fingers, pressing them away from her head.

you unlatched from her and pressed a soft kiss into her stomach.

“stay still,” you commanded. “please.”

she allowed it.

you worked at her over and over, pushing the back the hood of her clit so you could roll it between your fingers like a rosy pearl. sevika let her pleasure crest until she shuddered into an unearthly orgasm, her legs snapping shut around your head just as a roll of thunder sounded through the early morning.

"couldn’t sleep?" she rasped.

you slowly unfastened her legs and raised your head from where you had been lapping at her, your full mouth glistening with her arousal. sevika sat up fully, legs shifting beneath the butter-yellow comforter, and stared down at you.

you looked back at her with wide eyes like she’d caught you sinning. you. you with your puppy eyes and open mouth. you, with your sweetness, with your eagerness when it came to her. you like a doe on the open road.

"no," you told her. "i couldn’t accept the idea that you hated me."

she sighed and cupped your cheek, thumbing across the plush skin.

"when you do or say something that displeases me, that doesn’t mean i hate you."

"if you’re displeased," you said, your voice thick across the last word, "then it feels the same to me."

with a huff of irritation, she yanked you up and into her lap, guiding you into a bruising kiss.

it wasn’t like the last time. this wasn’t desperation or fear—it was need. pure, unrelenting need. her hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against her, and you gasped into her mouth, your fingers tangling in her hair.

she shifted you easily, rolling over so that you fell beneath her. her eyes roamed over you, dark and hungry, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

“you drive me insane,” she murmured, her voice rough as her hand trailed down your side.

“good,” you whispered, pulling her back to you.

soon, kissing wasn’t enough. you had hungered for her for so long, and she for you.

wetly, your lips broke apart, and she slid back to survey you. the soft, muted light of the room caught on the intricate lace of your undergarments. the set was exquisite; the bra cupped you perfectly. you saw sevika's jaw tighten, her hands flexing at her sides as though restraining herself from reaching for you.

“you look…” her voice faltered, her control waning. “fuck, princess.”

heat spread across your body, and you felt the lace press a little tighter against your skin as your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths.

sevika leaned in, her eyes never leaving yours. her hand rose, hesitant at first, before her fingertips brushed the embroidered lace at your shoulder. she traced the pattern down your arm, her touch light but burning, before resting her palm at your waist.

“you wore this for me?” she murmured, her voice low and dark, as her thumb swept over the sheer fabric, catching on a pebbled nipple.

“who else?” you answered, a tremor in your voice as her hand slipped to the small of your back, pulling you up into a soft arch.

she hummed in satisfaction and gently pulled your bra down so that it dipped beneath your tits as they spilled further into view. steadying you with a hand on your stomach, sevika leaned down and coaxed a hard bud into her mouth.

the wet heat of her mouth was akin to a strike of lightning. you moaned as she increased the pressure of her teeth, suckling eagerly at your chest as you pushed desperately into her touch. by instinct, your legs rose to cross behind her hips, forcing her to settle on top of you.

she let go of your nipple with a wet pop and switched to the other, beginning to work her way down your body with a pleased exhale. your panties didn’t even put up a worthy fight. they just slid right down, the fabric bunching around your thighs. the scrap of fabric had barely covered your cunt anyway, your thatch of hair poking through as if to tease her.

she watched your lips gleam and glisten, your pussy drooling with arousal and as deliciously plump as the rest of you. sevika pressed her mouth against it, practically a dog in heat, and relished the way you shivered up against her.

“vika,” you moaned and turned your face to the side in the way you did when you were overcome with embarrassment.

“baby,” she murmured, shifting so that she could force you to look at her. “baby, is this all for me?”

you whined, and sevika smirked, dipping her head down to lick a flat stripe up your dripping cunt.

“vika, fuck,” you cried, and she hummed, hooking a hand around one of your legs to pull it up so that you were further exposed. your clit was swollen and calling out for her.

pulling back, she used her free hand to part your lips so that she could watch the way you clenched around nothing. slick ran steadily down to the crack of your ass, a syrupy stream of desire. carefully, she stroked a metallic finger through your heat, holding you down as she began to rub your clit in tight circles.

“look at that pussy,” she murmured. “can’t believe it’s all mine, princess. thank you. thank you, baby.”

sevika couldn’t help herself and lifted her hand, bringing it down to slap against your cunt. you squealed, and she pressed a kiss to your thigh, delighting in your loss of composure. she considered you beneath her, your body slick and shining with sweat as you writhed. she rained two more strikes across your pussy in quick succession, dropping her head down and sliding her fingers in to let your buck into her open mouth and lolling tongue.

“taste so fucking good, princess,” she purred into you. “that’s it. ride my face, sweet girl. take what you want from me. take what you need.”

you gripped the bed, angling her hips so that you could drag her deeper into the cavern of your cunt. mewling, you trapped her between the link of your legs as you snapped upward and arched, cumming with a high sob.

“oh my god, vika.”

“just me,” she teased.

sevika waited for a couple of seconds before pushing up and rearranging you, sliding your back against her chest. carefully, she pushed your legs back apart and tucked three fingers up into your cunt, building a rhythm until she was thrusting hard enough that the overstimulation made you scream. you curled over yourself, your nails raking down her muscled thighs.

she milked you, patient and unrelenting, until you began to bounce on your own. you rode her hand. hard. slowly, your gummy walls tightened around her, whimpering through the flashes of pain and pleasure before you came again with a silent wail. sevika held you as you shook apart, whispering a stream of steady praises into your ear.

“good girl,” she cooed. “look at how good you are, princess. you needed this, huh? you’ve been begging for it, so desperate to cream all over me. such a good fucking girl.”

you slumped down, whimpering weakly as she pulled away from you. you felt her get up, slipping off the bed and walking somewhere into the darkness of the room. soon, she returned but not alone. you began to come back to yourself, and in doing so, you were able to focus on what she held in your hands.

“vika, that won’t fit.”

in her hand was a navy harness and matching dildo, girthy and ribbed. you tilted your head as she closed in, your hands finding her waist as if by instinct.

“sevika,” you whispered, your voice breaking as her lips trailed down your jaw, her teeth grazing your throat.

“quiet, baby,” she muttered against your skin, and you sighed softly, the sound catching in your throat as her hands slid lower, gripping your hips with a possessiveness that made you shiver. "you know you can take it."

you let out a pathetic, wet cry as she prodded at your puffy cunt, and her face softened. she pulled you closer, peppering your face with soft kisses. there was only her—her heat, her weight, her breath against your skin.

again she watched you, gripping you firmly from beneath your thighs as she nestled the tip of the dildo at the entrance of your pussy.

“princess,” she called to you, and you blinked blearily, clutching at her. “consider this forgiveness.”

it was all you ever wanted.

© hcneymooners.

translations.   bitte — please. bitte, ich flehe dich an — please i beg of you. danke — thank you. du bist das, was ich brauche. nur du. — you are what i need. only you.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

The Reader gets jealous/upset because Sukuna gets Concubines, with a happy ending though. pleaseeeee

Wish I didn’t care

Tags: true form!Sukuna x fem!Reader, king!Sukuna, royal au (?), angst, hurt/comfort, happy ending i promise

An: Ooo, this was such a good idea. Thank you for requesting it from me!! I hope it’s everything you wanted!!

Sukuna never felt the need to give you a title for being in his life. To him, titles were superficial… There wasn’t a title in the world that could explain or encompass the complexities of his relationship with you.

However, you, coming from the mortal realm, wanted a title. It’s not that you wanted the power that was associated with being the betrothed of the King of Curses. You just wanted to feel.. irreplaceable to him.

So, to make you happy, you were his wife.

Kings rarely ever are allowed the luxury of marrying for love. Most kings marry daughters of other powerful kings to create allies between nations. However, Sukuna didn’t need allies. He didn’t need to marry for power when he had more power than he knew what to even do with.

Everything was simply child’s play for him. He even stopped trying to conquer the mortal realm because it was just too damn easy for him. The “sorcerers” could barely even put up a fight. It was embarrassing.

Life was truly becoming boring for him.

That was, until a female curse was delivered straight to his chamber. He was confused and honestly pissed that Uraume would simply guide this harlot into his chambers without his permission. Only you were granted such luxuries.

He was leisurely splayed in his bed with no cloth to cover himself. He truly appreciated the concept of being completely in his own skin at all times, and he often encouraged you to do the same. Though, he also learned to appreciate your more modest approach. You didn’t have to show any skin to get Sukuna riled up.

“State your purpose.” His voice was low and menacing as he spoke to the woman. He slipped his robes on over his shoulders, tying it in the front so he was no longer exposing himself.

“My father sends his regards. Says that a newly wedded king deserves a ‘fresh’ concubine.” The girl spoke with no humility towards him.

Sukuna’s face twisted in disgust that her dad would even suggest such a thing. He was even more put off that she described herself as ‘fresh’ as if she were a type of vegetable in the garden.

“Your father can kindly go fuck himself. I’m not interested.” He responds coldly, and his large palm grabs onto her shoulder with the intention of throwing her out of his chambers. He knew that if you saw her here, you’d probably be devastated.

“My lord-“

“I am not your anything. You address me as Lord or King, but make no mistake. I am not your lord.” He rudely cuts her off, not letting her think she has any sort of claim to him.

“Okay, Lord Sukuna, when’s the last time she’s fulfilled her wifely duties? I can see she’s not in here tending to you now, right? She’d probably feel grateful that you’re being satisfied around the clock.” The concubine’s voice was like a purr, and she looked up at him with eyes that’d rival a siren’s.

And for a split second, Sukuna almost considers her offer.

“You’ll never believe it, Kuna!” Your happy voice fills the air, and the door swings open to reveal you holding a small flower in your hand. “I got a jasmine to bl-“ Your eyes fall upon to scene in front of you.

Sukuna’s towering over an unfamiliar woman. His hand is touching her neck and shoulder area, while she has her hand leisurely pressed against his bicep.

“Who’s.. this?” You quietly ask, and immediately, Sukuna can feel a strange feeling pour into him. It feels like… guilt? He regrets even momentarily entertaining the idea about this harlot occupying his bed.

“Nobody-“

“Oh my lady, it’s nice to meet you. I apologize. Lord Sukuna and I were just getting aquatinted with each other since we’ll be seeing each other a lot from now on.” The serpent of a female cuts him off, and he immediately realizes just what this is. Whichever king decided to send her is hoping to ruin his marriage. She’s quite literally a snake in his garden, trying to ward his wife away from him.

“I don’t… understand.” The way your voice sounds so small. The small pout upon your lips. The way the flower you were once carrying with such confidence is now sagging in your hand. Fuck. Sukuna felt like a complete imbecile.

“Oh, come on now. You know he has needs that are beyond your abilities. I’ll lay with him when you’re too-“

“Enough.” Sukuna’s voice snaps. His teeth grit together as he practically drags the woman out of his chambers. “Go fuck off for a while. I’ll deal with you later.” The door immediately slams in her face.

After a moment of trying to comprehend what just happened and how it all happened so quickly, Sukuna slowly turns to you. It feels like a gut punch once he sees the tears brimming in your eyes.

“That wasn’t…”

“You took up a concubine?” You ask in a sniffle. Your hands are barely even holding the jasmine that’s you were once so excited to show him. Flowers rarely ever bloom in Sukuna’s desolate kingdom, but with hard work and determination, you had gotten a jasmine to bloom in his kingdom.

“No, she was sent to me. I didn’t seek her out.” He tries to dispel the claims while he slowly approaches you. His chest aches as he watches you take a step back away from him. “Do not cower from me, woman.”

“Was I not good enough? Was I not doing enough for you..? I thought… I thought it was good, b-but I can try harder.” Your voice is so shaky, and you won’t even look him in the eye. What has he done?

“Silence. You will not speak of yourself like that to me.” Sukuna orders, and he takes another step forward. You take another step back with another sniffle. Your tears are streaming down your cheeks.

“Please…” The word sounds foreign on his tongue. He’s never ever pleaded for anything in his life. He could simply take what he wants, but he doesn’t want to hurt his delicate flower. He wants her to seek out comfort in him. “Please don’t cower. It was not like that. She showed up at my door, spoke of lies and filth, and I was trying to throw her out when you walked in.”

“So you didn’t even con..consider taking her on as a concubine?” You ask while you rub the tears away with the back of your hands. Hopefully, this was all just a poorly timed miscommunication.

Sukuna takes a moment before responding. He has two options. He could tell you a white lie that would instantly comfort you, but it would be a lie. Or he could tell you the truth and face the consequences of his actions.

“It was one moment of weakness.” He replies carefully.

He instantly wishes he just lied from the way your face immediately twisted in disappointment and pure hurt. The jasmine falls from your hands, and your footsteps trail away from his chambers, leaving him dumbfounded.

Sukuna is immediately on your trail, unable to let you be. He needs to fix this. His dear wife is upset, and it’s all his fault.

A pair of hands slither up his arm as he walks. He already knows who’s touching him based off the nasty feeling from their contact. “My lord, let her be. She needs to-“

“Dismantle.” The concubine’s body drops to the floor in two, split directly at her waist. He had warned her already about referring to him as her lord. She didn’t deserve to speak of you so carelessly, and she didn’t deserve to live after causing this rift in his marriage.

Sukuna continues on his hunt for you without another hitch, leaving the harlot’s body right where she once stood for one of the servants to clean up.

He searches for you in all your usual spots: the gardens, the kitchen, the library, the rooftop. You’re no where to be found. You don’t want to be found. He starts to wonder around his perimeter. The longer he goes without finding you; the more his heart starts to race.

Did you leave him? Did he lose you for good?

The thought of not having his delicate flower by his side makes his body feel ill. You must’ve placed some sort of binding curse on him, but he didn’t necessarily mind.

He’s close to waging war when he finally sees your small human body tucked underneath a weeping willow on a bed of grass. His body moves on it’s own: running to you. When’s the last time he’s ran like this?

Crouching over you, he can see no visible injuries on your body, but he knows he’s wounded your heart with his foolish actions. How could he ever have a wandering eye when you were the real prize?

His four arms carefully scoop you up and cradle your body as he takes a seat underneath the willow. Your poor cheeks are flushed and tear stained. Your eyes and lips are so puffy. You must’ve tired yourself out from crying.

“I’m sorry, flower.” He whispers softly, even if your eyes are still resting. He pulls your body closer to his chest, and he contemplates when he started becoming so soft for you.

A part of him hates it. That small unconscious voice of his telling him that he shouldn’t concern himself with the feelings of a mere mortal, but the bigger part of him knows that he can’t just ignore you. He cares far too much for you.

“Kuna..?” You murmur as your hands rub your eyes. You’re immediately met with remembering just why you had fallen asleep. “I do not wish to see you right now.”

Sukuna chuckles quietly from your defiant little comment. It reminds him of when you first arrived to his estate. “Then close your eyes.” He simply states as one of his hands start to comb through your hair. “Woman, tell me what to do to fix this.”

You shift your gaze away from him with a small huff. If he wasn’t so much bigger than you, you’d try to wiggle away from him. However, you know it is of no use. “I don’t know, Kuna.” Your words are sharp and still so full of emotion. “Imagine how you’d feel if I told you I contemplated sleeping with someone else… in a moment of weakness.”

The sheer thought of it has Sukuna’s anger burning up like an inferno. You’re his delicate flower. No one would even know how to take care of you like he can. His arms subtly tighten around your frame. “I’d kill every man you gaze at.”

“Well, men can rest easy because I only have eyes for you.” You mutter while rolling your eyes. “I love you so much that the thought of being with someone else repulses me, and it… just really hurts that you don’t feel the same.”

“Flower, I took you for granted. It was a brief moment of contemplation, but I instantly decided against it. I did not desire her in the slightest.” Sukuna tries to explain, and his hand gently brushes against your soft cheek.

“You still don’t deny that you don’t feel the same for me.” You respond quietly, still not giving him the satisfaction of you looking at him.

“You are everything to me. I will not lose sight of what’s important again.”

“Kuna.” You finally look up at him, and you frown slightly. Sukuna secretly adores the little nicknames you have adorned him with, but he’d never admit it.

“What is it, woman?” He asks, titling his head to the side a bit to get a better look at your face. You’re so pretty in his lap like this.

“Do you love me?” You quietly ask, even if you can already hear his voice telling you ‘do not ask questions you don’t want answers to’… because even if he’s the incarnate of evil, Sukuna will not lie. Liars are weak cowards who can’t get jobs done by being upfront. Sukuna isn’t afraid of what the truth is.

Your husband contemplates your question for a moment. He thinks about how disgusting that wannabe concubine was. He thinks about how you preoccupy his mind majority of the time. He thinks about the weird mix of feelings he has felt today in your absence.

“What I feel for you… is probably the closest to love that I’ll ever get.” Sukuna responds, carefully choosing his words. “You, my flower, are the only thing that keeps me grounded to the mortal plains.”

You give him the best smile you can muster despite the disappointment that you feel since he won’t tell you that he loves you. You suppose you have no one to blame other than yourself. Sukuna told you when he married you not to get your hopes up for love, but you still can’t help but crave that sort of affection from him.

“I don’t like seeing you upset, flower.” He speaks tenderly as his thumb brushes against your bottom lip. “If I could, I’d snap my fingers and assure you that I love you whole heartedly. It just not in my genetic code.”

“I know… I’m grateful for your effort at least.” You murmur as you wrap your arms around his neck.

His arms wrap around you, cradling you to his chest. He inhales deeply, savoring your sweet scent that he enjoys so much. “Am I forgiven, woman?”

“Mmm, no.” You smile cheekily in his embrace, and Sukuna chuckles heartily.

“Oh? Is someone going to use this blunder to her advantage?” When you nod in his shoulder, Sukuna lays back against the soft pillowy grass. “That’s my girl. Go on. Make me work for your forgiveness.”

On a completely unrelated note, Sukuna had that harlot’s body mailed back to her father as a ‘thank you’ for sending a whore to his kingdom.

[roses-and-revolutions]

Jazz, for some reason or the other, becomes a wielder of a red lantern ring. After going on her rampage and getting her revenge, she realizes that the feeling of rage won't go away. Instead of letting the anger destroy her, she decided to do something else with it.

That's how we end up with a stand-off between Hal Jordan and the most powerful Red Lantern he's ever seen. Because...

"What... what did you just say?"

The young woman smiled gently at him. He would've been fooled by it if not for the burning rage carefully hidden... No, she wasn't hiding anything behind those turquoise eyes. It was taking everything she had to hold it back.

"I said that I would like to join The Justice League." Her voice was soft and velvety. Comforting in a way that sends chills up his spine.

"But you're a Red Lantern."

There was a beat of silence, she cocked her head to the side while looking at the blood-red ring on her finger.

"I don't know what that means, but I'm guessing it's got something to do with this ring?"

Hal didn't respond but she took it as confirmation. There was silence between them once more before Jasmine sighed and continued.

"I feel angry, more than angry. This rage that I've been holding inside for so long has reached its limits and is finally bubbling over. Everything that I loved is gone so killed what took it away from me. But... but I'm still SO FUCKING ANGRY!"

She was screaming now. Tears of rage and sadness rolled down her cheeks as violent red energy radiated from her being. Hal flew back. He didn't want to fight her but was ready to do so if it came to it.

Just as easily as she lost it she pulled herself together, wiping her tears away, returning to her previously calm demeanor. It freaked Hal out.

"I... I know that blind rage without direction leads to meaningless destruction. I don't want to hurt anybody. No... I don't want to hurt the wrong people. I'm asking you to guide me, to guide my rage in the right direction... Please."

[helaintoloki]

The Unbearable Truth

pairing: Five Hargreeves x reader

warnings: angst with no happy ending, spoilers

notes: so i actually hated this storyline in the show but i also recognize angst potential when i see it so here’s this

summary: after getting lost in the subway system, Five comes to a grave realization

Five Hargreeves doesn’t love you anymore, and you’re completely oblivious to the fact.

You’re in the kitchen of Lila’s home baking holiday treats with your niece while awaiting the arrival of the rest of your family to begin the festivities. You smell of cinnamon and pinecones, and for the first time in years you actually feel content and happy with where your life is now. Sure, there’s technically a looming apocalypse hanging over you right now, but it’s nothing you haven’t handled before. You’re actually part of a family now with a man who adores you, and it’s all you’ve ever wanted.

“Alright, Grace, would you like to do the honors of putting the gumdrop buttons on the gingerbread men while I check on the sugar cookies?”

“Yes, aunt y/n!” The girl exclaims cheerfully before immediately diving into the candy bowl. You laugh at her eagerness and turn towards the oven only to be met with the sight of Five in the kitchen doorway. He looks disheveled and unnerved, but you’re too engrossed in your own joy filled bubble to pick up on it right away and instead mistake him for being tired and overwhelmed with the situation surrounding Ben and Jennifer.

“Hey, you made it!” You say with a smile as you press a chaste kiss to his cheek before turning your attention to the sugar cookies. Five can only stand there stiffly as he clings onto the ghost of your lips against his skin. He had hoped that by seeing you again, by being in your presence and showered in your love for him, the feelings he once held for you would return.

But as he stands there in the middle of the kitchen watching you run about, he realizes that he feels absolutely nothing.

Initially, he had wanted nothing more than to return home to you and his siblings. Five had fought tooth and nail trying to figure out a way to get out of that damned subway system so he could have you in his arms again and tell you how much he missed you even if for you he had only been gone a couple hours. But a man could only take eating so many subway rats and being shot at so many times. He had grown tired, weary, and depressed. For a moment it seemed they’d be stuck there forever, and so he decided that maybe it was time to make the most of it.

What he didn’t expect was to fall in love with his brother’s wife.

A woman he had once hated with his entire being now was his sole companion, and whether it was due to some sick twist of fate or a moment of weakness, he had begun to look at her the way he once looked at you. With complete adoration and care as well as a fierce need to protect her and keep her safe. He knew the chances of ever seeing you again were highly unlikely, and the next logical step would be to move on. So he did.

But now here he is, back in his original timeline left to deal with the aftermath of his decisions.

In what was seven years for Five and three hours for you, the boy has fallen out of love with you. Your smile still may be as beautiful as ever and your scent of red berry plum and jasmine may be intoxicating to any other man, but he feels absolutely nothing when he looks at you. The spark is gone, and unbeknownst to you your relationship is about to fall apart.

“Where did you run off to?” You ask him after setting the freshly baked sugar cookies onto the cooling rack nearby.

“I had an… errand to run,” he utters carefully, growing stiff when you wrap your arms around his torso and rest your head upon his shoulder. Calculatingly, Five hesitantly rests a hand on your back while the other comes to comb his fingers through your hair. It’s a familiar motion that he is easily able to replicate in order to portray himself as the same doting partner you know and love. Lila had sworn him to secrecy, but he wasn’t sure just how to break it off with you without telling the truth. So for now he would go through the motions and hope to god you didn’t pick up on the fact that something was completely wrong.

“I’m happy you’re here,” you profess earnestly, peering up at him with fluttering lashes and a devoted smile. “I love you, Five.”

His chest tightens in agony at your words, his hold on you tightening in an attempt to ground himself as he harshly swallows down his discomfort. He meets your adoring gaze and smiles, carefully tilting your chin upwards to meet his lips in a tender kiss. It’s believable enough to keep you feeling secure and oblivious to his detachment, and he hopes that maybe if he keeps this up he can forget all about Lila and go back to normal.

Even if it means he’s just playing a part.

Pulling away, he meets your loving stare and offers you a small smile. Hesitating, as if he has to force the words out of him, Five murmurs out a quiet, “I love you, too.”

And you believe him.

[rippersz]

𝙏𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙚𝙨

☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

(Lilia Calderu x Fem!Reader) (NSFW; Thigh-riding; Titles) (~4.7k words)

☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

“I think this is my favouritest place in the entire universe,” you admitted softly, your words slurred and muffled against the sweet-smelling skin of your lover’s neck. 

“I thought your favourite place was your bed,” she huffed, lips twisted into a smirk. 

“It is. But this is my most favouritest.” You moved your head, pushed your nose further beneath the curve of her jaw, and nuzzled closer into the corner of her shoulder and neck with a dizzy blissful smile. 

The urge to sigh took over quickly and as you breathed deep, utterly content with your soft witchy pillow, the mixed smells of wildflowers, bourbon, jasmine, and gardenia filled your lungs. It was the most comforting combination, full of happy memories, a reminder of home, a staple of your Lilia, and when you breathed out, you caught the notes of the lemon shampoo clinging to her damp curls. Which, as beautiful as they were, were still incredibly unruly and slow to dry after a relaxing shower. They tickled your nose and chin, drawing damp streaks of water, and you reached up to tuck them away behind Lilia’s neck. 

“Quit it,” she nudged you gently, shifting you on her hip. 

“I’m not doing anything, your hair is getting in my way.” 

“Oh now she blames the hair,” your lover drawled, “What next? Is my lap not comfortable enough for you?” 

“It is. And it would be even more comfortable if you weren’t reading that stupid book.” 

She knew you weren’t being serious–you loved when Lilia got a moment to calm down and read peacefully–but she’d had her nose buried between the pages of the damn thing since the moment you settled. It was about flowers and sigils and ancient forms of casting and other things you didn’t care to remember because you were snuggled up on the right side of Lilia Calderu’s body and you would not move even if the Divine Mother herself had begged you to do so. She was simply too comfortable, simply too soft, simply too perfect. Braless, relaxed, matching your rare choice of pyjamas for the evening: Underwear and a T-shirt, the latter having been stolen from Lilia’s closet even though you had your own. It was flimsy, old, thin, and also the best thing you had ever worn as you’d straddled her thigh, wrapped your arms around her waist, and happily realised that you could still feel each warm part of her body through the two layers of cloth. 

That alone was a feat you had to accomplish together once upon a time—getting out of your comfort zones. It took a while before you were secure enough to open yourselves up intimately, to even think of getting undressed in the same room, to even kiss without skirting around each other first. You had your fair share of insecurities, but Lilia was a different story. She’d lived a life unlike any other, being a fugitive witch, skilled in divination, who travelled the waves of time as a skipping rock rather than a sailboat. Her upbringing wasn’t very liberal, much less accepting of homosexuals, and though she managed to get through life regardless, her preoccupied on-the-run mind steered her away from debauchery. All in all, that meant sex and intimacy simply was not as important to Ms. Lilia Calderu as it was to most of the population. She still felt the urge of course, she was a woman with such needs, but there was no time to desire a physical outlet - no time and no energy and no candidates. There was one girl in her youth, part of her original coven, and maybe a few flings in her mid-200’s, even something a little more long lasting toward the end of her 300’s, but the itch was never so persistent. It didn’t wait in the back of her head or lurk around right before going to bed, and it never came up in her thoughts when out in public. She was an adult woman with too many things to think about, focus on, and consider. She didn’t have time for desire. She didn’t have time to want.

And then you walked into her little shop on a rainy humid Wednesday afternoon, fuzzy-haired and wild-eyed, and the sight of you sent her careening into the future. She returned quickly, with an awed look, serious eyes, and the soft murmur of “The Wheel of Fortune”, and only after some time passed did you both realise that yes, change for the better was indeed in the cards. 

And Lilia found herself wanting that day. 

Then most of the days after it. 

For about three years, that was her normal. The sudden uproar of desire, not incredibly strong (for her subconscious would not let it get that far) but definitely noticeable. She found herself thinking about you often, about your skin, your hair, your hands, your fingertips, your legs, your smile. She found herself wanting to touch. To reach. To caress and to kiss and to bite. Once the two of you recognised your attraction, you quickly agreed that anything sexual or intimate would be postponed. It simply had to come at a time in which you were both ready, open, and uninhibited. And if it took a while, then it took a while.  

It took only two years, after which you finally gave yourself to Lilia and she gave herself to you. It was all very romantic; a dark evening, slow and desperate, wet and hot, quiet and needy. Completely unforgettable. It opened a gateway of sorts, a chance for you both to expand and explore, and after a lifetime of not being able to embrace sexual liberation, Lilia was finally given the opportunity. You encouraged her as best you could without overstepping boundaries, always willing to try what she wanted to try (even though she often found herself on the receiving end of your innovative thoughts instead of the other way around but nevertheless), always eager to do the necessary research if that’s what your time together required, never a complaint on your tongue whenever she admitted she wasn’t in the mood. No corners were ever cut when it came to the desire you had for your lover. 

Except when it came to book corners. Those were cut instantly. 

“What would you rather have me do, hm? Movie marathon? Bake a cake? Swim my way to Egypt? This is how I relax, now deal with it or get off,” Lilia snarked, moving her hand from the cover of her book down to your thigh to give you a small pinch. She was too quick for you to jump away. 

“Owch! Mean!” You flinched from the sting, dislodging yourself from your comfy drape over her shoulder to fix her with a playful glare. 

Lilia didn’t hesitate to meet you head on, taking her eyes away from her book to look up at you through dark lashes, right over the rims of her glasses. Glasses that she only wore when alone, when with you, with a little chain that held them in the place, with a shape that complimented her face so perfectly. They made her seem so… sophisticated. So… strict. A red candy-apple coloured body, slight cat eye details around the rims, and curved well enough to always be perched at a very specific angle on her nose at all times. You hated them. You really hated them. You wanted them gone. You wanted them away. You wanted them to stop being so tempting. She was already attractive enough - she didn’t need the fucking things setting your pants on fire every two seconds. And whether she knew about their effect or not, you weren’t sure, but it didn’t matter either way - her attention was excruciating, and to it you would never be immune. 

“Get rid of this book right now,” you started strong, straightening up in her lap with a haughty cross of your arms. 

“I’m busy with it,” she tightened her hold on her prized possession as if you were about to lunge forward and take it from her. 

“Yeah? Well I’m busy with you, so lose the book Calderu.” 

Her perfect lips pursed, displaying playful disdain, and you couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow - just to be bratty. You watched as she considered her options, as she glanced down at her book, then back at you, then back at her book. And when she looked up for the last time, you changed your tactics and shuffled closer, moving up from her thighs to the curve of her torso - right by her lower belly. You pressed yourself there, dropped your eyebrow, and gave her the sweetest eyes you could conjure. 

“I just want to cuddle, Lili. Is that too much to ask for?” You sighed, moved your hands, and placed them on top of the book. 

Without fail, as you’d hoped, Lilia conceded. She almost always did whenever you addressed her like that, being so unaccustomed to pet names and terms of endearment as she was. To hear it from your lips was a tantalising thing, a sign of worthiness and ongoing love, and you saved it for your more intimate moments - just to coax her into doing something you knew she wanted to do but was simply too stubborn to go through with. Like putting her book down and giving you all of her attention. 

“I guess not,” she grumbled a few seconds later, melting into your efforts, and you grinned as she moved to set her book down on the bedside table. 

“See?” You hummed as you reached forward to gently pull the glasses from her face, being careful to first slide the chain from around her neck. “I knew you’d come around.” They were placed next to the book a moment later and you didn’t even wait a passing second before you were pouncing into Lilia’s arms. 

Like an overexcited puppy, your body went squirming and pushing into your lover’s, wiggling playfully as you worked your arms around her waist. She accepted you happily, letting out a sigh and a big eye roll before you tucked your face into her shoulder again and finally let the stress of the day properly wash off of your body. As Lilia’s muscles relaxed, allowing herself to give into the comforting weight of your clinging, she placed her lips to your shoulder and gave it a small kiss. 

“You’re going soft on me,” you murmured into her ear, delighting in the low hum that rumbled from her chest. 

“That’s the point,” she whispered, lighthearted and gentle.

Lilia couldn’t see the smile that spread across your face, but it was most certainly all soppy, soft, and loving. Utterly gormless, completely bewitched. She had you wrapped around every one of her fingers, oh her delightfully nimble fingers, and you never wanted to be unravelled. Not when paradise existed in her arms, flashing itself behind your closed eyes as Lilia began rubbing your back and tracing mindless shapes through the fabric of your shirt. Circles, squares, stars, triangles, trapezoids, words and phrases, squiggles and lines, suns and moons. Eventually, her pattern changed and she began following the same familiar loops and curves you’d seen her do a million times. 

From the top of your left shoulder blade diagonally to the plush fold of your right hip. 

L

I

L

I

A

A pause.

From the top of your right shoulder blade diagonally to the curve of your left hip.

C

A

L

D

E

R

U

Jesus fucking Christ. 

Lilia retraced her writing with the lightest press of her fingernails, going back over the loops of her ‘L’, the hills and dips of each letter, until she reached the tail of her ‘u’ and lingered there. One second. Two seconds. Until your skin began to tingle, and then she started to draw little circles, going from small to big in a slow spiral, and your skin began to buzz. Her caresses made it sensitive, bringing it to life, forcing the expectant attentiveness only an eager body could have as you sat in her lap and started to squirm. The circles quickly faded into nothing before the pattern reset. Back up to your shoulder blade, again across her name. 

“L-Lilia,” you breathed, feeling your body grow hot beneath her attention. 

“What?” Came her whispered response, soft like satin against your ear as she closed her eyes and placed her chin on your shoulder. 

She didn’t seem to realise what she was doing. All the warmth that she spread through you, continuously, while her traces turned to touches and she started pressing her palms to your back. She felt so good and gentle, so caring and calm, and when you took a deep stuttering breath to try and grasp your bearings, to delay the inevitable downfall of desire, you were once again overcome by her scent. It blanketed your lungs, purred within your soul, and the wildflowers, bourbon, jasmine, gardenia, lemon, love… the smell of love… made you whine. It was just so Lilia. So nostalgic, gentle, light and intoxicating. 

She sparked a warmth—a stringy, viscous, thick warmth that settled in you. Like a pool in your abdomen, it burned and lapped. It called to her from the inside, reaching for the sweet kiss of her mouth, the gentle curl of her fingers, the way her tongue felt when it dragged along the inside of your thigh. You’d felt it before, yearned for it before, gone hours with and without the careful delicate heat Lilia always managed to coax from you. And it didn’t take much. It never did. All you needed was a thigh between your legs. Pressed up against a thin piece of cloth, the only thing separating your cunt from her skin. Hands on your back. Warm and grounding, the only thing keeping you from losing your mind. A mouth by your neck. Soft breaths fanning onto your shoulder, the only thing that broke your flimsy resolve.

“You’re making me horny.” It was blunt, soft, and said with such  tightness, you knew that it was obvious you were embarrassed.

You clenched your eyes shut. 

How pathetic was it, after all, to be incapable of lasting a few minutes on your lover’s lap, receiving all of her attention, without succumbing to an eager lust? How pathetic was it to be unable to focus when she felt so good beneath you? Was that how your mind worked? So one-tracked? Was that how your body worked? So easy and loose for Lilia Calderu? Like a slut?

Yes. Yes, exactly. 

You would do anything she asked of you. You’d be anything she wanted you to be. If Lilia woke up one morning and boldly decided that she always wanted you on top, that she wanted to stay in her pillow princess luxury and succumb to your tongue and hands until she couldn’t take it anymore, you’d do it. If Lilia decided that she never wanted you to touch her ever again, in history, and that she was the only one to harness any control in the bedroom, then you’d relinquish your own. If Lilia wanted you on a leash, if Lilia wanted you chained to a bed, if Lilia wanted you in a crate, on the floor, against a wall, against a table, against a ceiling, wearing nothing, wearing everything, wearing too much or too little, you wouldn’t stop her. You wouldn’t refute. Not because you couldn’t, but because you didn’t want to. She was a witch, a powerful witch, and a woman, a powerful woman, and the very second you looked into those neverending puppy dog eyes and saw the sadness and the strength, you were whipped. You were totally, absolutely hers. Lilia’s slut. No — Lilia’s girl. 

But even Lilia’s girl made mistakes sometimes. Even Lilia’s girl was, in certain moments, too greedy. And the moment the words were out of your mouth, your depraved confession, her touch stopped. 

It was excruciating. 

Your chest hit hers with every deep inhale you drew, growing deeper the longer you sat there, and it began to shudder as your heart crawled into your ears. She was so still, so rigid, that your mind descended into worry. Did you ruin it? Did you say the wrong thing? Should you have left it? Ignored it? Maybe she just wanted to cuddle. Maybe you should’ve kept it to yourself, tried controlling it better, and returned to it in the bathroom after she fell asleep. Maybe you screwed up the evening because you couldn’t cuddle with Lilia for one second without wanting to fuck her brains out. Maybe..

“Do you want me to stop?” 

You blinked. You didn’t really have a response. Of course the answer was God, no, but if Lilia wanted to stop, then you wouldn’t push her. You didn’t want her to feel obligated. 

Lilia breathed slowly through her nose, off put by your silence, and pressed her still hands harder into your back. 

“I- if-... if you want to,” you whispered quickly, terribly unsure with your wavering confidence but so desperate for her touch that you felt your mind grow hazy. Goodness, she was so close and she felt so warm. Your heart returned to your chest, eager to beat in sync with your lover’s as you felt her body slowly relax underneath you. 

She let out a steady breath, so quiet you could barely hear, and then shattered the peace a second later.

One of the lingering palms on your back shot up to your hair, wrapped a thick handful of it into the curl of a fist, and wrenched your head back. You squealed, eyes tearing up with the sudden sharp pain in your scalp, and your body went falling into Lilia’s other hand. She held you up with only a flex and kept you there, suspended, unable to move.

“Be assertive,” Lilia commanded, not even giving you a moment to recover. “Do you want me to stop?” Her whisper was gone, replaced with a quiet serious depth, and you shivered as you looked into her eyes. 

They were dark. Hypnotising. Swirling with chocolate desire, with the honour of love, and at the sight of her focus, her undivided attention, the knowledge that she knew — she knew you were dying for her – the flame in you soared into a blaze. It was a wicked sludgy sort of thing, intense and impulsive, and its hunger, its ache made you throb. Lilia’s hand twitched in your hair, feeling so much better the longer the sting settled, and the words were tumbling off of your tongue before you could catch them. 

“No, no please. Please don’t stop Lili…,” your chest heaved with breath, affected by the feverish way she handled you, and you could feel the sickening helplessness of your expression. Brows furrowed, eyes wide and glossy, lips licked and cheeks dark. Pure want for your lover. Pure desperation. 

“Please.” 

Lilia considered you, running her deep gaze over your face. She took in the look of you, the need, and you watched her perfect lips purse, her beautiful eyes narrow, her dark brows furrow - before she hummed, relaxed the hand holding your hair hostage, and went to cradle the back of your head. You let her do it all without worry, knowing she wouldn’t hurt you, and sighed with bliss as she put pressure behind her fingers and brought you forward. Your eyes closed as your body was returned to its previous position, propped up against her, forehead pressed to the curve of her shoulder. Your legs clenched at her gentleness, at the contrast of her touch, and you shuddered as you felt her thigh, thick and soft and heavenly, stop you from getting any friction. 

“Lilia-” you didn’t even know what you were going to say, if you were going to beg or if you were going to question or what you were going to do - but it didn’t matter. 

She cut you off like a knife through flesh as her hands moved to trail down your sides, from the swell of your breasts to the soft plush of your waist to the dip and bend of your hips. Her touch was sure, strong, certain, and your hands flailed to grip at the back of her shirt when she suddenly settled her fingers into the hinge of your thighs and slowly, slowly, pushed you back. Slightly, a few inches, enough to have your legs falling open, leaving you there for a quarter of a second……. and then forward, slowly, to erase the space she made, to close the distance, to drag your core along her thigh. Once. Twice. Until you got the memo and started moving with her, whimpering as the ache in your abdomen started to ebb and flow. 

Your forehead pressed further into her shoulder, lightly muffling the whimpers that dripped from your lips, and you moaned when she shifted herself forward to move her mouth up to your ear. It was velvet against your heated skin, teasing and sensitive, and Lilia took a soft breath in before she kissed the shell and whispered, quietly, like there were others in the room and she didn’t want any other soul on Earth to hear… 

“You look like a whore.”

Then she sped up the pace, grasping your hips with more strength, nearing the point of bruising, and began pushing and pulling with smooth, quick tugs. You couldn’t do anything but hold on and move with her, shifting your hips back and forth on her thigh, and shiver every time your clit caught the fabric of your underwear. Your body had no trouble reacting; throbbing for her, dripping for her, ruining your panties while you clutched at her back and eventually abandoned her shirt to run your hands up over her bare skin. She was smooth, perfect, she felt like a woman beneath your touch, a lover, and you squished your cheek into her shoulder as you moaned. Loud, desperate, and unashamed. 

“Lilia… oh god.” And she let out little pants for her efforts, lips parted and eyes hooded while she watched the way your hips moved for her, gliding with grace, slow like a dance, and the breaths quickly tumbled into soft groans as you shuffled closer and pressed your right knee up against her core. 

“You feel so good,” you turned your head to whisper hurriedly, raggedly, into her ear. “S-so good…” And Lilia shuddered, biting her lip to hold back a moan as you began lifting your hips every time you were dragged forward. 

Your sounds mixed so well, soft and loud and husky and whiny, twirling together in a lustful little symphony as your movements got faster and sloppier. And when your eyes fluttered closed and open in lazy blinks, you saw the tantalising skin of Lilia’s neck, shifting as she breathed, and you couldn’t resist. A strangled moan rumbled up from her throat at the feel of your tongue, wet and hot while you leaned in, closer, more, until your nose was also pressed to her neck and you could breathe her in. She tasted, smelled, felt like Lilia. Your Lilia. Sweet Lilia. Her head dipped as she pressed her nose to your neck, making you pant with desire at the closeness of her lips. You just needed them on you, painting you, opening up so she could be free to sink her teeth in and drink your life from your body if that’s what she wanted. 

“I love you,” she husked, her breath making her deep voice shaky, and you responded with a harder thrust of your hips against her thigh and an open-mouthed kiss against her throat. 

You were too far gone for words at that point, with her practically wrapped around you. Your mouth was open, your tongue was licking lazily, lolling like a dog’s, and your mind was fuzzy, dripping toward your cunt, only working to move you back and forth on your lover’s leg like a depraved little animal. A sickened beast. You couldn’t help it. Her thigh was the perfect surface, strong when she flexed, soft when she relaxed, thick and delicious, and shivers wracked your body as you followed the gestures of her hands. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. A heavenly friction against your clit, leaving the desperate weep of your hole to ache. It felt neglected, throbbing for Lilia’s fingers, but riding her thigh felt so good and you didn’t want to get up, you didn’t want to stop, even when your panties began sticking to your skin. You didn’t want to stop, even when your head got so fuzzy, your belly got so warm, your body got so hot that your grinding started to slow. It was hard to keep the pace as you felt your muscles burn, but Lilia wasn’t having it. 

“A little longer,” she huffed, finally kissing your skin, melting you from the inside out with her soft lips. “Just a little.” 

You nodded, choking on a whine as you started up again and forced all your strength into your grinding. 

“Good girl,” Lilia hummed, pushing the hem of your shirt away from your neck with her chin so she could have more room to kiss. “Good girl…” 

“L- Lili-a- I’m… hngg… I wanna- mmmnnn….” Cum. You wanted to cum. You wanted to cum on Lilia’s thigh, you wanted her to help, to encourage, and you nearly fell apart instantly when her teeth started pressing lightly, gently, into your shoulder and her tongue began to swirl around your skin.

“Come on,” she moved her mouth to your ear. “Come on, baby,” her tone was soft, coaxing, and you could sense the tease in her words. 

But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough. You were left on the burning edge, singing your fingers, whining to near tears in Lilia’s arms as you heaved, shuddered, whispered pleads and begs beneath your breath. The pool of desire only grew, glistening below you as you hung above, so close to falling, dangling by a thread, rutting your hips over and over like it would help. The friction was barely enough, pressing so deliciously against your swollen clit, but you were so wet that only the smallest thrusts, the littlest shifts, were all you could handle before the sensation slipped away. It was so frustrating, pulling a groan then a distressed whimper from your lips as your legs began to shake and your hands scratched at Lilia’s back. Not too hard, you didn’t want to hurt her, but the little red lines and the sting were enough to signal that you were having trouble. 

“Relax,” Lilia whispered, making you choke on a breathy whine. “Relax for me.” She spoke slowly, softly, and you breathed in deeply through your nose to calm your pounding heart. “Listen.”

You nodded and nuzzled into her shoulder, slowing the pace of your hips but pressing harder into her leg. It felt so good, so good, but not enough- not enough.

“You’re beautiful,” Lilia panted, making your thighs twitch, “My beautiful girl.” 

“Hmmpngg- Lilia- Lilia-,” you whimpered, letting out a little moan each time you moved. 

“I know. I know you need it,” she nodded, then pressed another kiss to your neck. “Can you let go for me?” Her voice was like warm honey drizzled over your bones and your skin. “Can you let go for Momma?” 

A thick, blinding bolt of heat flashed through your body, making you sweat and shiver against Lilia’s body. No no no- Momma’s body. You felt the desire bubbling, brimming, so close to falling into bliss that you could only close your eyes and go quiet.

“I know you can do it,” she spoke slowly, taking the reins back and using more force to speed up your thrusts. “Let go for me, sweetheart.” Her lips brushed your ear. “Be good and give in.” 

“M- Mo-” you were red-faced, vision blurred with tears, your lower lip quivering, and Lilia came to your rescue.

“Momma gives you permission.”

And just like that, saved by the same woman that tortured you, the thread was cut, the ledge crumbled, and you fell.

☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

BOO. - Rip x

☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

[saltymarshmall0w]

Dp x Dc Demon twins AU

He couldn’t help the dreadful apprehension building in his gut as he approached the disaster titled “Fenton Works”. The magazine that started this all was in his lap, twisted and worn.

“Genius Child of Genius Woman Discovers Gorilla Male Actually A Female!” the cover read. 

The shock of seeing his twin brother’s face on the cover of a magazine with two adopted parents had taken Damian straight to his father, interrupting his work to shove the magazine in front of him. 

It took only four days after the debut of the magazine featuring the discovery for the Waynes to converge on Amity Park. 

It had to be a grab for their attention, of course. A magazine featuring the dead demon twin they missed the opportunity to ever meet.

Damian didn’t know what to expect from his long-dead twin. He mostly expected it to be a trick concocted by the league, having already met brainwashed clones of himself and his brother.

He hadn’t seen Danyal since he was eight years old and still naive to the league.

Damian was always the more skilled swordsman, the faster and stronger twin. The perfect soldier and heir. 

But Danyal was the “spare”, always a few seconds slower, strength giving out just a few seconds before Damian’s did. He questioned too many things and that eventually led to his death during a mission for the league. 

Of course, none of that mattered to Damian. As much as he liked being the older, better brother he much preferred having his twin by his side. Nights trading legends of the stars, whispered assurances and shared secrets. 

Just before he could ring the doorbell, the door swung open and his look-alike tumbled out of the house. 

“Yeah, I’ll be back by nine, mom!” Danyal yelled into the house, seemingly unaware of his guests as he tripped over his untied shoelace. He nearly bowled right into Damian, stopping just in time before hitting him. 

“Whoa! Sorry!” Danyal straightened, pushing his messy hair out of his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something else but snapped it closed at the appearance of his twin. 

Confusion, suspicion, and a whole myriad of expressions crossed his face, broadcasting his thoughts, before finally settling on— wonder.

“Dude, this is going to sound crazy, but you look, like, exactly like me.” 

That was how Damian found out his brother was an amnesiac.

And an idiot. 

They discovered Danyal’s identity as the town hero embarrassingly quickly, though his supposed parents didn’t notice when Phantom called them “Mo-Maddie!” 

As a civilian he was cowed by an unintelligent Jock, unknowingly stalked by a crazed conspiracy theorist, and dated one of the many “ghost hunters” that targeted Phantom. 

When Damian pointed all this out, Danny proudly let them know it was a “cover” to ensure no one would figure out his secret identity— the confident Phantom that got by on the bare bones of league instincts that remained and sheer dumb luck wasn’t the same as scaredy-cat Fenton.

His room was about as messy as Drake's, filled with the personality of a teenager untouched by the league. His friends and sister were filled with delusions of their best friend being a superhero with powers, rather than half-dead.

In a way, Damian was jealous Danyal could have such a normal life. He wasn’t weighed down by the death and pain he caused in the past. 

In other ways, Damian was grateful he wasn’t naive enough to think his own parents hunting him was “fine” or their attempts to comit war crimes on an interdimensional species “wasn’t a big deal”.

Perhaps his relapse in judgment could be forgiven. It had been six years since Damian saw his brother, in the chaos of bringing Danyal back to the manor and sending Jasmine off to an elite boarding school at her request, it wasn’t amiss that Damian had forgotten a few key details about his brother. 

Damian was always the more skilled swordsman, the faster and stronger twin. The perfect soldier and heir. 

But Danyal? 

He was an actor. He could lie, and charm and deceive better than any person Damian knew. Danyal played Mother, Grandfather and at times the entire league just to get his way. 

But he never lied to Damian before. 

At least, that was what Damian assumed, until an overcast Gotham day, where Danyal cornered Damian alone in the manor, eyes glowing an icey blue neither Phantom nor Fenton’s eyes ought to do. He wore a modern League of Assassins uniform, a familiar wakizashi blade formed from ice in his hand. 

“Grandfather wants you to quit this rebellion and come home.”

—

Other details to this idea I want but couldn’t work in

-Danny has a secret secret identity that’s a rogue that gets shit done

-Danny is lowkey annoyed Sam and Tucker were there for the whole portal incident, otherwise, he could have kept Phantom a secret. 

-Danny lived with the Fentons to steal their research and report back to Ra’s. 

-Also as a punishment for, like, questioning the league or something. 

-Danny resents Damian for being called the “spare” while Damian was the heir

-Ghost king stuff might be happening, but Danny has kept it on the DL so he could easily usurp Ra’s when he’s old enough

[deunmiu-dessie]

price, after seeing you with kids, vows to himself that he'll get you pregnant.

  "i'm so happy you guys could make it!"

    john watches fondly as you smile. it's wide and genuine, the action making your nose scrunch up; your head tilting to the side to mimic the woman's excitement─ and john can hardly take his gaze off of you. your eyes glimmer at the sight of your heavily pregnant best friend and the woman watches with a soft smile as the two of you make your way up their driveway. 

 your body is tucked away underneath john's arm, the usual warmth of your perfume; a sweet and spicy blend of saffron and sugared vanilla, has him unable to keep his hands off of you and he makes it obvious with the way his thumb rubs back and forth over your bare shoulder. and you're just as guilty as he is, with the way your hand is nestled snuggly in the back pocket of his jeans, the other stationed right atop his hand that rests affectionately on your shoulder. 

when the two of you can make it to gatherings in your neighborhood, there's bound to be talk and swooning about you and john the next day. most women were envious that even after being together for years, it seemed like the two of you were still in your honeymoon phase.

 "jas! babe, what are you doing up?" your voice is a teasing lilt as you shimmy your way out from under john's arm, looking back at him briefly to flash him a pleased smile. however, it's different from the one you sent jasmine earlier, it's softer, intimate, and familiar and it warms his belly better than bourbon ever could; his eyes soften and he smiles back, the crow's feet around his eyes deepening. 

despite john only having a few days off until his next mission, which he had wanted to spend with you, cuddled up next to the fireplace and watching movies, or perhaps cooking and baking with each other, all lovey-dovey and tête-à-tête─ you had instead asked if he could spare a day and go to a cookout hosted by a mutual friend. 

of course, he couldn't say no to you. not when you looked so reluctant to ask in the first place, with your eyebrows furrowed and a small frown marring your lips─ the same lips he had languidly kissed until it flipped right side up, with gentle murmurs of reassurance. besides, john didn't mind jasmine's husband. tom was a retired colonel of the army and they had hit it off quite quickly, especially given john's position. 

  reluctantly, john's eyes drift away from where you stand hugging jasmine, immediately spotting tom who is situated with a few other men at the grill. sucking in a breath, john made his way over to them, a smile splitting his cheeks when tom notices him, his tongs clanging against the metal. "well i'll be damned, if it isn't john, fucking, price." 

 the two men join hands briefly, "tommy, i've been gone a few months and she's already pregnant again." john chuckles softly at tom's sheepish look, the man's cheeks pinkening. "m'surprised y'r balls haven' shriveled up yet." john finishes, dropping into a squat to pluck a lone water nestled amongst the beers. “well, what can i say? she’s all over me!” tom, through his boisterous laughter at his own joke, notices the bottle and sends john a smirk, "you gone in a few days?"

 john grunts, hoping to save himself from the conversation, talk of work right now would only annoy him. tom clasps him on the shoulder firmly and sends him a mocking grin, perhaps this is why john liked tom, banter flowed naturally between the two of them. john was reminded of gaz time and time again when holding a conversation with the retired colonel. "it's as i said before. maybe it's time for you to settle down, you're not getting any younger."

  john grunts at that one too, eyes scanning the bustling cook-out to look for your comforting presence. he immediately finds you amongst your group of friends, a newborn babe nestled in the crook of your arms delicately and other children playing a simple version of tag around your legs. you're gazing down at the baby with envious adoration, eyes sparkling with awe and something akin to being maternal and it knocks the breath from his throat, his heart swelling within his chest at the sight of you. 

   and for a moment, he pictures that you're holding his child in your arms and that those are his kids circling your legs. and it's when your eyes somehow find his, your smile shy and your eyes almost pleading, that he swears to himself that he'll get you pregnant. and an ache to see your belly swollen with his child starts in his chest before traveling straight to his cock. tom chuckles, it's a knowing and judgment-free look. "i guess your mind is made up, huh captain?"

connected with this post!

[octoberautumnbox]

The Sultry and Pervy Soda in Apartment 307

tripleS Seo Dahyun & Male Reader (ft. Kep1er Seo Youngeun)

Categories/warnings: smut, voyeur, masturbation, buncha others maybe idk I forgor

Word count: 6.1k

a/n: thanks to @thewritingrowlet for beta, to @sinswithpleasure for making me get off my ass to write this, and to @midnightdancingsol for the more-than-welcome poking me with a stick y'all r awesome :DDDD

Street lamps flickered to life as the sun shone a golden hue across the sky. The festivities were just about ending and people were exchanging goodbyes and good nights, clearing out slowly – one by one, then pairs, then swathes of people vacating the increasingly empty street. It was a grand stroke of luck for you to move into the neighborhood right before the street fair, and the moving guys didn't mind too much about the tricky navigation and maneuvering once their plates piled high with biryani chicken and jasmine rice. 

After helping stack up the chairs and fold up the tarps, and of course waving at the other volunteers, you spot a girl struggling with a particularly tall tower of dirty paper plates. You rush over to her to lend a hand, but unfortunately for the both of you, the tower topples over and a splattering of soy sauce covers her shirt. 

“Ah, Dahyun-unnie’s gonna kill me…” she whines, and you rush for as many clean tissues still on the tables that haven’t been cleared up. 

“You okay? Anything hurt?” you hand the tissues to her and start picking up the plates, in two piles this time. A cursory glance to her and you find a volunteer’s nametag on her upper left.

“Fine, thanks,” she says as she wipes as much of the liquid off of her clothes as she can, “but if you don’t mind, I need to get changed or else I’ll never get this stain out.”

“No worries, Youngeun. Just get your stuff sorted and I’ll finish up here.”

She smiles and bows just as you get up from the ground, and she rushes off without much more fuss. You drop off the trash in the proper bin, dust off your hands, and after the organizer’s reassurance that they can handle everything else, you head on off to your own apartment. 

~~~

Your door clicks shut behind you, and you not-so-gracefully crash into your bed. After the week you've had and the stress from the move, it just feels right to bury your face in your hands and groan in exhaustion. Once you let out a particularly satisfying sigh of fatigue, you let your arms fall to your sides, spread-eagle on the mattress, and drum your fingers into the soft cushioning.

You stare at the ceiling, making vain attempts to distract yourself by thinking random thoughts: “Should I get ice cream tonight?” “How long has the window been open?” “Is the ceiling cream or beige?” “Why does jacking off feel good?” “What's Wooyeon been up to lately?”

The last one does give you an idea, and you reach for your phone to check. Their comeback is just recently out, and you have to say, in one particular fancam she looks a bit too good to not stare. The way her outfit hugs her body, accentuates her curves, shows off just the right amount of skin…

The video plays on, and you casually strip yourself of your pants and underwear. Sitting up properly, you intently watch Wooyeon's performance, paying close attention to her creamy-looking thighs, her cute, glazeable tummy, and her pretty, ruinable smile. In no time at all, you're rubbing your cock to her performance, as if she's dancing just for you. Every wink she does sends another spark of lust through your system, each jiggle of her thighs another wish that you were in between them and eating her out. You keep a steady pace as you jack off to the woman on screen, lazily moving yet dead set on blowing your load to her.

The song draws to a close, the confetti flies, and Wooyeon strikes her ending pose. You admire her body one last time, paying special attention to her cute chest. She bends forward ever so slightly, the perfect tease, before she flashes a show-stopping smile as the camera zooms in on her face. 

You reach your limit, and in no time at all you're shooting your cum into your hand. You had the sense to prepare a roll of tissue paper in your room just for moments like this, and it's not like you'd be admonished even if you weren't living alone. Catching your breath, you reach for the tissues on the desk and clean yourself up. 

A breeze wanders into the room, and you look up to find its source: the open window. Mentally curse yourself, not to let this sort of thing happen again and embarrass yourself. As you make to close it, you find, just across from your own window, another open one that frames someone else. The girl standing in her own room in the building next door has her eyes fixed determinedly on you, her head tilted, her lower lip caught between her teeth just a little bit, and a mysterious smile on the corners of her mouth. 

Immediately you feel heat rise up to your cheeks, and you're sure you've just turned a bright red. The girl's eyes wander up to meet yours, and the smile on her face vanishes. Her expression quickly turns into shock, then she shuts her eyes hard before pulling her curtains closed. Remembering you're in the same situation, you pull yours closed as well. 

If anyone was going to admonish you for anything, it would be yourself, for letting this happen to yourself – What a fucking idiot.

~~~

You rise groggily, rolling off of your mattress like a dolt, but you’re at least able to catch yourself before you hit the cold ground. The heat got to you, and the floor seems a much better alternative than your bed at this point. 

Righting your posture and laying your head on the tiles though, you decide this is no way to spend the night no matter how cold they are. Stumble around in the dark for a bit, deciding that it isn't worth the effort to turn on the light, and just resolve to navigate around your new bedroom in an unfamiliar apartment before dawn. Good start to a new life, you joke to yourself.

“Ah, fucking shit,” you grunt in defeat, before getting up and making for your window again. You slowly pull apart the curtains, the rings clacking against the bar much too noisily for whatever time it is now, and open the window to finally let in a cool night breeze. 

The air fills your lungs and nips against the skin of your back, forcing momentary goosebumps before it all settles down and your body relaxes. You head back to bed, considering maybe the blanket you brought down on the floor with you can stay there, when your attention is snatched by a strange noise.

Your eyes drift around the room lazily, but you can't find anything out of the ordinary. Just then, you hear a faint yet distinct set of words in a singsong voice from somewhere just out of sight: “Mmm, fuck yes, daddy…”

It jolts you awake, and the thought hits you. It's dangerous and embarrassing and not at all okay, but you have to know. Just a peek.

You freeze at the window, with nowhere else to look but right at her. “Yeah, it's good, shit…” she moans, seated precariously on her gaming chair, her legs apart and on the armrests on either side of her. She covers her eyes with her hand as her tongue goes crazy, dragging around her lips whenever she's not breathing heavily or saying whatever.

Her other hand works diligently at pumping a dildo into her glistening pussy, intermittently chanting “Just like that…” it seems whenever she hits a particularly good spot and her back arches forward off of the chair. 

Her breath hitches and her back arches just a tiny smidge as she comes to her high. “Mmm… mmmmfuucckkkk– fuck, fuck, yes, hngg~!” Just then her body seizes, her hips jerk slightly, and she pushes her dildo as far in as she can take. She pulls it out recklessly and it's followed by a quick stream of her squirt, then a cream flowing from the freshly fucked hole collecting on the seat of her chair. 

She lays for a moment just like that, out of breath and seemingly satisfied. She licks her lips a couple more times, savoring the feeling of having just came, vying to get her breath under her control once more. Once she's satisfied, she works up the strength in her yet-weak legs to start cleaning herself up: first the tissues for her cunt, then her seat, then she wobbles over to what you assume is a bathroom to wash up.

“... Fuck. Fuck.” You realize you just watched your neighbor pleasure herself, and she has no idea. However, your guilt never surfaces, never forms, having quite enjoyed the show. You can't think of anything else; her cunt is beautiful, slick, creamy, probably sweet to the taste, and if she sounds like that with a dildo, your mind couldn't race fast enough to think of how she'd sound with your cock.

A sharp gasp rips your attention back to the window opposite, and in it you find her wide-eyed and staring right back. Her mouth hangs open and her cheeks shine a bright red, and you feel the responsibility of breaking the stalemate falls on you and you alone. But what the fuck do you say in a situation like this?

You rush for something – anything – to try and salvage the situation, just one thing to say and hopefully be able to face her tomorrow morning like nothing happened. However, your words fail you, and blank after countless blanks are drawn from your head. Panic rises in your chest, your cheeks just as red as hers, and your eye contact with her becomes almost unbearably painful. 

So you break it, albeit accidentally. Your gaze floats down to her flat tummy, admiring how her waist curves like the perfect handles to grab onto while you pull her onto your cock. Even lower still, and you find her exposed pussy, clean shaven and silky smooth to the eye, and for just a moment lewd thoughts intrude your mind once again: the images of her taking her dildo flash before your eyes, leading you to think that however good she felt would be nothing she’s ever had before if you had a shot with her. Inadvertently you lick your lips at the sight of her sex, and you swallow your spit to try and get yourself under control. 

You finally snap out of it, and you notice her staring back at you with a common intention. She’s biting her lip again, her head tilted ever so slightly to the right, and she grips her lap to give you a better view of her pussy lips. Or, it could just be your imagination that she’s showing herself off to you. You’re pitching a tent in your boxers, “Shit, I’m only in my boxers,” and she watches you like her beautiful round eyes are all yours. You stay there for a moment, basking in the lustfulness of the woman before you, and you can only be sure she’s doing the same. 

Her eyes widen again, a different emotion this time, and she takes a panicked look behind her. A bright light enters her bedroom from somewhere you can't see from her window frame, and she hurriedly pulls the curtains shut. Your show is over now, and you’re left with nothing else to do but shut your own window and relieve yourself with the memory of the pretty girl in the next building, half-naked and checking you out. 

~~~

“This is stupid,” you scold yourself, “what would I even say to her?” The question lingers in front of you as your feet bring you to the building next door. “Hi, I'm sorry I watched you cum last night.” A poorly constructed string of words for sure, but it is what it is. You toss the thought around some more, but before you know it, you're face to face with the door to the apartment of the girl who you, for lack of a better term, watched cum last night. 

Two quick raps on the wood, right next to the plate inscribed with “Seo Residence,” and you close your eyes. “I'm sorry I watched you cum last night, I'm sorry I watched you cum last night,” you repeat silently. Even with your hopeful attempts to make it sound less absurd, you know it's so irredeemably bad that not even the most heart-wrenching apology would make up for it.

“Can I help you?” The sudden voice shocks your eyes open. The moment you're dreading is delayed for a few more minutes, as the girl that greets you at the door is not the girl from last night. 

“Hi, Youngeun, I'm from, um, the next building,” you stutter out, “I need to talk to, uhh…” and it occurs to you that you don't even know her name. You stare at each other for a good few seconds, when it finally ends with her connecting the dots. 

“Ah, you're here for Unnie,” she concludes. “Dahyun-unnie, the guy from the street fair is here to talk to you.”

“Who?” 

~~~

“There’s no point in pretending. I know you saw me, and I’m okay with it– I liked it, even. Now, you either come clean and tell me what you saw, or I go around and tell people how you perved on the poor girl who accidentally left her window open on a hot night.”

You gripped at her bedsheets, your fingers just as tense as the breath caught in your throat. It was a good threat, you had to admit, and if only you weren’t on the receiving end, you’d even applaud her. Instead, she stood over you with debilitating authority and a venomous tone. Her smirk did you no favors, highlighting her alluring features, including her gaze as sharp as the edges of a ripped up tin can. She had you.

“Alright,” you surrender, holding up your palms in defeat, “I admit. All I saw was you on the chair, legs apart, dildo in your pussy. That’s all.” It only comes as an afterthought that you did technically watch her cum, but rocking the boat and adding new information unprompted seems like a dangerous move. Instead, you sit still, breath held, and wait for what she might say next.

“... Okay, I believe you. Your secret is safe today.” Hearing that, you release your breath and replace it with new air. Dahyun backs off and relaxes her arms to her sides, and fails to stifle a giggle at watching you fail to decompress. She saunters back over to her chair, the same one you watched her get off in, and crosses her legs. 

Her thighs peek out from under her skirt, forcefully drawing your attention, and the pit in your stomach opens again: keep this up and she’ll have another card to play against you. 

You make a feeble attempt to look her in the eye, and it works for a moment. Once you meet her gaze, you find the same mischievous smirk on her lips, still taunting or teasing you or just showcasing her amusement of the situation. The corners of her mouth curl upwards dangerously, and her eyes thin to scrutinize you as you shrink in the face of her earlier threat. 

“Easy now, I said you’re safe today,” Dahyun giggles. She rests her chin on her hand, still decoding your thoughts with much more ease than you’re comfortable with; all she’s doing is looking at you and somehow you’re unraveling in front of her, getting pushed to stranger and stranger thoughts. You try in vain to find something to protect yourself against her latent mind-reading powers, but once again, nothing comes up. Your stuttering fills the silence of the room for no good reason; your handle on the situation shrinking weaker and weaker. 

The only thing that takes up space in your mind is the memory of her smirking at you after her fat pussy lips were pushed apart, taking her sex toy like it was nobody's business, pleasuring herself while being vaguely aware that you were watching. It was a dangerous skill she was using against you, and for all the wrong reasons, it turns you on even more. 

She suddenly rises from her chair, a hand on her hip once more, and you’re forced to give her all your attention again. She flashes an evil smile at you, one that you could never in your current clouded state ever read, and she places a light yet daunting hand on your shoulder. She inches her face closer and closer to yours, and in no time at all, you're out of space for backing away.

“I already told you I wouldn’t snitch. Why are you so nervous? What do I need to say to calm you down?” She finally takes a seat on the bed right next to you, and she less-than-gently shoves you so that you face away from her. Her fingers dance around your shoulders, finding tense spots you didn't even know were tense. 

“Listen,” she whispers nearly right into your ear, “I won't tell anyone, but you have to do better than that. What exactly did you see? And what did it, erm, make you… feel?” Dahyun plants a kiss right on your nape, and then starts massaging your shoulders and back delicately. She lets out another giggle, but different this time: it's less one of manipulation and more of pure amusement. 

The way she squeezes and rubs your muscles weakens your defenses even more. She expertly maneuvers her fingers, picking the flimsy locks of your psyche, toying with you like you're nothing. You're completely in the palm of her hand, and there's no way out but farther into her grasp. 

“I… You're hot, Dahyun, and I wish I could've seen more,” you finally admit, just as your eyes grow weary. The calm colors of her wallpaper and the faint fragrances of her bedroom lull you into a dangerous sense of serenity. “I just thought… how good it would be,” her massage intensifies ever so slightly, coaxing out more of your confession, “to have you bouncing on my cock.”

Seemingly satisfied, the girl kisses you again on the nape, her lips lingering on the skin of your neck, and it sends shivers outwards, down your spine and across your body. Her arms come under yours and wrap around your chest, and her hands fall gently, non-threateningly, to your belt. She finds her way under your shirt, and she feels up your stomach in soft touches, as if luring you into a trap.

“I was thinking the same thing, Oppa,” she sighs, and before you notice, your belt clacks onto the floor and you hear your jeans zip open. “I thought about how a guy like you should never need to jerk himself off, especially when a volunteer is just next door.” Just like that, she's already stripped you of your pants, and you couldn't be more vulnerable. Dahyun makes her way to your ever-hardening cock, and she takes it in her hand. “Perfect… we're gonna have fun, aren't we, Oppa?”

She kneels on the floor in front of you, and she makes a show of licking and kissing all over your cock. Her plump lips meet your shaft again and again with each kiss, and every so often she takes short drags of her tongue on you to get some much-welcome spit on your cock.

“Fuck, Dahyun,” is all you could put together. Dahyun looks nothing like the type of girl that'd do this to some guy she didn't know, and yet here she is, sucking you off like it’s her sole purpose on this Earth. She shoots you a lustful look, and amongst the closing her eyes to savor your dick on her lips and tongue, she shoots you a sexy wink that nearly makes you fall in love. 

In an effort to not blow your load too early, you grab her by the hair, strands tangling around your fingers and trapping you just as well as you’re trapping her. You pull her off your cock with a yank, and the sudden jerk of her head makes her choke on her own spit. She tries admonishing you, but between teary eyes and a momentarily scratchy throat, she can’t say much. 

Use this to your advantage, jump at the opportunity to gain the upper hand. Stand as quick as you can, throw her onto the bed. Amidst everything, she’s unable to react, only fully grasping the situation after her last cough, when she’s laid flat on her mattress with a pillow beneath her head. Huh, who knew you had such good aim.

“Tough guy, huh? Never would’ve guessed; Youngeun sang you praises for being so sweet when she stained her shirt. Or was that your plan all along?” Despite the situation, she doesn’t try to get up or take back control. Instead, she blinks prettily at you, licks her lips, smiles a sultry smile. 

“Accusing me of being a pervert, even though you started it when you watched me jack off first.” Hide the shakiness of your voice, reclaim the breath she so easily stole away. Your hands slide up her legs, from her calves to her things and finally to under her skirt. Find the garter of her underwear, tease her by slipping your fingers under. “Projecting, aren’t we?”

She lifts her hips off the bed to help you strip her, the slow rise of her ass and the clumsy reveal of her pussy lips leading you to believe maybe she’s still the one pulling the strings. Despite all this, your appetite grows as her glistening cunt comes into view, and all you can think to yourself is how much more delicious it looks up close. Ridding her of her underwear, there’s nothing else to do but to dive right in. 

It doesn’t take long, not at all, before Dahyun is squirming against your tongue on her clit. She runs her fingers through your hair, settling on the back of your head. Not long at all, and it’s just a few swipes of your tongue against her sex before she holds you in place with her legs, her thighs you couldn’t get enough of earlier now like clamps preventing your escape. Your hands are firm on her hips, making sure she doesn’t get away either, and your onslaught finally begins.

“Fuck, I knew you’d be good at that–” she sighs, savoring the feeling of finally having another person get her off. She moans her love without shame; an audience through her open window is nothing compared to you right between her legs. A horrid sense of shame comes over her as she watches you watch her squirm and thrash from being eaten out: her face reddens, her lip quivers, her pussy leaks more and more to entice and keep you from leaving her forever. Never mind that she forgets that you need air to breathe; you almost agree that right now Dahyun is the only thing keeping you alive at all.

She’s starting to buck her hips, her thighs nearly crushing your head between them, her back arching to signal her impending release. Any moment now, she'll lose control and her floodgates will open; she'll threaten to drown you with her love, she'll tug at your hair and grind against your face as her orgasm overtakes her. Fight to keep her down, struggle against her thrashing to hold her hips steady. Your determination to receive the reward for all your hard work drives you: relish in the smoothness of her skin under your fingertips, savor the slick that she releases just for you. 

“Mmf, fuck yes, please, oh my god, oh mmm–”

“Hnnggg– Aaahh!” Another voice interrupts Dahyun's, and her attention whips to where it came from. The door swings open behind you, or at least you hear it, as Dahyun squeezes you ever harder right as her climax arrives. 

“Youngeun, what are you– Aaaaahhh!” She explodes right onto your tongue, and for a moment the world fades around you. Her nectar floods your senses with perfection you could never find anywhere else, the hauntingly succulent mix of sweetness and sin drawing out your own moans as she thrashes against her mattress. You force out more of her juices with relentless laps at her sex, while the frenzied pulling at your hair and pushing against your forehead tells you she doesn’t know what she wants past letting out everything she can. 

It takes just a little while longer before she settles, and as she releases you from her legs you get a grasp of what just happened. Youngeun is unsteady at the door, a hand on the frame and the other still in her shorts. The look in her eyes is one of shock and embarrassment like you’ve never seen, and by the way Dahyun stares back, frozen and equally wide-eyed, you gather the situation at the very least isn't what they were expecting either. 

Tension hangs heavy in the air, and neither of them move an inch. You're only still in the middle of recovering from having your breath taken away, but it grows more uncomfortable for you most of all. As far as you're concerned, they're stepsisters, and the younger one who thought you were sweet for helping her in the street fair just watched you eat out her elder sister and got off like some porn video. 

Youngeun is the one to break the ice: “Shit, unnie, I'm sorry, I'll go! Just forget I was here–” before getting cut off herself. “Hey,” Dahyun reigns, “sit.” She motions her sister towards the gaming chair, and Youngeun, judgment clouded with fear, takes sheepish steps to approach it. 

Dahyun pulls you up to her eye level, keeping hands on your cheeks, and meets your lips with hers delicately. “Mmm, bet that was just as good for you, huh?” She runs her tongue over your mouth to lap up her spent essence, and you meet her halfway, deepening the kiss.

Still, the presence recently known is now a presence impossible to ignore. Despite Dahyun’s love spreading from her lips to yours, her heat bringing your temperature up all the same, you can’t help but be wary of the girl on her gaming chair taking after her sister, legs on the armrests and fingers in her dripping cunt. Dahyun tries in vain to pull your attention back to her, only her, and how could you resist either one? 

“Mm, Youngeunie,” she sings, breaking away momentarily, “behind you, on the right, top drawer, it’ll help.” She returns to the kiss as easily as drawing the curtains to show you, while off to the side you hear the shuffling friction of wood against wood as her sister pulls out the drawer.

“Unnie, this is…” she says, but the thought is lost and replaced with a prolonged moan. Dahyun slips her tongue into your mouth, grunting as she feels your cock throb against the lips of her puffy cunt, coating your shaft with her liquid heat and coaxing you into a worsening state of mind. Her pussy quivers against the underside of your cock, chipping away at your common sense, until…

Meet your forehead to hers, make sure she stays how she is. Your left hand wraps around her neck, controlling her air and keeping her still, while your right dips into her sex to draw out her slick for you. Stroke your cock at the evil you’re planning, line up your tip to her entrance, and with absolutely no warning, no mercy, no reprieve, push your head past her welcoming glistening lips and into her tight, loving pussy. 

“Mmmm, fuck, shit, oh– Oh my god, oh my god!!” Dahyun’s pleasure comes in the form of unsteady grunt and weak scratches against the hand on her neck. Her face takes on a light shade of red, her forehead creases, and her tongue is only nearly starting to stick out. Her pussy squeezes around your cock like it never wants to let go, her tightness driving you crazy with how good she feels, that you maybe wouldn’t mind putting a fucking baby in her. 

Your hand leaves her neck and immediately she pulls you down to kiss the bruises you almost left there. Keep pounding into her, feeling her slick all over your cock, throbbing hard and hitting her good spots while sliding in and out of her pussy like it was all yours. 

The moment her fingers relax then tense in your hair, you’re given just enough freedom back to see what’s gotten her so distracted, only to find–

Youngeun slumps further back onto the chair as far as she can without falling off. Her toes curl in the air as she diligently and roughly pumps the dildo in and out of her own cunt. Her top is pulled over above her chest, and she pinches and tweaks her nipples nonstop while cupping and squeezing her tits. “Unnie, unnie, fuck, he’s so hot…” she moans, dead-set on fucking herself with her sister’s dildo to the sight of you railing her beloved unnie. 

“Fuck, Youngeunie, you’re such a pervert for getting off to this…” Dahyun again lifts her back off the mattress, and you know by now what this means. Her grunts turn erratic just as quickly, her pussy clenching tighter around you, practically begging you to stay inside her.

“Hngg, unnie, h-how good is he? I bet he f-feels so big…” “He really fucking is,” she sighs, waiting for the inevitable, slowly letting her sensibilities go. Her lips crash onto yours once more, slipping you her tongue like retaking its rightful place in your mouth. The sight of it causes you to throb inside her again, and amidst the thrusts in and out of her cunt along with Youngeun's own jerking off to your side, you feel your time's drawing to a close. 

Make the most of it, who knows if you'll ever get this chance again. Pull Dahyun up to sit on your lap, force her to bounce on your cock. She follows like a good girl; savoring how you feel inside her, making sure that your cock is snug and comfy between her tight, slick walls. Your hands slide under her top to grope her chest, and she lets out a sultry moan of approval at how you're handling her so well. Her nipples are taut and hard against your fingertips, and the circling around her sensitive mounds only does you favors as she gets wetter and wetter, taking your cock like a champ.

“I can't fucking take it anymore,” she grunts out loud, and in one swift motion her top leaves her body, exposing all of herself to you. Before you could even dive in yourself, she pulls you onto her chest, and as soon as you're able to, you get her nipple in between your teeth. Her boobs bounce against your face as she rides you even harder, desperately chasing her own release, seeming to forget everything and everyone else. 

“Fuck, fuck!” Youngeun switches hands; poor thing must be getting tired. A quick look back over to her and you find the dildo covered with slick and cream, her pussy red and puffy, her nipples sore and just as hard as her unnie's, and her eyes near tears. A quick bout of desire to get off to the sight of her overcomes you, but Dahyun tears your attention back to her, switching to her other nipple, just as she starts grinding against your dick like she found a better spot to hit inside her.

“Unnie, I-I'm close, please, you’re so hhhhot,” the younger begs in reckless need. Her toes curl and uncurl in weary need, tears starting to streak down the sides of her faces, just as her hair sticks to her forehead at the drops of sweat only starting to form enmasse. 

Dahyun pulls you away, back to her, and rests her head on your shoulder, “Oppa, I’m close too,” she says with incessant sighs and gasps, curiously in sync with her bounces on your cock, “i-indulge me, would you?” She looks at you with the same weary love, the same tired, impatient persuasion. 

Steel your resolve in the face of her begging. You’re finally in a winning position, with the pretty neighbor girls in the palm of your hand. A different emotion seeps into your head, one of responsibility: to finish what you started, to make good on your promises, to show both of them a good time. Dahyun’s half-lidded eyes flutter open and shut with every suckle and bite at her breasts, while Youngeun’s thighs jiggle with every forceful jerk of her hips against her toy. They’ve had enough, and you’re reaching your limit too.

“Keep your window open, got it?” A surge of confidence laces your voice at the most unexpected time, and brings out a lustful groan from the girl on your lap. “Yes, oppa, watch me all you l-like…” 

“Good girl. And you,” your attention shoots to Youngeun, who you find has her lower lip between her teeth and nearly drawing blood, “you’re fucked in the head for getting off to this, but I kind of like that.” Upon hearing it, her eyes shut as she pistons her dildo as hard and fast as she can into her pussy, screaming “Fuck, oppa, please! Watch me too!!!”

The perfect opportunity reveals itself, the strings pulled taut against both of your puppets in a cruel dance for your pleasure. A bite on Dahyun’s neck and a mind-numbingly deep thrust into her sex is the last straw to finally send her over the edge as well. 

“Oh shit, oh shit, I’m cumming!!!” A beautiful cry rips across her throat, and her pussy squeezes tight around your throbbing cock. Her juices flow out of her cunt generously, spraying all over your lap and the bedsheets underneath you. She buries her face into your shoulder, her teeth finding and marking flesh where her lips surround. Dahyun constricts around you, her body seizing and gripping onto you tight as her hips jerk with every stream of her girlcum that sprays out her sore cunt. Her fingers dig into your back, in no way hard enough to draw blood but only as hard as to leave marks, while her legs wrap around your waist in dire need to keep you in place and draw as much of her pleasure as she humanly can from you. 

“Hngg, hahh, haaaAAAHHH!” Off to the side, Youngeun’s climax crashes over her as well, causing her toes to curl and her eyes to shut as hard as she can. She twists and turns the toy inside her pussy, hitting her good spot again and again as her cum gushes out of her in messy streams down onto the seat of her chair and floor in front of her. Her eyes roll to the back of her head and her tongue hangs free from her mouth, her ass jiggles with every jerk of her hips forward, and a prolonged and mindless moan snakes its way through her throat like music to you and your partner’s ears. 

After all this, Dahyun’s whimpering finally brings you over the edge too. Her weak cries are the signal of her surrender to you, and what better way to claim her than to give her what she wants? Your grip on her waist tightens, and surely your handprints will stay on her sides for her to admire and recall when she misses you, but for now you keep her still just as she does to you. One last thrust into her is all that’s left, hit her good spot one last time, and it all comes crashing down. You erupt into her pussy, filling her with a burning heat that spreads through her entire fertile body. Each spurt of cum forces another groan of love from her, and she savors the feeling of being filled with your seed like it’s what she was made for. Your forehead meets hers and you capture her lips, and more of her tiny grunts and sighs slip through as your tongues dance around each other.

Once it ends, and you feel your cum stream out of her from the sheer amount alone, you crash sideways onto her pillow with her. She stays wrapped around you, breathing heavy and looking satisfied, just like her stepsister on her chair just a few feet away. Youngeun catches you waving her over, and she takes the spot on the bed opposite her unnie to cuddle up next to you as well. Dahyun snores quietly on your left, while Youngeun snuggles your chest to your right, and with two of your pretty neighbors bare and spent thanks to you, you drift off to sleep with them knowing you’d always enjoy a show the moment you ask. 

[lewisvinga]

mayor que yo | max verstappen x pérez! reader

summary; max doesn’t care that checo’s sister is older than him. he just wants her no matter the age difference.

warnings; age gap but only by like 3-4 years😭 mentions of sex, reader is implied to be mexican ( duhhhh ) a bit of google translated spanish bc im too tired to mentally translate english to spanish

word count; 740

all works taglist; @goldenmclaren @namgification @c-losur3 @minkyungseokie @lavisenri @ollieshifts

note; this song is so good too

masterlist !

back to old school masterlist.

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Max always cherished the few quiet moments he had in the roaring world of Formula One. He liked having moments of peace in his motorhome between practice sessions and media duties.

This is partially why he was so annoyed when hearing loud and quick Spanish followed by laughter coming from the motorhome of his new teammate.

Max liked Checo. He’s a cool guy. However, at that moment, he did not like him for bringing whoever it was making all the commotion.

He checked the time and sighed, knowing he had to leave the comfort of his motorhome. He grumbled as he put his phone back in his pocket, and opened the door. He didn’t expect to be met with deep brown eyes and a warm smile.

“Oh, Max! This is my baby sister,” Checo quickly introduced his sister to his new teammate who looked confused.

Before he could say anything, he was pulled into a tight hug by his teammate's sister. The warm scent of jasmine filled the air as he nervously hugged her back. “I’m Y/n. It’s so great to finally meet you!” She exclaimed as she pulled back, her accent peeking through from excitement.

Max cleared his throat, ignoring the way his heart began to race. “Yeah- It’s nice to meet you too.”

Ever since that day, Y/n was constantly on Max’s mind. Whenever she attended races to support her brother, the Dutch driver could never keep her eyes off her.

He knew she was older than him but just by a few years. He was used to dating women either his age or a bit younger, never older. But the Mexican intrigued him with the way her brown-lined lips always curled into a warm smile when greeting him or the way her hips swayed under the bright lights of a club after a successful race for Red Bull.

She had him curled around her finger. Everybody knew it, even she did.

If she was hanging out in the garage and wanted water? Max would rush to go and grab her one even if he was about to get in his car. If it's cold and windy outside? She’s immediately wrapped in his jacket. Her feet hurt from walking around in her expensive Jimmy Choos? He’ll carry her around in his arms.

It was no secret Max was fond of the younger Perez even though she was older. The other drivers, especially Lando, often teased him about the Dutch driver finding an older and experienced woman.

“Max found himself an older woman and never wants to be with us anymore!” The McLaren driver teased as he saw Max walking by with a pink smoothie in hand.

“You’re just jealous I found a girl.”

“I just don’t want to! Besides, I could find someone my own age.”

Max rolled his eyes as Charles, Daniel, and even a few other drivers started to make teasing remarks. “Age isn’t important anyways.” The Red Bull driver mumbled, mentally cursing at how his ears began to turn red.

He left the group quickly and huffed as he still heard their teasing when mentioning he had to give the strawberry smoothie to Y/n. Frankly, he couldn’t care about their teasing.

Y/n was older than him, yes. But he liked her, a lot. She was experienced, she knew her stuff. It was something he quickly learned late at night when he had her in his arms.

She traced the red lipstick marks on his neck with a long acrylic nail. There was a comfortable silence surrounding them as she quietly hummed a song.

“Max?” Her soft voice broke the silence.

Max simply hummed in reply. His eyes were closed as his head rested on the silky pillows.

“Does me being older not bother you?”

His eyes immediately opened, revealing the blue eyes she fell in love with. He leaned up and rested against the headboard. “What do you mean? I’ve told you countless times, that I don’t care. It’s only a few years, it doesn’t matter.”

“It’s just,” Y/n huffed. She rested her head against his bare chest as she looked up at him. “People talk, y’know.”

“No me importa.” [i don’t care] The sudden switch to Spanish made her heart warm up. She knew Max had been trying to learn, wanting to connect with her. He leaned down to place a kiss on her plump lips.

“No me importa que seas mayor que yo.” [i don’t care that you’re older than me]

[snekdood]

cool

cool

this ones very appropriately named "leave"

fucking awesome.

WOW! AMAZING.

oh, cool, a ton of txt files from 2017 I apparently didn't know about.

wondering how triggering everything in these is !

[xx-dinah-writing-xx]

A surprise for Kepus

Daemon Targaryen x niece!Targaryen reader

smut 18+, mdni

warnings: praise, kissing, virginity loss, power play, dirty talk, claiming, marking, fingering, p in v, explicit language, unprotected sex, etc.

The fire in Daemon’s chambers burned low, casting shadows across the stone walls as he stepped inside. He paused, his sharp violet eyes narrowing slightly at the faint scent of jasmine and myrrh that drifted through the air. It wasn’t there when he had left earlier.

His gaze swept across the dimly lit room, and then he saw her.

She was draped languidly across his bed, her body covered only in swathes of silk the color of molten gold. The fabric barely concealed her curves, slipping off her hips and revealing tantalizing glimpses of bare skin. Her hair, wild and silver as the flames of Old Valyria, cascaded over her shoulders and down her back.

“Kepus,” she purred, her voice a smoky caress.

Daemon froze, the door shutting behind him with a quiet click. For the first time in years, he felt his breath catch. His niece—his fiery little dragon—lay before him, a vision of seduction and power. She was no girl tonight; she was a woman, and she had prepared herself for him.

“What is this?” he asked, though his voice lacked its usual sharpness. It was husky, his accent thickening as he took a slow step toward her. “What game are you playing, little dragon?”

She sat up slightly, the silk sliding down to pool at her waist, baring the soft swell of her breasts. Her skin glowed in the firelight, and she tilted her head, a wicked smile tugging at her lips. “No game, kepus,” she replied. “A gift. For you.”

His eyes darkened, a dangerous gleam flickering to life as he approached the bed. “A gift, you say?”

She nodded, holding his gaze as she reached for the small vial of oil beside her. Her fingers were steady despite the racing of her heart, and she poured a small amount into her palms, the scent of jasmine intensifying. “You’ve given me so much, Daemon,” she said softly, her voice dipping into reverence. “It’s only fair I return the favor.”

Daemon’s lips curved into a smirk as he sat on the edge of the bed, his leather-clad fingers tracing the edge of the silk that barely covered her thigh. “And you thought to do so like this?” he asked, his voice dripping with amusement and intrigue.

“Does it displease you?” she asked, her tone innocent despite the heat in her gaze.

Daemon chuckled darkly, his fingers tightening ever so slightly on her thigh. “Far from it,” he said. “But I hope you understand what you’ve invited, little dragon.”

“I do,” she whispered, leaning forward until her lips were a breath away from his. “I want this. I want you.”

Something in him snapped at her words. Daemon cupped her face, pulling her into a searing kiss that left her breathless. His lips were demanding, his tongue sweeping into her mouth as his other hand slid up her thigh, pushing the silk aside and baring her completely to him.

She gasped into his mouth, her hands fumbling with the ties of his tunic. Daemon chuckled against her lips, pulling back just enough to watch her struggle before shrugging the fabric off himself.

Her hands roamed his chest, tracing the planes of muscle and the scars that marked his skin. She poured the jasmine oil into her palms once more, her touch hesitant but eager as she began to smooth the oil over his shoulders and down his arms.

“You’re trembling,” Daemon remarked, his voice low and teasing.

“I’ve never done this before,” she admitted, her cheeks flushing.

He smirked, catching her wrist and pulling her hand to his lips. “Good,” he said, pressing a kiss to her palm. “I like knowing I’m the first to feel your touch.”

He leaned forward, his lips finding the sensitive spot beneath her ear as he whispered, “And I’ll be the last.”

Her breath hitched as his hands replaced hers, smoothing the remaining oil over her skin with practiced precision. His touch was firm yet gentle, his fingers gliding over her curves and igniting a fire that burned hotter with every passing moment.

“You’re a dangerous woman,” Daemon murmured as he pushed her back onto the bed, the silk forgotten as it slipped away completely.

“And you’re a dangerous man,” she replied, her voice steady despite the way her body trembled beneath him.

His grin was feral as he claimed her lips once more, his hands exploring every inch of her. “Then let’s see what havoc we can wreak together, shall we, zaldrys riña?”

Her hands gripped his shoulders as he kissed lower, trailing down to the hollow of her throat. His hands were not idle; they slid over her curves, pushing aside the flimsy silks that barely covered her. When his palm cupped her breast, his thumb brushed over the sensitive peak, drawing a sharp gasp from her lips.

“Drēje iā gevie zaldrītsos,” he whispered. Sweet, beautiful little dragon. His tone was filled with reverence, but there was an edge to it—a possessive hunger that sent a shiver down her spine.

Daemon shifted, his lips capturing the hardened peak of her breast as his hand teased the other. She arched into his touch, a soft moan spilling from her as his tongue flicked over her sensitive skin.

“Kepus,” she gasped, her hands tangling in his hair as he lavished her with attention.

He hummed against her, the vibration sending sparks of pleasure through her. “Say it again,” he demanded, his lips brushing against her skin as he spoke. “Let me hear you call me yours.”

“Kepus,” she repeated, her voice trembling with desire.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his hand sliding down her body to rest on her thigh. He pushed her legs apart gently, his fingertips teasing the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. “So eager for me,” he said, his tone both mocking and adoring. “Do you want me to touch you, zaldritsi?” Little dragon.

“Yes,” she breathed, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Please, Daemon.”

Daemon smirked, leaning down to kiss her again as his fingers found the slick heat of her core. He groaned into her mouth, his composure slipping as he felt how wet she was for him. “Perfect,” he muttered, circling her sensitive nub with deliberate slowness. “You’re perfect.”

Her hips bucked against his hand, a soft cry escaping her lips as he slipped a finger inside her cunt, stretching her gently. He added another, his movements slow and careful as he prepared her.

“You’ll take me so well,” he said, his voice thick with need. “I’ll make you mine tonight, fully and completely. Ruin you for every other man. I’ll go and fill your royal cunt with my heirs right in front of them if I have to.”

Her breath hitched at his words, a delicious thrill running through her as he pulled his fingers away and positioned himself between her thighs. His arousal pressed against her entrance, and she instinctively tensed.

“Relax,” he murmured, his hand brushing her cheek as he leaned down to kiss her softly. “I’ll be gentle.” His palm gently caressed her under belly, his fingers tracing soft patterns on her lower abdomen.

She nodded, her trust in him unwavering as he began to push into her. The stretch was intense, and she gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders as he paused to let her adjust.

“You’re doing so well,” he whispered, pressing kisses to her cheeks and forehead. “So tight. So perfect for me.”

When she nodded again, he began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate as he filled her completely. The discomfort faded quickly, replaced by a growing pleasure that made her cling to him, her legs wrapping around his waist.

“Feel that, little dragon?” he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear. “That’s me claiming you. Every part of you is mine now.”

“Yes,” she moaned, her body arching against his as she met his movements. “I’m yours, kepus.”

Daemon groaned at her words, his pace quickening as he chased his release. “Say it again,” he demanded, his voice rough with need.

“I’m yours,” she cried, her nails raking down his back as pleasure built to a crescendo within her.

Her release hit her like a wave, her body tightening around him as she cried out his name. Daemon followed moments later, a low growl rumbling in his chest as he spilled himself inside her.

He collapsed onto the bed beside her, pulling her into his arms as their breathing slowed. “Drēje iā zaldrītsos,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. Sweet little dragon.

She smiled, her eyelids heavy with exhaustion. “Was I everything you wanted, kepus?”

Daemon chuckled, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her back. “You were more than I deserved,” he said softly. “But make no mistake—you’re mine now, and I’ll never let you go.”

The room was drenched in the heady scent of sex in a matter of seconds, the firelight casting shadows over their entangled forms. Daemon loomed above her once again, his silver hair falling into his face as he thrust into her with a feral intensity, but this time, it wasn’t just him claiming her. She was matching his fervor, leaving her own mark on the Rogue Prince, just as fierce as he was.

Her hands gripped his shoulders, nails digging into his skin with enough force to make him hiss through his teeth. The sting of it only fueled him more.

“Fierce little dragon,” he growled, his voice rasping as her nails raked down his back. “Do you wish to scar me? To brand me as yours?”

“Yes,” she gasped, her voice breathless yet resolute. “I want everyone to know you’re mine, kepus. Mine.”

A wicked grin spread across Daemon’s lips as he adjusted his angle, driving into her deeper, harder, eliciting a sharp cry from her lips. “Then mark me,” he challenged, his tone dripping with arrogance. “Mark me, zaldritsi. Make me remember this night every time I look in the mirror.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. Her lips latched onto the taut skin of his neck, sucking hard enough to bruise. She could feel his pulse beneath her mouth, fast and hot, as she worked to leave a deep mark just below his jawline.

Daemon groaned low in his throat, the sound guttural and raw as her teeth grazed the sensitive spot. His hips stuttered slightly, and he buried his face in her neck to stifle a groan, the sensation of her claiming him intoxicating.

“You’ll ruin me,” he murmured against her skin, though there was no trace of protest in his voice—only awe and pride.

Her tongue flicked over the bruise she’d left, her hands roaming over his body. She dug her nails into his back once more, drawing thin red lines down his skin as he moved inside her. The motion made him shiver, and his growl vibrated against her collarbone.

“Kepus,” she moaned, arching her back as she pressed her chest against his. Her teeth nipped at his shoulder this time, and when he didn’t stop her, she bit down harder, hard enough to leave a crescent-shaped imprint of her teeth on his pale skin.

Daemon hissed, his hips snapping forward harshly as his hand gripped her thigh. “Greedy little dragon,” he rasped, his voice dark with approval. “You’re taking all of me.”

She smiled wickedly against his skin, licking over the bite mark in a show of possession. “You’re mine now, kepus,” she whispered. “I’ll make sure no other whore even thinks of touching you.”

His response was a feral growl as his lips descended onto hers in a bruising kiss. His tongue tangled with hers, his hand fisting in her silver hair to hold her in place. When he pulled back, his lips were swollen, his pupils blown wide with lust.

“Look at me, zaldrīzes,” he said, his tone commanding. “Do I look like I want to taste another cunt after I’ve claimed yours?”

Her gaze roamed over him, and her breath hitched at the sight. His neck was littered with dark marks, her lips having painted a map of her possession across his skin. His shoulders bore red streaks from her nails, and his chest was dotted with faint bruises from where her teeth had nipped him.

Daemon looked wrecked, but in the most exquisite way. He was the Rogue Prince, the wielder of Dark Sister, the blood of the dragon—and now he was hers, claimed as surely as if she’d carved her name into his flesh.

“No,” she whispered, her voice soft but filled with satisfaction. “You’re mine, and everyone will know it.”

Daemon chuckled darkly, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to her lips. “Oh, they’ll know,” he said, his voice dripping with pride. “I’ll wear your marks like armor, little dragon. And when they see me, they’ll know the beast that claimed me is fiercer than any flame.”

As he began to move again, their passion reigniting, she knew this night would leave more than just bruises on his skin. It would leave a memory—a declaration that Daemon Targaryen was as much hers as she was his.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Regal Fever - An Aemond Targaryen/Reader One Shot Story.

You are a whore within Madame Sylvi's brothel, and Aemond is your customer. It's literally a smut fest and nothing more, so enjoy, my loves!

Words - 3,804

Warnings - Smut below the cut, minors DNI!

The house of pleasure run by Madame Sylvi is perhaps the nicest of the brothel’s littering Silk Street, where whores ten a piece of silver can be found, each of them ready and waiting to spread her legs for her paying customer.  

You, however, much like the women you share the space with, are most certainly not ten a piece of silver whatsoever. 

“Oh, yes, dear,” Sylvi told you upon your seeking work within her establishment, many moons ago now. “You are a pretty one. Many a gold coin would be offered to lay with you.” 

And so there you are, whore to the highborn, the noble and the royal. Well, no regal gentlemen have lain with you as yet, but you often quietly wonder whether the princes of the realm might ever cast their gaze in your direction. They visit fairly often, after all.  

The attentions of the ailing King Viserys’s eldest son, you could do without, Prince Aegon a rude, boorish and cruel young man. His younger brother, however, hmm. The quiet confidence Prince Aemond carries himself with, paired with such chiselled, immaculate features, with him you would certainly keen to feel his Targaryen fire beneath your skin. 

Alas, he seems to gravitate towards the madame exclusively, unbothered by the wanton looks and lustful promises whispered to him by any other whore. With the night of the full moon seeming to bring out more in the way of clientele, your fellow working girls all parading themselves in swathes of silk that leave little to the imagination, some teasing the audience with decadent fan dancing, you think little of it when the younger prince himself arrives. 

Much like always, you simply continue to work the room looking ravishing for anyone but him, unmoved by his presence. After all, his visits are more frequent than most, and he rarely pays attention to anyone other than Sylvi herself. Although tonight, with Sylvi already hosting a man within her bed, it seems that the prince must make another choice. 

You cannot help it, though, to observe out of the corner of your eye, seeing him speaking with Lexia, a beautiful woman with endless braids of spun silver creeping down her back, contrasting like stars dotting a midnight sky against her deep, caramel flesh. Some whisper that she is a bastard of Targaryen lineage, rumours of her being fathered by Baelon the Brave abounding.  

Fitting, that he should be drawn to her. The Targaryen’s are known to sometimes favour their own blood, after all. 

However, after she has spoken with him, likely making him privy to the fact that Sylvi herself is otherwise engaged, he nods and moves on, Lexia continuing to tantalise the patrons with her soft, exotic dance moves. 

Your heart skips a beat as his gaze sweeps the room, searching for something, or rather someone. You busy yourself with refilling goblets of wine and laughing at jokes that aren't particularly funny, your mind whirling with the thought of the prince choosing another tonight. But then the air shifts, a palpable tension building as footsteps draw nearer. You dare not look up, even when the other women’s whispers grow louder. 

In the corner of your vision, you see the prince’s boots stop before you, and your breath catches. Slowly, you raise your eyes, your own curiosity overpowering your attempt at indifference. Your nerves send little tremors to your face, though, feeling your cheeks and lower lip gently begin to quake. 

He stands over you, casting a long, imposing shadow. The room seems to fall away, the noise of laughter, instrumental chimes and conversation fading into an indistinct hum as your entire focus narrows down to the prince before you. 

“Your name?” His voice is smooth, yet compelling. Also, deeply arousing too, you note.  

“Jasmine,” you reply, trying to keep the nervous wobble out of your voice, though you know the prince likely catches it. 

“Jasmine. Like the tea,” he repeats, savouring the taste of it on his tongue, as he likely would upon tasting the flower you named yourself after. It isn’t your born name, merely one you chose for the job. Something a little exotic, as Madame Sylvi suggested. 

He steps closer, the scent of leather and a hint of something spicy filling your senses. “I have been watching you.” 

You blink in surprise. “You have?” 

He reaches to you, tucking your hair behind your ear. Immediately, you flinch, and you aren’t sure why. Whenever Sylvi makes brief mention of him, she utters nothing to make anyone believe he’s anything less than gentlemanly. As a Targaryen, he’s likely still tyrannical and power thirsty, he certainly exudes that, but for women, perhaps something may soften.  

“Sweet thing, I mean you no harm.” Still, you aren’t sure whether or not to believe his statement, held fast in the bewitching stare of his lone violet eye. His presence carries with it a weight of dominance, after all, the prince reaching to trail a tapered finger along the curve of your jaw. “Quite the contrary, in fact, since I am told that Sylvi is otherwise occupied.” 

His lips curl, tilting into a roguish smile, watching as you gape, words not immediately coming to you. “You... y-you choose m-me?”  

Your stutters amuse him, yet there is a slither of impatience there in his silky drawl, you note. “I would not be standing here before you with my cock half-hard already if I did not. After all, one whore is as good as another, or perhaps you might be better, hmm?” You drop your gaze a little, the prince hooking his fingers beneath your chin, forcing your eyes to return to his. 

“Take me to your bed, Jasmine.”  

Setting the wine jug down upon a nearby silk swathed table, you turn back to him, extending your hand. He doesn’t notice to begin with, too transfixed by the soft round of your bare breasts to see you ready and waiting to lead him away.  

“My prince...” 

“Hmm?” He clears his throat, his cheeks flushing a little, fingers gently curling around your dainty hand. A cocky smirk tilts his mouth, not ashamed at all to have been caught falling into his lewd thoughts. “Pardon me. I was quite enjoying the view.” 

Your reply is but a seductive smile, leading him through the throngs of people over to the back of the brothel. Your bed area, much like the rest, is bordered by lacy curtains that give privacy between the little den of inequity and the main room itself.  

Reaching to part the fabric, you both enter, Aemond seating himself at the end of the round bed, fashioned with sumptuous velvet sheets and many large pillows made of the same. You’re about to ask him what he desires of you when his large, elegant hands come to bracket your waist, pulling you near, his mouth pressing a kiss between your breasts. 

The silks knotted at your hips come undone in his hands, gliding to the floor, his tongue licking a circle around your nipple. His mouth closes, sucking until it furls against his tongue. It makes arousal spark into life, a plus in your job, to be genuinely wet and keen for the man you are to lay for, rather than slicked ready with the assistance of exotic oils. 

“I was about to ask what you desired, my prince,” you purr, Aemond looking up at you, his eye glinting amethyst in the glow from the candlelight.  

He hums quietly, releasing your nipple, blowing upon it gently before his teeth snap in a soft bite, that glint in his eye turning a little wicked. “I desire your nipples in my mouth presently.” He then turns his attention to the other, his hands wandering in slow glide up your back. “Gods be good, you have perfect tits.”  

Perfect is how he touches them, too. Nothing less than you’d expect from a man who has lain with Sylvi herself for as long as he has. The madame shows a man how to pleasure a woman, should he be willing to learn, and from her cries of ecstasy throughout the brother whenever she has the prince within her bed, you know for certain that he has indeed been willing. You also recognise the difference between genuine ecstasy and a fake performance; if anyone has an ear for it, it is a whore. 

His hands creep around, stroking the swell of each breast, his mouth still delighting the left with sucks, the pebbled peak circled by his tongue as he reaches to your mouth, pushing two fingers against your lips. 

“Suck them,” he orders huskily. “Get them nice and wet.”  

Obediently, you open your mouth, receiving them against your tongue, sucking them with all the sensuality you would show should it be his cock between your lips. It's a little hint for him, a preview, if you will, over what he will soon enjoy.  

Pulling them away, he fixes you with an intent gaze, hand moving down your body, his other grasping the back of your thigh. “Move astride me, sweet girl. Splay those pretty petals for your prince.”  

You do, and he shifts a little further back upon the bed. “That’s it. Good girl.” His praise sends your insides to flutter, his wettened fingers pushing between your legs, breath catching in his throat. “Oh, I needn’t have bothered,” he grunts, your dew bathing his digits, Aemond bringing those gloss-slicked fingertips to his mouth and sucking with a faint, hungry moan. “Plenty wet enough for me already, I see.” 

“My prince cannot be surprised,” you purr, your fingers moving to his hair, weaving through the endless strands of cascading silver. “Not with how handsome he is, nor with how aptly he sucks upon a pair of tits.” 

Something darkens those handsome features for a fraction of a second, almost like he cannot believe there is any sincerity behind your assertion that he is handsome. It’s a tiny little dip in the confidence he has exuded in shades thus far, but you catch it.  

Any man likely would suffer such, being maimed at such a young age as he was, still a young man of only six and ten in years. Why should a prince be any different? Beneath the confident way he carries himself and royal title, he is but mortal flesh and blood. 

“I am not,” he begins, recovering himself, “merely pleased over how keen the little whore is to receive her prince.”  

His fingers return to the soft wet of your folds, teasing until the petals of your sex splay further for him, long strokes making your breath hitch. You gasp when those long, tapered digits meet your swollen little pearl, a shaky sigh fluttering from your mouth, Aemond gently clasping your jaw and guiding your lips to his.  

“Gevie,” he mutters against your mouth, kissing you again, his tongue gently rolling in silky swirls against yours. 

“What does that mean, my prince?” you ask, your fingers curling at the nape of his neck. 

His mouth moves to your throat, hot kisses pressed lightly. “It means beautiful. For you are, little whore.”  

Your lips curl into a crescent, his words and the pleasant stroke of his fingers causing your insides to hum, those fingers then slipping, teasing where you stream for him before pushing inside. While he seeks out a spot within that has you clenching tight, he uses the heel of his palm to press against your bud, gently rocking his hand into the sweet cavern of your sex, his mouth returning to your throat as you moan softly. 

“That’s it, sweet thing,” he moans throatily. “Let me hear you.”  

Your cadence trills in the air like song, and it is no amped up performance for the sake of his ego, his fingers working pure magic in the soaked mess of your cunt, while his palm grinds so deliciously against where you spark for him.  

“Tell me, Jasmine. How much do you ache for this to be my cock within you?” A little hint of teeth at your neck has you gasping, his dirty words even more so. “Or perhaps, you yearn for me to lick at the honey of this sweet cunt before I fuck you?” 

And you thought it was you who had to ask of his desires...  

“Whatever my prince wishes, I will be willing,” you whisper, lightning beginning to softly flicker at the base of your spine. “But if I may be so bold, my prince?” He raises an inquiring eyebrow. “You are overdressed. Allow me.”  

He continues to touch you around the removal of his clothes, a perfectly chiselled physique beneath blemish free, alabaster skin revealed to you. Gods, he is utterly divine, a creation almost too perfect to be real.  

Once he is as bare as you, he takes you at the hips, moving your body to the centre of the bed, settling himself before you. His hand smooths a stroke down your legs, widening your thighs, his lips following until his tongue begins lapping at your apex. 

Oh, gods. He’s good.  

Rarely do you find a man who thrives on giving pleasure to you when he is the one paying for your services, but the keenness Aemond goes about it with, you are left in little doubt that burying his mouth between your legs is exactly where his pleasure lies. You can always tell when a man genuinely enjoys it, thirsts for your womanhood.  

Thirst Aemond does, sucking upon you like you are sweeter than a ripe, Dornish peach, pressing the flat of his tongue against your tingling bud, wide licks having the sonnet of your cries rending the air. The amber of the candles glinting in his eye make the violet hues burn like purple fire, the prince watching as you lose yourself to his mouth. 

“That’s it, sweet thing,” he praises, “fall apart for me.”  

His mouth closes over your tender bundle, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks. It snaps through you like the heat of a summer storm, balmy and heavy, glimmers fizzing up your spine.  

“Oh, oh, you are incredible, my prince!” you wail, one hand clutching the velvet beneath you, the other tangling in his hair. “Gods be good, how I am going to repay the favour until your knees knock.”  

He sits up slowly, licking the sheen of you from his lips. “And who am I to refuse such a pledge? Although it would be a shame to give up this.” His thumb swipes through your folds, his eyebrows rising. “Maybe I do not have to just yet, though.”  

Moving, he settles upon his back, jerking his head. “Come here. You know exactly how I want you.” 

Indeed, you do, moving to arrange yourself in the way he desires, facing away from him as you straddle his chest, bending forward, feeling him tug your hips. He brings you to his mouth, sucking upon you as you take a hold of his cock, reaching beneath the pillows to locate your bottle of almond oil. You need it not for your own lubrication, but gods, how men love the feeling of their cocks worked with a slippery hand. Plus, it tastes nice. An added bonus.  

Decanting it, you push the stopper back in, returning your hand to him, slicking his entire length from base to tip. His cock is much like him, long and well-formed, Aemond groaning low around his suck upon your folds as he feels your hand working him in a slow, deft glide.  

That moan only deepens when you bring him to your mouth, sucking his cockhead, tongue working the tip in the kind of serpentine flicker that has his chiselled abs tensing beneath the press of your breasts. Steadily, you allow him into your mouth inch by inch, tightening your lips around him, your hand pulling at what remains and cannot fit, feeling him pulse against your throat.  

By the stars, the sounds it pulls from him. An aroused man is truly a feast for the senses.  

While your head begins to bob slowly, tongue touring every vein and ridge of his hardness, he continues to thoroughly attend to you with his mouth. The blade of his tongue stiffens, letting you grind against it, removing it only to suck upon you with hunger. 

The crest you felt near to before arranging yourself atop him is reignited, ecstasy pulsing, your muscles cording as you moan around his cock. Sinful fever reaches its peak, his tongue fluttering over your bud rapidly, big hands grasping your arse, a well-timed and equally well-placed smack to the left cheek the catalyst to your topping.  

“Fuck... gods... oh!” He brings you to a skittering, wailing eruption, hips quaking as they drive back against his mouth.  

“Mmm,” he groans, his tongue gentling against you. “You taste even sweeter when you come.” Moving his mouth, he scatters kisses to the back of your thigh, hands massaging your arse. “I want you on my cock. Now.” 

That little hint of dominance from him brings you back instantly to who he is, moving obediently to his command, straddling his hips.  

“No,” he speaks, his hands grasping your waist. “Turn around. I want to watch you, see your eyes as you ride me.”  

He shuffles back to lean against the mass of pillows, welcoming you onto his lap with smouldering kisses as you steer him to your streaming hole, gliding down on every last girthy inch of him with a soft mewl. Gods be good, he feels amazing, stretching your cunt, your folds splaying around the thick of him, your mouth hanging open in exclamation.  

“I’m going to dream of this cock, you know, when I have to fuck someone who’s lacking. It’ll be you who I’ll be thinking about.”  

He smiles, all arrogance and pride. “Of course. Feels good, doesn’t it?” While he might’ve let his demeanour slip momentarily earlier, not truly believing your compliment over his handsomeness, the same does not extend to his cock, it seems. He knows exactly what he has.  

“Good? My prince, it is divine.”  

Satisfied by your answer, he leans to you, sucking your nipples, hands stroking up your back as your body rocks against his. It’s contained for only a short time, your hands moving back to support yourself on his thighs, feet pressing flat either side of his hips as you begin working yours in a figure of eight.   

His cock hits you at every angle, scraping your depths at you watch his brow crease, mouth agape, groaning as you fuck him with all the finesse you’ve learned in reducing a man to a quivering wreck beneath you. You can feel yourself streaming down his length, his eye fallen to watch you split wide around him, the sounds of your groans and flesh smacking together filling the air as you begin to ride him hard.   

“That’s it. Gods, fuck, that’s it, my sweet little whore,” he rasps. “Fuck me.” 

By the gods, how you do, moving your hips in the way that has him entranced, tethers him, yanks him to mindlessness. You watch his eye focusing on you before it rolls back, his mouth dropping open as his head thuds against the pillows, unmoored for a few moments. 

His gaze then returns to watch you sinking up and down his thick length, your cunt glossing his shaft, the wettened sheen glinting in the candlelight. You slow a little, giving him a moment to truly enjoy the sight, every vein and ridge of his cock dragging your walls beautifully, your hand smoothing over your skin to reach where you’re joined with him.  

Stroking where you are fused, your fingers dampened adequately, you rub little circles upon your bud, glimmers suffusing, Aemond focusing on the sight only momentarily before bringing his thumb to his mouth, sucking it, reaching to knock your hand aside. 

“Allow me, sweet thing,” he rasps, his smirk growing wicked, “trust me, you shall need both hands to hold on.”  

When his hips buck up, the power behind the movement almost unseats you, and you reach to draw his thighs up behind you, leaning back, your hands tightening in their clutch. He arrows your cunt with vigour, the sound of his cock slamming into your sopping walls filling the air, the voracity of his fuck knocking the breath from you. 

“Look how well you take it,” he praises, loving the sound of your frantic wails as he continues to assail you, spearing up into you rapidly. “Yes, that’s it. Let me hear those helpless little cries.”  

He’s sending you to the edges of the heavens above, the pleasure almost biting, your verbal exclamations seeping beyond the confines of your bed, adding to the erotic choruses of the brothel. Each snap of his hips has heat misting up your spine, shocks of lightning breaking from strikepoint to strikepoint, your walls beginning to flutter madly around his shaft. 

By the time he’s grunting hard and spilling thick and hot into you, you’re falling apart upon the deep punch of his cock, his thumb rubs sending pulsing skitters through your clit. The nirvana of it flushes wild through your blood, all that was frantic slowing, his hips coming to rest down once more as you both pant furiously. 

It’s still ebbing away gently as you dismount him, your thighs shaky, lying down beside him. By all the gods... he’s nothing short of a truly magmatic fuck.  

Turning to you, he skims the apple of your cheek with his thumb. “Yes, my pretty little whore. You will be sweet for me again before I am to leave.”  

You are twice more, in fact, Aemond leaving a pouch of coins behind plentiful in weight. He glides from the brothel just as fluidly as he entered it, leaving you counting out Sylvi’s cut, swathing yourself in your silky robe before going to locate the woman herself and pass her a fistful of gold.  

She eyes you, a small smirk tilting her mouth. “Did you enjoy him?” Looking down, she examines her fingernails idly, picking at a stray cuticle. “It sounded as if you did, girl.” 

Little flashes from your night with him replay speedily through your mind, your heart quickening. “You taught him very well.” 

Sylvi’s knowing smirk grows, lifting her head a little before she turns to walk away. “You’re welcome.”  

Welcome, and completely spent. It’s a very good job he left you with enough gold to needn’t worry about taking another customer that night. As Aemond returns clandestinely through the streets back to the Red Keep, you fall down to your bed and into slumber upon sheets that still bear his scent.  

How you cannot wait for the day he might return to them again.  

[rose24207]

Ooooo I have a request: Mafia Lando who is at his club and one of the bar maids that flirt with him (not that he pays attention) all the time kisses him but reader walks in and gets the wrong impression she dosnt say anything but she dose brake up with him. Lando is confused and a bit angry until he goes over some footage at the club after an incident (unrealted but on the same day) and sees the reader on the day the girl kissed him. He comforts her and reassures her she won't be a problem if you know what I mean

You matter more

Summary: After a misunderstanding involving an unwanted kiss, Lando proves his loyalty to the you by confronting you, clearing up the truth, and eliminating any threat to their relationship

Genre: Mafia!Lando, angst, fluff

TW: Mafia, breakup

A/N: Thank you for the request!! Let me know if you like it! English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist

Lando Norris didn’t take betrayal lightly. In his world, loyalty was paramount, the foundation of his carefully constructed empire. But when you—his only constant, his sanctuary in a life of chaos—broke up with him out of the blue, it sent his mind spiraling.

You didn’t yell, cry, or accuse. You were eerily calm, like someone making a decision they’d been dreading for days. “This isn’t working, Lando. I’m sorry.”

He had stood there, frozen, his mind racing to piece together the cracks in the foundation of your relationship. “What the hell are you talking about?” His voice was sharp, disbelief cutting through his words.

You shook your head, your gaze avoiding his. “I just... I can’t do this anymore.”

And just like that, you walked away, leaving him confused, angry, and—though he wouldn’t admit it—heartbroken.

The breakup haunted Lando for days. He replayed every moment, every conversation, searching for what had gone wrong. But nothing made sense. You had been fine—at least, he thought you were. He wasn’t the type to miss details, especially when it came to you.

The answers came unexpectedly.

There had been a fight at his club, an unrelated altercation between two of his men that escalated into something violent. Lando, ever the meticulous boss, insisted on reviewing the surveillance footage himself to ensure nothing had been missed.

It was during this review that he saw you.

At first, it was a relief to see your familiar face on the screen, but then his stomach twisted. The timestamp placed you there on the same day one of the barmaids, a persistent flirt named Jasmine, had kissed him.

The footage revealed it all.

You had walked into the club and stopped in your tracks, eyes wide as Jasmine leaned over the bar and pressed her lips against Lando’s. His reaction was immediate—he pulled back sharply, irritation clear on his face as he barked something at her. He hadn’t even touched her, hadn’t leaned into the kiss. But you hadn’t stayed to see any of that.

Instead, the camera captured the heartbreak on your face as you turned and walked out, unnoticed by everyone—including him.

Rage coursed through Lando as he watched Jasmine smirk to herself, clearly satisfied despite his rejection. That woman had cost him something far more important than her job was worth.

That evening, Lando drove to your apartment, his mind made up. He wasn’t one to let misunderstandings fester, and he certainly wasn’t going to let you believe you meant so little to him.

You opened the door reluctantly, looking tired and wary. His sharp green eyes bore into yours, filled with a mix of anger and something softer—something you weren’t ready to face.

“You’re going to tell me why you left,” he said, his tone low and steady, though it carried the weight of a command.

You hesitated, looking down at the floor. “Lando, I already told you—”

“No, you didn’t,” he interrupted, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “You gave me nothing. So either you tell me now, or I’ll stand here all night until you do.”

You sighed, wrapping your arms around yourself like a shield. “I saw her kiss you. At the club.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and painful.

Lando’s jaw tightened as he ran a hand through his dark hair. “And you didn’t think to stay and see what I did next?”

You glanced at him, confusion and frustration mixing on your face. “I didn’t need to. She kissed you, Lando. And you didn’t even stop her.”

His eyes flashed with something dangerous, but his voice stayed calm. “You’re wrong. I pushed her off the second she leaned in. And I told her if she ever tried anything like that again, she’d regret it.”

You blinked, his words catching you off guard. “What?”

“I don’t know what kind of man you think I am,” he said, stepping closer, his voice dropping lower. “But I’m not the kind to entertain someone like her. Do you think I’d waste my time with anyone else when I have you?”

Your chest tightened, emotions warring inside you. “It didn’t look like that from where I stood.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “That’s because you left before you could see the whole picture.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, opening the footage he had saved from the club. Without a word, he pressed play and held it out to you.

You watched in silence as the events unfolded. The kiss you had seen. His immediate rejection. The harsh words he spoke to Jasmine as she backed away, looking less triumphant than you had assumed. And then you, walking away unnoticed.

When the video ended, Lando pocketed his phone and fixed his gaze on you. “You saw a moment and made a decision about us. You didn’t trust me enough to believe that I wouldn’t betray you like that.”

Tears stung your eyes, guilt settling heavily in your chest. “I didn’t know what to think, Lando. I was hurt. It looked... it looked bad.”

His expression softened, though his frustration remained. “It only looked bad because you didn’t give me the chance to explain. Do you really think I’d let anyone come between us?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted quietly. “You’re always surrounded by people who want something from you. I didn’t think I mattered enough to stand out.”

Lando’s eyes darkened, his hands cupping your face as he leaned in close. “You matter more than anything. And I don’t care who I have to get rid of to make sure you know that.”

His voice sent a shiver down your spine, a mixture of comfort and menace. You knew what he meant, and you didn’t doubt he’d follow through.

True to his word, Jasmine was gone by the next morning. No one dared ask questions, and Lando didn’t offer explanations.

From that day forward, his attention to you became more deliberate. He didn’t just tell you he cared; he showed it in every way he knew how. And while his methods were sometimes harsh, you couldn’t deny that he was willing to do anything to protect what was his—including you.

Because in Lando’s world, love wasn’t just a feeling. It was a promise, one he intended to keep at any cost.

Thank you for reading!

[spacedace]

So I've seen a lot of "Jazz works as a therapist at Arkam" in the dp x dc fandom, and while I like the concept, I also feel like Jazz would take one look at the place and immediately be like "what the absolute fuck" at just the everything of the place.

Like, she either nopes out after the tour during the interview or quits not too long afterward starting there, not because she can't take it but because she's so appalled by what's going on there and can smell the corruption rolling off the place and knows no one sent to there is ever actually going to get the help they need.

So Jazz decides to open a private practice instead while still being absolutely determined to work with the various rogues in the city, she is here to help and nothing is going to stop her.

So she just starts showing up at known hangouts of rogues and during their heists/schemes/sprees, and even fights between them and the batfam, just like

"Hi! It’s so nice to meet you! My name is Dr. Jasmine Fenton/Nightingale/whatever last name she’s using and I was hoping we could talk!"

Casually kicks a baterang away without looking because she's being polite and professional!

"I understand that your experience with therapy through Arkam has been nothing but atrocious and that you are rightfully -"

Kicks Batman away without breaking eye contact or a sweat.

"Suspicious of attempting therapy again, and Idon't want to force anything on you, therapy should be on your terms after the experiences you've had but -"

Grabs Robin out of the air as he leaps at the rogue she's talking to and tucks him under her arm, ignoring his feral hissing and all attempts to break her hold.

"-I really think that you'd find it beneficial, even if I'm not the right therapist for you."

The rogue in question is having the time of their life and takes Jazz's business card - and a few extra to pass around - not really intending to actually ever book a therapy appointment with her but way too entertained and excited to share this madness with everyone else.

But then one of the rogues actually looks up Jazz's website and sees all the various safe guards she’s put in place to ensure that any villians that come to her will be protected while seeing her - soundproof therapy room, regular sweeps for listening and tracking devices, the most insane firewalls and protections anyone has ever seen on her network, and ooh she provides snacks and drinks!

So someone finally books an appointment with her, half convinced she's either going to turn them in or is a villain herself intent to experiment on them, but then it’s actually really nice??? And they feel a lot better afterwards?? She doesn't even say anything to indicate that she wants them to stop being villains, she just wants them to be okay??

So more and more rogues start going to her, and Batman was already losing his mind about this woman before - Oracle can't hack her system?!? And her background check shows a totally normal Psychiatrist?? - but now half of Gotham's heavy hitters and a dozen or so other minor league villains are seeing her regularly and every time he tries to get info on any plans the rogues might be scheme via her office it fails utterly. Nightwing got knocked out with something called a creep stick and when he tried to break in himself to get answers she just appeared out of no where and gave him the most scathing lecture about doctor-patient confidentiality before bullying him off her property and threatening to sick her brother on him if he tried again?

And because she's become such a figure in the Gotham underworld, she gets the attention of Joker.

And everyone, rogues and Bats alike, are terrified that she’s going to try and take him on as a patient like she has so many other villains in the city and that's just a recipe for tragedy.

But then the Joker is on his way to the hospital with two broken legs and the fear of god beat into him babbling about eldritch nightmares and whenever anyone asks Jazz what happened she just shrugs and just says things like "I refused him as a patient, he's not my problem." Or "My brother doesn't like clowns." And just, does not elaborate.

Batman is losing his mind over it all. Jazz is just happy to be able to actually help the rogues. Arkam is less happy about how she absolutely destroys their reputation.