#guys idk the tags for this show it's been a while

[sh4nksslvt]

Hi, could you write something about Fukaboshi (shirahoshi's brother) and a strawhat reader? And/or maybe something with Blackbeard (ik he's hated a lot, hell I hate him too, but uh he's like super powerful soooo...)

oohh, fukaboshi...hes so underrated, good looking among his brothers too wwww~ here's some fluff w fukaboshi, hope u like it! as for blackbeard...hmmm idk abt it yet, i dont really have an idea for the guy lolol

Shell Shocked

A peaceful shell collecting date on Fishman Island turns into a hilariously competitive (and surprisingly romantic) showdown between you and Prince Fukaboshi

Fukaboshi X gn! reader | ONE SHOT

tags: fluff, sfw, beach date, shell hoarding, goofy flirting, (post-fishman Island arc, straw Hats visiting for a break)

a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe

word count: 845

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ��࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

You were supposed to be relaxing. That was the plan.

A peaceful afternoon on the sands of Fishman Island. Just you and Fukaboshi. No Luffy accidentally declaring war on someone. No Zoro getting lost. No Sanji turning into a nosebleed geyser.

Just shells. Sunlight. Maybe some hand-holding.

But no.

Because somewhere between “let’s go shell collecting” and “whoever finds the rarest shell wins,” the Crown Prince of the Ryugu Kingdom had decided this was combat.

“Twenty-seven shells and counting!” Fukaboshi shouted triumphantly, holding up a glimmering blue conch like it was the One Piece.

You scowled. “You tackled me for that last one.”

“You hesitated. The battlefield shows no mercy.”

“I blinked, you lunatic.”

“You blinked slowly.”

You hurled a clam shell at him. He caught it with one hand, smirked, and added it to his basket.

This had all started when the Straw Hats returned to Fishman Island for a celebratory visit after the chaos with Hody Jones. Fukaboshi had offered to show you around. You—being the only Straw Hat who actually knew how to relax without causing international incidents—agreed.

It was just supposed to be a beach stroll. Maybe a little flirting. Very light competition.

But you forgot one crucial fact:

Fukaboshi was insanely competitive. Even in a calm, handsome, princely way.

You’d said, “Let’s collect shells!”

He heard: “Let’s engage in psychological warfare, armed with nothing but beach debris and sexual tension.”

Now you were knee-deep in a tidepool while your royal date was wrestling an octopus to get to a rare cowrie.

“Fuka—babe, please,” you said. “That mollusk looks pissed.”

“I’m not afraid of a cephalopod,” he grunted, prying the shell free.

The octopus slapped him with a tentacle and slithered off in a huff.

You stared.

He held the shell up triumphantly. “Worth it.”

You sighed and tossed a coral chunk into your bucket. “I’m going to tell your brothers you lost a duel with a sea pancake.”

“They’ll understand.”

“No, Ryuboshi will write a song about it.”

“He would, too.”

You flopped onto a rock to eat the snacks Fukaboshi had packed—sweet kelp rolls, bubble-fruit, and some very smugly presented coral chips “for champions only.”

“Do you get like this during formal events too?” you asked, nibbling.

“Only when I care about the outcome.”

“Oh? And you care about shell collecting?”

“I care about beating you at shell collecting.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop smiling.

He noticed.

“Admit it,” he said smugly. “You’re having fun.”

“No,” you said flatly. “This is miserable.”

“You’ve been smiling for an hour straight.”

“That’s because I’m hallucinating from heatstroke.”

“Romantic heatstroke,” he corrected.

You snorted, nearly choking on your snack.

The chaos escalated when Luffy showed up.

“WHOA! Are you guys FIGHTING?!”

Fukaboshi and you exchanged a glance of pure dread.

Before either of you could speak, Luffy had launched himself into the tidepools, shouting, “I WANNA HELP Y/N WIN!”

Fukaboshi froze. “That’s illegal.”

“THERE ARE NO RULES!” Luffy cackled, slapping at the water like a hyperactive seal.

From a distance, you heard Nami shout, “DON’T ENCOURAGE HIM!” and Sanji yell something about “shells of love.”

You sighed and palmed your face.

Fukaboshi leaned over and whispered, “We need to relocate.”

“Agreed. Before he brings a sea king into this.”

Eventually, you found a quiet spot away from your crew’s chaos. Just you, Fukaboshi, and the sound of gentle waves lapping against coral sand.

You crouched by a tidepool and picked up a pink scallop. He leaned over your shoulder, the heat of his body warm even through the water.

“That’s a nice one,” he murmured.

“Better than anything in your bucket.”

“I disagree.”

He nudged his collection closer.

Your jaw dropped. “You have forty. Are you building a shell throne?”

“Yes,” he said seriously. “So you can sit beside me.”

You blinked.

“Oh,” you said, voice small.

He smiled. “Caught you off guard?”

“Just didn’t expect my boyfriend to flirt mid-shell war.”

“I contain multitudes.”

Later, as the sun filtered down through the water above, casting rainbows through the kelp canopy, you both sprawled out on the sand.

Tired. Salty. Happy.

“I think it’s a draw,” you said, yawning.

“No way,” he said. “I clearly won.”

“You got slapped by an octopus.”

“You fell into a crab pit.”

“You pushed me into it.”

“It was a tactical move.”

You threw a shell at him. He let it hit him in the chest and then dramatically collapsed like you’d slain him in battle.

You scooted closer, nudging him. “Still breathing?”

“Barely. Your power overwhelms me.”

You chuckled and rested your head on his arm. “Thanks for today.”

He turned to look at you, expression warm.

“Thanks for coming back,” he said quietly. “Fishman Island feels brighter when you’re here.”

Your heart did a little somersault.

“…You’re just saying that because I beat you at shell collecting.”

“You wish.”

You kissed his cheek, salty and sun-warmed. “Rematch tomorrow?”

He grinned. “I’ll bring blueprints for our shell fort.”

You laughed. “I’ll bring Luffy as a distraction.”

“Unfair.”

“All’s fair in love and mollusks.”

[niamhthefae]

just started rewatching heirs of the night LETS GOOOO

[faunandfloraas]

Seeing someone be like you can clearly see seungmins been going to the gym and is getting built and im just here like ??????????????????? are you hallucinating??? Have you had a head injury? Quickly go to the emergency room to get your head checked. With hast.

[marshmellowtea]

it was me i follow you because aro flag in icon and youre a self proclaimed freak idr how i found u tho. also PLEASE info dump i’m so deeply curious

those are very good reasons to follow me ngl alkadsjflkd :3 BUT okay sorry for the barrage of text you've unleashed i have a lot of thoughts and feelings about this series putting it under a cut so i don't obliterate people's dashes lmao

i'm assuming based on your anon that you're somewhat familiar with the series but in case not (and because i love being annoying <3) the goes wrong show is a british comedy about a drama society who. well. cannot put on a play correctly for the fucking life of them lmao. as of writing this it's free on youtube and tubi (though tubi actually has the season one episodes in order, most places it ends up on don't for some reason?? this does not matter that much cuz there's very little continuity in this series anyway but as someone's who's very autistic about this series it does bother me lmao), and the two specials that come before the show chronologically, peter pan goes wrong and a christmas carol goes wrong in that order, are also on youtube for free :D

in addition to the series and the two specials there's also a christmas audio special you can find on the internet archive (the christmas that goes wrong, not to be confused with a christmas carol goes wrong lol), and the play that goes wrong, which was the original entry in this series/the first in what could loosely be referred to as a timeline (again, there's very little continuity here lol). there isn't a proshot of the play that goes wrong with the og cast as far as i'm aware BUT the script is available online for free and there are plenty of community theater productions available on youtube (and someone on here mayyy have a bootleg of it with the og cast but i'm too intimidated to ask about it lmao). most of these are pretty easy to find but i have links for most of them if anyone needs them!

anyway all that aside. chris.......chris bean the diieeeerectoooor.......my beloved little gay hater who sucks so much aklsjfkldskfljdas.............it's actually really funny to look back on my relationship to this series because when i first watched it my favorite was actually dennis (whom i still love to death don't get me wrong <3) and i didn't give a fuck about chris but as i watched the show more the tides started to change and now he's all i think about :') i think there's a couple reasons for this shift, the main ones being that my love for my blorbos get a bit uhhh violent (i ❤️ whump!) and i'd feel bad putting dennis through all that in a way i don't with chris lmao, and also because when i first watched the series i wasn't paying full attention so i hadn't realized how fucking actually tailor made this freak (affectionate) is for me adkljfsalkdfjKLSJLKF

AND TAILOR MADE FOR ME HE IS he's got mommy issues (the first time i watched the mother's day promo video i instantly lost my mind ghlkadsjf), he's got daddy issues (putting aside the implied emotional distance casting your dad as the villain in a play who's not only a traitor for the nazis but also preys on one of his subordinates is actually insane and i think about it so so much), and anger issues (his perfectionist onstage tantrum throwing ass ough). he also kinda disassociates onstage (the way he sometimes just. watches things go wrong with a blank expression. he's so unwell actually <3), and there's an in character tweet of him that implies disordered eating ("another hungry night" you'll always be famous)........he's got a lot of issues and all of them are designed to scratch My Brain Specifically glkajdsfkl. if characters don't have these issues i Give Them To Them but he just. already has them. gah 🥲💞

outside of all that there's also the fact that the minute he gets the chance to force his castmates to do it with him he puts on a ballet where he plays a caterpillar who "needs to rest" and becomes a beautiful "lord butterfly" and. well. there's so so much to unpack with that play in general but ballet and butterflies are two of my favorite aesthetics so this really was an attack on me lmao. even if his costume was kind of ugly there <3 listen i never said he had good style lmao that's what dressing up in little outfits in my head is for. though in speaking of style he's also always wearing the gayest theater kid scarfs offstage?? he's so cute and annoying and pretentious and i hate him 🥰🥰🥰

these are only a few things that make me feral about him there's a lot more i could ramble about if i wanted to keep us here all day galskdfsjdlf..........he really was the perfect storm to latch onto my psyche lmao. also lbr writer/actor henry shields who plays him in the show is just kinda pretty i do love my skinny brunette men 💗 (see also my recent crushes on adam scott and andrew garfield lmao)

i've been. extremely feral about him on main as you can tell ahlkdgjsaf. people just keep rewarding me for being insane so thank you everyone for that lmao :') also it's my new year's resolution to be more freaky and unhinged on main so i'm on that putting chris through some of the worst things possible grindset 💪but yeah i could ramble about this guy forever rn i love him so much and think he's really fun to chew on like a squeaky toy so galdfjkldf

[risingsunresistance]

twitter is entering their "rts > likes" phase now that likes are private after they spent years calling us ungrateful for being demotivated by ratios lmao

[icewindandboringhorror]

Various images of things

[starpros-sunshine]

OK FOLLOWING UP ON THE BARD THING i think eichi definitely invited wataru to perform at a noble party before. because they'd usually have musicians and so? so ok picture this. it's eichi's birthday so his parents want him to hold a ball and he usually thinks those are annoying but then he gets an idea. make it a masquerade (for the drama). invite wataru as both a performer And his partner for the ball. he's an actor! and everyone is of course impressed by wataru's performance but they're even more impressed because the always polite but unreachable tenshouin heir is expertly dancing with a masked stranger (i love the fact that eichi's specialty in his profile is ballroom dancing). and then they're annoying and overdramatic in public together but no one can figure out Who That Is

and also i know you said that shu was a tailor but i think it would be funny if he also were a noble (his family is also of high standing in canon i think) so he can be there to judge eichi. harshly. i havent figures out yet how to make him besties w wataru but ! it can work

!!!!

This got soooo long again so this is once more put under read more I am so sorry

The idea with the Masquerade comes up while Eichi complains to Wataru about his parents pretty much forcing him to throw a ball for his upcoming birthday (they already planned the whole thing and didn't reallly give him a choice in the matter) and how much of a hassle he thinks that is because of all the superficial politeness between people that everyone knows are gossipping about each other behind each others backs and how sick he is of the pretending to be well acquainted with these people he's talked to maybe once or twice and all the ladies that wish to dance with him and that want to suck up to him because of his families wealth and how really this is all just one big farce to "save face". So Wataru suggests "why not make it a masquerade ball" to spice things up a little bit maybe, take some of the stiffness out of it. And Eichi says he wants to invite Wataru because what's a public event without proper entertainment? Wataru agrees of course and they come up with all of these overly grandiose ideas and scenarios (most of them are utterly absurd. One they genuinely consider involves Wataru pretending to kidnap Eichi and causing a scandal (Eichi woud miraculously reappear the next day and they'd gaslight everyone into thinking that never even happened and all the people are just imagining things)).

Wataru mentions that he'll be gone for an evening to play at the noble's ball to the elderly inn-keeper couple over dinner and they make a really big fuss about it and tell him to dress nicely and to watch his manners because "Remember, you can't just drop from the ceiling with those high society people like we let you do it here they're very sensitive about manners you have to make sure to watch your manners!" and for a minute he wonders how it got to the point that his landlords started to treat him like they personally picked him up from the street when he was a child.

I like to think he met Shu when he was out on the street doing a little street performance to earn some extra money for himself and Shu, the way that he is, came by, looked him up and down, and then started a conversation with him about music as an art form and that somehow turned into a philosophical discussion and at the end of that they each went their own ways with the knowledge that there was a new friendship formed that day.

And maybe he's the one that sews Watarus clothes for the ball because if you spent most of your life as a traveling bard living hand to mouth from your music you won't really have the money for fancy clothes (Eichi still insists on paying for Wataru here because he wouldn't need to spend so much money on fancy ballgowns if it wasn't for him in the first place and also he just wants to treat Wataru to something nice and sees this as his chance seeing as Wataru declines most gift offers me made before). Wataru tells him about the entire thing and Shu scoffs because dislikes Eichi (still need to come up with a way to explain that disdain but I will come up with something trust me!) but his parents force him to be there too so "he might as well" (it's obvious he still puts in a lot of care "because of his pride as an artists" (because Wataru is his friend and he wants him to have something nice)).

Shu only has to be there because his family guilt trips him into going and he doesn't see the point in opening that can of worms again ("We already let you pursue your foolish dream of sewing clothes like a commoner this is the least you could do for your family.")

And then at the actual event he's in some secluded corner together with some other people who only attended as a mere formality because they also do not like the Tenshouin family but they have to be there because they're important and aristocrat politics are weird that way I suppose.

Meanwhile Wataru does his usual thing and charms everyone with his beautiful beautiful voice and his elegance and charm and oh he is so agreeable as a performer. Eichi has to handle the usual "pleasantries" (nothing pleasant about those tries) and he exchanges the one or the other suffering glance with Yuzuru when nobody pays attention that just screams "God when will it end". Yuzuru shoots him back a look that conveys the exact emotion of "my condolences" and then he goes on to look for Tori who's 1.53m figure has disappeared in the group of people and when he finds him he's talking to a gentleman that's about a head taller than him and the mask obscures his face but judging by the hair and the slight "animosity" between them he's talking to Tsukasa, so Yuzuru decides he's in good hands and leaves to do his own thing. (do they know they're talking to each other? Who knows! But they'd probably manage to start bickering either way.)

And eventually it gets to the actual Ball bit of the Birthday Ball Event where they actually dance (there's an actual orchestra there now and they play very lovely music). And almost everyone asks to dance with Eichi at least once. Eichi does not want to waste his time and energy on these people who are just interested in him for his money so he always makes up something about being preoccupied or a little tired or something that gives them no other choice but to back off. Suddenly Wataru appears behind him and does a little "boo!" and Eichi didn't expect that so he startles and almost drops his glass and tells Wataru not to do that anymore at public eventshas while Wataru has to stiffle a laugh because he thinks Eichi is cute when he pretends to try to be firm with him. After he's done with his "scolding" (you can barely call it that. he was very soft on Wataru.) Wataru asks him for a dance this time and he's very chivalrous about it - he goes all out really - he kisses his hand and offers him a rose while he does a little bow and asks if he "may have this dance with the lovely star of the evening" (and oh Eichi wants to kiss him so bad right then and there but in a room full of people that are worse than a committee of vultures that is very much not an option). Of course he agrees and they move to the dance floor and suddenly a Lot of eyes are on them because Eichi Tenshouin, whom a good chunk of pursuers have already given up on - because let us be real. It will never happen. The man hasn't shown interest in anyone at any moment in time and lives together with the Himemiya heir and his butler as far removed from the rest of the aristocracy as one would be able to - is waltzing with this masked stranger and it becomes very obvious very quickly that Eichis constant declining of dance offers was not for a lack of expertise because those two look breathtaking together.

Eichi actually dips Wataru once and some people wish they had hired an artist to paint the scene (because I'm a sap and wataei is beautiful I don't care I'm being self indulgent here)). And they talk but nobody can understand what because of the loud music and they curse the orchestra - which is still playing very lovely music (it's heavenly really) - for it.

After their dance is over Eichi goes back to declining every dance offer he gets with the excuse he's exhausted and needs to rest a little before he can dance again (the "I don't wish to dance with you" is implied and in the room but most people chose to ignore it to spare their ego and decide to take him at face value) and Wataru disappears to somewhere, nobody really knows where but somehow he's nowhere to be found. Until he sneaks up to Eichi a second time and does the whole "Boo!" thing again and Eichi almost drops his glass yet another time and as he turns around to "scold" Wataru again Wataru shushes him and takes Eichis, who is more confusedd than anything by now, hand and sneaks out of the ballroom with him.

Eichi asks where they are going and Wataru doesn't answer he just keeps walking and Eichi decides to just trust the process and suddenly they're on the Balcony again, not a cloud in the sky and the only sounds to be heard are the muffled instrumentals from the orchestra that started playing their next piece. The only lightsource being the moonlight reflected by the new years snow. And Wataru turns around, he's not wearing a mask anymore, and he does his little bow and kisses Eichis hand, hands him a rose he had appear from nowhere - a white one this time - and does his entire "May I have this dance with the lovely star of the evening" spiel again. It's the same routine really but it's different somehow. More intense. Because he says it with more sincerity than he did when they were around more people. And Eichi doesn't even have to reply before he finds himself whisked into this waltz yet again, somehow in the leading position. And then they dance and they dance and it's just the two of them, the stars as their only witnesses. And as the orchestra finishes their piece and the music fades out Eichi dips Wataru again and they kiss and it is so sappy and they are so so so so sappy.

They stay out on the balcony a little while longer but they retreat back inside rather timely seeing as it is still january and the night and as the following consequence of those two circumstances actually pretty cold and they'd both rather Eichi not get sick (he already got Watarus coat but then they'd also both like it very much if Wataru also didn't get sick either so they migrate back into the empty, dimly lit hallways of the mansion rather quickly)

(meanwhile at the actual ball people have noticed Eichi missing and started to ask questions, poor Yuzuru has to repeatedly tell people Eichi probably retreated into his quarters already, seeing as it is rather late and he was rather tired "Please excuse the young master for his failing in notifiying the other guests, he told me he didn't wish to interrupt the nice atmosphere and preferred to leave unnoticed".)

After the festivities died down Yuzuru and Tori go to check up on Eichis room because he's been gone without any notice and it would probably be useful to know if their kind-of-roommate just went away to fool around with that strange bard man they've been seeing sneaking around their mansion from time to time that Eichi seems to be oddly fond of or if the should actually be worried about his well-being. After they knock and get no reply Yuzuru just opens the door and he and Tori are both greeted with the view of Eichi asleep in his bed and next to him the also seemingly fast asleep figure of Wataru who's braid got considerably more lose during the course of the evening and who's also seemingly wearing some of Eichis sleepwear.

They both decide they have seen enough they do neither need nor wish to see more. Yuzuru, who has been in this situation before doesn't even have it in him anymore to react in a specific way. He just lets out this big sigh because he doesn't get paid enough for all of this as he directs Tori out of the room. Tori who has not been in this situation before has a Lot of questions now because he doesn't know this man but he's apparently closer to Eichi than most other people and he doesn't know how to feel about that but happy is probably not it.

(The following day Eichi has to listen to a (rightfully) disgruntled Yuzurus passive-agressive-yet-somehow-still-very-polite-sounding-Yuzuru-complaints about him just disappearing like that and leaving it to Yuzuru to take care of his mess (Eichi promises him to make up for it and that if Yuzuru has any favour to ask he's very welcome to come to Eichi about it). Tori really wants to ask about the strange man Eichi was so involved with but between not really getting a word in while Eichi and Yuzuru are talking and not really knowing how to take the exceedigly good mood Eichi is in (he's had "A very nice evening". With utmost certainty it was for reasons other than him actually enjoying the mingling witht the high society at social function he was obligated to host, Tori guesses), he kind of clinks out here and decides to simply take matters into his own hands when he gets the chance.)

[satrs]

Hands Off! Or Not?

SYNOPSIS. The forbiddenness of it all so tempting, and restraint a thing of the past. To which depraved and perverse lengths are they going for you truly?

FEAT. XAVIER. ZAYNE. RAFAYEL. SYLUS. CALEB. xfem!reader

TAGS. MDNI! NSFW/DARK CONTENT! DUB-CON! sexual intercourse. unprotected intercourse. extremely pervy guys/acts. perverse actions. making out. jacking off to you without ur knowledge. blowjob and slight roleplay in zayne's. throatfuckin. SOMNOPHILIA in Sylus. watching u shower in rafayel's. shower sex. rafayel and caleb are kinda manipulative. dIrty talk. praise. size kink. oral, panty stealing and cunn!lingus(?)in calebs. Caleb cumin on ya panties lol(nasty ho). They r js nasty and pathetic, man. PANTY SNATCHER CALEB!!!

✎ A/N; Felt cute might delete later Hihi^^ Idk what's gotten into me but M' LOVIN' IT WUHUUU! Hope y'all are doin well and enjoy! xoxo

XAVIER ♡ Snatched!

Xavier, your reliable, caring neighbor.

You just entrusted him with your keys, begging him to tend to your plants while you're out for work since he's off for the week. And he gladly agrees.

But strangely, every time you come home, your plants look more withered than the day before. When you check on them, they're not even watered.

When you confront him about it, he just mentions how he waters them early in the morning so they dry by the evening. And with his slick words, you believe him.

Then, some of your things start appearing in the strangest places. Your lip gloss on the kitchen counter, a scarf on your bed, even panties you don’t remember wearing showing up in your dirty laundry. Weird.

You brush it off, blaming yourself for your forgetful nature, going about your morning routine before heading into another exhausting day of work. Just one more day, and then you won’t have to bother poor, busy Xavier with these tasks anymore.

Xavier, your reliable, sweet, and caring neighbor, moves on instinct as he checks the time, quick to hurry to your apartment door, unlocking it with ease.

Since the day you gave him your keys, it’s been the same routine.

He slips into your apartment after you leave, scanning over your belongings—your scarf, your lip gloss, even the forbidden rose toy you think is hidden in your drawer next to the bed. Anything that carries your essence is an item he’ll examine.

His first mistake.

And once he musters the courage to go into your panty drawer, he’s doomed before he even realizes it. Snatching a pristine pair of white lace panties, he lays back on your bed, taking a deep inhale of the sheets still coated in your scent before his hand travels down to free his aching cock.

His second mistake.

Lustful eyes scan the lace in his other hand as he wraps the flimsy material around his girthy length, his grip tightening as he strokes himself, imagining it to be your tight pussy instead, his head falling back against your headboard.

If this is wrong, dirty, even perverse—then why does it feel so damn good?

He could drown in your scent, stay in your bed like this forever, take panty after panty, repeating the same process over and over again.

He continues, lost in his pleasure, not even noticing the front door opening, the approaching footsteps, or the door creaking until—

"Xavier?"

His eyes snap open, panic surging through him. Before he can explain himself, his mouth falls shut, embarrassment creeping up his face.

"M’ just—"

"Just casually jerking off with my panties, right." You stand before him, arms crossed, a raised eyebrow aimed at his vulnerable form. But your gaze drops, lingering on his cock, still hard, still wrapped in your lace. And fuck, does it look good like that.

A slow smirk tugs at your lips. "You know what? You're lucky. I could use a little stress relief."

He watches in utter disbelief as you strip off your top, bright eyes soaking in your bare breasts, your perked nipples. His breath hitches when you step closer, knee dipping onto the mattress beside his hip, lustful gaze locking onto his.

"Wanna have the real deal?" You lower yourself onto his lap, heat pressing against his still-throbbing cock. "Then take it, you perv."

You don’t have to tell him twice.

His hands fly to your hips, pulling you down, a shuddering groan ripping from his throat as your soaked cunt draaags over him so deliciously.

His fingers dig into your flesh, thumbs brushing reverently over your waist, your thighs, committing the feel of you to memory.

His third mistake — nah, this is a blessing.

"Fuck," he exhales, voice raw. "Yer' for real?"

You roll your hips, smirking when he hisses. "What do you think?" Your fingers trail up his chest, tracing trembling muscles. " You could still leave. You can help yourself, can you?"

Xavier swallows thickly, hands sliding up your back, pulling you closer. "N-no, wanna' stay," he murmurs, voice husky. "Wanted this forever— been waitin' for so long."

You hum, dragging your fingers along his jaw before gripping his chin. "Then show me."

"Heh, I'll show you, alright."

In one swift motion, he flips you onto your back, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, across your collarbone, down your sternum. His tongue flicks over your nipple, making you arch into him, gasping as he sucks it into his mouth, teeth grazing sensitive skin.

His hands are everywhere—gripping your flesh, caressing your tender skin. He pulls back just enough to watch as he drags your soaked panties down your legs, letting them drop carelessly to the floor. His eyes darken as he spreads your legs, settling between them with a predatory gleam.

"So fucking pretty," he breathes, running his fingers through your slick folds before pressing a teasing kiss to your cheek. "Ohh, wanna feel ya'— pleaseee, lemme' get nice and comfy in yer' warm pussy, angel."

A shiver runs through you at his possessive tone, your body burning with anticipation, sending an electric shock right to your aching clit. "Then stop teasing and take what’s yours, Xavier."

He groans at your words, positioning himself at your entrance before sloooowly pushing in, the stretch making you moan as he fills you inch by inch. His head falls against your shoulder, panting against your skin as he finally bottoms out.

"Warm, s-so warm," he grits out, hands gripping your hips as he pulls back before thrusting in again, setting a deep, slow pace that has you whimpering beneath him. "Wanna stay like this—inside ya'—fuckkk."

Your nails dig into his back, urging him to go faster. And he does, movements rough, desperate, as his cock spreads you open, massaging your g-spot with his viciously, throbbing tip.

The sound of skin slapping against skin, breathy moans and curses filling the room, Xavier presses his forehead against yours, lips ghosting over your mouth, the incredible stretch causing your tongue to loll out weakly and he happily laps up your saliva, sucking on your wet muscle.

"Give it ta' me—fuckkk, all of it," he coaxes, thumb circling your clit in tight, deliberate motions, "Make a mess on me, c’mon, ya can't shy out now."

“G-gonna give it to me, yeah? Promise?” His voice is strangled, thick with lust as his thrusts grow frantic, erratic. His fingers dig into your hips, bruising, as he chases his high, grinding deep with every desperate snap of his hips.

You nod frantically, heat coiling in your stomach until it snaps, pleasure crashing over you. Your body tightens around him, and Xavier lets out a strangled groan as he follows, spilling his thick cum inside you, coating your walls in slick white as he buries his face in your neck, panting heavily.

For a moment, you both stay like that, tangled in each other, bodies slick with sweat until he pulls back just enough to look at you, a lazy smirk curling his lips.

"Oops. Forgot to water your plants today."

You huff out a laugh, pulling him down for another kiss, robbing a hiss from him as you slightly shift, cock springing to life inside you.

"Figured."

ZAYNE ♡ Doctor's Orders.

Zayne hates how much of a pervert he is.

He tells himself he should stop, that he should have some damn self-control, act like the composed professional he's supposed to be. But it’s just too tempting—especially when he catches those inviting glimpses of you during medical check-ups.

Like when he presses the stethoscope to your chest, fingers accidentally brushing over your soft skin as he pulls away. Or when you bend over, reaching for your toes for some 'spine check' he made up while he can’t help but admire the perfect curve of your ass.

He really can't help it.

It’s bad enough in his clinic, but it's so much worse when he does house calls.

You sit there so obediently, following every command, trusting him so completely. And it doesn’t help that you're dressed in ridiculously tight pajamas, your breasts practically spilling from the neckline, your thighs fully exposed, leaving little to the imagination.

Fuck. He could wreck you right here on this damned couch if he weren’t supposed to be acting professional.

"Alright, now open your mouth wide. I need to check your throat."

Lie.

You comply, lips parting in a teasing "ahhh," making a show of it just to get a rise out of him. And oh, does it work.

His grip tightens around the tongue depressor as he guides it to your tongue, watching you, trying so hard not to let his gaze meet yours because if he does—he’s done for.

But then his hand trembles, just enough to push the depressor a little deeper.

You gag. Loudly.

His cock twitches violently, and he swears he can feel a bead of pre-cum leaking into his briefs right then and there.

"M’ sorry," he mutters hastily, barely able to form words. "Feeling a bit off today. Been a long one. Can I use your restroom?"

"Of course! Are you alri—"

Before you can even finish your sentence, he's gone, practically sprinting to the bathroom.

The second the door is almost shut, he’s already fumbling with his belt, shoving his pants down and gripping his hefty cock, hissing as he wraps his fingers around the thick, aching length.

God, he’s horrible. Pathetically horrible.

He’s jacked off to the thought of you more times than he can count, but never in your home. Never with you just outside the door.

And the worst part?

He wants to get caught.

It's evident— his groans slip past his lips a little too loudly, the wet sounds of his strokes just barely muffled by the rush of running water. And he doesn’t even try to lock the door, leaving it cracked just enough—a silent invitation, a trap.

His hand moves faster, his mind spiraling into filthy thoughts, how much better would it sound if you were gagging around him instead of that damned wooden stick? If you looked up at him, lips stretched wide, cheeks hollowed, eyes teary?

"Fuck—"

His breath hitches, his body tensing—he’s about to—

"Z-Zayne? What the—!"

His eyes snap open, glasses nearly sliding off the bridge of his nose as he whips around.

And there you are. Standing in the doorway, lips parted, gaze locked onto his hand wrapped around his cock, glistening with pre-cum.

For a split second, shame claws at him, heat burning up his neck—until he sees a smirk creeping onto your lips.

"M’ sorry," he breathes, voice rough, unrepentant, "but you’re a vixen of a patient, you know that? Teasing me with your tight little outfit. You planned this, didn’t you?"

You tilt your head, playing innocent, though your eyes gleam with mischief. "Doctor... I think you’re just imagining things."

His grip on the sink tightens when you step closer, sinking to your knees before him, your breath ghosting over his swollen tip. And you giggle, giggle as you watch pre spurt out of his slit as your hand creeps up his thigh, doe-eyes locking with his.

You grasp him, a teasing flick of your tongue sending a sharp jolt through his entire body.

"Unbelievable," he huffs, fingers instantly tangling in your hair, tugging just hard enough to make you gasp. "I’m not imagining things, trust me."

And then, with a firm push, he guides your mouth onto him, a deep groan rumbling in his chest as your lips wrap around his cock.

"Let's finish yer' check-up. Open wiiiiide— ya' know the drill. " His smirk deepens, hips rolling forward, forcing you to take him to your throat, the delicious gag you let out makes his eyes roll to the back of his skull.

His hips snap forward in a slow, deliberate thrust, dragging a needy whimper from your throat as he sinks deeper, stretching your lips around him further. His breathing is uneven now, heavy with restraint, but his control is crumbling, and you can feel it in the way his fingers flex against your scalp, the way he hurries to throw his fogged glasses of, his muscles coil under your touch.

His thrusts grow sharper, more demanding, and you take it, every inch of it, his cock sliding deep into your throat, eyes tearing.

The filthy, wet sounds of your mouth working him fill the small bathroom, along with his ragged breathing, the curses slipping past his lips as his body trembles beneath your touch.

You drag your nails up his thighs, feeling the way his muscles tense, how he shudders when you hum around him, sending vibrations straight through him. He groans your name, voice rough with need, his head tipping back, eyes squeezing shut as pleasure coils tight in his gut.

And then you dare to contract that tight throat of yours, squeezing his mushroomy, rosey tip so tight, he's starting to feel dizzy now.

"Fuck, sweetheart—" His voice breaks, a low growl vibrating in his chest as his thrusts falter, his entire body seizing under your touch. His grip tightens, almost bruising, but you welcome it, relishing the way he shudders, how his knees slightly buckle.

With a final, deep thrust, he spills into your mouth, a sharp curse falling from his lips as he rides out his release with weak bucks, his fingers still tangled in your hair. His chest rises and falls in harsh, uneven breaths, his body trembling as the last waves of pleasure crash over him.

His heavy breath fills the tight space, fingers now sliding through his disheveled hair as his cloudy gaze falls to your messed up face in awe, hair tangled from his firm grip, tearing eyes examining him as you happily swallow his hot semen, cum slicked lips stretching into a big smile right after.

Your knees dig into the floor as you tilt your head to lap up a droplet of semen trapped to his tip in delight.

"So," he catches his breath before reaching for his glasses with shaky fingers, swiftly putting them on,

"Same time next week?"

RAFAYEL ♡ Steambound

Rafayel is nothing if not considerate, letting you shower at his place while your apartment complex deals with yet another plumbing disaster.

You appreciate it, really. His shower is just as extravagant as the rest of his house—sleek, modern tiles stretching from floor to ceiling, the entire bathroom almost as big as your whole damn apartment.

Steam curls into the air, thick and heavy, wrapping the room in a heated mist. Water cascades down your tired body, and you close your eyes, exhaling softly, relishing in the warmth as it soothes your muscles.

But you don’t notice the faint crack in the door, nor the tall figure standing just beyond it, or predatory eyes locked onto your naked form through the glass, tracing the curve of your back to the soft swell of your ass.

Who could blame him?

He noticed you didn’t lock the door, and as he listened to the rhythmic patter of water, felt the humid air creeping into the hallway, he told himself to just take a quick peek, just to make sure you don’t need anything. A towel, maybe. Then he’d be on his way.

Why is he even lying to himself?

He always does this—always tries to craft reasonable excuses for his own depravity.

This isn’t the first time you’ve showered at his place, and it sure as hell isn’t the first time he’s watched you.

He’s perfected the art of lingering just out of sight, watching through a barely open door, catching glimpses of your reflection in the mirror as you undress in the guest room he swears he never uses.

Or when you step out of the shower, towel wrapped snugly around your glistening body, droplets still clinging to your skin, he’s there, lurking, memorizing every inch of you, maybe even letting his hand drift lower, palming himself through his pants as he drinks in the sight, knowing that just watching won’t be enough.

So, when he's feeling extra risky, he'll sneak a peak into the shower, like right now, unbuttoned pants hanging low as he slowly strokes his aching cock to you soaping your body with his body wash, in his shower, your hands gliding along your delicate skin and he wishes, prays he could touch you like that.

You mindlessly pour the shampoo into your hair, turning just right for him to catch a glimpse of your exposed front, tits on full display. Your eyes are cautionary closed, careful not to get any of the product in your eyes.

And he's taking full advantage of that.

His head rests against the doorframe, low-hanging eyes and mouth agape as he tries to sneak a peak at your cunt, but he's just too far away.

What a shame.

Desperate to catch a glipse, he lets out a frustrated huff, maybe a little too loud, causing you to halt in your tracks, turning your head with cautiong, eyes closed covered with remnants of bubbles.

"Rafayel? Is that you?"

Your voice cuts through the thick steam, startled and unsure, and it makes his stomach clench, as his hand tightens desperately onto his bulky tip and his breath stutters. His name so sweet on your tongue—he shouldn't react like this, but he can't help but stroke his heavy cock firm in his palm, faster, stronger.

A shiver runs down his spine, his grip tightening around himself again, a quiet muffled moan slipping past his bitten lip, overwritten by the dripping noise of the water, his ears flush red. Damn it.

This wasn’t how he planned to spend his night, fisted around his cock, your scent thick in the air, soap and you making his head as cloudy as the humid air around him. But you’re here now, close enough that he swears he can feel the warmth of your body beyond the veil of condensation.

And maybe it’s reckless—no, it is reckless, but desire makes him bold. He exhales sharply, letting his hesitation crumble, and before he can overthink it, he pushes past the fogged glass and steps fully into view.

Your reaction is instant. A sharp gasp, eyes going wide as you stumble backward, water cascading down your bare shoulders. Your hands, trembling, fly up to shield yourself, though they do little to conceal the curve of your hips, the soft swell of your chest, the way droplets cling to your flushed skin.

His gaze darkens, tracing every detail greedily, hunger curling low in his stomach. His lips twitch, amusement flickering beneath the heat in his stare. That trembling attempt at modesty, those blown-out eyes staring at him like he's some kind of dangerous animal—like he’s something hazardous— God, he might cum right there.

"Mind if I join in? The shower is big enough for two, no?"

Your throat bobs as you swallow, eyes darting between his face and his tall, sculpted frame while he cautiously steps closer—dripping, bare, utterly unapologetic as he stands before you.

Everything feels so hot, from the hot steam to his body so close to yours, to the lingering feeling in the pit of your tummy. You should scream, slap, cuss him out, but,

"Y-you, you perv" , is all you can muster, your whole body tensing as your eyes linger at his straight, heavy dick maybe for a little too long.

Fuck, this is turning you on.

Rafayel watches every shift of your expression like a predator drinking in the scent of his prey.

Embarrassment and conflict, the rapid rise and fall of your chest betraying just how hard your heart is pounding.

But beneath it—Oh, he sees it. That flicker of something curious, enticed, even, something that makes his blood run straight to his already painfully hard, pounding length.

"I prefer the term 'enthusiast'. Plus," he's inching closer, finger reaching behind to turn off the flowing fountain of water, "I let you shower here for weeks, ya owe me, ya' know."

Droplets cling to his skin now, sliding over every defined muscle, down the sharp lines of his abs, following the ridges like they’re tracing a path meant for your eyes to follow.

You press yourself against the cool tile, heart hammering against your ribs, but you don’t look away. You can’t. His cock hangs heavy between his legs, hard, thick, aching.

And he’s not even trying to hide it.

"I don’t owe you anything," you manage, but your voice is weak, your body betraying you with every shaky inhale, every slight tremble he notices instantly.

Rafayel smirks, watching you intentively. "Oh, cutie," he drawls, rolling his shoulders as the warm water cascades over him, washing away the last remnants of restraint. "You don’t even believe that yourself."

Coral eyes trail lower, drinking in the sight of you of your glistening skin— the way some bubbles still slide down your curves, clinging to the peaks of your breasts before slipping down between your thighs.

"Look at cha'," he murmurs, thick voice drenched in lust "Fuckin' perfect."

You shift under his gaze, thighs pressing together, but it’s useless—he sees everything. He always does.

Your breath stutters, heat licking up your spine, but you shake your head, desperate to deny it. "That’s not—"

His fingers swiftly trail lower, slipping between your legs, rubbing just once over the slick, buttony clit, and you nearly collapse.

Rafayel groans, his forehead dropping against yours for a moment, his breath coming out ragged.

He hisses, other hand forming into a tight fist, holding onto his last bit of sanity — if there's even anything left. "Yer' cute cunny 's sayin' sometin' else," precise fingers glide down to tease your fluttering hole, "You sure you want me ta' stop?"

Your mind his clouded, gaze hazy, shaky hand coming up to trace down his slim waist, halting just above his pelvis.

A whimper escapes you, gasping when he grips your thigh and hikes it up around his waist, pressing you closer, his cock gifting your clit a quick, addictive kiss.

"You could’ve locked the door," he breathes against your ear, his voice dripping with amusement, sin. "You could’ve told me to fuck off the second I stepped inside. But you didn’t."

His lips graze your throat, nipping at the delicate skin, making you squirm.

"You wanted this, didn’t you?" he growls, rolling his hips, letting the thick length of him drag against your slick folds, teasing, taunting. "You wanted me to come in and give this pussy some proper lovin' hm?"

A broken moan spills from your lips, nails digging into his shoulders, but he only grins, reveling in your unraveling.

"Say it," he demands, voice laced with need and desire. "Tell me you want this — want me, and I'll treat this needy cunny sooo good."

His digits find your clit again, circling it lazily, his teasing touch making your legs shake.

"Tell me," he repeats, pressing the head of his cock right against your entrance, barely pushing in, just enough to make you feel the stretch, make you crave for more.

Your head falls back against the tile, lips parted, body trembling, and as the words spill from you in a breathless whimper— he loses it.

Groaning, his patience snaps as he slams his mouth over yours, tongue plunging deep, stealing the last bit of your resistance. And before you can even register it he’s inside you, stretching your walls so meanly agape, your breath halts in your lungs.

"Ohhh, baby" he growls against your lips as he fully bottoms out inside you. "Finally— fuckkkk, finally. Was so tired of js' watchin' ya'."

You can feel him everywhere— his tongue tangling with yours, desperate claws on your thigh and hips, his selfish cock spreading you so lewdly, so meanly, you almost don't notice the bulge in your tummy— almost.

"Goddd, g-gonna be the death of me, cutie", his words come out in a quiet whisper as his eyes fall down to his cock marking a visible spot on your tummy, bullying his way into your cervix.

He picks up a quicker pace, deep thrust jolting you further up the cold tiles.

And each appearance of his cock against your belly, each little sound he swallows from your bitten lips make his balls tighten, threatening to pump his load deep into you.

"Ya' feel even better than I imagined. So greedy, suckin' me in so damn deep."

And he has imagined. So many times.

But now? Now he doesn’t have to anymore.

SYLUS ♡ Home Sweet Home!

Sylus always had a calculated mind, being two steps ahead of everyone around him- even you.

So once in a while when you're sleeping over at his place, he takes the sleeping-gap you both have to his advantage. Well, more often than he'd like to admit.

This has become quite the routine once you come over, he'll spend time with you, then leave for so called buissnes late at night. Sure,, he had a lot to do as the Leader of a criminal organization but sometimes? he just drove off around the corner of his home, waiting, preying.

He's purposely come home later than usual, sitting in his car as he watches you in his room through Mephisto, getting ready for bed.

He's waiting, watching intensly with his leg tapping the floor of his car as he watches you get into the bed with a defeaded sigh, the long wait of waiting for Sylus return now overwritten by the need to sleep.

So once he notices the lights turning off, your regular breathing indicating that you're far off into the dreamland now.

That's when he strikes.

The door creaks open, closing with a soft click! as Sylus steps into the dimly lit apartment.

You're sprawled out on his bed, breathing softly, body tangled in the blood-red sheets, wearing only his shirt, the fabric barely clings to your body, slipping off one delicate shoulder, the hem riding up just enough to tease a slight view of your panties.

His pupils blow in excitement, silver eyebrows raising in amusement.

"Would you look at that," he muses, voice thick with something sinful.

The bed dips as he climbs in, tugging the blanket you curled yourself into to crawl inside it, your warm, resting body spurting excitement right to his cock,

He watches you sleep, listening to the soft sounds of your breathing while palming himself through his pants. He never touched you —he would never—but God, the temptation burned.

And once he hears your sleeping form mutter a silent moan, he tenses.

What could you possibly be dreaming of?

He fights internally, fingers twitching, itching to touch you.

His suspicions solidified once a short gasp spilled from your lips, your thighs clenching under the sheets as you shamelessly moan his name in your sleep.

He pushes the blanket aside, exposing your flushed form with eyes scrunched together, thighs twitching as your hips rock against nothing.

"S-Sylus. Need you."

God, he can't help himself.

You said it yourself, you need him. So you wouldn't mind if he gives you just what you're craving for, right?

The bed dips as he climbs over you, one knee pressing between your legs. His fingers ghost along your exposed thigh, pushing the fabric up further, revealing more of the soft skin beneath, careful not to stir you from your peaceful slumber.

Sylus exhales slowly, forcing himself to move with precision and restraint. His touch is featherlight, tracing the delicate curve of your thigh, reveling in the way your skin shivers under his fingertips.

You're so warm, so soft—his perfect little prize wrapped up in his sheets, whispering his name like a prayer even in sleep.

His cock strains against his slacks, aching, desperate. But he won't rush. No, he intends to savor this. Thoroughly.

Carefully, he brushes his knuckles along the inside of your thigh, eyes locked onto your face, watching for any sign of wakefulness. But you only sigh, legs parting slightly in response as if inviting him closer.

With painstaking patience, he lets his fingers skim the edge of your panties, tracing the damp fabric stretched over your core. The moment he feels the warmth, the wetness gathered there, a deep, shuddering breath escapes him.

Fuck.

You're dreaming of him.

He palms himself through his trousers again, exhaling sharply at the realization. His perfect girl, all worked up because of him, soaking through her panties in the middle of the night, writhing against the sheets, lost in whatever sinful fantasy has her gasping his name.

It's almost too much to bear.

You shift in your sleep, a tiny sigh leaving your lips as goosebumps leave a trail on your skin from the remnant of his delightful touches.

"I'm home, honey." he hums, teasing.

His large hands slide beneath your shirt with a rough, determined purpose, fingers splaying wide as if he means to carve the shape of you into his memory. His palms are calloused, a stark contrast to the softness of your skin, and the way he grips your waist—firm, unyielding, and he wonders how you've not even woken up yet despite his desperate claws.

Breath stuttering, low and ragged, followed by a guttural groan that rumbles deep in his chest as he feels the heat of your bare flesh beneath his hands like it’s driving him out of his mind.

Leaning in without hesitation, mouth finding your exposed shoulder, lips dragging with tenderness. He doesn’t kiss so much as claim, lingering long enough for his teeth to graze the sensitive skin before moving lower.

He trails downward, tasting every inch like he’s memorizing the way you shudder beneath him.

His grip tightens, possessive, almost bruising, pulling you flush against him until there’s no space left to breathe, to think—only the pounding of your heartbeat against his and the searing heat coiled between you. His mouth finds the hollow of your throat, tongue flicking out, slow and hot, before his teeth scrape lightly, dangerously, earning a desperate sound from deep within you.

“Wakey, wakeyyy,” he hums against your skin, voice wrecked, with a teasing undertone. His hands slide higher now, beneath fabric and hesitation alike, and everywhere he touches feels like it’s burning, unraveling you thread by thread.

"Were you waiting for me like this, baby?" he hums between open-mouthed kisses, voice like warm honey, " all soft and ready for me?"

A pleased sound rumbles from his chest as you sigh in response, your body instinctively shifting closer to his heat. He watches the slow rise and fall of your breath, the way your lashes flutter ever so slightly, the unconscious parting of your lips so inviting.

His hands spread your further thighs apart, a pleased groan escaping his throat as he comes face to face with your dampened panties, outline of your needy cunt plastered so firmly, he can't look anywhere but.

He doesn't shy away, his hunger mounting as he palms himself through his slacks, the thick outline of his arousal pressing insistently against the fabric.

"Beautiful," he breathes, grinding his freed cock against you, hanging firm above his lazily undone pants, pre staining your panties even more, the wet spot now bleeding further into the cotton material. He watches with rapt fascination as your body reacts instinctively—your thighs twitch, a soft whimper escapes your lips, your hips lift ever so slightly, longing for more.

His cock twitches at the sight.

"Mmm, that's my good girl," he praises, slipping his hands beneath your thighs, hoisting you up just enough to slide your panties to the side before aligning his pulsating crown on your clenching hole.

Sylus pushes in slowly, letting out a long, deep groan as your warmth stretches around him. The feeling of your needy cunny—hot, tight, wet—makes his head spin.

"S-Sylus?! When did you—hngggh!"

Ah, you're awake.

Your eyes flutter open, glazed over with sleep, a dazed confusion mixed with pleasure contorting your features as you register the delicious stretch filling you up.

"M' sorry, sweetheart," he hisses, pressing his forehead against yours, his voice strained with restraint. "Couldn't help myself."

Your hands scramble to grip his strong shoulders, your nails biting into the firm muscle, legs lazily wrapping around his waist, still heavy from sleep, pulling him deeper. The sensation sends him reeling, and he rolls his hips forward, sinking further until he’s buried his pulsating cock to the hilt, brushing against your cervix ridiculously fast.

"Nghhh! M-more."

He chuckles, breathless and cocky. "Mm, patience, baby. I always give you what you want, no?"

His thrusts start slow, deep, and deliberate, dragging against your sensitive walls. He watches you, utterly enthralled, drinking in the way your lips part, how your nails dig into his skin, how your body shudders beneath him.

"You're so beautiful like this," he murmurs against your lips, voice filled with pure adoration. "Always—such a perfect girl for me."

"B-been waitin' for you for so long,", your breath comes in short, shaky gasps, your body still adjusting to the overwhelming fullness. But Sylus doesn’t stop—he won’t stop. He needs this. He needs you.

"My sweet, poor darling. But I'm here now, and 'm not leaving anytime soon."

His pace picks up, hips slamming into you harder, deeper, hitting that mawkish spot that has your toes curling, your moans turning breathless.

"Yeahhh," he growls, his grip on your thighs tightening. "You see? Told you I—hahh— always take care of you, hm?"

You can’t speak—you can only whimper, nodding frantically, back arching as pleasure crashes through you. Every thrust drags against that spot, coaxing you closer and closer to the edge, the heat pooling in your belly threatening to snap.

"Words, baby," he demands, grinning against your cheek. "Tell me."

"T-taking so much care for me! A-always fuckin' me sooooo good—!"

His groan is primal, his thrusts turning erratic. His lips are on yours in an instant, swallowing your moans in a messy, desperate kiss. His hand slides between your bodies, fingers finding your aching clit, rubbing fast, ruthless circles over the swollen bud.

Your body snaps.

Pleasure explodes through you, hard, hot and overwhelming, your walls clenching down around him like a vice. Your legs tighten around his waist, back arching off the bed as wave after wave crashes over you, your voice breaking on a strangled cry of his name.

"Fuck—fuck, sweetie," he groans, his rhythm stuttering. Your tight, convulsing heat sends him over the edge with you, his breath hitching, hips twitching as he buries himself as deep as he can go, spilling his hot spurts of cum inside you with a strangled, guttural grunt.

For a moment, he stays there, buried deep, catching his breath, his body trembling against yours. Then, a lazy smirk pulls at his lips.

"Gorgeous fuckin' mess," he murmurs, pressing a slow kiss against your jaw

You let out a soft, contented whimper, your body still trembling beneath him.

And by the determined glee in his eyes, you know he's not done playing with his prey yet.

CALEB ♡ No Shame!(What for?)

Your breath stalls in your chest, heart hammering against your ribs as your mind scrambles to make sense of what’s in front of you.

Panties. Your panties.

The delicate lace, once delicate, is now stuck together in places, soaked through with his cum. The sheer amount of it—thick, messy, so obviously fresh—makes your stomach tighten, not with disgust or fear, but something different.

Your fingers tremble as you hold the fabric aloft, staring, your pulse roaring in your ears.

This isn’t possible. It can’t be.

Sweet, wholesome Caleb—the one who always looked after you, who laughed at your dumb jokes, who ruffled your hair like an annoying big brother—there’s just no way. He couldn’t possibly be this perverse. He couldn’t have been stealing your underwear, jerking off into them like some depraved animal, desperate to soak them in his filth.

Right?

This was just supposed to be a quick peek into his room for any of his dirty laundry while he's showering to throw it into the machine alongside yours. Well alright, maybe you also wanted to check for your favorite missing pair of panties, just to be sure.

And there they are, the proof right here, warm and glistening between your fingers.

You’re so stunned, so utterly paralyzed by its sheer indecency that you don’t even hear the dropping water halting, the bathroom door open. Don’t even sense the presence behind you—not until you hear that soft, unmistakable click!

Your entire body jolts as realization slams into you.

You turn too fast, nearly stumbling, your breath lodged in your throat as your gaze collides with his.

He's bare-chested, still dripping from the shower, skin gleaming under the soft bedroom light, droplets of water trailing down his defined abs before disappearing beneath the loosely tucked edge of his towel, blocking the door, leaving no escape.

You’re trapped.

And the way he’s looking at you, amused, dark-eyed, and slow-smirking— so damn shameless, makes your stomach tighten in the worst possible way.

"Snooping around my room? That’s so unlike you, pips'."

His voice is smooth, unbothered, as if he isn’t standing there half-naked, as if he doesn’t see the ruined panties clutched in your trembling grasp.

His gaze flicks downward to your hand, to the lace still sticking to your fingers with his spent desire, to be exact.

Heat scorches through you. A sick, embarrassed thrill coils in your gut, because oh god—you’re still holding it.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it’s rude to go through other people’s things?"

You drop the panties like they burn, but it’s too late.

He knows you’ve seen them, knows you’ve realized what he’s done, knows you’re still standing here, trapped in his room.

"You weren’t supposed to find those, y’know," he muses, taking another step closer. The damp heat radiating off his skin encloses you, his fresh and clean scent washing over you, making your legs go weak.

Your breath shudders unable to do anything but watch him come closer and closer, the towel on his hips hanging dangerously low.

"What’s wrong?" he hums, tilting his head, mocking innocence dripping from his voice. "Cat got your tongue? Or," he leans in, close enough that you feel the warmth of his breath ghost across your cheek, "Are you just wondering how many other pairs I’ve got?"

Your pulse pounds, deafening. The way he says it so casually, so fucking bold, makes it obvious. This isn’t the first time, fuck— he’s been doing this for god knows how long.

"Caleb," you finally choke out, his name barely more than a whisper.

"Let's make a deal, sweets," he murmurs, reaching up, up, up— his fingers trace your wrist, featherlight, teasing, and playful, "I'll stop stealing them if ya' let me get a taste of the real thing. How's that sound, pips'?"

And your hesitant nod, bitten lips, and glazed eyes are all he needs as his strong hands grip your waist, twisting you around, forcing you backward.

Your back hits the mattress with a gasp, the soft give of his bed swallowing your weight. The room spins, the scent of him, clean from his shower, wrapping around you, suffocating in the most intoxicating way.

This is wrong.

He's on you, caging you in, hands moving quickly to remove your short pants from your legs, your shirt riding up in the process, panties on full display, and not to mention the prominent wet, stain riiiight at the center of where he imagines your needy cunt to be.

Oh so you want this as much as he does, huh?

His arms are braced on either side of your head, towel hanging low on his hips, barely clinging on. His damp hair drips onto your skin, cool against the fire burning beneath your flesh. His muscles flex above you, broad shoulders dwarfing you, leaving you breathless under his weight.

Who are you trying to fool?

You wanted this, hell- maybe even prayed for your panties to be in his possession, prayed for him to finally touch you, to have him between your legs like this,

And your prayers have been heard.

His knee spreads your legs without hesitation, without shame, pinning you open beneath him. And before you can even think, his head dips down, his mouth right at your thigh, his nose dragging against the heat between your legs.

"Never seen this pair before," he breathes, his voice rough, heavy with something filthy.

Your whole body locks up because god—he’s so close, pressing his face against your panties, nuzzling the damp fabric, so shamelessly, so utterly desperate, taking a big whiff of your scent, making you wail in embarrassment.

A deep, guttural, fucking shameless moan wrecks from his throat, so obscene, so needy, that you feel the heat of it pulse straight to your needy pussy.

"Fuckkk," he groans, dragging his nose up, nuzzling slow, breathing deep. "Ya' smell so damn sweet, baby."

Your hands fly to his shoulders, weakly pushing, but he doesn’t budge. If anything, he presses in deeper.

"Didn't think ya' could keep ts' cute cunny hidden from me, did ya'?" he purrs, hot breath fanning against the wetness he’s indulging in, dropped gaze engulfing your expressions whole.

And then—

His tongue. Right against the fabric, mere atoms away from your bare clit, slow, deliberate kitten-licks draaaag over the damp lace, so close yet so maddeningly far, and your head snaps back against the mattress, a moan spilling from your lips before you can stop it.

His breath left him in a rough chuckle, fingers flexing as if resisting the urge to rip your lace apart right then and there.

"H-hey, no peeking!" You try to scold, your hands darting down to grasp his hand threatening to get rid of the fabric—but Caleb's faster.

Hand snapping yours away, a low growl retorts, a primal sound that sends heat licking down your spine.

He loves your panties, he really does. But right now, he just wants to fucking tear them apart.

"Baby, ohhh — babybabybaby," he groans against your hidden folds, rolling his hips once, twice against the bed, watching as your head tipped back, a sharp gasp leaving you.

"C-Caleb—"

That was all it took for him to finally lose it.

With one swift movement, a loud riiiip! echoing as he tears your panties from you, exposing your aching pussy bare before him.

He doesn't tease. Doesn't wait.

A low, primal sound resonates before he crashes headfirst into your soaked cunt. His hands take control, gripping your thighs, dragging you forward until your soaked heat is pressed firmly against his eager mouth as he bucks his hips into the bed like a desperate mess.

A sharp cry rips from your throat, legs locking around his head as he fills you with his tongue, forcing you open. Your fingers tangled in his hair, yanking your head back as his lips latch onto your clit, biting teasingly, sucking onto your clit with such a devastating grip your mind goes blank.

"Yer' fucking drenched," he groans, voice tight with restraint. "So eager for me, hmm?"

Each drag of his tongue scraping the inside of your hole, his nose repeatedly bumping into your throbbing clit sends pleasure detonating through your core, deep and merciless, making you cling to his hair with desperate fingers. The room's air is thick, humid, filled with the obscene sound of sloppy spurts of your juices coating his face, the sharp gasps, the deep grunts of a man losing himself in you— in your pussy.

His tongue presses down harder on your clit, circling in tight, devastating licks that had your thighs trembling around his head.

Every time his tongue drags over you, his hips jerk in rhythm, grinding pathetically against nothing but air and friction, chasing the sensation like a man starved.

But it’s the way he works his tongue that sends you spiraling, spelling out his name over your throbbing, swollen clit like a brand.

C-A-L-E-B-C-A-L-E-B-C-A-L-E-

Each letter feels like it’s seared into you, curling perfectly around every sensitive nerve, his mouth obscene in its devotion. There’s nothing measured about it now, nothing held back, just raw, consuming need as he devours you like you’re the only thing tethering him to sanity.

"H-hahhh, fuck!—" Your voice wrecked, high-pitched, barely coherent. Your nails bite into his scalp, desperate for something to anchor you as your body teetered on the edge.

Your fingers twist tightly in his hair, yanking hard enough to make his head tilt back for a moment, his groan reverberating straight through your core. The sound vibrates against you, deep and guttural, sending a sharp jolt of electricity ripping down your spine.

He doesn’t falter, if anything, the rough pull only spurs him on. His eyes flick up to meet yours, dark and glazed, pupils blown wide with hunger, and the sight alone nearly undoes you.

“Feels good, baby?” he rasps against your hole, his voice wrecked, teasing, but tinged with something almost desperate.

The plap, plap, plap of his hips rutting against the sheets with shameless abandon, towel long abandoned on the floor somewhere, matching the frantic curl of his tongue as he snaps his hips up, the sound of his slurping assault lewd and filthy.

"Give it ta' me, c'mon. Allll of it," Caleb mutters, vibration hot against your folds, his grip tightening, the muscles in his arms flexing as he slams you firmly, deep into the mattress, leaving no room to move.

The pleasure crested, blinding, and almost unbearable. Your whole body locked up as the first wave of your orgasm slammed into you—violent, tearing a broken, breathless scream from your lips, your tongue helplessly dangling from your open mouth, slick saliva dripping onto the sheets.

But Caleb doesn't stop.

He keeps going, arms locking around your thighs, forcing them up, up up, harshly against your stomach in a mating press, dragging out every last pulse, every aftershock, every clench of your walls around his wet muscle.

"That's it," he groans, voice ragged with need. "So fucking—shiiitt—tasty fuckin' pussy—"

Your body convulses, pleasure still rolling through you in relentless waves, too much and not enough at the same time. Your thighs shake, breath coming in ragged gasps, vision hazy as your orgasm drags on—longer, deeper, more intense than you’d ever felt before.

"Fuhh-fuck!—"

And as you come down from your soul-shattering high, arm dapped across your face to catch your breath, his hunter eyes bore into your form, hand sneaking down to snatch the destroyed piece of fabric from the valley of your ass, swiftly stuffing them under his pillow.

Bingo. Another one added to his collection.

©︎𝙎𝘼𝙏𝙍𝙎 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. Do NOT plagiarize, copy, modify, republish, or translate my work in any way!

[spearxwind]

hey check this shit out (explodes some lighting on this thing)

I'm cooking :) (redraw of a panel from DEEP and a comparison to the same panel)

[minyard--josten]

if theres one thing I can do it's critically analysis tv shows at least I've got that going for me

[sunrizef1]

Pushing it Down and Praying

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader, Oscar Piastri x Ex!Reader

Warnings: litteraly idk, emotional cheating (maybe)(not really)

Authors Note: this got away from me but I do rly like it

Requested: Yes/No

——

yn

liked by rolemodel lando and 121,008 others

yn and it feels like the end of a movie I’ve seen before

load comments…

user1 she’s so pretty

user2 I <3 ceilings

user3 me when I’m writing about my ex Oscar Piastri

user4 Oscar mention

user5 why is Lando in the likes

user6 ceilings, plaster

user7 ✨

user8 I miss dad

user9 the way they never posted eachother on main but yall are still attached to that relationship

user10 can we leave her alone with the Oscar comments

rolemodel love you

liked by author

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lando added to their story

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yn added to their story

oscarpiastri liked your story ♥️

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lando

🎵 All My Ghosts - Yn Ln

liked by oscarpiastri georgerussel and 3,887,009 others

lando cuz I hate all my habits but I happen to love you

load comments…

user11 oh! Oh! Well-!

user12 oh darling that song is about Oscar piastri 😭

user13 is this cute…?

user14 as someone who's heard the rest of this song/album idk if this is the move

user15 idc reclaiming a song about an ex is actually adorable don't @ me

user16 cuz allllll my ghosts are with meeee

user17 the implication that comes with using all my ghosts… like I feel yn would say that her ghosts are Oscar at this point

user18 in the context of the last verse I think this is nice

user19 no yn like…

user20 idk how to feel

user21 don't think I haven't noticed that neither yn or Tucker are here

user22 Oscar liked… wtf are we doing

user23 oh I'm gonna lose my whole mind

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yn

liked by rolemodel oscarpiastri and 678,087 others

yn pushing it down and praying… song and mv out now

comments on this post have been restricted

rolemodel so proud of you and this video

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yn love you

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yn added to their story

lando replied to your story

lando

yk what I think I do

yn

And I'm grateful for that

lando loved a message ♥️

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yn

liked by lando rolemodel and 412,009 others

yn nobody knows what its like to be us

tagged: lando

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lando no, they don't 🫶🏻

liked by author

user24 ooh this clapback to the twitter detectives ik what this is

user25 this feels like a real healthy reaction to everything that happened actually

user26 these grown adults reacting healthily

user27 they’re adorable idc

user28 are these song lyrics???

user29 yall this is “spring into summer” it’s unreleased, she sang it a few weeks ago at a show. It’s also definitely about Lando lol

user30 in case y’all were curious about more of the lyrics for this song: “Hold it against me, cool to the touch, Nobody knows what it's like to be us. Somebody finds me in the shallow end, Love you like I mean it just because I can.”

user31 also: “You're always gonna be someone that I want. We have too many years between us. If I could jump into the past, I'd only change one thing, I'd never hurt you first, I'd never let you leave. And now I'm here forever, runnin' back to you, Always.”

user32 oh those lyrics are about her releasing pushing it down and praying aren’t they

user33 I saw all the comments and went and listened to spring into summer and I fear it’s so adorable I can’t

rolemodel I loved playing your ex in the mv tysm

lando yeah u guys rly look alike

rolemodel :(

user34 I need spring into summer released I fear

user35 oh I love them

user36 nobody knows!!!! No one!!!! Not one person!!!

liked by author

user37 I just think it’s really cool how they both got over the other song and stayed together while still being healthy and strong

user38 these are my babies

lando yeah yeah I love you or whatever

yn love you too or whatever

lando 😦 call me!!!!

user39 why do I get the feeling that's the first time yn has said ily to lando lol

oscarpiastri congrats 🍾

yn thanks Oscar :)

lando thanks Osc

oscarpiastri you’re welcome 👍

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Tags: @evie-119 @casperlikej

[just-jammin]

coding is somehow my passion

huzzah

[krosiefics]

midnight grind • minsung x reader

MDNI 18+

Synopsis: One night after watching a movie, Minho comes out of the shower to see his two best friends getting off to each other-

WC: 1.7k

Tags: SMUT!, afab!reader, softdom!minho, bsf!minho, switch!jisung, bsf!jisung, college au, piv, same hole double penetration, unprotected sex (wrap it), pet names (baby, sweetheart, princess), light degradation, fingering (f receiving), threesome, best friends to idk???, kinda somnophilia, grinding, dry humping, masturbation (m), probably forgetting some…but yeah

A/N: I’m soooo sorry for being absent these past few months, schools a bitch and it’s midterms week this week- BUT I’ve been making this as an apology<333

The sound of rain hitting against the glass panels echoed through your apartment. Static noises came from the TV as yet another jumpscare had your best friend flinching onto one of you. Earlier in the evening, you had invited your best friends, Minho and Jisung, to watch a horror movie. Little did you know that Jisung would be so jumpy anytime the music would even crescendo. The three of you were cuddled up on your bed, you in the middle with your friends on either side.

“Tsk,” A voice from your right scoffs, “you’re so jumpy Ji.” You giggle at Minho’s words, Jisung simply glared about to protest but the monster showed up out of nowhere and scared him again, causing a yelp from the round-cheeked boy. Within the span of the last fifteen minutes of the movie, Jisung had flinched at least ten times, causing you and Minho to shake your heads at him. Shortly after the movie ended you went to your bathroom to brush your teeth before returning to bed. Jisung had already showered before coming over, so he just followed suit by rinsing his mouth with mouthwash.

It’s not unusual for your friends to stay over, nor to sleep with you in your bed- you all have been best friends since freshman year of high school, now you’re college juniors almost ready to take on the world. “I’m gonna rinse off, that's cool?” Minho says after both you and Jisung had returned to bed. “Yeah sure,” You assure, “there’s a pile of clothes you guys have left in the basket by the wall.” Minho nods at your words, turning to your bathroom and shutting the door behind him. “Night Ji.” You sigh, covering yourself with your comforter. Jisung hums at you. You doubt he’s actually gonna fall asleep anytime soon, he’s probably too scared if anything.

Water splashes against the titles in your bathroom, adding a white noise to your room- causing you to fall asleep rather quickly. Jisung peers down at you with a soft smile, “Cute.” He thinks to himself as you snuggle against his side. Five minutes pass and Minho is still in the shower. Your leg has made its way onto Jisung’s hip while the latter scrolls through his phone. Jisung is just about to finally nod off to sleep like you, but the feeling of your hips rolling against his leg catches him by surprise. Jisung brushes it off, not until a small whine slips from your mouth accompanied by another roll of your hips. Jisung is bright red- you would tease the shit out of him if you could see him right now.

Jisung moves his arms to move your leg off of him because he can feel himself getting hard- and god forbid you wake up, the both of you would be embarrassed.

“Ji-“ you whimper into the side of his chest. Fuck, he was hard. “Shit,” Jisung curses under his breath as your hips continue rubbing against his thigh. His hands creep down into his sweatpants, freeing his aching cock. Jisung starts pumping his cock to the same pace as the roll of your hips. Jisung lolled his head back against the headrest, biting his lip to keep his noises down. Unbeknownst to him, the shower had shut off and the knob of the bathroom door twisted open. “What the fuck?”

Jisung's head snaps to the direction of Minho who stood in the doorframe, eyes wide at the scene before him. You splayed out asleep on Jisung as the younger’s hand was fisted around his cock. Since you were under the covers, Minho couldn’t see how you were practically humping Jisung’s leg. “Min- ah.” Jisung’s voice cracked as he felt your cunt throb against his thigh, he could feel the heat radiating off of you, hell he could feel your wetness on his thigh. Minho just stared at his friend, an unreadable expression on his face. “Min- she’s- oh my god!” Jisung’s eyes screwed shut as he felt his climax near. “Ji, she’s asleep!” Minho whisper-shouts as the brown haired boy. Jisung couldn’t care less about how inappropriate his actions were at the moment, all that he could think about was how your cunt felt against his leg. Jisung grabs the edge of the comforter and throws it off of his and your body, showing Minho what was happening.

Minho went red just like Jisung had earlier. “Oh.” he breathes when he sees Jisung’s thigh between your legs and you shamelessly rutting against it. “Fuck Min-“ Jisung stares at his older friend. “She feels so good on my leg- shit.” A rush of heat goes straight to Minho’s cock in his sleep shorts, his cock starting to twitch inside. Minho inches closer ever so slightly, his knee dipping the weight of the mattress. The elder boy glances down at your flushed body and Jisung’s erotic expression. He gulps as he shifts into bed behind you. Minho places some distance between you, not wanting to immediately be on you- he felt more comfortable on your behalf that way. “Hmm.” You whined in your sleep, you stretched awkwardly, arching your back. Minho froze as your ass brushed against his bulge. Jisung watches with hazed eyes as Minho bites his lip at the feeling. You turn your head towards Minho’s direction which startles the said boy. Your eyes are still closed but you start grinding backwards onto his crotch now, your chest heaving at each rut.

“Oh my fuck.” Jisung cursed as strings of white cum leak from his tip. Your eyes flutter open as Jisung twitches next to you. Minho’s eyes meet yours as you stir awake. “Minnie?” You grunt, your hand reaching to his hair. The black haired boy’s breaths are uneven as you glance down at his lips. “Touch me, please.” You whine. Your words snap Minho out of whatever trance he was in, his hands are immediately on your ass, squishing you between him and Jisung. You turn your gaze to the other body of heat that is smooshed against you, and there Jisung is, huffing out his breath as his face scans yours for permission of some sort.

You gasp out when you feel Minho grinding his cock against your ass and Jisung’s hands slowly traveling up your curves.

You suddenly grip Jisung’s shirt, pulling him into a rough kiss. His lips fit against yours as his hands grasp at your hips. You gasp into the kiss as Minho’s hot breath spreads across the side of your neck. “Fuck, you’re so pretty like this, squirming beneath us.” You groan into Jisung’s mouth before he starts peppering kisses down your neck, nipping at random spots along your collarbone. “This okay?” Minho asks, his hand trailing around your hip bone towards your cunt. “God, fuck yes please.” You moan, leaning towards the eldest for a kiss. The cat-eyed boy reciprocates, lip licking at yours, tugging at your bottom lip once his fingers make contact with your throbbing cunt.

Moans pour out of your mouth as the two boys grind into you, lips feverishly attached to as much of you as possible. Minho’s fingers move along your wet folds before dipping his fingers into your cunt. Your legs instinctively clench around him but Jisung holds them open for him. “Nuh uh,” Jisung smirks down at you, his thumb rubbing circles at your clit. You throw your head back erotically, moans won’t stop pouring from your lips. Minho works his fingers in and out of you as Jisung watches you wiggle under the two of them.

“Minnie please.” You beg, your legs beginning to shake as you near your climax. Suddenly, both boys pull their hands away from your throbbing cunt. Minho shoots Jisung a look, to which the younger gulps, nodding dumbly at the elder. The sound of the covers rustling made you hold your breath with anticipation. A warm tip poked at your entrance, thrusting in slightly. You gasp out as Minho slowly inches inside you, Jisung holding your legs open for him.

With each thrust your moans break, your mouth falling open at the feeling. Your walls clenched around him as he hit your g-spot straight on. “Ji.” Your friend’s voice echoes from behind. You glance at the round cheeked boy, waiting to see what’s gonna happen. “You okay with this?” Minho huffs by your ear as Jisung lines his cock up with your entrance alongside Minho’s. A staggered moan escapes your mouth instead of a proper answer, but Jisung takes the go ahead by your frantic nodding. “Fuck you’re such a slut for us sweetheart.” Minho grunts, his hot breath fanning along your neck.

“Oh my fucking god!” You yelp, your hands flying to Jisung’s shoulders, nailing digging into the material of his shirt. A pair of hands wrap around your midriff as another pair hoists your leg slightly higher. Minho hisses in your ear as Jisung groans. The feeling is definitely weird, but in a good way. You feel so full of both of them. “You can move.” Your two friends lock eyes over your shoulder, thrusting into you slowly before picking up the pace. “God you’re so sexy princess.” Jisung moans breathily.

The two of them keep assaulting your g-spot, never letting you rest. “Fuck! I’m gonna cum.” You cry, legs shaking with pleasure. “Yeah baby?” Minho teases, his hand sliding down to your clit. The stimulation spills you over the edge to an orgasm. “Holy shit.” You whine, overstimulation washing over your body as the two continue thrusting. “I know, baby. We’re almost there” Jisung reassures before spilling his hot cum into you. The feeling of your continuous clenching and Jisung’s cum combined drive Minho right into his climax, mixing his cum with Jisung’s inside you.

“Holy fuck…we just did that.” You blink, chest heaving. The three of you chuckle as the boys pull out of you slowly. “I guess we did.” Minho smirks to himself, “You okay though sweetheart?” You flush at the pet name despite him using it during…that. “Yeah, I’m great.”

“Well I think I’ll be able to sleep now thanks to you.” Jisung sighs, snuggling into your chest comfortably. You peer down at him with an amused smile. Your best friends sure are something else.

@katsukis1wife @pixie0627

[iqxatlantic]

hey can you please write about reader giving nagi a handjob while he's playing but as revenge because he's been ignoring reader for his games so reader doesn't let him cum unless he wins the round but he can't focus on the game because of the pleasure he's feeling!! hoping for a kinda subby nagi if that's alright <3

YES YES OMG ANON BBY I SEE IT AHJWJSAJ delicious plot hehe!

"i'm about to show you, baby slow down!"

ft. nagi seishiro . ooc! nagi ? . somewhat sub! nagi heh . aged up! characters . established-relationships . fem! reader . nsfw . smut . handjobs . cockwarming in the end ? . nagi's kinda a dick rn . use of mommy ig... . unreliable narrator.. :^

wc: 0.5k

cw: this might be dub-con idk tho

"my girlfriend's always harassing me whenever i'm tryna play a game.. what a hassle," nagi started off. his friends giggled on vc. "she's a nice person, you'll get used to it."

a few rounds of horror games, nagi was carrying hard. (heh hard like him :x) horror games were yea, a hassle. but, not a hassle to him. unlike his friends, nagi didn't really scream. shit, he was so lazy he didn't even wanna be fazed.

this round in particular though... "g-good god..." the man whined, spasming a little. "you good, nagi?" bachira asked. "is the horror finally getting to you?" your softer, smaller hands pumping at his cock :p

it started off slow, nagi didn't really notice at first. slow and steady wins the race right? but after a few more minutes of getting ignored, you fastened the pace.

you locked eyes with nagi. your lips curling into a smirk. "sei, what're your friends g'na think when they realize that when you're receiving a handjob with little to no lubrication at all?" you began. "your cock was leaking so much pre — it was like you wanted me to do this!" you continued to yap, face now no longer in a cocky demeanor but, in a pouty expression now.

"[n-name]," the grey eyed man moaned out. your expression, your hands... the stimulation was getting to him. "w-wait guys- oooh..." nagi tried to get out, his voice now strained. "nagi, you weren't even screaming are you good?" isagi asked. screaming? nah this guy was CREAMING.

"y-yep, i'm good," he stuttered out. "i jus' need a few minutes off real qui.." his voice trailed off as he muted himself. his hand released the mouse as his calloused fingers wrapped around your hand. nagi began thrusting into your hand.

his shaft was absolutely tearing up, just like the man. tears leaked from his eyes while there was a bit of semen leaking out of his tip LOL.

"[name], s-slow down.. [name], i-i.." he couldn't even get the words out as he scrunched his eye shut. "sei, yknow you dont deserve this at all.. all you've done was ignore me n shit this whole week..." you frowned. nagi knew he was coming close, hell he WAS going to come.

"i'm sorry mommy, i didn' mean t'- god! please, i'm sorry!" he apologized. the stimulation actually got to nagi as he came. his precious n delicious come leaked out as he let out the most gorgeous moan you've ever heard during the whole time you two were together.

your eyes kinda widened. nagi had this flushed, fucked out expression. he was panting like crazy. "[name], i'm so sorry.." he sobbed.

"what happened to emotions being a hassle, seishiro?" you teased. his sweatpants n boxers were to his knees LOL. nagi slid down your shorts n panties. "please let me feel your warm cunt, ma'am.. please use me f' your pleasure, pretty.." nagi mumbled. most genuine mumble omd...

"my bad guys, i'm back." nagi grunted after unmuting. nagi had a little bit of struggle seeing the PC screen with his gorgeous partner's warm n tight walls clenching against his shaft. let's just say, nagi wasn't the best player after LOL.

— ©iqxatlantic / isaisliterallyhim, 2025

tags! : @twijaxx ♡, @kyvkc

a/n : errr... idk man i came back from training w my corps i j wrote this and threw it .. kinda late night post so uhwhhdaj sorry for the unreadabler englush i tried ok ygs i j went thru a breakup pls give me credit for trying. nyways, nagi ohf wakkk hes so hot omg.. i need that 190 cm man in me omgmgmjddkkwjd anyhow i hope ygs enjoyed hehe

[thekinslayed]

The Ails of a Cup of Red

summary | Aemond's esteemed visitor on his coronation day falls ill, and he has a way to make her feel better.

pairing | king!aemond targaryen x foreign princess!reader

tags | 18+, MINORS DNI! unprotected sex, oral (f), nipple orgasm, dubcon, use of aphrodisiac, dark!aemond, multiple orgasms, manipulation, gaslighting, thoughts of incest, aemond thinks all siblings fuck, mentions of pillow humping, breeding kink, babytrapping, this is so filthy u guys idk

wordcount | 6.5k

note | still on vacation and haven't been in the headspace to write so this might not be the best, but i wanted to get something in before the new season!

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

(divider by @zaldritzosrose)

Your nose scrunched in disgust at the smell of manure that wafted through the slits in the carriage. A sigh left your lips at the image of the Red Keep growing bigger as you passed through the Kingsroad. You wished your brother didn’t have to bring you on this diplomatic visit to Westeros, but alas, there was a new Targaryen king who was to sit on the Throne, and as the king and princess of your kingdom, you were expected to show a gesture of good faith to your house’s longstanding friendship with the dragonlords. Your family’s friendship with the Targaryens ran centuries deep. The dragons may have thought themselves mightier than men and equal to none, but they bore respect for your family. After all, your kingdom was prosperous long before Valyria had been reduced to ashes, longstanding on its own as it continued to be. 

This respect had saved you from being conquered by Aegon and his sisterwives but instead had welcomed them as friends of the kingdom. It had protected your lands from being rained on by dragonfire, and from fighting the war where the dragons had danced perilously and ended with a one-eyed Kinslayer emerging as the sole victor of the crown.

The last time you were in King’s Landing, you were only a girl, eight years of age. Your late father had been good friends with Viserys the Peaceful, the two men finding an acquaintance in each other with their shared interests. You remembered that visit quite vividly, especially the cold hostility in the air within the castle, one that seemingly did not affect their king. It was visible in the sharp stares between princes and princesses, the queen and the heir. It permeated the pliable minds of the children, making way for an unnurturing environment no child should find themselves in. Those blurring memories made you dread the moment your carriage stopped at the gates of the Red Keep, though there was little you could do. You slumped back into the plush cushion of the seats, covering your nose with a handkerchief.

“Do remember to be nice to them, Aemond.”

Aemond gritted his teeth when the tailor poked him again. He stood as still as a statue in the middle of his chambers, while his mother made some final adjustments to the future king’s garments for his coronation. He nodded obediently at his mother’s instructions, ever the dutiful son. 

“Have our guests docked into the bay?” he asked, earning a nod from his mother. Aemond was made aware that their esteemed visitors were on their way through the Kingsroad and would soon be welcomed.

“You remember your time with the princess, don’t you? You both seemed quite fond of each other,” Alicent mentioned, to which Aemond responded with another nod and a hum. He remembered you, not much, but he did. In his youth, the royals from the far east of Westeros had visited as a gesture of good faith with the Targaryens. His nephews had pestered the young princess with wanting to show off their mounts, but you had been petrified by the prospect of coming face to face with their beasts, falling into tears of fright. Instead, you had stuck by Aemond, who had been dragonless and quite apprehensive about babysitting a little girl around. Still, you had been good, sitting quietly beside him whilst you read peacefully in the Keep’s library and eagerly following him around his home. Overjoyed with having found a companion in Aemond, you had given the young prince a big hug upon your departure, as well as the promise of reuniting.

“She had even written to you when you–”

“I remember, mother. There is no need to remind me.”

Alicent cut her words short from Aemond’s sharp tone. The Dowager Queen could feel the impatience emanating from his rigid form the longer the tailor took to adjust his doublet. Her son had no patience in being fussed over, especially not when he was to be king. Alicent could only sigh, and let silence encompass the ever-growing space between them.

There was a sense of familiarity as another one of Alicent Hightower’s sons was to be crowned king of the Seven Kingdoms. Her second son, her favored one, and the last of her babes left alive. The sharp tension in the air felt like an odd moment of deja vu. When Aegon had been crowned, she feared for the war that was sure to come, and now with Aemond soon to be crowned, she feared him. The war had changed her son, had taken away any ounce of tenderness her sweet boy once held. He had become the terror of the realm, the Stranger descended upon earth with nothing but death following his trail. When Aemond took to the God’s Eye, Alicent prayed. She prayed for the battle to end the bloody dance they had found themselves in. She prayed that the gods take the biggest threat to the realm away from them; whether she meant Daemon or Aemond, she dared not speak. 

The pit in your stomach grew into a clammy flutter in your chest once the carriage stopped right at the foot of the steps of the Keep. You were announced with a thunderous boom in the vast open yard, which made you let out a nervous sigh and run a hand through the ends of your hair.

“I still do not see why you had to bring me, brother,” you mumbled, looking at your lap when your king fixed you with a pointed stare.

“You know why. We have to keep ourselves in good faith with the Targaryens, even more so now than ever. Now, no more frowning,” he commanded, just before the door of your carriage was opened. Your brother climbed down the steps first, before holding out his hand for you to take. You took another breath to calm yourself, before plastering a bright smile on your face and stepping out of the carriage.

“Not a very warm welcome, is it?” your brother commented. To even call it a welcome was an understatement. The only people around were the Kingsguard lining the steps, and the two members of the royal family stood on the top. From the distance, the silver-haired, one-eyed Targaryen stood out like a beacon of light against the drab red bricks of the castle. Your eyes couldn’t help but immediately cast to him once your feet touched the pebbled ground. Their future king stood tall, with his hands crossed behind his back and his chin held high. The green of his leather doublet appeared a darker shade in contrast to his silver mane, which billowed in the light breeze of the late spring air. The most striking feature of all was the strip of leather fastened around his head, covering his left eye.

He looked so different, in every sense of the word.

You could scarcely see the young boy you sat in the gardens with–– no, this was a new person altogether. His gaze was prickly, causing gooseflesh to rise on your skin as you took careful steps towards him and his mother. His tall, rigid figure made for an imposing presence, and as you took the last step towards him, you had to crane your neck to meet his eye. You greeted him with a smile, yet his face remained unchanging while he put out a hand for you to take.

“Princess, welcome,” Aemond greeted, with a kiss to your knuckles. His lips were soft against your skin, a stark contrast to his otherwise harsh demeanor. A heat tingled on your flesh in his hold, one you ignored as you bent to curtsy.

“Prince Aemond, it is wonderful to be in your presence once more,” you responded. Aemond’s lips quirked up in response to your words, which you figured was his attempt at a genuine smile, though it looked somewhat more like a grimace. You turned to the Dowager Queen, dropping into another curtsy before kissing both of her cheeks in respect.

“It is an honor to have you here for Aemond’s coronation. I hope your travels have been easy,” Alicent said. She looked older than you remembered, much older than she actually was. The war had definitely taken its toll on the Hightower queen, cementing its place on her conscience in the form of the crease between her brows in a persistent worried look on her once plump face. Still, she regarded you with a comforting downturned smile, motherly and warm. You were always fond of Alicent, her presence reminding you of your own late mother’s. She gifted you a pretty dress once, you remembered, and had let you play the harp in her chambers while Helaena watched on in amazement.

Helaena. The loss of the queen’s only daughter was a loss you felt that still hung heavily in the air. You had heard of the atrocities inflicted upon her and her babes, the news bringing you to tears when you had heard of her passing. You missed her, Aegon too, in all of his frivolities and drunkenness.

“The travels are of no worry, your grace, we wouldn’t have missed prince Aemond’s coronation for anything else. Isn’t that right, sister?” your brother replied, turning to you with a raised eyebrow. You nodded in agreement, turning to the prince before you, whose stare upon you was unwavering. A tingle in the back of your neck rose to your occiput, one you ignored with another smile to the dragon prince.

“It shall be quite a momentous day on the morrow, I am glad to be present for it, your grace,” you said, to which Aemond responded with his word of gratitude. He intimidated you, he always had, but even more so now. His gaze alone had you flustered, his towering presence making you want to shrink in your skirts, and as you were led inside the Keep, you clung to your brother’s arm before the silver-haired prince could offer his.

You have always considered the court of King’s Landing quite dreary, lacking any lively splendor and charm that decorated the halls of your kingdom. The air in the Red Keep was thick with a rigid tension, the prickling heat of the south and the constant stench of shit and decay making you wrinkle your nose and shift uncomfortably in your garments. To rule with terror was never the way of your kingdom. Respect was never demanded, it was earned, so as your father said, but Aemond, he had earned the respect in the darkest of ways. The home of the dragon lords and its constituents had grown dourer upon your second visit, only ever heightened by the imposing presence of the man walking beside you. Where your people greeted you in the halls with genuine cheerfulness and adoration, there is more fear in the eyes of this kingdom’s people when they come across the Kinslayer, casting their quivering eyes to the floor lest they catch his sharp gaze. It interested you, albeit terrifying. 

You are pulled from your thoughts upon hearing Alicent’s words. Aemond remains unmarried, she said, and she hoped he would find his queen soon and perhaps have his heir.

“Mother, please,” the crowned prince grunted, throwing her a stern look. You accidentally caught his eye, but you quickly trained your gaze back to your feet. “Our guests have no interest in hearing of such matters.”

“Oh, hush, Aemond. The princess has been welcoming suitors herself, haven’t you, sweet girl?”

A warm flush rose on your cheeks once the attention was turned to you. A gaze on your left burned the side of your face, the expectant look on their faces flustering you.

“Yes, I have, your grace. Since I have come of age, I have had the pleasure of meeting many noble lords from across our land,” you responded.

“Have any of them caught your eye, princess?” Aemond asked, much to your surprise. Up until that moment, it seemed he barely gave you an ounce of his attention, and his sudden interest in the conversation was quite unexpected. Before you could respond, however, your brother had spoken up.

“I have given my sister the privilege of choosing her own husband, one that would please her, but she has been quite meticulous in the process thus far, not one of them has passed her standards,” he said, teasing. You nudged his rib, which only made him snicker. The silver-haired man beside you found no amusement at the young king’s words, his face still as stoic as ever. It almost seemed frozen in place, like a mask.

“My brother hasn’t been too keen on sending me off either, your grace. We are all we have left of our family, after all.”

Your words piqued Aemond’s interest. The young king had always been harshly protective of his sister, this Aemond knew.

Viserys had once tried to offer a betrothal between the princess and Aegon but had fallen through when your brother had caught the king’s first son feeling up a maid at the dinner table, already drunk on wine before the main course had been served. Next, it had been Jacaerys, but the sight of the princeling training with a burly knight who looked too much like each other had concerned your brother, who then informed your father, which ended in no marriage pacts being formed.

Aemond observed how you exchanged a warm look with your brother, how you clung to his elbow. You were kept close to the king’s side, and farther from the dragon prince. This made for a curious sight in Aemond’s good eye. Affairs between kin were part of the queer Targaryen customs, with marriages between siblings a normal occurrence in their bloodline, but yours?

Aemond couldn’t deny your beauty. The first glimpse of you stepping down from the carriage had all but knocked Aemond off his feet. The wind had shifted when you had stepped into his midst, almost akin to the way it had slapped his face when he was falling from the heavens beneath the God’s Eye. He had to will himself to remain unphased in your presence, with your bright eyes and radiating smile. You were beautiful, utterly so.

Was the future king’s blackened heart beginning to beat once more? Perhaps it was. Perhaps it was never capable of doing so, but only to pulsate desire. He couldn’t deny the news of your unclaimed hand intrigued him. He kept a close eye on you at the feast preluding his coronation on the morrow, how you glided through the tunes of the harp in a graceful dance, how you smiled at every noble who had the gull to think they were worthy of such beauty.

You had felt it throughout the night. His gaze burned like droplets of wax upon your skin. You felt it despite being away from him, in the halls, in your own guest chambers. You thought it best to shake off the feeling as much as you could. Perhaps it was the ghosts of the Keep playing its tricks on you, making a prey out of an unassuming guest. As the night grew dark, you willed yourself to lay your mind off thoughts of the one-eyed prince, descending into slumber after a week’s worth of travel, ignoring the creak from a wall panel in your chambers.

Aemond’s coronation was barely a grandiose affair, at least not as grand as your brother’s when he took the throne after your father died. It was rather solemn, rigid, and tense as the people watched with bated breath when the crown of the Conqueror was placed upon Aemond Targaryen’s head. It was heavy, perhaps even heavier than the first time he had carried its weight when he became Regent. The sight of him upon the Iron Throne was menacing, the melted swords beneath him were uncomfortable, but as they all knelt before him, Aemond was pleased. His chest swelled with an oozing pride. This was his place, his crown. He had always known he was suited for it, had fought for his seat with fire and blood.

There was little merriment in the people’s spirits, though it cannot be blamed. The repercussions of the war were still well felt, even more so when the man who had drawn first blood was now their king. The celebratory feast was livelier, at least. It was obvious his mother had taken charge of the preparations, with the extravagant decorations, performers she found from gods know-where, and an endless flow of wine. It seemed like a desperate attempt at normalcy, as though his reign wasn’t permanently tainted with darkness. He wouldn’t have stayed for the celebrations if it were completely up to him, if it weren’t for a presence beside him.

“Are you enjoying the celebrations, princess?” Aemond asked, urging you to turn to him. You took a small sip of your wine, before giving him a nod.

“It is quite wonderful, your grace,” you responded. It was rather drab in your opinion, but you held your tongue. The sweet wine made for a better experience. You didn’t drink much, but something about their liquor made you reach for your cup often. It didn’t take long for you to start loosening up, the warm buzz making you feel more at ease. “The wine is delicious!” you commended, making the man beside you smirk.

“Arbor Red from the Reach, one of the very best we have to offer,” he informed you, a dimple on his cheek deepening when you took another gulp. Aemond was rather handsome like this, you realized, with his thin lips lifted, his purple eye sparkling under the dim flames. His hand rested a hair inch away from yours, the warmth from his flesh radiating into your own. You watched as he took a sip from his own cup, his throat bobbing when he swallowed. Gods, what was happening?

A warmth began to pulsate through your body, making you start to sweat in your dress. You felt an odd throb in your core, your hands growing clammy. You tore your gaze away from Aemond’s, clearing your throat. “Are you alright, princess?” you heard him say, before touching your arm. It left a searing burn on your flesh, and your chest started to heave as your pulse started to rise.

“I... I don’t…” you stammered, though it felt impossible to get the words out. Beside you, you, Aemond looked at you in concern, his voice muffled by the thunderous thrumming in your ears. The rest was a blur, your mind barely registering what the king had said.

Maester… unwell… chambers…

A hand on your forehead, another on your waist, all leaving its mark on your flesh.

In the dead of night, a panel in the princess’ guest chambers opened, revealing a head of silver hair. Aemond stepped into your accommodation, his eye immediately catching your writhing form on the bed. The sheets were crumpled and damp from your sweat, the furs kicked to the floor. You were only clad in your nightgown, which had grown sheer as the sticky cotton clung to your form.

“Princess,” Aemond whispered, making you turn to him. He loomed over your figure like a shadow, with the threat of taking you into his darkness. Your hazy mind could barely comprehend when he had gotten here, or how, too muddled by the burning throb deep within you.

“Aemond,” you whined, pressing your thighs tight as you lay on your side. “I-It hurts…”

“What hurts, beautiful? Hm?” he asked, tone much too soft than you were used to. His fingertips trailed on your calf, but you had jerked away. The slightest touch left your skin tingling, the dampness in between your thighs only growing with the scent of smoke and sage that engulfed you.

With a hand on your thigh, Aemond urged you to lay on your back to face him, despite your protests. He shifted his weight on one knee to lean over you, his fingertips pushing the sweaty strands of hair away from your face. Your nipples pebbled painfully against your nightgown, and you had moaned wantonly when Aemond had accidentally brushed his knuckles over your chest, skimming your overly sensitive buds. Seven Hells, what a delectable morsel of flesh you were. Aemond could start salivating with how irresistible you looked, with your flushed, teary face, plump bosom, and the curves he traced under his palm.  

Gauging your reaction, he cupped your breast, squeezing the supple flesh in his palm. Your jaw fell slack, a whine falling from your lips. Your thighs squeezed dangerously tight as slick gushed from your cunny at the slightest touch.

“Does that feel better, princess?” Aemond prodded, but you could only moan in response. Slowly, his other hand made its way up your garments, trailing his fingertips up your thigh. His brow raised as his hand met your weeping center, pulling away to show his coated fingers. They shone from the dying embers of the hearth, your juices thick and stringy as the silver-haired man scissored his fingers to show you. Your eyes squeezed shut in shame, unwilling to look as Aemond put his fingers in his mouth to get a taste, groaning. His fingers returned to your slit, tracing and massaging your entrance.

“This is where it hurts, hm? Poor you,” he tutted. His good eye fell upon a pillow thrown to the side, smeared with your arousal. You must have tried to relieve yourself with it, he assumed, and the thought of you humping a pillow made his cock jump in his trousers. He grabbed the cushion, pressing it to his nose to smell your essence. “Gods, you smell heavenly. This wasn’t of much help, was it, darling? You need more.”

Humiliation filled your veins, rendering you unable to look at the man before you. You fisted the sheets tight into your palms, your conscience fighting through the thick cloud of whatever curse was making you feel this way. “Please… I-I need…” you whimpered.

“Tell me,” Aemond urged. You bit your lip harshly, tears streaming down your temples. You need not say it, he knew, he had put you in this predicament after all.

“Help me, please… just help me. I can’t take it, Aemond,” you sobbed, pulling on his cotton undershirt. He only hummed, pressing his aquiline nose against your cheek as he breathed in the sweet smell of your damp flesh.

It was quite a pitiful sight to see you like this, and perhaps he should feel a small bit of remorse, but it was all for a reason. The empty vial in his pocket was a burning reminder of why you had ended up like this, of what he had done.

He had to thank Alys, really. The bastard witch, once he had seeded her, was as eager as he to place the Kinslayer on the throne. Her hopes of putting their offspring on the Iron Throne after Aemond were too obvious. It was all too easy for him to bend her to his will, make her procure any tincture he asked, and slither into his enemies’ minds upon his bidding. She was a good fuck too. It was a shame he had to gut her after his victory above the Gods’ Eye. He had no trust in the dark magick, nor for Strong bastards. Alys Rivers was a cunning woman, but a fool to think the prince king, would take her as his wife. No, Aemond now had someone else in mind.

It was all too easy to slip the witch’s tonic into your cup of wine, which you had drank eagerly. It was easy to blame it on exhaustion from your travels, on the heat in the Great Hall. You had been escorted back to your chambers, the maester unable to do much for your condition, and that was that. You were all his for the taking.

He tore your nightgown off your body in one, exposing your bare form to the night. Aemond’s good eye darkened at the sight of you, his gaze hungry as it ran down your naked body. You had crossed your arms over your chest, the other over your sex, but the king had pulled them away with a tsk.

“None of that now. You need my help, don’t you?”

You let out a sob, shaking your head. Aemond mimicked your refusal, cooing with a sticky sweet tone painting his motives.

“What is that? You do not want my help? Shall I leave you alone then?” he asked, a devilish smirk rising on his lips when you shook your head again, more profusely this time, when he started to pull away.

“No! No, please! I beg of you, do not leave me like this!” you wailed, pulling on any part of him you could reach. Aemond looked at you with a dark satisfaction, one that only grew when you had spread your legs for him, giving him a perfect view of your weeping cunny as you caged him with your thighs.

He had muttered something in mocking, something about helping his most esteemed guest, but the cloudy haze your mind was lost in made it difficult to comprehend anything. All you could feel was his touch on your waist, another on your jaw, and the softness of his thin lips when he smashed them against yours. He swallowed down your whimper as you engaged in a clash of teeth and tongue, his eagerness almost equaling your desperation.

He trailed his lips down the column of your neck, leaving his mark on your flesh. A deep sigh of relief left your lips when he enclosed on one of your stiff buds, rolling it with his warm tongue. It felt utterly delightful, like a poison finally being sucked out of your wound. Aemond gave the other breast the same amount of attention, massaging its pair with his calloused hand. A heat steadily rose from deep within your belly, and with a nip of his teeth on your sensitive nipple, you came undone with a moan of his name.

The one-eyed Targaryen pulled away with a look of amazement on his face. He looked at the mess in between your thighs, where the evidence of your climax mixed with your slick. His throat felt dry, like he had been walking aimlessly through the deserts of the Red Waste before stumbling upon the water that shall fill him with life.

“You are divine,” he exhaled, his good eye still trained on your pulsating core. They clenched around nothing, beckoning him to taste. He looked at you, evidently still overcome with the need for more. He knew you wanted more, needed it. You wouldn’t be better from one release alone, no, Alys’ tonic did not work that way. You needed an antidote, one only Aemond could give you. He shall end your suffering soon enough, but first, he had to get a taste of you.

He wasted no time, licking a hot stripe up your slit. Aemond groaned in delight, the sweet taste of your essence coating his tongue. He devoured you like a man starved, slurping up the tears your cunt had wept in its despair.

“Hells… you taste of the most delightful ambrosia, princess. So sweet, so wet… all for me,” he praised, his voice coming out muffled from the apex of your thighs. You were long lost, moaning unabashedly like a wanton whore. Your grip on your morals had been weakened by the slippery trail of carnal desire.

Aemond’s silver tresses were clutched tight in your hand, a pain the king revered. You ground your hips against his face, the tip of his nose rubbing on your pearl deliciously. He held your thighs in a vice grip, and he shook his head from side to side, making you whine in delight. Shifting his thumb to rub on your clit, Aemond began to fuck you with his tongue, the hot, wet muscle darting in and out of your walls rhythmically. Sparks of pleasure ran from your bundle of nerves wildly up your veins, spreading into a speckled flush across your chest. With a shudder, you released all over the king’s tongue.  Your eyes rolled back as you came once more, your chest heaving up and down from the weight of your second undoing.

Your pulse still buzzed with desire, and you cursed the gods on whatever it was they had inflicted upon you. You whimpered when Aemond pulled away to stand, a panic rising within your chest when he looked to the door. He wasn’t leaving you, was he? Your blood still ran hot with need, and you needed him to take you, take all of it away.

“Don’t go, please,” you begged, reaching out for him. You scrambled to rise to your knees, pulling Aemond in by his trim waist. The cotton of his undershirt was gripped tight in your fists, and his neck grew damp when your teary face buried itself in the junction between his shoulder. “My king.”

Aemond’s chest grumbled from your words, his cock now throbbing painfully, begging for its release. His arm wrapped around your waist to pull you flush against him, his stiffness poking your hip. With a hand on the base of your neck, he urged you to look at him.

“Say it again,” he growled, nipping your ear with his teeth. He squeezed the flesh on your hip tight, making you whimper.

“Aemond, my king! I need you; I need you to take all of this pain away,” you sobbed, hot, desperate tears streaming down your flushed cheeks. You grabbed a hold of his hand, urging it towards your center, but he was stronger. Aemond pulled his hand away, cupping your jaw in his calloused palms to make you look at him.

“The only way for your pain to subside is for your maidenhead to be taken, princess. There is no other way. Are you sure of this?” Aemond asked, looking to you for confirmation. Your mind barely regarded the implications of what was to occur, of what he was taking from you, nodding eagerly without any doubt. You rambled a series of yesses to him, and then he was pushing you to lay on your back once more. The king before you was never one to dally, evident in the way he wasted little time in baring himself. His stiff length slapped against his stomach when his trousers dropped, the mesmerizing sight making you trail your fingers down to play with your cunt in impatience. He was a sight to behold, with well-defined form, and the scars that littered his milky skin; the remnants of war had cemented itself on the king’s physical form.

Aemond grabbed hold of his cock, stroking it while coming to kneel before you. He slapped your hand away from your center, taking hold of your thigh to spread them wide. He couldn’t deny the spark of anticipation in his chest, and if he were a lesser man he would’ve plunged himself into your walls in one push. Instead, he lined himself with your slit, before looking to you for one more confirmation. Your brows were adorably furrowed in frustrated desperation, a small whisper of ‘please’ falling from your pouty lips. With your hand pushing on the base of his spine, Aemond breached your walls.

Your previous releases and the copious amounts of arousal the aphrodisiac had produced from your body made for little hindrance. There was only a mere sting at his initial thrust, but it required little effort for him to bottom out. His pace was relentless from the start, clearly as overcome with desire as much as you were. The slick pooling on the back of your thighs made a wet slap, slap, slap with every thrust of Aemond’s hips.

You gripped the sheets to ground yourself as your body jerked in rhythm with his thrusts, your legs wrapping around the silver-haired man’s trim waist to keep him close. Your jaw fell open, moans freefalling with no regard for decency. Aemond fared no better, growling in your ear and delivering a harsh bite to your shoulder. It was animalistic in nature, something primal and heavy. The bedframe thudded against the wall, and you could only hope no soul would happen upon the halls outside your chambers at this hour.

“This is what you wished for, was it not? You wanted my cock, you needed it,” he groaned, letting out a dark chuckle against your skin when you nodded fervently, followed by a chorus of whiny yesses. He left his mark on your breasts, tugging and sucking on the supple flesh to claim you as his. “Taking me so well, my princess,” Aemond rambled on, muttering dirty nothings into your skin as his thrusts stayed unrelenting.

“Aemond, oh, Aemond!” you cried out, gripping his broad shoulders tight. Your nails dug themselves into his sculpted back, making him hiss in delight. Your core spasmed with your impending climax, massaging his length as it drove into the rough spot within your walls.

“Perhaps I should put a babe in you, hm? Make you mine, all mine,” he taunted in your ear. Perhaps you should be more concerned with his words, but the wave of pleasure threatening to take you over robbed you of your sense and wit, reducing you to nothing but a moaning mess. Aemond’s thumb found its place on your pearl once more, rubbing tight circles into the nub that threatened to send you into overdrive. With another thrust, then two, you fell apart on Aemond’s cock, spilling your white, hot essence all around his length. He followed soon after, painting your walls with his seed in a couple of spurts.

The cloudy haze that had impeded you reduced to a pleasant buzz in your fingertips, your head lolling to the side as your eyes closed in utter bliss. You felt Aemond pull out of your walls, whining when he pushed your combined juices back into your cunny. He laid beside you, pulling you into his chest with his arms wound around your sweaty form. A delighted sigh left your lips when he cupped your jaw, then bestowed a kiss on your forehead, and the tip of your nose, before capturing your lips. Pulling away, Aemond leaned his forehead onto yours, the tip of his aquiline nose nudging slightly against yours. It was pleasant, the way he held you like this, almost more intimate than your coupling.

“Marry me,” he whispered against your lips.

Your eyes opened while your brows furrowed in confusion at his proposition. Your mind lagged to follow along, the remnants of the aphrodisiac’s heady swirl still tainting your better thinking. “W-what?”

“Be my wife. Together, we shall forge the legacy our ancestors have strived to achieve. Our kingdoms shall unite in power, our houses would be formidable allies, and more. This would all be possible with our union,” he explained eagerly. His grip on your face had grown tighter and tighter, his pupil widening, making him look almost crazed. You were starting to grow wary, if it weren’t for the ache in your muscles, you would have dashed as far away from him as possible. Perhaps this was the Targaryen madness everyone said, but in the darkness of your chambers, you could hardly consider him madder than you were.

“I-I don’t…” you stammered. The haze that had clouded your conscience was starting to lift, making you think more clearly. You tried to pull yourself away from his grasp, but his firm hold on your cheeks and your trembling limbs rendered your efforts futile.

“After tonight, you will no longer be untouched, and your future husband will know. A princess who will not bleed on her marital bed,” Aemond iterated sternly, his brows raised. Your lower lip trembled with dread, your hands pushing on his chest–– closer or away, you couldn’t decide which.

You squeezed your eyes shut in an attempt to tune him out, but he was everywhere, from his hot breath on your face, his seed in your womb, his curse tainting your spirit.

“You are being cruel,” you whispered, turning your face away. When you had shifted to lay on your back, he had risen to lay on his side, his silver mane framing his face ever so beautifully.

“I am showing you mercy,” he contradicted, cupping your face, softer this time. His thumb caressed your cheek tenderly, and if you had known less the gesture might have brought you comfort. “You needed me, I did what you asked me to, princess. Would you have rather I left you writhing in pain?”

You were starting to grow muddled. He was right, you did need him, had begged for him like a desperate harlot. Humiliation coursed through you for having debased yourself like this, unabashedly so. You think of the shame this would inflict on your name, your brother’s. Gods, what have you done?

“What will they say when my seed takes? Hm? What will your brother think of his sweet sister?” Aemond taunted, rising to loom over you. A curtain of starlit hair enclosed around your head, making you see only him. He was tantalizing, with his sharp stare and a face sculpted by the gods’ own hands. Your resolve was starting to crumble as you pondered on his words. “They need not question your honor when you shall be my wife, my queen.”

You, a queen. It would be a lie to say you had never imagined yourself crowned as such; you have done so all your life. In time, you had learned it would never be, your brother was king, and you were to be married off, reducing your worth to a lord’s wife, but Aemond wanted to make you queen. It was a daunting prospect; you had never thought to become queen of Westeros. Hells, you had no wish to come here in the first place! But the seed had been planted, a dragon’s seed, nonetheless.

The corners of your eyes stung with a fresh wave of hot tears. Aemond had caught them when they started to fall, planting his lips on your cheeks, his tongue darting out to taste the salty fluid. It was reverent, almost in adoration, and when he pulled away, you gave him your answer.

“I will marry you, my king.”

A wicked smile lifted the corners of his thin lips, his dimples making an appearance. Satisfaction painted his good eye, and you realized what you had done. You resigned yourself to your fate, and you could only pray he would be tender with you, like the kiss he planted on your hair when you shifted back to lay on his chest. Aemond let out a deep sigh, thoroughly pleased.

“Sleep, my queen, we shall make our plans for marriage known on the morrow.”

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 12

Y'all are getting two chapters today because a little silly someone, won't @ because they haven't asked to be tagged in the tag list and Idk if they'd like the call out but they know who they are, liked every chapter and I loved your little comments so I finished chapter 13 so I can post this chapter only fueled by your excitement 🥰🥹

CW: people are getting their ass beat, so mention of blood and decapitation.

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 12 >>next

With Nolan completely refusing to face anyone lately, and the announcement that the guardians are dead, you had to get away. You couldn’t sit and wait for him, couldn’t cry over the guardians, couldn’t sit by and watch how worried Debbie was every morning when he’d left. You just couldn’t.

So, while Mark went to university with Amber and William, you cashed in your vacation days and let the shadows lead you away over the seas to Romania. Softly landing in the Hoia-Baciu Forest felt—surprisingly—like home.

The whispers of the shadows nudged you around the forest, deeper and deeper, past the oddly shaped trees straight to a burnt circle of land where dried trees grew. Walking past the circle changed the scenery, from gloomy grey trunks to moss-covered, flourishing weeping willows circling a little lake.

Walking back to the edge of the circle, you stuck half of your body out and back observing the change happening right before your eyes. It seemed to be a Midnight City magic dome thing. Inside the dome, it was quite beautiful, the astilbes and the Japanese irises giving some color to the landscape. Your hands softly traced the taller flora as you got closer to the lake, lifting off the ground to move towards the center where a small piece of rock was.

This was a great place for an altar and the shadows greatly approved, too. Sitting on your ass, crisscross apple sauce, you placed your hands on the smooth surface, transfiguring it to expand and even out a bit more.

By the time you were done setting wards so no one could find the place and adding the actual altar and the statues for Lady Gotham and Death it was already so late.

With a small sigh, you place yourself in front of the altar once more. You were never religious, your biological mother didn’t care, Bruce didn’t, the Graysons didn’t- it felt awkward to pray to them. Constantine mentioned that praying to them could just be talking to them, they’re not Yahweh, they’re not Allah, they don’t abide by those rules.

So, you didn’t either. You thanked them for the blessings they gave you, hoped they were well, and told them about your day, leaving them with a bowl of sliced apples and some flowers, deciding to visit the rest of the country while you still had a few days of vacation.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“Went to Mars, almost got killed by Martians, got the shit beaten out of me for trying to help the Titan, got half of Teen Team- er… the new Guardians in hospital. Also, his one guy in the college was kidnapping male students he saw as peak alpha males and modifying them to essentially turn them into robocops wannabes consisting of no free will and mech bodies, including William’s boyfriend, for the betterment of the human race.” Marks sighs tiredly. “Amber and I broke up and made up again. Told her I’m Invincible… she knew.”

Debbie just looked at her son, before turning to look at you. Maybe she should stop asking how everyone’s day was. “Don’t look at me like that, ma. For once I had a normal day. Visited a lot of places in Romania after finding a little nook for my altar and got some presents for you two and our friends.” You shrug as you take another bite of food. “How was your day?”

Your mother smiles. Well, maybe she shouldn’t, it was the little normality she had in her life. “Sold a penthouse to a billionaire who had a set of all gold teeth.” You snort at that. “That’s one way to show off.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Since sunrise Mark has been searching for his dad and once he did, he immediately tackled him, rolling through the air for a bit before stopping. “Where have you been?! Why haven’t you said anything?” Nolan didn’t get to respond Mark continued. “Are you cheating on mom? Do you have a second family or something?”

“What?! Of course not! Why would you-“ Nolan stutters at the audacity. “Because one day you just decided to up and disappear! You barely come home anymore- Do you even love us anymore? I need you to think about it before you answer- really consider it, because I want you to mean it truthfully- Do you love us?”

The older Viltrumite couldn’t hide the shock, the anguish as he actually thought about it. Loving them meant going against his mission- to a small degree, sure, he could still finish it- but- “Yes... I-I do. I truly love your mother and you deeply. I love your sister just as much. You three are very important to me.”

“Then stop this- nonsense!” Mark waved his arms around. “You’ve been missing for almost two months, barely come home to sleep- You know how paranoid my sister is, she’s making plans over plans on how to take you down because she thinks you snapped and are trying to conquer the planet.”

“She thinks I plan to conquer Earth?” Nolan asks softly, hands clenching at his side. “Yes! She thinks me and mom don’t know but I found her encrypted files- she thinks now that you know the Viltrumites can create offsprings that have powers with humans, you have started making plans to take over. She thinks you killed the Guardians because they could have slowed you down, maybe even stopped you- she thinks you’ll come to me and ask me to help- that you’ll come clean and confess that the Viltrumites are- are these-“

Mark couldn’t finish… How could he? You didn’t come up with these ideas out of thin air- you had evidence. Circumstantial evidence- but it still was so compelling, too many coincidences to be just nothing. “She made plans that could take me down, too. Just in case I would accept to help you- she’s gone mad, dad. And- and I started to believe it too.”

Mark looks at his father, straight in his eyes. “So I need you to come home, to talk to us- I don’t want to believe it- I don’t want to think that you’d ask me to do such bullshit.” The young man clenched his fist. “Please tell me she’s wrong- because if she isn’t- I won’t help you. I’ll do anything to stop yo-“ Mark didn’t finish as Nolan threw a punch, breaking his mask and making him bite his cheek.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“Honestly, Eve, I can’t believe you didn’t dump Rex the first time he cheated.” You sipped on your soft drink as you walked with Eve. “I know- It’s just- we both-“ She tried to come up with a reason, just a tiny one to try and keep her pride. “You both got your powers in a lab- yes. I know. That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve the respect of a man. And I can’t believe Kat jumped at the first opportunity- is the ‘not your bestie’s ex’ not in the girl rulebook anymore?”

As Eve opened her mouth to respond to that, what came out was a gasp of shock as her eyes caught the fight happening on the news. “What? Are the news more import-“ As you tuned to look behind you at the TVs in the electronics shop your mouth dropped with the drink you were holding.

The flashing pictures of Mark and the Immortal fighting furiously against Nolan make your blood run cold. The robot cameras that were flying around the men managed to pick up some of the conversation, mostly Immortal furiously yelling but- “This isn’t you! You don’t want to do this! You just feel like you have no choice, but you do!” they caught Mark too.

“Is your dad being mind-controlled?” Eve asks, clearly worried as she looks at you. “No…” Is all you say before you disappear with a breeze of air. It wasn’t a good idea to travel via magic right now. Eve caught a glimpse of Omni-man decapitating The Immortal before she changed into her costume and tried to keep up with you.

Somewhere in space, the League of Justice and Laughing Magician could only watch in terror as the news kept up with the man and his son. “Please don’t… Please don’t try and stop him.” John’s whispered payers were met only with Batman’s suspicious glare. “We should go and help!” Superman’s worried pleas was quickly shut down.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Mark couldn’t register everything his father yelled at him as they fought through the air, and he definitely could not after being thrown into the ground and punched twice. But he could answer one question. “You and her… I’d still have you and my sister, dad.” And Nolan hesitated on his third punch. But you didn’t.

Your hit threw Nolan off Mark, making the older man crash into a crater of his own. You didn’t let him get a break. “I trusted you! We all did!” Punch after punch, the ground beneath his head created a bigger and bigger hole. “Mom and Mark love you! I love you! And you go and chose them?!”

You didn’t even notice when John Constantine popped in, almost stumbling through the portal as he ran to your brother, racking his brain for every healing spell he could use. He didn’t care that Bruce would corner him when he went back and interrogate him about this, not when you needed him.

“What is so important about them that we didn’t give you?! You haven’t seen them in years-“ Your yelling cracked as you sobbed, your tears mixing with the blood of the man. Why didn’t he choose you? “Why not us? Why them?! Why are you letting me beat the shit out of you?!” As your hands clenched above your head in a double axe handle motion, ready to turn his face into mush, you’re stopped by your brother’s voice calling your name.

Your fury turns to fear and worry as you look towards him, getting up just to stumble towards him and John. Your tears clouded your vision as you fell to your knees by Mark, gently holding his hand as you inquired about him. “I’m fine- just like, five punches to the head and a throw to the ground.” He croaked out, flinching slightly as his nose set back into place while John continued doing his best to heal the young man.

“In other universes, you either die or get the snot and spline beaten outta ya- this is so much better kid.” Constantine immediately cringes at his words, his eyes meeting yours as he instantly apologizes. “- I should have told you, hen-“

The sound of the sonic boom doesn’t even make you flinch. If Nolan wanted to run away, that was fine by you. “I knew. Nobody is that kind just to help out of the goodness of their hearts.” You said softly, reassuring him with a squeeze of his arm. “I should have done more. Should have told the Guardians or someone about my suspicions, my plans on how to deal with him-”

“You made contingency plans?” At your stutter and confused look, Mark could only laugh, immediately getting what the man meant. The rumors of Batman’s paranoia were true after all. “She even made a few for me in case I accepted.” John huffed in amusement at that. “Well- then we better keep you away from the Bat, he may just adopt you.” Some of the League’s members couldn’t hold in their laughs at the utter disgust your face showed. “With my track record of father figures you better keep the furry as far away from me as possible.” Constantine could hear Hal's laughter from where he sat as she finished speaking.

“We should get going before Cecil shows up.” You sigh while helping Mark get up. “We’re moving again? I just got here…” Eve said as she finally landed, getting Mark’s other side. “You both were hard to find, and I missed everything.”

“No need- I can help with that.” John groans as he gets up, brushing his pants off before he opens a portal to Mark’s home. “Alright, let’s get the lad home.” He lets the kids through first, and before he steps in too, he makes sure to flip off the robot cameras, just for Bruce.

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