#note: white musk

[cleolinda]

This does not spark Joy (Dior, 2018 & 2019)

PREVIOUSLY ON: Jean Patou's Joy (1930) was voted the Scent of the Century, but for some mysterious reason, it's not manufactured anymore.

Dior fucking killed Joy.

I won't bury the lede here at all. It was Dior. And I love a good Dior, don't get me wrong. But in August 2018, LVMH Moët Hennessy Louis Vuitton (which owns every damn thing, including Sephora and half the brands in it) bought the Jean Patou company (which had already changed hands twice). More importantly, they bought the name "Joy." And, somehow, their subsidiary Parfums Christian Dior had their own Joy, complete with Jennifer Lawrence ad campaign, ready to release two weeks later.

For a while, Designer Parfums was at least allowed to manufacture and sell Jean Patou's Joy in France. But now, according to the Patou website, the company's fragrances "are no longer in production." When "authorized outlets" run out, they're out. Because apparently, it was that important for Dior to keep anyone else from using the name "Joy."

So what did they replace the Scent of the Century with?

I had heard that Joy by Dior Intense was a huge improvement on the initial Joy by Dior (which infuriated fragrance aficionados itself by existing, clearly), and I'm glad I tried it first, because if I had started with the original ("original") Dior, I would have punched a wall. But let's start with that: I kept trying Dior Joy #1 over and over because I couldn't remember what it smelled like. It is literally, in the literal sense of literally, forgettable. I tried it one more time today in order to write this paragraph, and: it's soapy white musk. Which upset me initially, I remember now, because I'm just really not a fan of soapy/laundry white musk, but that's on me; I've seen user reviews that do really like Joy by Dior. On me, it's just bubblebath froth, eventually a sweet citrus that peeks up from under it, and a drydown that adds some vanilla to that. That's joyous, I guess?

What I will say is, unlike the other perfume that made me think of bubble baths, it didn't give me a panic attack, so it's got one up on Chanel. But it's just... was this necessary? Did we not have enough soapy white citrus-vanilla musks in the world? At the time, I was just asking myself this rhetorically, but then I kept reading up on the Dior Joy(s). As Victoria at Bois de Jasmin points out, the actual fragrance is a copy of yet another perfume:

The result is that Dior Joy is Allure Lite. The rose and jasmine are folded into a sandalwood accord reminiscent of Chanel’s fragrance. From the top notes to the drydown, Joy follows the course of Allure, but in a softer, more transparent interpretation. The mandarin peel dusted with sugar, the rose blended with the lemony jasmine, a touch of apricot and orange blossom that melt into the sandalwood and custard-like vanilla. Even the same contrast between the sweet citrus and creamy woods is maintained.

Mark Behnke at Colognoisseur:

[Dior perfumer François Demachy] chose to create a mash-up of two huge best-sellers. The citrus opening is straight out of Chanel Allure and the floral heart is Dior J'Adore. In other words, it is just a re-tread.

DIOR! WHAT ARE YOU FUCKING DOING!

I won't say that Joy Intense (Dior #2) is more like Jean Patou's, but at least it has less of a soapy musk opening. Let's compare the notes:

Joy by Dior (2018): White musk, Grasse rose, Grasse jasmine, mandarin orange, patchouli, bergamot, cedar, sandalwood.

Joy by Dior Intense (2019): Neroli, bergamot, Grasse jasmine, Grasse rose, vanilla, patchouli, musk, sandalwood.

[Note: Grasse, "the perfume capital of the world," is a region in France famous for its role in the history of French perfume; it is especially known for jasmine and roses. "Grasse rose," "May rose," and "Rose de Mai" all refer to Rosa x centifolia. "Grasse jasmine" is Jasminum grandiflorum, as opposed to, say, the licorice-friendly jasmine sambac.]

Further info from dior.com:

Get the absolute fuck out of here with this BOTTLE and this LOGO, what are you even doing. I did not even know a perfume could eat crackers

Joy by Dior, per the official website:

JOY by Dior Eau de Parfum is a bright smile, and a pure concentration of joy in a bottle. A juicy, vibrant top note gives way to an enveloping white heart of flowers and musks, just like a soft caress.

Again, I hated Dior's first Joy when I first put it on, but that's my own bias. It was just sheer disappointment that they centered this on synthetic white musk—you vaulted the Scent of the Century for this?

The "Intense" version:

Oh well if there’s a star on the bottom I guess I’m not mad anymore??

JOY by Dior Eau de Parfum Intense is a new olfactory burst, a scent of joy wherein flowers celebrate and explode in all their faceted beauty. The dazzling light of the juicy Citrus blends with the colorful shine of Rose and Grasse Jasmine, and is heightened by an enveloping woody echo of Sandalwood tinged with Vanilla. The fragrance results in a floral firework.

Fuck the actual fuck outta here. "Firework" my ass. It's fine, I guess. It smells like vanilla lemonade and some jasmine on me, with a pleasant lingering drydown. Not just the smell of lemonade, but sort of the feeling of happiness you get when drinking a sugary glass of it on a hot summer day. Don't ever say I don't try to be fair. And it's 1000% better without the white musk. I honestly wouldn't mind wearing this under a different name, but it's just so adequate. I put on Jean Patou's Joy, even a diminished Joy, and it was a revelation. I put on the Dior, even the "good" version, and it smells like copying what the popular girls wear in hopes that they’ll like you. Thank God they didn't stuff some Ambroxan in there while they were at it. The only reason Dior didn't dupe some trendy note from Baccarat Rouge 540 is because Francis Kurkdjian didn't work for them yet. What the fuck are you people doing.

Back to Colognoisseur:

[It] is puzzling why Dior would make the decision to produce a new perfume with the same name of a masterpiece. The cynic in me says because they’ve unleashed their market research staff and found out most consumers have no idea there is a previous classic perfume called Joy. [...] Joy by Dior is a good perfume put together via the perfume assembly line of focus groups and market research; as cynical as it gets in other words.

This is absolutely my take as well. I wore Jean Patou on one hand and Dior's Joy Intense on the other and compared how they unfolded in real time, and what struck me most at that point was how gourmand-adjacent the Dior is. Not entirely so, but the vanilla lemonade I get is far more in line with the cupcake and burnt sugar notes (WHICH I LIKE!) that fragrance brands have put in everything since Mugler’s Angel, rather than just let a floral be good—superlative—at being a floral. But the marketing department says that the Costliest Perfume in the World isn’t on trend in the 21st century; we can charge plenty for something simpler, more predictable, more pandering.

My other take is that Dior's Joy perfumes are formulated to inevitably be cheaper than Jean Patou's Joy, even what Joy was at the end of the company's life. I have smelled at least a Platonic shadow of the Costliest Perfume in the World, and (I don't care how much Grasse jasmine Dior claims is in theirs) this ain't it. I don't blame François Demachy; he was given a brief and he did his job. The man made not one but two versions of Hypnotic Poison. He has done more interesting things than this. Dior’s Joy has "cash grab" written all over it and it's not even bad. It's just WHY. Why would you DO THIS. I am going to stay mad and die mad about this. Jesus Christ. You can't even, like, gently reformulate the Jean Patou, put out the Demachy versions as flanker fragrances, and market them all? You have four kinds of Poison RIGHT NOW and you can’t figure this out?

And I wore these three perfumes for three weeks, I want you to know that. I alternated them day by day, sometimes wearing two at a time to compare. I gave them all many, many chances. And besides the fact that I personally don't like white musk very much, the two Dior Joys are not bad. They're not! They're just accessories to a minor act of cultural vandalism, is all. Imagine taking Botticelli's The Birth of Venus and saying, we're going to throw this out so we can have a photographer recreate it with Jennifer Lawrence. Everyone's wearing Dior Spring/Summer 2023 designs (including Venus). It actually looks pretty cool, I guess. Great, so we don't need the Botticelli anymore? When does the trash get picked up, Tuesday?

Even Disney doesn't vault its animated movies anymore after it remakes them as live action. Maybe I can scrape up enough couch change to buy a bottle of Real Actual Joy and some DVDs before anyone else gets some big ideas.

Perfume discussion masterpost

[johnnypecanpie]

we’re so damn patriotic we wrap the flag around our eyes as it fucks us over again and again and again

9/11 was a tragedy. Let’s start off with that. Nothing will make it alright, or justified. When we discuss the events of history, however, providing ample focus towards the various aspects of a topic is necessary in keeping the most unbiased lense. To put it lightly — the events of 9/11 paled in comparison to those that happened before and after during the Pan-American era. The Middle East’s history, especially with conflict, goes far back — and playing the blame game is always easy. How far back do you start? With the Ottomans? Crusades? Caliphates? Romans? It’s impossible.

Certain actions, however, were taken with no pre-qualification or previous event in mind. Western interference in the Middle East during the Colonial era follows the same. British and French influence in the region following the full acquisition of British India and the Scramble for Africa was increased to the point of near complete control — especially piqued by the interest in oil reserves discovered. This land, over the course of fifty years, was divided and extracted till both empires acknowledged they had grown too large to maintain and began to slowly break apart. The first problem arises here: the intentional division of regions through containing ethnicities and religions to create conflict. Secondly, the most valuable resources of the region had been extracted — and those that hadn’t had were trapped in contracts which would keep them feeding the same to companies like British Petroleum and Total.

This leads into the second acquisition: as the Cold War continued, the strategic importance of both the resources and locations of the nations there became incredibly important to both the USSR and NATO. After many internationally influenced wars in the region, the USSR directly invaded Afghanistan in 1979. This conflict worried the United States, which trained the Muhjadeen, a local militia, to fight against the invading forces — and incorporated the idea of Jihad. It wasn’t difficult for so called religious leaders to then enter the fray and seize power for themselves. Osama Bin Laden, an anti-American terrorist, formed the Al-Qaeda out of many of the same, using Saudi wealth — which, you guessed it, was supported by the United States against the Shah of Iran, which was supported by the USSR. On 9/11, they then attacked one of the wealthiest places in the world, the World Trade Center. How did the United States retaliate? A million killed in Iraq for “weapons of mass destruction” which didn’t exist. Upwards of two trillion dollars spent on the war in Afghanistan.

Maybe every year we should have a memorial on medical discrimination against people of color because that death toll is in the hundreds of thousands each year when it doesn’t have to be. Maybe every year we should have a memorial on the tens of millions of Native Americans that were killed through evidenced and recorded biological warfare. Because it feels every damn time, like one white life is worth a thousand coloured ones. But God bless America right? We’re so damn patriotic we wrap the flag around our eyes as it fucks us over again and again and again. We’ll continue to feed this behemoth till the day it takes us down with it, but history will see us as complicit to the crime.

[sabersplit]

Roses Vanille - Mancera

Top notes

Lemon

Water notes

Mid notes

Rose

Sugar

Base notes

Vanilla

Sugar

White musk

Cedar

[saywhat-politics]

Feb. 13, 2025, 4:05 PM MST

By Nnamdi Egwuonwu

A group of 14 states sued Elon Musk and President Donald Trump on Thursday, arguing that the authority the White House granted the tech billionaire and his advisory Department of Government Efficiency is unconstitutional.

The suit, filed by Democratic attorneys general from states like Arizona, Michigan and Rhode Island, takes aim at the magnitude and scale of Musk’s power, noting that DOGE has led the Trump administration’s efforts to dramatically reduce the size of the federal workforce, dismantle entire agencies and access sensitive data.

“The founders of this country would be outraged that, 250 years after our nation overthrew a king, the people of this country—many of whom have fought and died to protect our freedoms—are now subject to the whims of a single unelected billionaire,” Arizona Attorney General Kris Mayes said in a statement.

The attorneys general argue that Trump violated the Appointments Clause of the Constitution by creating DOGE — an unofficial government agency — without congressional approval and by granting Musk “sweeping powers” without seeking the advice and consent of the Senate through a confirmation hearing.

“President Trump has delegated virtually unchecked authority to Mr. Musk without proper legal authorization from Congress and without meaningful supervision of his activities,” the lawsuit reads. “As a result, he has transformed a minor position that was formerly responsible for managing government websites into a designated agent of chaos without limitation and in violation of the separation of powers.”

The states are seeking a court order blocking Musk from making changes to government funding, canceling contracts, making personnel decisions and more.

[thedreamingdevil]

Incest smut with Jeon Somi please! 🙏😭 Write whatever with her, I don't mind! She lacks smut around here 🥲

Don't Get Drunk

Jeon Somi × Male Reader (6,082 words)

Author's note: Sorry for being MIA! The new year has been a bit wild. I got a little too greedy and wanted to write all my ideas at once, but then I ended up not finishing anything. Lesson learned, right? I’m aiming to post one smut piece every two weeks from now on, so wish me luck! Also, my first non-Dreamcatcher smut, woo!

The dim glow of your television paints the walls of your living room in shifting shades of blue as you lose yourself in the hardcore porn playing loudly on screen. Your hand traces the thick veins throbbing beneath the skin of your cock. Each stroke sends a pleasurable jolt through you as you watch the bodies writhe and moan.

Boxers are all you bother with tonight, the cool air raising goosebumps on your bare chest, a stark contrast to the heat building in your groin. You're completely engrossed, riding the edge of release, when a jarring buzz cuts through the porn’s soundtrack. Annoyance flares instantly, a tight knot in your stomach pulling you from the brink of pleasure.

You glance at your phone screen, the bright numbers mocking you: 12:37 AM. Who the hell is ringing your doorbell at this ungodly hour? It’s Saturday night, for fuck’s sake, people are supposed to be out partying, not bothering you in your sanctuary of solitude and self-love.

Before you can fully register your irritation, the doorbell bleats again, a longer, more insistent sound this time, as if the person on the other side is determined to get your attention. With a frustrated click of your tongue, you reluctantly pull your boxers up, the soft fabric momentarily trapping your still-hard dick.

The buzz resonates again, now bordering on aggressive. Fine, you think, you'll answer it and send whoever it is packing. You stomp to the door, adrenaline mixed with residual horniness making your movements jerky. You yank the door open with more force than necessary, ready to unleash a volley of irritated questions, but the words die on your tongue.

Standing on your doorstep are two women. One, a vibrant shock of pink hair, is supporting the other, who is practically draped over her shoulder. And you recognize them instantly. It's your older sister, Somi, completely plastered, and her eternally bubbly, pink-haired friend, Giselle.

Heat floods your face, a flush of embarrassment. You hadn’t expected visitors, especially not now, especially not in this state, shirtless and still smelling faintly of your own musk. You try to subtly tug your boxers higher, hoping they conceal enough. Giselle, however, just beams at you, her smile wide and bright even in the dim hallway light.

“Hey!” she chirps, her voice slightly breathless from the effort of holding up your taller sister. “Sorry to bother you so late, but well, Somi insisted on coming here.” Giselle’s eyes flick towards you, her smile softening into an apologetic curve. “I offered to let her crash at my place, but she was really set on seeing you.”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair and pushing down the lingering mortification. Somi is a mess. Her blonde hair, usually meticulously styled, hangs in tangled clumps around her face. Her white blouse is askew, twisted so far to the side that the lacy edge of her bra is clearly visible, and the swell of her tits threatens to spill out of the neckline with every unsteady breath she takes.

She looks up at you, her eyes unfocused and glassy, and a wide, goofy grin spreads across her face. She slurs your name, her voice thick with alcohol. “You’re the best! Thank you for letting me stay!” She doesn’t even wait for you to agree, just assumes she’s welcome, as always.

Giselle’s voice cuts through Somi’s drunken ramblings, bringing you back to the awkward reality of the situation. “Yeah, sorry about this,” she repeats, her pronunciation softening the words. “I really tried to get her to come to my place, but… yeah, you see how that worked out.” She gestures helplessly at Somi, who is now attempting to hug Giselle's arm, giggling nonsensically.

You manage a small smile. "It's fine," resignation coloring your tone. "I know how stubborn she can be when she's like this." It’s an understatement. Somi sober is headstrong; Somi drunk is a force of nature. With a sigh, you reach out and disentangle Somi from Giselle, taking your sister’s weight onto yourself.

Her soft body pressed against yours, her chest bumping against your bare arm. “Thanks for bringing this blondie here,” you say to Giselle, nodding your head in gratitude. “Want to come in for a bit?”

The offer is half-hearted, because the blaring porn audio suddenly registers in your mind, a pulsing rhythm vibrating through the thinly insulated walls.

Luckily, Giselle shakes her head, her pink hair swaying. “Oh, no, it’s really late,” she says, her smile still warm but tinged with tiredness. “I should probably head home. Just make sure she drinks some water, okay?”

You nod, a silent thank you. You can’t quite tell if Giselle heard the muffled throbbing bass from your apartment, but she’s smiling as usual, so maybe she’s either oblivious or just incredibly polite.

“Goodnight!” she calls out, waving as she turns to walk away, her pink hair bobbing in the dim light. “Goodnight, Somi!”

You close the door, the click echoing in the sudden quiet. Then, you turn your attention to the drunken blonde lump in your arms. Somi instantly latches onto you, clinging like a koala, her arms wrapping around your neck, her soft chest pressing firmly against your arm.

You notice then that her short skirt has ridden even higher throughout the evening’s drunken escapades, now barely covering her thighs. You grunt slightly at her unexpected weight, and half-drag, half-carry her towards the living room, her body limp and pliant against yours.

You dump her unceremoniously onto the stool of the kitchen countertop first, her breathing heavy and shallow. You stare down at her semi-conscious form, a jumble of irritation and something else stirring within you.

From as far back as you can remember, Somi has been a constant source of trouble. Always needing rescuing, always making messes, always relying on you to clean up after her.

You’d foolishly hoped that adulthood would bring some semblance of responsibility, some maturity, but tonight proves that she’s only gotten worse. And it’s always you who has to deal with it.

You’re barely an adult yourself, just out of high school, juggling odd jobs to make ends meet. You can barely afford to feed yourself, let alone constantly bail out your trainwreck of a sister.

But as you look at her now, drunk and vulnerable, a different kind of thought surfaces. Maybe, just maybe, Somi’s perpetual negligence, her constant state of disarray, maybe it could be useful to you in some way.

Your gaze roams over her curvy body, lingering on her glossy parted lips, slightly swollen and wet-looking. It drifts lower, to the generous mound of her breasts, straining against the fabric of her blouse, the nipples hardening against the thin material in the cool air.

Finally, your eyes settle on her exposed thighs, bare and pale beneath the hiked-up skirt. Your own cock, still semi-hard from earlier, stirs inside your boxers, tightening with renewed insistence.

The images from the porn movie on the screen flicker in your peripheral vision, blurring with the real, tempting flesh before you; you older sister. A dangerous, thrilling idea begins to take root in your mind.

Somi slurs her words, leaning heavily against the countertop. "Hey... sorry about all the trouble," she says, her voice low and deep. "But you don't mind, right? Cause we're siblings, after all." She lets out a giggle, a wet, bubbly sound that ends in a snort.

She stumbles further into your apartment, clumsily making her way to the couch like she expects you to scoop her up and carry her, like she is some fat, lazy crocodile ready to be provided endless comfort.

Her breasts, unrestrained by a bra, bounce with each unsteady step, quivering under her thin top as she collapses onto the couch, where she sprawls out, limbs akimbo, like she owns the damn place.

You watch her, a low chuckle rumbling in your chest, the predatory feeling already starting to stir. "Of course, sis," you say, your voice smooth, almost too gentle. "I will take care of my sister."

She grins drunkenly, eyes unfocused and glazed over. "Knew I could count on you," she mumbles, already drifting off, her words blurring together.

You watch her for a moment, the image of her sprawled out on your couch igniting a heat in your groin. Quietly, you push your boxers down, the sound amplified in the still room. You reach inside, your fingers closing around the thick shaft already straining against the fabric.

With a swift motion, you pull them down, freeing your rock-hard cock. It springs out, heavy and throbbing, pulsing with anticipation as you approach the couch, your footsteps silent on the carpet.

Lowering yourself, you position yourself directly in front of her face, your cock level with her slightly parted lips. Without a word, you guide the head of your cock to her mouth, the tip nudging against her wet lips.

Then, with a firm push, you slide your cock inside, the warmth and moisture of her mouth enveloping you. You hiss in pleasure, the sensation electric. Somi moans, a confused sound escaping her throat. Instinctively, she tries to pull her face away, a weak resistance against your forceful advance.

But you're ready. Your hand shoots out, gripping the back of her neck, your fingers tangling in her hair, holding her head firmly in place. You push deeper, inch after inch, forcing more of your length into her mouth. Her tongue, surprisingly, wraps around your shaft, massaging you, a primal, instinctive response even in her drunken stupor.

Somi’s voice is muffled, a garbled protest against your intrusive cock. "Mmmph… no…" she manages to moan against your flesh, her hand weakly pushing against your thigh, a pathetic attempt to dislodge you. Her eyes flutter half-open, unfocused and confused.

But you’re lost in the sensation, the friction of her mouth, the growing pleasure tightening your balls. You hiss again, a sharp intake of breath, as you slide in and out, slowly at first, savoring the feel. Her moans of unconscious protest only fuel your excitement.

You lean closer, "Come on, sis," you whisper, the word dripping with a sick intimacy. "I know you’re a good cocksucker." You shift your grip on her nape, tightening it possessively. "Just suck my cock every day, and then you can stay here as long as you want. You don’t have to hear Dad’s nagging at home anymore."

The proposition hangs in the air, a twisted bargain made in the heat of the lustful moment. Somi's head bobs rhythmically, almost unconsciously. Despite her mumbled protests, her mouth tightens around your cock, her body seemingly overriding her conscious mind.

Her back arches slightly off the couch, a subtle shift in posture that reveals a buried desire. Her legs clamp together, rubbing against each other, a telltale sign of her own arousal, even in this forced encounter.

It's as if her body knows, deep down, that she’s a slut at the core, always ready to submit to pleasure. She starts humming unconsciously, a low vibration against your shaft, and more saliva coats your cock, making each thrust slicker, smoother.

You slide in and out of her mouth, her soft lips wrapping tight, almost pleasurably so, around your girth. Her drunken unconsciousness seems to be turning into something else, something more primal and accepting.

Emboldened by her lack of real resistance and her body's involuntary responses, you become rougher, fucking her face deeper, your thrusts becoming faster and more forceful. Somi gags, a choked sound escaping her throat, her eyes watering slightly.

Her free hand, no longer weakly pushing, now clutches at your balls, a tighter grip, a more desperate attempt to push you away, but even then, she's still sucking, her mouth still working against your cock at the same time.

You feel a surge of dominance. "Fuck," you breathe out, your hand tightening on her neck, ignoring her attempts to push you away. "If my sister treats me like this, I don't even need a girlfriend." The thought, crude and selfish, reinforces your actions, justifying your violation in your own twisted mind.

After a few more slow, deliberate thrusts, you feel yourself reaching the edge. Your pace quickens, your groans growing louder, more animalistic. Then, you explode, cumming right inside her mouth, a thick, hot stream of ejaculate erupting from your cock, flooding her mouth.

It just keeps coming, a long, intense orgasm that lasts for nearly a minute. Somi gulps it all down, her throat working reflexively, despite choking and sputtering for air. Finally, you pull out, your cock slick with her saliva and your cum. Somi coughs, a wet, hacking sound, wiping her lips with the back of her hand, her eyes still hazy and unfocused.

"What the fuck was that?" she slurs, her voice raw and thick. You know she’s still not really sober, her awareness only just starting to flicker back.

You answer with a smirk, your voice light, almost joking, hiding the darkness of your actions. "Giselle said make sure I give you water, sis," you say, watching her confused flushed expression. "But I'm not sure it's quite enough."

The flickering images on the television screen cast an erratic light across the living room, but your attention is far from the movie. It’s fixed on Somi, your sister, sprawled haphazardly on the couch. You’d expected a slurry, indignant argument – the usual performance when she’s this deep into her cups.

Instead, she simply rolled, a slow, ungainly tumble, and landed with a soft thud onto the floor. A light snore rattles from her lips. You scoff, a dry, humorless sound. It's pathetic, really. You try to refocus on the screen, but the vibrant colors and action feel hollow, meaningless against the backdrop of this tableau.

The remote clicks in your hand, plunging the room into near darkness, save for the faint glow of the city lights filtering through the window. The silence is thick, broken only by Somi’s shallow breaths. Your gaze drifts back to her prone form. A different kind of heat begins to prickle under your skin. You let your eyes trace the curves of her body, the way her shirt rides up slightly, exposing a sliver of pale skin above her skirt.

Suddenly, the images that flood your mind are no longer scenes from the abandoned porn movie. They are scenarios starring Somi, her body pliant and yielding beneath your touch. The forbidden nature of the fantasy ignites a thrill, a dangerous spark that flares in your gut. You feel your cock stir once again, hardening stubbornly.

It’s a slow, insistent rise, fueled by a cocktail of curiosity and a dark, unsettling desire.

A short, mirthless laugh escapes your lips, echoing in the quiet room. "This is fucked up," you murmur to yourself, the words barely a whisper. And it is. Completely, utterly fucked up. Yet, the thought of stopping, of pulling back from the precipice of this madness, feels…unappealing.

A strange inertia holds you captive. No guilt washes over you, no immediate sense of revulsion. Instead, there's a chilling detachment, a sensation of watching yourself from a distance as you stand and, with a grunt, scoop your sister up from the floor. Her limbs are heavy, limp. You carry her back to the couch, the scent of cheap alcohol and something faintly floral clinging to her.

You lay her on her back, her head lolling to the side. Straddling her waist, you plant one knee deliberately between her thighs, feeling the soft give of her panties. Leaning close, your face inches from her slack-jawed, heaving face, you take a shallow breath, inhaling the boozy air she exhales.

Your hand, almost of its own volition, reaches out and closes over her breast, through the thin cotton of her shirt. You squeeze, your fingers sinking into the soft flesh. They’re soft. Softer than you assume. You knead, fondling the yielding mound, and Somi lets out a small, involuntary moan, a pathetic, muffled sound that vibrates against your fingertips.

Encouraged, or perhaps driven by something darker, you grip the hem of her shirt and tug it upwards, over her head. It’s a clumsy, quick motion, revealing her chest. Her breasts are already spilling over the lace edges of her bra, full and ripe. Without hesitation, you reach behind her and unhook the clasp, the plastic clicking open with a sharp sound in the quiet. The bra falls away, and her breasts, pale and heavy, are fully exposed.

A primal urge takes hold. You begin to play with them, your hands roaming over the smooth skin, groping and pulling, your thumbs circling her nipples, teasing them into hard buds. You repeat the circular motion, again and again, a hypnotic rhythm that feeds the growing tension in your groin.

"Fuck it," you breathe, another dry laugh rasping in your throat. "I can’t believe I’m actually doing this." The absurdity of the situation crashes into you for a fleeting moment.

Memories flicker in your mind – images of childhood games in the backyard, of late-night arguments over shared snacks, of sharing secrets whispered under the covers. Somi, your sister, the girl who used to play with your hair for fun and steal your candy. The contrast is jarring, sickening even. But your body, your treacherous body, has a different agenda.

Ignoring the ghost of shared history, you lean down, your mouth hovering over her smooth skin. With an act of transgression, you latch onto her brown nipple. Your heart hammers against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence of the room. You can’t stop now, not even if you wanted to.

You suck on Somi’s nipple, pulling and teasing, the sensation electrifying, forbidden. You taste her skin, a flavor you can’t quite place, something unfamiliar yet intimately connected to her. It’s salty, definitely salty, probably from sweat and the lingering remnants of her drink. But there’s also a sweetness, a subtle sugary note that plays on your tongue. Or maybe you’re just imagining it, your senses heightened by the illicit nature of this act.

It doesn't matter. Lost in the sensation, you keep sucking, alternating between her left and right breast, your hands massaging and kneading the soft flesh, milking them almost, as if trying to extract every last drop of sensation.

Suddenly, Somi’s hands are on your head. At first, they’re tentative, fluttering weakly against your scalp. But then, her fingers clench, digging into your hair, pulling with a surprising strength. She moans again, louder this time, a drawn-out sound that vibrates in your very bones. Her body begins to writhe beneath you, a subtle shift at first, then more pronounced.

Her legs come up, clamping around your waist, her thighs tightening, a silent, involuntary embrace. Her feet kick against the couch cushions, a restless energy fluttering through her limbs. Noticing the reaction, a flicker of something – triumph, perhaps, or a twisted kind of validation – sparks within you.

"Do you like this, Somi?" you murmur against her breast. "Do you want more?" Her eyelids flutter open, revealing unfocused, glazed eyes. She looks at you, a hint of confusion in her gaze, and then, instead of words, a soft whimper escapes her lips. It’s not a protest, not exactly. It’s something else.

Somi’s scent, a heady mix of alcohol and something uniquely her, urges you onward. You lift your head from her breast and trail kisses down her neck, nibbling and sucking at the soft flesh, feeling the pulse jump beneath your lips. Your hands roam lower, across her soft, slightly rounded tummy, towards her waist. You lift her hips slightly, your fingers finding the curve of her ass beneath her skirt.

The fabric is thin, offering little resistance as you squeeze her firm buttocks, feeling the heat radiate from her skin. This time, the whimper is replaced by something sharper, louder. "Wait, fuck…" she curses, her voice thick with sleep and confusion. "What the… what are you doing?" her voice is laced with a growing alarm.

You ignore Somi’s mumbled question, her words slurring slightly, and your hands tighten their grip on her bare breasts. “What…?” she starts to ask again, but you cut her off, your mouth descending to her stomach. You press kisses across her warm skin, the taste of her faintly sweet, before your tongue dips into her navel.

As you swirl your tongue around its depths, Somi’s back arches off the couch with a sharp groan. “Ahh…!” she protests weakly, a confused sound in her voice.

But beneath the protest, you feel the tremor in her body, the involuntary ripple of her muscles as she writhes against the weird, wet slide of your tongue. Her hands come up to your shoulders, gripping them, not pushing you away, but holding on as her body reacts in ways her words don't seem to understand.

Driven by a mounting excitement, you move your kisses lower, the line of her pelvis coming into focus. "Wait," Somi murmurs, but it’s barely audible. You’re already working on the button of her skirt, fingers fumbling with the clasp in your eagerness. With a snap, it gives way, and you roughly yank the fabric down, bunching it around her thighs, then off her legs completely.

You straighten up, her skirt now discarded on the floor, and you place her legs over your shoulders, spreading them wide. Her breath hitches, and a louder grunt escapes her lips as she instinctively tries to clamp her thighs shut. Her hands, still clumsy, reach down, attempting to shield her clothed pussy. “Stop, just… stop,” she mumbles, but her words are weak, unconvincing.

You slap her hands away from between her legs, the sound echoing in the quiet room, leaving her exposed. “Shhh,” you hush her, your voice low. “Don’t be shy, sis. We’re siblings, remember?” You gesture to the darkening stain spreading across the crotch of her panties. “Besides, you’re drunk. It’s okay. You want this, I know you do.”

You become rougher, your fingers hooking into the elastic waistband of her panties. There’s a sharp ripping sound as you tear the fabric apart, the thin material giving way easily. You pluck away the remaining tattered pieces, tossing them aside, leaving her completely bare. “See?” you say, your voice laced with a predatory satisfaction. “Nothing to hide.”

The scent of Somi’s arousal hits you full force, a heady musk that’s intoxicating, like a potent drug. It compels you, driving you to plunge your face directly into her exposed vulva. Her pussy is slick with her own juices, and the aroma is even stronger up close. You lick from the base of her swollen folds all the way up to her hard, throbbing clitoris, savoring every inch of her.

With each slow, deliberate lap of your tongue, you gulp in her flavor, the salty-sweet tang of her arousal filling your mouth. Somi gasps, her eyes fluttering open, wide and unfocused. A moan escapes her lips, soft at first, then growing louder, more desperate. “Please…” she whispers, her voice breaking, repeating the word again, “Please… please…”

Ignoring her plea, you continue to feast on her, your tongue relentlessly working her clit. You suck on the sensitive bud, drawing it deep into your mouth, slurping up every drop of juice she unknowingly produces. Her erratic moans and groans are music to your ears, confirming you’re doing exactly what her drunk body craves.

Holding her hips firmly in place with one hand, you suck her clit harder, then slide two fingers deep inside her wet pussy, curling them upwards against the sensitive walls. Somi’s back arches even higher, her ass lifting entirely off the couch as if she’s trying to grind herself against your mouth and thrusting fingers.

Her moaning intensifies, becoming higher-pitched, more needy, almost frantic. One hand presses against her stomach, flexing and unflexing, while the other hand clenches the edge of the couch, her knuckles white. Her breathing is ragged pants now, each inhale and exhale shuddering through her.

Lost in the intoxicating taste and feel of her, you barely register the shift until it’s undeniable. Somi grunts, her body tensing, and then a choked-off swear word bursts from her lips. A moment later, her orgasm explodes, her nectar suddenly flooding your mouth in a rush of warm, thick liquid.

You greedily drink as much as you can, slurping up the rest as her body shudders violently, then gradually stills. Her breathing remains heavy, ragged, but the tension slowly drains away. Her eyes are still half-lidded, blinking slowly at the ceiling, unfocused and glazed over.

You sit upright between her legs, pulling her closer until her thighs straddle your waist. Your own cock is throbbingly hard and it twitches insistently right in front of her wet, pink entrance. You chuckle, a low, satisfied sound. “Wow, look at you,” you say, gesturing to the slickness between her legs. “You came hard. Guess you had your fun, huh? Now it’s my turn.”

She slowly looks down at you, her expression still hazy, but then, surprisingly, a giggle bubbles up from her throat. She reaches down and her fingers close around her own breasts, giving them a soft, distracted rub, her eyes still drifting.

You watch as, with a languid movement, she cups her breasts, fingers kneading and teasing, her thumbs circling and flicking over her taut nipples, bringing them to hard peaks. A low moan escaped her lips, mixing with your faint breathing. Then, a shift in posture. She hooks her hands beneath her knees, pulling them abruptly upwards, her thighs parting wide, an unapologetic display. Her legs frame the thin triangle at her core, slick and glistening even presented to you like a forbidden offering.

A laugh bubbles up from your chest. "Holy shit, sis," you manage, your voice a little breathless, a mix of shock. "Are you...are you actually into this right now?" Your older sister’s eyes, heavy-lidded with drink, meet yours, a flicker of something mischievous dancing within their depths. She bites down on her lower lip, a playful tug that accentuates its fullness, and a giggle, soft and throaty, escapes.

"Mmm," she hums, her gaze drifting down your body before returning to your eyes. "You've got a nice cock, you know that?" Her words are slurred but clear, each syllable deliberately laced with invitation. "And I think," her voice dropping to a whisper, "you totally need to put it inside my pussy."

The blatant filth dripping from your sister’s usually prim lips ignites something. A hot rush floods your groin. Without a second thought, your hand clamps around your already hardening shaft, the throbbing vein beneath your fingers pulsing with anticipation. You take a step closer, the couch looming, and you smack your engorged cock against the wet folds of her vulva. The sound is wet and resonant, echoing in the quiet room.

Somi’s breath hitches, a gasp turning into a drawn-out moan as the contact sends jolts of pleasure through her. Her body arches off the couch cushion, her hips bucking instinctively against your hand. The slick pre-cum and her own juices splatter outwards, glistening on her thighs and the velvet of the couch.

"Okay then, sis. I'm gonna fuck you now." You straddle her legs, parting them further with your knees, positioning yourself above her exposed core. With agonizing slowness, you guide the swollen head of your cock to the entrance of her slick, warm pussy, feeling the velvety soft lips part to receive you. Then, in one controlled motion, you push forward, sinking into her depths.

Her breath catches again, a sharp intake that quickly turns into a sigh of pure sensation as you slide deeper, the tight walls of her sheath gripping you like a hot glove. You grip her hips, anchoring her as you begin to move, driving forward with a slow thrust. Somi’s back arches even further, her breasts lifting towards the ceiling, straining against their own weight.

Her head throws forward as she tries to steal a glimpse of your cock disappearing deep inside her stretched pussy. You pause at the deepest point, holding yourself there for a heartbeat, savoring the fullness, the intimate pressure, the feeling of being buried inside her. Pulling back just until the tip is still nestled inside her, you slam forward again, burying yourself to the hilt.

A groan escapes her lips, her sweaty body rippling with the force of the impact, her muscles clenching around you in response. You repeat the rhythm, each thrust deeper and harder than the last, fucking your older sister with a growing urgency, your hands gripping her waist, pulling her towards you, meeting each of your deep, hard thrusts with an equally frantic upward lift of her hips.

Somi’s breasts bounce wildly, swaying up and down unevenly, the fleshy mounds jiggling with each powerful stroke, the underside of your balls slapping against the soft crack of her ass with a rhythmic thud. The sounds of your bodies colliding fill the room, punctuated by her escalating moans and your own ragged breaths.

"Oh, fuck," Somi mumbles drunkenly, words thick with pleasure, her hands now clutching at your shoulders, digging into your muscle. "It's so deep," she gasps, "fuck me harder, please."

The raw desperation in her voice is intoxicating. Driven by her pleas and the mounting intensity within you, you snap your hips harder, the pace quickening, the friction building. You lean down, burying your face in the curve of her neck, inhaling the scent of her skin, hot and flushed and intoxicating, and whisper against her ear, "If I go any harder, sis, I might just cum inside you and get you pregnant."

Of course, Somi was too far gone to grasp the implications of your words. Her mind was lost in the swirling vortex of pleasure. She just kept mumbling incoherently, her only coherent plea being, "fuck me harder… it's so good… I’m… almost… cumming…" Her toes curled inwards, digging into the couch cushion, and her hands clutched at your back, her nails lightly raking against your skin. Her tits were squished against your chest, their soft weight a delicious friction as your nose inhaled the intoxicating scent from the crook of her neck.

Your breathing grew shallow and rapid, your body straining with the effort to prolong this forbidden bliss. But Somi wasn't holding back any longer. Her movements stilled, her body suddenly going rigid beneath you. A silent wave of tension washed over her, replaced in moments by a shuddering release. You didn't need her to say a word; you felt it instantly, a hot, pulsing sensation as her orgasm flooded down around your pistoning cock, her inner muscles clenching and spasming in rhythmic waves.

The realization that you were fucking your own older sister raw, the echo of her voice begging for more, the wet, slick feel of her orgasm enveloping your cock – it all coalesced into an overwhelming wave of sensation. You reached your own precipice, teetering on the edge of oblivion. Separating your face from her neck, you dropped down, latching onto one of her swollen nipples with your mouth, biting down hard just as you slammed your cock deep, deep inside her canal.

Spurt after spurt of scalding semen erupted inside Somi's pussy, filling her with your forbidden seed. She cried out, a muffled sound as she gripped your hair, pressing your face harder into her boob, her fingers tangling in your locks. You huffed against the soft mound of her breast, every muscle in your body clenched tight, riding the peak of your orgasm. Slowly, languidly, you rolled your hips, prolonging the blissful, taboo-laden experience as your cum continued to pulse inside her.

The aftermath of your release hangs heavy in the air, thick with the scent of sex. You pull back from your older sister, the squelch of your dick leaving her wet depths echoing in the sudden silence that descends now that your ragged breaths are slowing. You shift back onto the plush cushions of your worn-out couch, the withdrawal making your cock feel strangely cold against the air.

A thick glob of your cum oozes from her folds, a pearly trail tracing a path downwards, a rivulet heading towards the shadowed cleft of her untouched asshole. Somi is completely still, lost in the deep abyss of drunken slumber. Her head lolls to the side, cheek pressed against the couch fabric, her breathing shallow and even. Naked and vulnerable, she's laid out, a tableau of post-coital abandon.

A question claws at the edge of your consciousness – will she even remember any of this tomorrow? The thought flits through your mind, quickly followed by a surge of guilt and a thrill of illicit excitement. You’re breathing hard, chest heaving, your gaze fixed on her unconscious form. The soft rise and fall of her chest is mesmerizing, the curve of her body smooth and inviting in the dim light filtering through the blinds.

Then, the weight of reality crashes down on you, solid and undeniable. This happened. You actually went there. You fucked your sister. And not just a quick fumble, but a full-blown, unprotected creampie situation in her womb. There's no erasing it, no taking it back.

A low chuckle wheezes up from your throat, tinged with disbelief. "Fucking crazy," you mutter under your breath. You lean closer to Somi, a whisper inches from her ear. "You liked that, didn't you? You enjoyed that as much as I did, right?" Silence is her only reply, her peaceful slumber undisturbed by your whispered question.

Even in the aftermath, even with the dampness cooling on your skin, your cock refuses to fully submit. It throbs with a semi-erection, a persistent reminder of the pleasure you just experienced, and a blatant demand for more. Her nakedness, the lingering scent of her arousal, it’s all too potent. You can't deny the pull, the urge to dive back in.

Carefully, you slide off the couch, your bare feet padding softly on the worn carpet. You reach for Somi, gently looping her arm around your neck, her limp weighing on you. Then, you bend down, slipping your other arm under her knees, scooping her up in a bridal carry. She’s heavier than you expected, loose and pliant in your arms. You carry her through the narrow hallway to the spare room, the one you usually leave empty for nothing in particular it seems, until now. You reach the bed, a simple mattress on a frame, and gently toss her onto it.

A soft groan escapes her lips as she lands, rolling onto her side, facing away from you. You climb onto the bed beside her, the mattress dipping under your weight. With a hand on her hip, you turn her back towards you, then gently lift her up onto her knees, her ass rising invitingly in the air. Her upper body, still heavy with sleep, falls forward onto the mattress, her breasts spilling out, nipples brushing against the sheet.

You kneel behind her, your own cock stirring with renewed vigor, the sight of her presented ass sending a jolt of lust through you. You press yourself against her, rubbing your semi-hard cock against her wet entrance, feeling it thicken and lengthen with each passing second.

“You shouldn’t have gotten so drunk and come here, Somi,” you murmur into her hair, the words more for yourself than her. “You know that, right?” You nip at the nape of her neck, tasting the salt of her sweat. “And you know you liked getting fucked by your brother. Don’t even try to deny it.” Your voice is filled with the need to possess her. “One round isn’t going to cut it, sis. Not after this. I’m going to fuck you until my cock is sore and limp. Until you wake up and realize what we did.”

Consequences be damned. You’ll deal with the fallout, the inevitable chaos, when it comes. Right now, all that matters is this moment, this chance to feast on your older sister, to brand her with your mark until she’s fully sober and forced to confront the reality of what’s happening.

With that thought burning in your mind, you grind yourself against her hips, and thrust forward, penetrating her slick pussy from behind, driving yourself deep, right to the hilt. Somi lets out a muffled gasp, a sound that could be pleasure, could be protest, lost in the moment as you begin to move.

[dmitriene]

being boss's john price sweet secretary, almost the only employee that doesn't drip on his nerves, not counting his trusting one's, as he keeps you constantly close, bordering on the thin line of professional relationship, but you think he's just nice to you, even when he purrs smokily for you to warm up his lap.

he doesn't gropes you, just traces his calloused hands over the curves of your body, they're heavy, hot, despite that you're fully dressed in your white button up shirt, tucked under your pencil skirt, too short, still for the liking of his eclipsed, cerulean gaze, albeit in need to be constantly covered up, when someone let their gazes wander, making john all growling and strict, tugging you behind him.

you feel embarrassed about it all, adorably shy at the fact that you have some special place of yours in john's mind, he doesn't let's you call him sir or boss, making you chirp his name shyly, and even through you squirm under his gaze and gentle croons, you still always end up at his thick, muscular lap, holding his cigar between your delicate fingers, letting the acrid, spicy smoky smell cloak around your form, perched close to his chest.

john's hands busy with paperwork you only recently brought him, so it's only normal for his secretary to help him, even if it's nothing but just letting him smoke from your hand, the scruff of his mutton chops tingling against your soft skin, as he enjoys the warmth and suppleness of your form, sitting pliable for him, and even if you squirm at his hand suddenly leaving the pen to brush against your lower back, he only purrs a hoarse chuckle.

it's only the matter of time when you get more responsibilities as his secretary, learning how to soothe him down when he's fuming after a bad work he received or a meeting gone south, and it's with you seating on his cold, wooden desk, with your pretty legs spread wide and your skirt rolled up, cotton panties dangling at your ankles, pussy already wet and on display for the blue eyes, edged with black.

your boss loves you all shy, with your face hiding in the crook of his neck, breathing in his prominent, woody musk, blending with the notes of his tart cigars and sign of whiskey, warm, tender with you, he doesn't let's his steam cloud his senses, taking you with long, heavy drags of his cock inside your spasming, gooey pussy, thrusts sloppy and slow, as he inhales at your hair, nuzzling his face in your temple.

listens to your breathy, squeaky keens, keeping his hips canting right to see the way your legs tremble, wrapping around his lower back, looping there tightly, as john moves to kiss wetly at your neck, needy, smudging presses of his plump lips against your smooth skin, holding his palm splayed over your coccyx, so you won't hurt while jolting on his desk, his precious girl.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[servicpop]

✶ ﹑ㅤtutoring seshㅤ﹏

NOW STARRING : adrien x bottom m!reader

「ㅤNSFWㅤ」ㅤtutor sesh w/ your deliquent situationship but he can't focus on the studying, only you!

✙ warnings — parents are home , manhandling(?) , obsessive 'n a little pervy adrien , slight hair pulling , bodyworship(?) , Adrien is a little silly in this fic

notes ,, this was supposed to be short but I got carried away ^^;

Adrien had called you over to his house for a "tutoring session." For past few weeks, Adrien has been near-failing practically every single class except for gym class and whatnot. Realising he needed to improve his grades or he'll never graduate with you, he called you on one faithful evening to come over and help him study.

Obviously you complied; it was nice to see Adrien showing some sort of motivation to improve, so you changed into some casual clothes and began to walk to his house. You had prepared your laptop, pencil case, and textbooks, all ready to put in a few hours of tutoring. When you arrived at his front door, you grazed the back of your knuckles against the wood and knocked once or twice, expecting Adrien to show up with a proud smirk like he always did.

But it wasn't Adrien. When the door swung open, you saw his mother. You've only seen her once or twice but never up-close like this. The words caught in your throat as you clutched the straps of your bags, trying to find the words that never came. As if heaven answered your prayers, you saw Adrien jogging down the stairs and to the door, leaning on the door frame with his arm held above his head.

"You came," He grinned, taking the bag from your shoulders as he pulled you inside by your wrist. He helped you take off your shoes cinderella style and neatly placed them beside the doorway. He was awfully caring right now. Your hands felt crammy as you took a glance at Adrien's mother watching the two of you interact, a small blush dusted your ears while you quickly turned away. It must've looked like you were dating with the way she crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.

"Well, mom, we'll be in my room if you'd excuse us," Adrien flashed a toothy smile at his mother before snaking an arm around your waist and pulling you to his side. As he walked you up the stairs, Adrien found an opportunity to tease you, "You nervous meeting my mom?" He asked, squeezing your sides playfully. You shoot him an unamused gaze and he lets out a hearty chuckle from that. Adrien's hand wrapped around his gold doorknob, twisting it before he halted for a second. "Uh, wait here for a second, I gotta clean up my room," he didn't even wait for a response before slipping into his bedroom and closing the door behind him.

"Shit," Adrien muttered under his breath as he quickly shoved the polaroids and photos of you from his desk and into his drawer. He couldn't let you see how god damn obsessed he was about you. He couldn't let you see the photos of yourself stained with a white sheen, no, he wouldn't want to scare you off.

Adrien finally emerged from his room, pushing the door wide open for you to come in with a smile. You didn't question it. As you walked in, you were instantly hit with the scent of his cologne and natural musk. It wasn't a strong enough scent to burn your nose but it would still take you awhile to get used to it. Besides the scent, Adrien's bedroom was relatively clean for a guy who was titled 'the school deliquent.' He had a few sports posters plastered on the walls and his shelf had a few trophies from his childhood. You spotted the baseball bat leaned up against the wall alongside with the volleyball and basketball resting next to eachother. Adrien was sure athletic.

As you two sat down beside your desk, you pulled out all the equipment needed for studying and turned to Adrien, "What do you wanna study?" You asked him and got a small shrug in response. Well, why not start with biology since you conveniently happen to have a textbook that covered the subject.

Around 30 minutes pasted and you were diligently teaching him about human anatomy, glancing over to see him nodding once or twice. You thought it was going well but Adrien on the other hand... He was too focused on the way your hands glided against the pages, tapping the pen against the paper rhythmically, and how your eyes fluttered to him ever so often. Shit, he was horny as hell right now. Just the thought of those hands intertwining with his as he fucks the intelligence out of you is enough to get his blood pumping to the wrong places.

"Adrien? Are you listening?" Your voice snaps him out of his twisted fantasies and he leaned in closer to you, his voice dropping down to a whisper, "You know, I'm a hands-on, visual learner..." That shit-eating grin spread across his face as Adrien pat his lap enticingly, trying to draw your attention to the print in his sweatpants. But knowing you, you wouldn't give in so easily — you were called here to tutor him, not anything else.

"Just answer one more question and I'll—" Before you could even finish your sentence, Adrien's arms wrapped around your waist and he hoisted you up from the chair, practically slinging you over his shoulder. His forearms flexed around you, making sure you didn't fall before placing you on his bed, the mattress dipped from the sudden weight. "Try to be quiet 'kay? My parents are home," He nipped at the shell of your ear before hastily undoing your belt and sliding your pants off. Did he care that his parents could come in at any moment? No, but it was much more exciting to see you try and keep quiet.

"Can we kiss?" Adrien's voice was almost whiny, his eyelashes batted at you innocently — even though he was far from innocent. Nonetheless, you didn't respond, you've set certain boundaries that prevented you and him from getting attached (even though you may or may not have broken it a couple of times). "No," it was a simple, sharp answer that Adrien grumbled at. He understood where you were coming from, he was a bad influence and you were this goody-two-shoes. But he couldn't deny the part of him that wanted something more than just meaningless flings. He huffed, murmuring a small, "How can I study the muscles of a tongue then?"

Scooping you up back into his arms, Adrien ignored your small protests and shifted your position so that your stomach would lay flat against his bed. His hands met the back of yours, pinning you down as he slotted each of his fingers in the spaces between yours. "What happened to studying, Adrien?" Your scolds were muffled by Adrien's pillow and seemed to fall short of his ears. As he held you down, he grinded his hips against your ass, groaning softly from the pure excitement he felt. It had been a few months since he was about to get his hands on you, your pictures just wasn't as good as the real thing.

"Calvin klein hm?" Adrien chuckled softly, trailing his hands from the back of your palm, to your shoulders, down your spine, and to the waistband of your boxers, "Next time don't wear anything." His fingers hooked the elastic before pulling it down and off your legs. You couldn't see what he was doing from your position, and every touch made your skin jump, he was so unpredictable. His fingers traced the curve of your ass before spreading them apart to see your hole. "This is the anus right?" He asked, and you could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

"—Yes," you hesitated to answer him, he was obviously playing games with you, but there was no harm in humoring him. You heard the faint rustling of clothes before you felt something prod at your entrance. You sucked in through your teeth, was he seriously going to do this with no lube? "Sorry, don't got any on me right now." It was like he read your mind and instead dipped his head down to lick a stripe over your hole. It tickled, and your body naturally jerked away from it before he grabbed your hips and held them down one more. Weirdo.

He shuffled behind you, placing two knees on either side of your legs and his fingers angled your hips a little bit up. The slight burn of Adrien pushing into you made your fingers curl around his pillow, gripping it like your life depended on it. He slowly pushed in, filling you up until his hips met your ass. Even if your skin was flushed against his, Adrien pushed impossibly deeper inside of you until he could feel his tip press against your prostate. His hands tightened around your waist, stopping you from squirming and forcing you to take it.

"Is this your prostate?" He asked, his voice slightly trembled from the pleasure that coursed his veins, he was trying so hard to control himself. This time you ignore him, you know well that he knew. From the lack of a response, Adrien let out a breathy laugh before he finally decided to move, pulling out almost all the way before slamming into you. Your eyes flew open and your knuckles grew pale from how hard you were holding onto his pillow, your whines were muffled quite well, thankfully.

Adrien groaned ruggedly as he pounded you into his bed, the headboard knocked on his wall with every thrust. "You're being so quiet," He chuckled, reaching a hand out to ruffle your hair affectionate before moving to grab your hand. You couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic enough with the way he kept slamming into you like it was a punishment. Everytime he pulled out, he cooed at the way your hole would suck him back in like it missed him. "Fuck, I just can't with you," He let out a shaky breath as he rolled his hips against you, pushing further and further, trying to reach places he couldn't before.

He was reaching so deep that tears began to blur your vision, everything felt so overwhelming but numb at the same time. He leaned down to press kisses on your knuckles as he held your hand tightly under his own. His hips were relentless, slapping against yours, you were sure he'd leave your bruised and sore tomorrow. It was like he completely forgot they weren't alone in his house. In fact, Adrien's fingers moved from your hand to your hair, threading them through each strand and grabbing a handful, tugging it gently so your head would lift from the pillow.

"Kiss?" He asked once more, his lips already ghosting over yours. At this point you didn't care, all you could feel was how Adrien was throbbing inside you and how your dick rubbed against his white sheets with every thrust. "Fine," you exhale and he took the opportunity almost immediately, capturing your mouth in a heated kiss as he pulled your hair back for more access. His tongue pushed past your lips, exploring your mouth while simultaneously keeping your moans contained.

The dim lighting, the way your eyes fluttered and threatened to roll back, his dick pulsing inside you, it was all too much for his perverted brain. "Gonna cum," he muttered against your lips, biting on your bottom lip. He his hands return to your hips and his head falls over your shoulder. You could feel your own orgasm building up as your body started to squirm, you cock growing sensitive from the constant rubbing against Adrien's sheets. Adrien paused his thrusting just to pull out completely and shove himself back in, causing a loud whine rip from your throat and you body jolting.

Your cum splattered across the bed as Adrien smiled against your shoulder, keeping you from squirming as he came inside you, filling you with his semen. With a few more wet thrusts, Adrien finally stilled, watching as his own cum bubbled around his dick as he nestled deep inside you. "We should do this again, hm? Next time we can study our chemistry," his arms snaked up your body to wrap them around your shoulders, capturing you in a bear hug as he looked up at you with a goofy smile.

"What's with you and being so corny?" You groan, pushing his face away from you.

a/n: i luv adrien sosososo much ... wish he real ,, also not sure if he was a bit ooc here ,, a bit sillier than usual but I hope you guys like it ♡

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Hellbound Angel

Male Yandere Demon x Male Angel Reader (CW: Noncon, drugged reader, drugged sex, drug-like cum, drug-like saliva, big ol' horse cock, literally equine dick, belly bulge, armpit kink, scent kink, musk, underwear sniffing, kidnapping, general yandere behavior, temporarily mind-broken reader, religious themes, dehydration, forced feminization, reader has minor injuries not inflicted by yandere) Word Count: 2.2k

In the never-ending war against the legions of Hell, the middle ground where most of the fighting was done was on Earth. However, the heavenly forces sometimes deemed an incursion into Hell necessary.

You had been sent on a mission to scout ahead and take note of the coming forces.

Angels were stronger than most demons. Even so, almost your entire squad had been wiped out in a bloody ambush. The other survivors had used the one holy recall scroll to teleport themselves back to heaven.

Each squad sent into Hell is given one and only one. They probably thought you were dead already when they left still with demons in pursuit. They had to act quickly. You didn't blame them. Without it, you were trapped here. Unless you could find a demon's gate that could take you to Earth. That's how the demons made it out. But there would certainly be legions of the enemy at such places.

You had managed to escape the slaughter of your scouting party, but you were injured. Your wings had been hurt as had your leg. Relatively minor injuries, but in a hostile land, they certainly made things more difficult.

To be honest, you weren't exactly the strongest angel on a good day. This was not a good day.

You limped along the rocky landscape, using your holy staff as a walking stick. You stayed low to remain unseen by any wandering beasts or demons as you made your way out of the fiery wastelands and into the white sand desert. Hell wasn't all fire and brimstone. It was the most popular depiction of Hell's most dramatic landscape, but there were other biomes, too. Now you were getting into one of the many deserts Hell had to offer.

It was cooler than the burning wastes, but by no means was it comfortable. Water and food were scarce, the white sands were nearly blinding, and the swirling black sky was a constant ominous reminder that you were not safe.

You could go a long time without food and water. You wouldn't die without them, but after a while, you would wither up and be unable to move. You'd go into a kind of stasis. And then you'd be defenseless.

For days, you wandered. At least... you thought it was days. Despite the perpetually black sky the sun never set. Your lips were chapped, your wounds aching, hope dying in your heart. You had to find an oasis to rest at. Build up your strength. From the limited maps you had seen of this region of Hell there should be one at the heart of this desert, but with your wings and legs messed up it would still take many days still to reach it.

There were several more days of endless marching, hobbling on your injured leg that was getting harder and harder to walk on before you finally saw the oasis in the distance. You tried your best to approach stealthily, going behind dunes and sand drifts whenever possible, and wrapping your white wings around you to provide some measure of camouflage with the white sands. As you got near, it disappeared in a puff of smoke. And out of the smoke stood a demon. It was a trap.

Dark brownish red skin, sharp horns, a tail flicking back and forth, and he stood at least a foot taller than you. He was very muscular, his sweat coated abs glistened in the sunlight. He wore nothing. His long horse-like cock and big nuts swinging freely below a thick patch of black pubic hair.

You caught yourself accidentally staring and looked away quickly before readying your divine staff for a fight. Which was really hard, since you could barely stand without it.

The demon winked and chuckled.

"Do you like it~ There's no harm in just looking, you know?"

He closed the distance between the two of you in a flash and knocked the staff away in one fluid motion.

"As a matter of fact, you can do a lot more than look, little bird. My cum would make you feel so much better~ That oasis you're looking for is still miles away."

"Uh, thanks for the kind offer, but I think I will pass. I'll just be on my way and out of your hair."

You stepped back slowly, hoping to make it to your staff so you could maybe limp away and give him a good smack if he followed. But he wasn't giving you the chance.

"Oh, but you're dehydrated!"

He took a few steps forward until there were mere inches between you. He put a hand on your cheek and thumbed at your chapped lips gently.

"Your lips are all dry. Let me help~"

Before you could decline, he held your head in place and leaned down. He traced and prodded your sore lips with his long slick tongue.

You tried to push him away but couldn't do much in your current condition. And the saliva was having some kind of effect on you.

He slipped his tongue past your lips and kissed you greedily.

Your head grew fuzzy and your legs weak. His spit was some type of drug. It felt... nice...

You resisted it as long as you could, even resorting to biting his tongue, but he ignored it and continued. Moments later, you slumped against him, your head on his muscular chest. The only thought in your head as you passed out was how nice this man in front of you smelled.

He picked you up gently and carried you bridal style. It was fitting since you were certainly his little bride now, as far as he was concerned. He placed a chaste kiss on the top of your head and then started walking towards the underground dwelling he called home.

When you woke up, your wounds had been healed, and you felt a lot better. Though you were still dizzy. There was an intoxicating smell all around you and you didn't recognize your surroundings.

Your first instinct was to jump up and flee, but you were immediately pulled back down and placed in the lap of your demonic captor. His monstrous cock poking out between your thighs.

You looked down and realized you were naked, your soft cock and balls laying on his unnaturally warm prick.

"Let me go!" You elbowed him as hard as you could but he must have made sure you stayed drugged because you couldn't muster up any strength to put into your struggle.

"Let you go? After all the trouble I have gone through to romance you?"

"Romance!? You kidnapped me and I don't even know who the fuck you are, creep!!"

You struggled with renewed anger, smacking your head backwards, elbowing, kicking, and scratching. All amounting to you gasping for breath, tired, while he chuckled at the attempt.

"You're in Hell! I could have raped you and left you in the sand to be killed by any passing monster and that still would have been considered romance."

He placed his large hands on your legs with his thumbs drawing lazy circles on your thighs.

"I saved you from the desert, treated your wounds, let you rest for days, fed you, gave you water, and bathed you. That is damn romantic!"

He started assaulting your neck with little licks and kisses, enjoying how you squirmed in protest while sitting on his equine cock.

"As for the name that you'll be moaning when I bury myself in you, it's Tevrik."

"My friends will come back for me. You should save yourself the trouble and let me go now!"

This was a bluff, of course. They almost certainly thought you were dead. You didn't know if your deception would work, but you didn't expect him to respond with a cackle.

"No, they won't! Rathiel won't let em!"

A shudder went through you at the mention of your boss who had ordered the mission into Hell.

"He's one of Hell's best agents. Gives us lots of intel."

You were dumbfounded and fell silent a moment before regaining your composure and replying angrily.

"Lies from a worthless demon!"

"I'd never lie to you, sweetie~"

He trailed his hands up and down your thighs as he continued.

"How else did we set up that ambush? Rathiel sent you to us. We needed more angel blood. But not yours."

Your blood ran cold as he began grinding into you.

"I picked you out from a bunch of employee profiles just to be my little princess. I'm half angel myself and wanted an angel bride~ We'll rule this region of Hell together!"

He repositioned you on his lap to face towards him as his flared cock grew fully erect.

"You weren't supposed to be hurt in the battle. I'm so sorry about that. I killed the demons who did it."

You didn't even struggle when he positioned you above his dick, hot precum smearing your hole as his cock pressed against it. The betrayal drained the fight from you.

"After the battle, I just followed you for a bit, so you'd be tired. And now here you are. With me."

The precum and smell of his arousal were making you dizzier. The words he spoke brought tears from your eyes.

"Awe, don't cry. After we have some alone time to adjust, I'll take you to the palace~ You'll be royalty!"

You winced as his cock entered you, expecting pain. Surprisingly, there was none. Instead it was like every cell in your body was filled with pleasure.

This couldn't be right. You had to escape. Sex with a demon was a very taboo thing.

You started struggling but Tevrik held you still.

"Shhh, I know you're upset. But just let it happen, okay? I'll make you feel so good."

As his precum continued to dribble out of his dick and into you and as the betrayal by your trusted higher up sank in you once more lost the will to fight.

Why were you fighting anyway? This cock felt so nice. And he was so kind and romantic to go through all this trouble to get you away from your evil boss right?

You relaxed and lay against his chest as he pumped into you slowly. You looked up at him and realized he had your underwear in his hand and was holding it up to his nose sniffing the crotch.

"You smell so good, girly. So good. You feel good too."

"You smell nice too!" Then your brain caught up with the rest of what he had said.

"A-and I'm not a g-girl." Too focused on your pleasure to really care.

"Nah, you're too pretty to be a man. Too weak too. Plus you have this tight little cunt hugging my dick. You're definitely a girly~"

"O-okay."

You blushed because he called you pretty. You supposed he made a lot of sense. You were clearly a girl. You wondered why you didn't know that sooner. It felt right.

He chuckled warmly as you drooled on his chest and made cute little gasps and moans. He couldn't wait until you were moaning his name.

Tevrik didn't pound you, he didn't want to hurt his sweet baby bird. Instead he just rocked his hips into you and enjoyed the effect it had on you.

After you started making those delicious noises his demonic precum began to make you super cuddly. He continued to breed your tight hole while you started nuzzling him and leaving gentle kisses on his chest. He began grinding into you a bit faster and more forcefully, his cock clearly outlined through your belly as it nestled into you as deeply as he could get it.

"Fuck babe, I'm about to bust."

But you came before he did it. Your cock spilling silvery angelic seed on his belly as you called his name and clung to him tightly. The combined sight of you cumming while impaled by his dick while at the same time calling his name just like you promised he would sent Tevrik over the edge. His large balls filled your tummy with hot demon cum. It made you feel warm and fluttery and loved. Like you could feel his emotions through his seed.

You were so tired from all the emotion and sex that you passed out on top of him, nuzzling your nose into the comforting scent of his armpit as you clung to him.

Tevrik smiled. You were just so precious. Sadly, he knew you'd regress back into struggling against him. But that was okay. He would keep reminding you how the angels threw you away and keep breeding you full of his drug-like semen. Soon you'd crave it. He'd bed you constantly until you needed it. And then breed you as much as you wanted him to after that.

Yeah, it would take a while. But he had all the time in the universe.

Tevrik sighed with content and closed his eyes, taking your underwear and putting it back up to his nose while he relaxed with his cock still deep inside you.

You may have been in Hell, but Tevrik was in Heaven.

[unusualtfs]

Public Transformation Network

“Hey bro, could I borrow your phone?”

You looked up from the online textbook you’d been reading. And up. And up. Looming over your bus seat was an absolute behemoth of a man. His black hair was slick with sweat, a clear sign he’d just been at the gym, although his beefy physique and rank musk could’ve clued you in just as easily.

“S-sorry, what?” you stammered.

The guy responded with an easygoing smile on his broad, bearded face. “Your phone. Could I borrow it for a sec? I’m visiting my bro, but my phone’s outta juice and I forget what stop to get off at. I just need to call him real quick.” His voice was deep and vacuous.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” you said. “Knock yourself out.” You placed your phone in his meaty bronze hand, carefully trying not to notice how dainty and pale your fingers looked compared to his sausages.

With nothing else to do, you watched awkwardly from your seat as he dialed his friend’s number. “Yo dude, it’s me,” he greeted boisterously. “Yeah I’m on the bus using this nerdy guy’s phone right now, mine fuckin’ ran out, haha…”

You blinked in outrage, and embarrassment. “Nerdy guy”??? Just because you wore a white button-down, and had a mousy brown mop and a complete lack of facial hair, and your entire body was skinnier than his arm, didn’t make you a nerd! You had a leather knapsack — those were cool, weren’t they? Anyways.

As the bus continued on, you caught snippets of the conversation unfolding in front of you. Evidently, the guy had gotten hopelessly turned around, and his friend was trying to figure out how to get him to his destination. Privately, you thought this seemed too complex for his simple brain to comprehend.

“Ok wait, so you’re saying I need to be on the 115? And then take Johnson Street to the 67 line? Uh-huh, uh-huh. Gotcha. Thanks, bro. That means I should get off on…” He glanced at the route map above you, and you could see his thick head visibly struggling to make sense of it. Then his brown eyes widened comically. “Shit, this stop right here!”

Sure enough, the bus had been decelerating, and now it came to a complete stop. The guy pushed his way to the crowded exit, still absorbed in his conversation. You noted with disgust that he had your phone lodged between his bristly cheek and his broad shoulder, both of which were sheened with sweat. Then it hit you — he was about to leave with your phone!

“Wait!” you said, trying to get his attention. You hated how squeaky your voice sounded compared to his bovine bass, but still, it worked.

“Huh? Oh right,” he said. Speaking into the phone, he said, “Fuck bro, gotta go. See ya soon, king.” 

Then, he hung up and turned his attention to you. “Yo, thanks so much, little guy!” At this point, he was too close to the door, and there were too many people pushing to exit, for him to turn around and give your phone back. So instead, he stood up straight, braced his knees, and lobbed your phone at you with a dumb, cocky grin. “Catch, bro!”

Oh my god, what was this idiot thinking? You were going to miss, and then your phone would hit the floor and shatter into a million pieces, or it would smack someone’s head and they’d sue you for everything you had, or…

You gripped something in your hand. Peeking one eye open, you found that your phone was secure in your grip. Despite your lacking hand-eye coordination, you had somehow caught your phone, acting purely on instinct.

Then you immediately laid it on your lap, because it was slick with sweat and had thoroughly absorbed the guy’s scent. As you leaned down to clean it, your phone screen lit up with a notification. It was a message from an unknown number.

wait did u say u we’re on the 103

BRUH u werent supposed to get off yet lmaooo 💀💀

You internally groaned. Did that meathead’s friend think he was just going to keep your phone forever? He probably did; he was obviously just as much of a dumb gym bro as his friend. 

You prepared to type in a polite response informing him that he had the wrong number, but suddenly the bus lurched and you lost control of your phone for a moment. Glancing back at your screen, you realized that you had accidentally pressed send: 

bro just gimme ur addy i’ll put it into maps

That was absolutely not what you had typed in. You tended to be pretty dexterous, so you had no idea how that had happened. Although… you looked at your hands consideringly. They were brown and veiny, with wide and hairy fingers. You supposed it was hard to type on a phone keyboard with massive mitts like yours. Briefly, you thought that your hands seemed disproportionately large against the rest of you, that they weren’t supposed to be this big and manly, but you dismissed it, because why wouldn’t they be?

Anyways, now that that encounter was over, you could go back to studying. You scrolled through your phone, trying to locate your Kindle app. But it didn’t seem to be anywhere. Frustrated, you swiped back and forth across your home screen, not noticing how each tap sent a jolt up your body.

Swipe. You felt movement on either side of you — which you quickly realized was caused by the passengers sitting next to you. You couldn’t avoid brushing up against them with how broad your square shoulders were. It was a good problem to have.

Swipe. Absent-mindedly, you dragged your giant paws across your equally giant pecs. You didn’t know what made you feel more virile — scratching your tangled black curls of sweaty chest hair, or accidentally brushing against your protruding dark nipples. Oh wait, you knew the answer — scratching your tangled black treasure trail and brushing against your washboard abs.

Swipe. You splayed your tree trunk legs further out, stomping your size 14 feet on the floor of the bus. You didn’t care if the other passengers thought you were rude — with thighs this thick, it was impossible not to manspread, especially for someone as well-endowed as you. A wet protein fart trumpeted from your inflated ass, but you took it in stride.

Swipe. The bus lurched again, and for a moment it felt like you had leaped half a foot into the air. But your line of sight never shifted back down, and why would it? You had always been tall — just like you had always had perfectly sculpted lats and traps, and a thick bull neck, and…

Your swiping was interrupted by a notification: 5% battery remaining. You furrowed your caveman brow in confusion. Hadn’t you left your place with a full charge? How had it run out so quickly? As you were thinking, you grabbed your squirt bottle from the pocket of your gym bag and took a swig.

Duh, your gym bag — you’d been at the gym! That explained the phone battery, then; you liked to listen to workout podcasts or mindlessly scroll through TikTok as you worked out, and with how long you spent at the gym each day, more often than not you walked out of there with much less charge than you’d started with. 

Judging by the sweat leaking through your black mesh tank top, though — and not to mention your musky stench — it had been an especially good session today. It had been an arm day, and you silently admired your hard work, the way your biceps and triceps swelled with power and your veiny forearms pulsed in time with your heartbeat, all wrapped up in a layer of thick black hair and perfectly tan coloring. Yeah. Those were some impressive arms you had.

A text notification popped up at the top of your screen: 

bro how do you not know this by now 😭

its 992 carter st apt#208

Oh yeah, you’d been so distracted by your muscles that you’d forgotten why you were on this bus. You were going to visit your best bro later today, and your license was suspended from the last time you two had gotten a little too crunk, so public transit it was.

You glanced at the route map above you, trying to figure out the best way to get there. So you were on the red squiggly line on the left side of the image, which meant… no wait… maybe you were on that green dot in the middle? Your eyes glazed over, and your brain felt like it was stuffed with cotton candy. While that was a feeling you were very much used to, and even proud of, right now you were annoyed. Why’d they have to make these picture thingies so fucking confusing anyway? Whatever, that was why they’d invented Google Maps.

Copying over your friend’s address, you attempted to navigate to the map app. But your thick finger missed the icon entirely, instead opening your photo gallery. The most recent photo was a selfie you’d taken at the gym today, and you took a moment to admire yourself. You felt your blocky, bearded face form the exact same cocky smirk that was in the photo. Hell yeah, you were one sexy motherfucker. 

Suddenly, the image turned black. You’d run out of power. You stared for a second at the face reflected on the blank phone screen, identical to the one in the photo.

“Fuck,” you muttered in your deep, slow voice, scratching your temple with one finger like a Neanderthal. You hadn’t gotten to put your friend’s address into Google Maps, and you definitely were too dumb to get there on your own. What to do?

Slowly, painstakingly, an idea formed in your thick meathead mind. Maybe… you could… use someone else’s phone… to call your friend up and ask him how to get there! You scanned the bus for people to ask. There were lots of people on their phones, but for some reason, one passenger stood out to you. He was shrimpy and short, sitting a few seats away from you in the opposite row as he tapped away at some mobile game.

Pocketing your dead device, you rose from your seat and swaggered over to the little guy.

“Hey bro, could I borrow your phone?”

[missaengg]

A Magical First Christmas

Pairing: Zayne x f!reader Tags: mdni, fluffy smut, very little plot, established relationship, kissing, cunnilingus, dirty talk, praise Word Count: 2.1k Part of the Secret Santa Fic Exchange event hosted by @nanamiscocksleeve and written for the host, @nanamiscocksleeve!! I hope I did you proud, enjoy~ Merry Christmas! 🥰

You’re not trying to fall asleep. In fact, it’s the opposite, you want nothing more than to stay awake, not quite ready to put an end to the most magical Christmas of your life. 

In the back of your mind, you can still see the gorgeous lodge coming into view. Puffs of white smoke floating out of the chimney. A fresh blanket of snow covering the roof and the ground. The image of icicles hanging off the roof’s edge sparkling like crystals in the morning sun and the Christmas tree glittering in the window with white lights twinkling between the dark green branches still vivid in your memory.

It was the most perfect day — a surprise gift from Zayne to celebrate your first Christmas together — complete with a full day of skiing and a lovely dinner at the lodge restaurant.

You don’t want this day to end just yet. You want to enjoy this moment, savor it — not quite ready to say good night to the golden glow of the fire, the soft bed and the luxurious, silky sheets, and Zayne’s arms wrapped around you while your head rests on his chest. But you can’t fight it, the crackle of the wood fireplace too soothing, the warmth of his embrace too relaxing, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat in your ear too comforting. Especially with your belly full of a delicious meal and mulled wine and the fatigue of today’s skiing session settling in your aching limbs.

“Are you falling asleep?” The deep rumble of his voice cuts through the cozy silence.

“No,” you utter, forcing your fluttering eyes open, desperately trying to fight the lull of sleep. You feel his fingers comb through your hair, the caress of his fingertips only making it harder to keep your drowsiness at bay.

“Liar,” he chuckles, the sound deep in his throat.

“I’m not lying,” you weakly protest, but your closed eyes say otherwise. You hear Zayne hum, an affectionate note of disbelief. “Really, I’m not.”

“It’s been a long day. You should sleep if you’re tired,” Zayne says softly, adding a teasing, “Doctor’s orders.”

“I don’t wanna.” 

“Do you want me to keep you awake?”

“Yes, please,” you mumble, half-asleep.

You don’t hear Zayne reply, though you’re unsure you would have even if he did as your mind drifts off to a place somewhere between here and the land of dreams. The next thing you know, you’re jolted awake. You’re flat on your back, blinking up at the ceiling and wondering what the hell just happened while Zayne looms over you, caging you between his arms. His face is inches away from your own, so close his nose just barely grazes yours and you can feel his breath warm your cheek.

“Zayne?!” you yelp, staring at him wide-eyed, all traces of sleep banished from your startled mind.

“You asked me to keep you awake, didn’t you?” he remarks with an amused chuckle.

“Wha—” Before you can finish, his lips are on yours, stealing the words right out of your mouth.

Zayne’s tongue traces the crevice between your lips, and out of habit, you part them ever so slightly allowing him to slip inside. With your eyes closed, your hands find their way to his shoulders and then around his neck. He takes your lips slowly… sensually… The musk of his cologne and the hint of mulled wine still lingering on his tongue cloys your senses, and your heart flutters in your chest, thrumming with pleasure. Your lips come together and pull apart in passionate increments, deepening every time they reunite. By the time he pulls away, you’re panting, trying to catch your breath.

“Are you awake now?” Zayne asks, his eyes twinkling down at you.

Your lips purse together into a pout. “I wasn’t falling asleep to begin with.”

Zayne brings his head to your neck, grazing the flesh with his teeth, his breath hot on your skin. “What did I say about lying to me, darling?”

“I’m not!” you exclaim, shivering only to squeak when he bites down on that ticklish spot beneath your ear. “Zayne!”

“You know I don’t like it when you lie to me,” he purrs, gently sucking where it stings. “Now be a good girl and answer me. Are you awake now?”

A spark of electricity prickles down your body, and you shudder. You briefly contemplate whether you should dig in your heels, be stubborn, but his soft lips on your neck feel so good, you don’t want him to stop. “Yes,” you breathlessly accede. “I’m… mmm… I’m awake.”

“Good…” His mouth moves lower, leaving a trail of feather-light kisses in its wake. “...because I’ve wanted to do this…” He nips yet another ticklish point, swirling his tongue over the forming bruise. “...all day.”

You cling to him, involuntarily arching your back, one hand sliding up the back of his head where your fingers tangle through his hair. You can’t help the sultry moans that escape you or how you squirm as he continues to tease all the sensitive points of your neck. By now, any remaining tendrils of slumber have vanished, replaced by a wanton desire. You crave his touch, his caress, him.

“And because it’s Christmas…” he murmurs, his voice deep and throaty. “...I plan on taking my time unwrapping my Christmas present.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, a thrilling anticipation building in your core. His knee comes between your legs, brushing against the apex, and a jolt careens through your body. You can feel your desire pooling, growing… A voracious hunger that can only be satisfied by him.

Zayne’s mouth continues its descent, ending only when it reaches your collarbone peeking out of your silk pajama top. His fingers slip through the opening, stroking the skin underneath and deftly undoing each button one by one. It feels hot every time they graze your skin, each graze sending yet another shiver through your flushed body. Each touch eliciting yet another charged gasp from your kiss-swollen lips. 

“I haven’t even started yet, and you’re already moaning so sweetly for me.” Zayne takes his time parting your open shirt, slipping it off one shoulder, then the next, down one arm, then the other. “I wonder what you’ll do when I do this…”

Your body spasms, a startled squeal flying out your mouth when Zayne’s teeth catch your nipple. You arch into him. Your fingernails dig into his back. Your fingers pull his hair. A hot wave of pleasure crashes over you, and a restless ache stirs deep in your abdomen.

“Zayne…” you hoarsely whisper, trembling and shaking as Zayne tastes your breasts, swirling his tongue over the peaks and massaging them with his large hand. 

“I love how you say my name,” Zayne groans. 

Pulling back onto his knees, he hooks his fingers under the waistbands of both your pajama pants and your underwear, sliding them down slowly. He takes his time, savoring the sight of you coming into view bit by bit. With every inch exposed, the heat in his eyes grows darker. More urgent. A dark heat that stokes a fire deep in your belly.

He places a hand on each of your thighs, parting them enough for his wide shoulders to fit in between, and he kisses your inner thigh, starting from the midpoint and working his way up dangerously close to where your arousal glistens. He slides a finger through your slick folds, grinning as he rubs his pointer and his thumb together.

“Someone’s eager for me,” he smirks. 

You feel your cheeks color because you know just how much of a mess you make merely being in his presence, let alone when he touches you like this, and from how much throb down there… you know just how much of a mess you’ve already made. His rapt attention makes you feel self-conscious, the way he takes note of every little detail while you’re so exposed.

Zayne returns his attention to between your legs, resuming his grip on your upper thighs. Lowering himself, he deeply inhales your scent, groaning as he does. “God, I love the way you smell.” His mouth encircles your clit, the tip of his tongue darting out and prodding the sensitive nub, massaging it in circles. “I love the way you taste.”

Each stroke of his tongue sends you reeling, a jolt of electricity sizzling up your spine as your muscles tense and you arch your back, your hips bucking against him. Breathless gasps leave your mouth in erratic spurts, and your fingers curl into the sheets, clenching the fabric as if your life depended on it. With just his mouth, Zayne has you seeing stars and crying out his name in strained mewls.

“Zayne, please…” you beg him, the stimulation too much, the desire to feel him inside you too big. You squirm, trying to find some relief from how he tantalizes you, but his grip holds you in place no matter how much you struggle. “Please…”

“No,” Zayne rasps, the timbre of his voice low and husky. “I’m taking my time today, sweetheart. I want to taste you, savor you, devour you. I’m going to worship you like the gift you are.”

He slips a finger in, and then another, curling them against the sweet, gummy spot that makes you squeal. He pumps them in and out while his mouth continues to ravish you, coaxing you into crying his name, moaning breathlessly for him. If you thought his mouth was enough to have you seeing stars, the addition of his fingers sends you into a feverish frenzy, all your senses overloaded.

“It’s t—too… much, Zayne,” you plead, “...ngh… to—too much.”

“You can handle it, love.”

But even as tears prick the corners of your eyes and your legs tremble, Zayne doesn’t stop, alternating between relentlessly bullying or worshipping you — sweet and rough, soft and hard — leaving you feeling dizzy and disoriented and close… so close.

“Zayne…” you choke out, trailing off.

Zayne understands what you’re trying to say and before sucking down hard on your clit, he commands, “Come for me.”

Something about the commanding authority in his tone throws gasoline on the fire burning in your center. It blazes into an inferno, and as the heat overtakes you, you wretchedly call out his name, a guttural scream rising from deep within and exploding out your throat. You’re so consumed, you can barely feel his fingers dig into your flesh or his tongue find its way to your entrance and lap up every drop of your arrival. All you can do is shudder and quake, riding out each wave of ecstasy.

When the waves finally stop, you can barely breathe. Your chest heaves up and down, desperate for oxygen to fill its lungs, and you can’t stop quivering as if phantom waves still pulsate through your body. You watch through hooded eyes as Zayne sits back on his knees and wipes the remnants of your ecstasy off of his face. He leans forward, propping himself on his elbows and hovering over you, just enough that his body is flush against yours without crushing you with his weight.

He looks deep into your eyes, a primal yet tender gleam in their depths, and gently, ever so gently, he brushes away a sweaty lock of hair, tucking it behind your ear. “You did good,” he coos, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

You wrap your arms around him, returning his little kiss with a little one of your own on the tip of his nose. “Merry Christmas,” you murmur, nuzzling your nose against him. “Thank you so much for making our first Christmas so special. I love it. I love you.”

“I’m glad you like it. I love you too.” Zayne brings his lips by your ear, and then whispers, “But, I’m not quite done with you yet.”

It’s at that moment, you realize how painfully hard his erection is digging into your pelvis and how the dark gleam in his eye has only grown darker instead of abating. You tremble once more, but this time, it’s from the butterflies fluttering in your stomach, the thrill of anticipation buzzing through your veins.

“Help me take off my shirt,” Zayne murmurs silkily in your ear.

You’re only happy to oblige, and as your fingers make their way to the line of buttons on his top, you can’t help, but think it’s going to be a long night though you have no complaints. In fact, it’s the opposite, you hope this night never ends.

[opt1mistic]

PERVY ROOMMATE!JINX HEADCONS

jinx x reader. warnings: perv activities, some nasty shit, smut? yeah kinda? idk, masturbation(both jinx & reader), implied sub!jinx, fem!reader, mentions of reader using lipstick. not proof read so ignore any and all mistakes.

note: im very bad at writing headcons so if these suck i am so sorry i tried…..

masterlist | jinx masterlist

pervy roommate!jinx who has a whole collection of your stuff in her room. she stores it all under her bed in a box. she doesn’t take it to be like a creep or anything, but also dont get her wrong she totally is, but she just likes you a whole lot. she has all kinds of stuff in there, from socks, to tissues with lipstick on them(like joe goldberg style)

pervy roommate!jinx who sneaks into your room when you’re not home and digs around in your hamper for your used panties. bringing them up to her nose, inhaling your scent, and stuffing them in her pocket. then she’s walking out of your room like she didn’t just totally take your dirty underwear. and the things she does with them—or i should say to them—are nasty, god awful even.

and if you’re asking ‘what may those things be?’, well let me tell you. she will take that pair of underwear and bring it up to her nose, pretending that it was your pussy that was there instead of your underwear. then, her slander and delicate fingers slid down her body, imagining that it was your hand there, and not hers.

it would move down her body with every deep inhale of the lingering smell of your underwear, letting the musk take over her senses. her fingers slipped under the her pants, and then her own panties, cupping her cunt.

slick slipping through her fingers as she held herself, putting pressure to her clit with the base of her palm, rubbing it in slight circles. “auhh…” flows out from her mouth. her eyes shut, and her hand is practically shoving your panties in her mouth. while the other hand is now moving down, and her fingers are moving into herself. deep and far.

feeling the tightness of her pussy around her digits, and the tips of her fingers hitting the spot where she knew felt good. “uuuh…” she moans out, breathlessly and quietly.

little yelps fell from her lips the more she played around with herself, juices leaking down her hand, wrist, and on to her sheets. she socked.

this was so wrong, but it felt too good to stop. tears of pleasure streamed down her face, singing moans of your name left and right. her orgasm getting colder and closer.

and finally, jinxs’ orgasm hit, cum falling down the, now empty, walls of her cunt, bringing her white coated fingers to wipe them off of your underwear.

she fixes her own underwear and pants, leaving her room and bringing back your panties and putting them back into your hamper, hoping that you wouldn’t notice the white satin covering them.

pervy roommate!jinx who’s room is right next to yours. the walls are as thin as paper, you could hear everything happening on the other side. she puts her ear to the wall to listen to your pretty moans as you please yourself. you’re not even moaning all that loud, but again, the walls aren’t thick so a noise above a whisper can be heard.

sometimes, when pervy roommate!jinx is feeling extra risky, she would come to the door of your bedroom, slid her phone under your door, not too much so you couldn’t see it, and records your moans for her own personal use later that night when you’re sleeping.

pervy roommate!jinx who has tons and tons of naked pictures of you in her phone. theyre all lock up in a folder, ofc, so no one but her can see them. and obv, you’re not aware that she has any of these bc most of them were taken while you were showering, completely unaware someone was taking pictures of you. and some were taken when she sneaks into your room while you’re asleep,(naked for unknown reasons), and steals pictures.

pervy roommate!jinx who gets off to every single on of those pictures with absolutely no shame in her chest. such an innocent thing, getting off, turned perverted by looking at pictures of the girl she’s completely and utterly in love with, obsessed with, on a level above normal.

pervy roommate!jinx who stalks the socials of the girls you have over(dont even ask how she found them) and gets so jealous, because how could you like them and not her? did you think they were prettier than her? or did you just not like her?

©opt1mistic

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Ooh since you do omegaverse what do you think Ford and Stan scents would be?

A/n: I love this!

•Stanley Pines•

Pine, it's something you do find comfort in you get hit with a rut. Taking his coat you'd often bury your nose inhaling his scent. It doesn't smell like those cheap knock of scent's you find hanging in cars oh no he smells of the woods, pine trees.

Though if you would like to go in a more deeper scent I would say he smell's like white musk and teakwood, adding a clean, sensual undertone and a robust, a woody depth to him.

During the night of his own ruts though subtle his scent does change, with you getting whiffs of Whiskey and the scent of his cigar.

•Stanford Pines•

While Ford may share the scent of teakwood, that is where he draws the line at the similarities. He has the woody warmth of teakwood with a delicate floral notes of geranium, echoing Ford's determination and resilience. The scent of old books and ink are an under tone that you'll catch a whiff of if you are standing close enough to the man.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

💕 twst 2024 valentine gifts! 🎁

***Please note:*** Sharing merch images + news is not intended to encourage and/or to pressure anyone into making purchases. It is up to the individual consumer to be informed and to choose how they spend their money.

For general information about how TWST Valentine Gifts work, check out this post.

For character signatures and the messages from previous years, check out this post.

The gifts for 2024 are 100 ml fragrance sprays. These are not perfumes, they are more like room sprays. According to Yana, they worked with professional perfumers and the fragrances were formulated with each character's "image" in mind! These each come with a unique bottle label, plus a ribbon and a little wooden charm with a matching character motif on it. You can soak the wooden charm with the fragrance and use it to diffuse the smell through a room.

Preorders are open until 10 March 2024.

(Warning: in the case that these contain alcohol, it will not be possible to send the fragrances overseas due to shipping regulations against flammable materials. The paper goods—the 2024 Valentine Gift messages—will still be able to be sent out.)

Each character has their own unique scent. The following are summaries of what each spray smells like overall (according to official posts), but each also has its own more detailed descriptions of the top, middle, and base notes on their individual website postings.

Heartslabyul

Riddle - refined rose (geranium, rose, honey)

Trey - powdery mint (spearmint of course the guy obsessed with dental hygiene smells like MINT, white flowers, powdery musk and balsam)

Cater - lemon herbal (lemon, herbs like juniper, amber and cedar)

Ace - naughty cherry (cherry, almond and rose, vanilla and woods)

Deuce - citrus rhubarb (citrus and rhubarb, rose, warm musk)

Savanaclaw

Leona - clear wild (rosemary, neroli, musk and sandalwood)

Ruggie - dried nuts (hazelnut, vanilla, creamy musk and dry woods)

Jack - calm pear (pear, osmanthus, amber)

Octavinelle

Azul - salty milk (salt and minerals, herbs like sage, milky musk)

Jade - bergamot amber (bergamot, herbs, patchouli and amber)

Floyd - aqua vetiver (Japanese pepper yes, a literal pepper, a fresh bouquet, vetiver and musk)

Scarabia

Kalim - mystical musk (citrus, white flowers, creamy musk and sandalwood)

Jamil - smoky herb (spicy herbs, white flowers, musk and smoky leather)

Pomefiore

Vil - elegant fruity (cassis, white flowers, vanilla and musk and sandalwood)

Rook - dry green (eucalyptus, geranium, tonka beans)

Epel - spicy apple (cinnamon, apple, vanilla and sandalwood)

Ignihyde (warning that these were vaguely worded compared to the rest of the fragrances)

Idia - clean musk (“something refreshing”, lily of the valley, sweet musk why does bro smell sweeter than most of the others www)

Ortho - bluish clean (rosemary and other “fresh” smells, clear plants/greens he’s touching the grass that Idia refuses to)

Diasomnia

Malleus - deep oak moss (forest, spices, sweet and earthy vetiver and oak moss)

Lilia - historical depths (citrus, roses and white flowers, thick musk and sandalwood)

Silver - musty green (black pepper, cedarwood, warm sandalwood and musk)

Sebek - honest aroma (rosemary, white flowers and spices, patchouli and oak moss he shares a base note with Malleus, this was 100% intentional)

Grim + NRC Staff Shoot, no Rollo, Fellow, or Gidel valentine gift :(

Grim - innocent soap (citrus, lily of the valley, peach and musk he just hopped out of the bath)

Crowley - mysterious calm (***fatty aldehyde***, white flowers, cedarwood and amber)

Crewel - sweet charm (amber, woods, sweet oak moss)

Trein - tense wood (spices, dry woods, “sweet tangy tone” sorry, the base was vague)

Vargas - manly musk (smoky spices, incense, vetiver and leather and musk)

Sam - exotic bouquet (cloves, bouquet including ylang-ylang, tropical woods)

***NOTE ABOUT CROWLEY’S:*** I looked this up! Apparently, fatty aldehydes smell like fresh citrus but I believe the literally translated term is “fatty aldehyde”; not sure why it was worded like this. There are many forms of aldehyde and each smells different. For example, one form smells closer to a rose. Another supposedly smells like rancid butter 💀

[appleepies]

Author’s Note: Futa Ellie, smutty blowjob on Ellie

Just getting into the hang of things again <3

Her cock tasted like musk and salty skin. Each lap of her stiff phallus made your head stuffy and your cunt damper. You put your tongue flat against the underside of Ellie’s thick cock and licked over each vein and ridge until your lips suckled in her mean pink tip, the top bubbling up with pearlescent cum beads, from the attention your warm little mouth gave it. Your ass and pussy were dripping click onto the floor, you were in nothing more than a tiny little skirt, a cute little piece of lingerie that ended right in the middle of your ass, leaving the rest of you purposefully exposed.

Ellie was melting into your tongue, moaning and groaning as your puffy mouth sucked and sucked her cock, coaxing it to bust a creamy musky load in your mouth and down your chin. You were growing so horny, eager to help your girlfriend finish so she could empty her big veiny balls, angry with the heavy sperm load it had been carrying all week. Eager to be released into a pretty woman’s hole. Mouth, asshole, pussy, it didn’t matter.

You knew how painful blue balls were for Ellie so you helped her take care of it, sucking and slurping, gagging and groaning, while your pretty little micro skirt let the breeze of Ellie’s room cool your hot and puffy pussy, and cool your asshole from how utterly turned on you were. Ellie’s nipples were hard as buttons under her shirt, and the hand she had on the back of your head tightened as you suckled her deep pink cocktip. She was beyond the point of speaking, she just kept groaning unintelligible sentences and straining every muscle in her body just to make the blowjob last longer, to not bust her syrupy white cum on your face too soon and let the fun be over. So she held on, holding herself back as you worked her long dick. Kissing, licking, sucking, suckling all eight inches until she painted your face and mouth with her sticky white cum.

[arcielee]

My body was bruised and I was set alight

Summary: You decide to pay your husband a visit. Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Female!Reader Word Count: 3.6+ Warnings: AFAB Reader, mentions of Targcest, infidelities, kissing, oral (f receiving), p in v, creampie, overstimulation. Author's Note: Thank you my beloved @zaldritzosrose for beta reading and helping me decide how this arc should end! 💜 This is part 3 of my Only If For A Night, my accidental short-series. I would advise you to read part 1 and part 2, but do what you want. I finished this WIP base on the poll created to celebrate hitting 2k followers! (Thank you, my loves! 💜) This is the final part for the Aemond arc. Title comes from Florence + The Machine. Valyrian translations: ābrazȳrys is wife and dōna ābrazȳrys is sweet wife

You were standing out on the terrace with an iron grip on your chalice, half-drunk, watching the slow rise of the moon and its silver spill streaking out over the dark blanket settling over the horizon. Below, you could hear the swell of the night life for Flea Bottom, the amber glow of manmade lights lining the streets, but your focus remained on the broken surface of Blackwater Bay, the salt air licking your face. 

Another somber sigh was followed by another swallow of bitter wine. Favor, you were learning, was something that could change as quick as the currents that now propelled the waters to crash white against the cliffside beneath you. 

It was an almost poetic view from your gilded cage, a place where your confinement began eight days prior after a misdiagnosis from the maester. Worry thrummed of your delicate condition, but you knew the only reason you fainted was caused by the constricting corset you happened to be wearing when your husband made his gallant return to the throne room. 

You had not seen him, much less spoken to Aemond since that night. It was something of a sinful replay in your mind, and it left you with an ache that the king could no longer sate. 

That did not matter since whatever was between the two of you, you knew that you did not love Aegon nor did he love you. It started as something more primal, more insatiable, but it also allowed you a new freedom within the castle grounds. 

It was a freedom you wished to keep, and the coupling was pleasant enough. It was why you cinched your waist on that day, another means to entice the king, to hold his attention while the lords of the realm paraded new skirts to try and sway his grace. 

You were lovely, but it restricted the air from your lungs, and what little you had was wrenched away with your audible gasp at your husband’s grandiose entrance.  

The doors swung heavy when his arrival was announced. Aemond was poised, as always, and his eye searched for you. You felt your blood searing to the surface and your vision narrowing to a pinpoint. The world pitched and you last saw his long gate crossing to catch you, the warmth of his palms moving to lift you into his arms. You felt the rumble of his chest as he called for the maester. 

As Aemond carried you back to your quarters, your head lulled against him, eyes fluttering, enveloped by his scent of dragonback and sweat, a woodsy musk that held onto his riding leathers. Your cheeks warmed from his intense proximity, from the steady beating of his heart, and the elder master–who struggled to keep with the prince’s pace–voiced his concerns of a possible fever. 

You felt your husband smirk, and you kept your eyes forward. 

The handmaidens were stunned to the stone when you entered, watching as Aemond moved to place you on the bed. He seemed well aware of the eyes on you both, and he reached to take your hand, bringing it to his lips, so close you felt his exhale, this ghost of a kiss. He then moved away to allow them to fret and your eyes followed after him, taking in his stilted posture, his hands crossed and rested on his lower back. 

The heat of his gaze was melting you into the linen. 

“You must rest.” The elder maester was flustering, mistaking the close scrutiny of the one-eyed prince. His skin was blotched with reds as he called crow that you were clearly with child; he was insistent on bedrest. 

The blood drained away from your blank expression, a scalding pour into your heart that was slamming against your ribs. You felt sick from his words, muted as the maester turned to offer his congratulations to your husband. 

Aemond kept his gaze fixated on you. His jaw steeled with a tension that spread to hold him in place. “You must do as he says,” his tone was leveled, tight, “ābrazȳrys.” 

You were commanded to remain in bed, left with a searing panic that stricken your bones and left you pinned to the mattress, a fear that throttled your throat of your paternal doubt for the babe you carried. There was ill-comfort in the memory, a silver haired child all the same–it only churned your insides. 

You were isolated as neither your husband, nor Aegon, visited you. Only once did the Lord Hand come by to express his pleasure at the prospect of another princess or princeling to be added to the growing lineage. 

No one else came. 

But you did not flourish with life. Instead your cycle came with a vengeance, and it was the same damn maester who returned with his sheepish admittance that he may have been wrong. “You can always try again, princess,” his eyes crinkled with his well-intentioned words while your insides curdled with its white-hot pain. 

Rest, he insisted once again, along with a cup of wine to help soothe your nerves. 

Alone again, the silence was near deafening until you decided to embrace the reprieve from the courts. Your days were spent abed while warmed stones were rotated from the hearth and pressed against your lower abdomen. You had a cup of Arbor Red for breakfast and supper, listening to your handmaidens' gossip about the latest skirts sent to the Red Keep to ensnare the king. 

You were not bothered by this, as you felt certain you could reclaim his affection again. And when your moon cycle finished, you requested a hot bath with oils from Essos and rose petals that floated on the milky surface. You asked for your silk finery, adding touches of exotic scents dabbed behind your neck and on your wrists. 

After you dismissed them for the night, you slipped on your robe and slippers, moving to the passageway Aegon had shown you. 

The torches were lit and low, a soft amber light to guide you. Your hand pressed to the cobblestones and cobwebs, your mind flitting to when Aegon first showed you this secret, how he pressed you against the very same wall, the heat of his body pinning you and his mouth capturing your own–

You blinked when you saw a Cargyll knight posted. 

“Forgive me princess,” he said with a pity that shimmered in his eyes. “The king has company tonight. I have been told he will not be interrupted, under any circumstance.”

The White Cloak then returned you to your room, leaving you to pour your sorrow in the chalice you now held. In truth, you were not mourning the inevitable end, but more so the freedom it had allowed you within King’s Landing. You would not fault Aegon–you knew firsthand that his passion was insatiable, notorious throughout the kingdoms. You also knew that the lords were desperate to catch his violet gaze, anything to align their house within the growing Targaryen dynasty. 

Your second cup soured your blood and you felt your vexation pouring into your heart, smoldering. You blamed Aemond. It was his fault that his infidelities pushed you to find your own pleasure, and his unjust jealousy kept you isolated–your own handmaidens had been shy to admit your lord husband guarded every entrance during your bedrest.

A dragon hoarding, you fumed. 

And for what purpose? He still had not even visited you since the day you were bedridden. 

This curiosity burned alongside your ire, something overwhelming that mixed with the wine that flushed your skin. You finished the last bit, grabbing your silk robe once more and throwing open your door to find the other Cargyll knight posted. 

He paled. “Princess.” 

“I wish to see my husband,” your tone was curt and left no room for negotiation. 

The soft clinks of his armor shadowed your steps, stopping once you arrived at Aemond’s door. It was unguarded and you recalled that fateful night. You were frozen, your muscles tensing and ticking before you regained enough control to give a sharp look over your shoulder. 

“You are no longer needed.” Your words felt thick on your tongue. The White Cloak was quick to leave and your skirt billowed with your final steps to move and open the door. 

Aemond was seated in a leather armchair placed in front of a large, oak desk. He was hunched over with his same studious furrow of his silver brow, a collection of parchment and ink, old books and tomes sprawled across. The glow from the hearth poured golden over him, touching the hard planes of his chest that peeked through his unbuttoned cotton nightshirt, and a yellow hue to his silver hair worn in a single braid, slung over his shoulder. 

He stopped and looked up to you, his bicolored gaze focused–one lavender and one sapphire–as though he had been expecting you.

You felt unnerved, the thought of returning to your room fluttering through your wine-addled mind. Instead, you closed the heavy doors behind you. “Lord husband.” It spilled thick from your stained lips, your liquid courage coaxing your steps closer towards him. 

He turned to face you, wood scratching the stone floor, his svelte slouch back in the chair that allowed you to see how far undone his shirt truly was. Your eyes trailed, your blood warming. 

He smirked. “Good evening, ābrazȳrys.”

It cut through you with the same acidity as the last night he sought you out. Now you were the one unforced in his chambers–pristine and dark and decorated with his ancestry–watching the cruel curl of his lips as he continued. “Perhaps you are lost? I know that the king handles your affairs these nights.” 

Your face twisted, blood rising and tears threatening with his chosen words. You managed to hold your tone. “I do not wish for the king,” your voice was soft, “but I wish for my husband.” 

He scoffed but it only emboldened you, burning hot through your veins and spilling from your lips. “I come to fulfill what is expected of us, but also for you to finish what you teased the last night we shared together.” 

Aemond looked at you, stunned by your boldness, a rose dusting across his sharp features and his lips pursed. 

You could not stop. The dam was bursting. “You dared give me a taste of something I did not think even possible within this marriage, and now I want it, I crave it.” Your tone rose. “I want that passion that you tormented me with. I want that same passion that you poured into the queen–!” 

You made a soft noise, your fingers flying to touch your lips, to scoop up what was said and swallow it again. The wine betrayed you and all you could do was watch, wide eyed, for how your husband would respond. 

Aemond held still, carved marble poised. His fingers touched his chin while his one eye flitted to you and then away. “You have no idea what you are saying–” 

It was your turn to scoff. You moved closer, your fingers touching the edge of the desk and following around, forcing yourself in his line of sight. “I saw you.” Your voice cracked with emotion, with a betrayal that ran so hot and so deep, surfacing again in the privacy of his quarters. “I saw you with her.”

You stopped yourself to gather the sorrow that threatened to release, pulling your anger back by the fistfuls and holding it tight behind your ribs; it burned. “I just…” you swallowed. “Well, it does not matter now. But know your actions are why I sought out my own comfort. I admit my sins, but I also know yours, husband.”

Silence settled thick, punctuated with the sounds of the embers, of the drawers opening and paper rustling, the clink of the top of the inkwell placed back. Your eyes were drawn to his slender fingers that fidgeted to straighten up the desk. When he finished, only then did Aemond look back to you, reconsidering you, his severity set beneath the red that now stained his cheeks. 

“What is it that you want?” He was not angry, but almost curious. 

You had not been asked this before. It was a torrid rush of sequential memories that poured over, pulling you to this moment–your initial optimism when you first came to King’s Landing, carrying your girlish idylls and romanticism that came knitted with the announcement of your betrothal to a Targaryen prince. You mistook his dutiful acts and his diligence for acts of devotion.

How you had wished, how you had hoped that it would become more–!

His touch grounded you, those same slender fingers wrapping around your wrist of the hand resting on the desk. You tilted your chin to look at him, a forceful rhythm of your heart trying to burst from your chest. 

You swallowed again. “I am your wife,” you moved closer, closer with your velvet tone. “I am yours, Aemond. 

You dared touch him, your hand breaking his hold and your fingers pressing to his chin, following the unmarred side. His lips parted, a moment to understand the affection shown and he surrendered to it. His face turned to your open palm, his breath tickling your wrist. You felt a heat that began to curl at the base of your spine, gooseflesh prickling your skin. 

His breath hitched as you leaned forward, allowing your neckline to dip, showing a hint of what was prepared beneath your silk. Your lips touched his ear. “I want you to show me what it is that you truly desire.” 

It erupted and he pushed from the desk, his composure cracking and his chest heaving, caging you to the edge with his hands pressed on either side until his knuckles showed white. You remained rooted, unflinching, unafraid to watch as the fire seared throughout, his nostrils flaring with whatever he battled within his mind. 

A decision was made with a kiss. Aemond crashed against you with a passion that you were quick to reciprocate. His arms moved to wrap around and pull you into his chest, his heat burning through the cotton, a clash of teeth and lips and his tongue–the same that carved into your cunt with a precision that allowed you a glimpse of the heavens, now curled to pull a moan from the back of your throat. 

His mouth moved, hot and demanding, open-mouth kisses that trailed your jaw and nipping on the curve of your neck. You were panting, you were alight. “What I desire,” his voice husked against your skin, in-between the assault of his lips, “I desire your taste on my tongue.”

You mewled, your fingers carving into his shoulder blades to hold yourself upright. His large hands roamed to the softness of your backside, lifting you enough to set you on top of his desk. You were breathless as his fingers dimpled into your plush thighs, splitting them apart to knit his slender waist between, claiming your mouth once again. 

Aemond settled into the cradle of your hips, pressing at his seams with a hardness that rubbed against your core. You moaned again, louder, your legs lifting to wrap around him and pull him closer, but he pulled back, kneeling in front of you. “Aemond–?”

His hands tore the silk so your legs would spread further, and you leaned back, propping yourself on your elbows. Your chin tucked to your chest, rapt to watch the black that swallowed the lavender of his eye, the slow rise and fall of his chest, his hummed satisfaction to see that you were bare beneath; the night air was cool against your cunt, your arousal surely glistening in the candlelight. 

You pushed up again, one handful of his shirt to pull him closer for another kiss, slower, softer, searching until he groaned against your mouth. You broke away, your lips swollen. “Who am I to deny my husband what he desires?”

His lips curled as he lowered himself, his hands slipping underneath your thighs to hold, moving close enough to lick up your slit. It jolted through you and you shuddered with his kiss to the bloom of nerves above. 

“Relax,” he breathed against your sensitive skin, and you rested back onto your elbows.

You watched the shimmer of his hair as his head tucked between, his tongue pressing to split your folds and curling upwards. You moaned, your back arching, and his fingers bit into your thighs, holding as he pressed closer, until his nose rubbed against you in a way that elicited a reborn passion that seared through your veins.

You lifted your legs to press the soles of your feet onto his broad shoulders, and he moved one hand, pressing to the inside of your thighs and trailing closer towards your heat. He suckled his fingers before they pushed into you, a new intensity that curled your toes into his skin. 

“Aemond–!” Your hands grasped to hold yourself closer, your fingernails combing through his hair with a light scratch against his scalp. 

He hummed against your cunt, pressing his fingers deeper with a delicious stretch, with a familiarity that made you whine. He touched something within you that reborn the very passion haunting you for weeks, something your core craved ever since that night… 

Aemond pushed you towards that precipice and your lungs ached with your bated breath, allowing enough for his name to spill like a fevered prayer, begging with your unabandon want. “Please, please–”

It was a delicious tandem of his mouth and tongue and his slender fingers splitting you open, a blossoming release that sparked at the base of your spine, a euphoria ripping through you and pulling you from your body. 

Your legs were still shaking as Aemond moved to drape them over the edge of the desk. He towered over you, his sharp chin gleaming from your release. He looked at you. “I believed I married a shy and demure girl from a noble house,” his tone was dark, but teasing. He leaned over you, his eye glittering like the sapphire stone in his scarred socket. “I tried to be careful and courteous, as though you would break.” 

You reached for him, your fingers carding through his hair and curling into the nape of his neck, pulling him close for another consuming kiss. Passion rumbled your bones with the taste of yourself on his lips, heating the marrow and pouring into your core once again. 

“Break me, Aemond,” you breathed against his lips. 

His drawstrings were loosened enough, shifting to press himself to your silken folds, his length spearing you through to the desk. Your body was pliant, wanting, but you still stretched to mold around him. Aemond groaned, another powerful thrust to sheath himself fully into your heat. 

You shuddered, your nipples pebbling, and you clenched. 

Aemond paused, his jaw tight as he looked you over. His silver hair spilled from the braid, cascading over his shoulders, and he leaned forward to kiss you again, his tresses tickling your skin. 

You sighed, you shifted, wrapping your legs around his narrow waist, and he pressed forward, pressed deeper. “Gods,” his head tucked into the curve of your neck, his words rumbling through you, “you were made for me.” 

You could only mewl in reply, overwhelmed with the powerful pace he set, sparking bright in front of your eyes as his hip bones bruised against you. It pulled something deeper and you swore it was too much. “Please, Aemond, I cannot–”

“You can and you will, until I am finished with you.” You felt his smile curving against your neck, prickling your skin with the pleasure that thrummed beneath. “But I promise, dōna ābrazȳrys, I will never let you go now–”

He pulled back, his hands grabbing into your hips to hold as he snapped against you. Your cunt suctioned to bring him closer and he complied, a brutal pace that sparked a new euphoria that simmered to the surface. You felt drunk on the pleasure threatening, a slickness that was spilling between your thighs. 

“I can feel you,” he taunted, breathless and flushed. His hand pressed to your lower abdomen, his fingers spreading lower until his thumb slipped between your folds, slow circles to your bundle of nerves that increased with his thrusts. “Have you been so deprived, dōna ābrazȳrys–” 

You could not hear him, not with how your blood roared in your ears as that passion imploded with a white-hot rapture. You shattered beneath him, a pleasure trilling through your nerves and your veins, spreading to every fiber of your being, a thousand pieces strewn across the oak desk. 

Aemond groaned above you, spilling hot, his cock throbbing in rhythm with his heartbeat. You blinked to focus, your lashes wet from your tears. He looked down at you, bending over until his face pressed to your chest, his lips littering you with careful kisses as he softened and slipped from your cunt. 

You felt the spill, sticky between your thighs, your skin aflame with every press of his lips. Aemond pushed up, but not before slipping his arm under the arch of your back, pulling you up with him. His hands moved to cradle your face, another kiss to draw your breath. 

“Stay,” he whispered, “but only if you want.” 

You nodded in a daze, watching as he moved around you: a damp cloth that wiped away his spend, his fingers curling beneath your chin as he placed another kiss on your forehead. He pulled away the last of your silk, and you nestled under his sheets, your body bare and molding to your husband, enjoying the heat that permeated from him and the rhythm of his heart against his skin. 

It was a new beginning with the same characters, that which included the damn maester who would later announce that you were, in fact, pregnant.

Only this time, you would hold no paternal doubt for the silver haired babe you were surely carrying. 

Only If For A Night masterlist arcie's navi | HotD masterlist

[mikkeneko]

"We already have seen several legal actions against DOGE, with four cases alleging that the entity has violated transparency, conflict of interest and other relevant federal laws. These suits are seeking to kneecap DOGE from even being allowed to operate. We have also seen lawsuits brought by blue state attorneys general (led by Leticia James of New York) and by nonprofits seeking an injunction against the federal government-wide pause on financing and grants. That entire effort by the Trump White House to freeze funds met with such pushback that the original memo implementing the freeze was rescinded, and a federal judge, who reviewed Press Secretary Karoline’s Leavitt’s misleading post on social media claiming that the freeze was still in effect, expanded the injunction beyond the memo to include the entire administration.

That is important, because Musk is currently threatening to halt payments that Congress has already authorized through his control of the federal payment system, deciding on his own that something is “fraud” or “waste.” But Musk doesn’t have that power, and he certainly doesn’t have it in light of the judge’s injunction. If he defies it, as he has shown a willingness to do in the past, he could be held in contempt of court."

"Indivisible and MoveOn have called for daily protests outside of OPM each morning. They have also organized a protest set for Tuesday evening at Treasury demanding Musk and his team be ejected. As a side note, the first organized protests against ICE and its policies, involving thousands of people in Los Angeles, Dallas, and many other cities across the country took place over the weekend.

It’s too early to tell whether protests against the Trump administration will continue to grow in strength or what effect they may have on the situation on the ground. There is some concern that Trump will use any sign of civil unrest as an excuse to invoke the Insurrection Act and turn U.S. military forces against peaceful protestors. But the threat of possible overreach by Trump should not and likely will not deter protestors, and if Trump chooses to escalate in this fashion he may lose further public support."