#song blurb
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tigerpeachs · 11 months ago
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Hear me out…..
Getou is House of Balloons/Glass table girls. He’s honest with you. When you come into his world it’s apparent that things are different. He gives you the choice of staying, always telling you if it’s tough to be with him you can always leave. It really doesn’t matter because you truly belong to him. Even if your mind wants to leave, you can’t go.
Gojo is The Party and The After Party. You didn’t think you’d get hooked on the Gojo Satoru. Everyone liked having their fun with him and became addicted to a lifestyle with him in it. You thought you wouldn’t be easy swayed but he’s tempting you in. He wants you in love with this lifestyle. He wants you hooked on him. He wants to be your first and your last. Your salvation and your ruin.
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deunmiu-dessie · 10 months ago
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boyfriend!ghost who's just a little bit older. boyfriend!ghost who wears a black leather jacket. boyfriend!ghost who has a bad reputation. boyfriend!ghost who uses you to warm his bed. readers!mama who doesn't trust him. readers! mama who says, "he's only here for one thing," but, so are you. ˙ᵕ˙
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"s'too big, si--!! wait!"
simon grips your chin and turns your head to face him, pressing a kiss to your pouty lips, thick cock spearing through your slick, gummy walls, his pierced tip nudging your spongey nerves. “you were jus' begging me earlier, hm? does it feel good sweetheart?”
your dripping cunt clings to him, a creamy ring of cum starting to form on his cock. you whine, lips parting and thighs shaking. your voice fails you, his cock bullying your cervix and punching the words from your throat, only a shamefully loud moan escapes your trembling lips.
simon snickers and covers your mouth with his hand. "don' want y'r mum to hear, do we?"
˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖
connected with this post!
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kisshwa · 9 months ago
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Could you PLEASE make texts of Ateez? They send you a daily picture and you're always crazy and unhinged and he's like "and that's exactly why I love you."?
ATEEZ as BFs
and their, as always, unhinged partner
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pairing: bf!ateez x reader
warnings: strong language, sexual comments, one kms joke
notes: kind of switched up some of their responses a tad bit but i hope it still works!
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coryosbaby · 1 year ago
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ꜰᴜᴄᴋᴇᴅ ᴍʏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴜᴘ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴏᴘ !
♡ content warning . dubious consent, mentions of drugging, sex work, breeding kink, cum play, weird usage of condoms, dom! Coryo
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You didn’t know how you ended up like this.
Being an escort wasn’t an easy job. There were times when you were completely disgusted at the men who approached you (if not all of them). Coriolanus was supposed to be a normal client— someone that would fuck and go. Even with his ranking, you never suspected that he would… keep you.
You had had a few weird clients— some asked for the most vulgar, filthy things. Some of them followed you around before your boss had told them off.
But none of them have ever took you home.
You usually weren’t this stupid, this hazy minded, but Coriolanus had scooped you up with his wit and his charm and a bottle of something you hadn’t had before the economy went downhill. You had heard of him— of course you had—- the powerful, handsome, and extremely intelligent, Coriolanus Snow. And before you knew it you were being tossed onto his king sized bed and his tongue was scraping against the roof of your open mouth. You didn’t even have time to gape in drunken wonder at his enormous bedroom— all you could think about was the cock gliding in between your legs, meaty and thick and wet. He had become completely bare to you, regardless of your opposing position. You were still clothed in your pink floral dress and your basic cotton panties.
Coriolanus’ lips grazed over your jugular, his tongue nipping at your skin. You had never been this hot for anyone, especially not a client. Your panties were soaking, your clit was throbbing and you needed to cum. What was happening to you?
“Cor…” you tried to slur out, as your eyelashes fluttered.
“I know.”
His voice was incredibly gentle, and his big hands groped your tits through your dress. He lifted up the hem, made sure to expose your panties to him, and groaned. You could feel his precum smear against your thigh as he ground his aching member against you.
“Can’t even say my name, can you?” Coriolanus continues. “I have an idea. You can just call me Coryo. Short enough for your little brain to remember, yeah?”
Coryo. It was a nice name. A perfect name.
You moaned out when you felt the cool air hit the peaks of your puffy and swollen nipples. Coriolanus—Coryo— was peeling your dress off of your body. When the fabric was thrown across the room his mouth latched to one of your nipples. You mewled, hands going up to grasp his blonde curls, your chest very sensitive all of a sudden. You could feel that familiar organ probing at your folds, and— when did he put a condom on? You didn’t know, but relief would’ve coursed through you if you weren’t so aroused that you were practically drooling.
“Want it,” you whined out, scraping his scalp with desperation. “Coryo. Please.”
Huffing out a laugh, he reached down and wrapped his hand around his shaft. He gave it a few tugs, made sure the precum pearled over and made a sticky white stain on the inside of the latex. He used the tip to part your pussy lips and find your hole. He pushed in, slow at first, but your pussy was so wet from whatever he slipped in your cup that it was almost easy. Even with his overwhelming size, your cunt accepted his cock greedily, sucking him inside your tight canal. Coryo groaned, practically going cross eyed at the feeling of your warm, wet pussy.
“Never had a cunt so tight,” he grunted against you. “even with all the men you sell yourself to, you’re still squeezing me like a fucking vice, sweetness.”
Your mouth dropped open, his words making you impossibly hornier. Usually you would be offended by such a vile statement, but his big cock was throbbing and wading through your walls with such precision that it had your legs shaking.
And Coriolanus had this charisma about him— something that made his words even more powerful than most. And after that statement, he just kept talking.
“Oh, Angel. My good, special girl,” his thrusts were impossibly fast now, the plap plap plap of his balls slapping against your sore and raw fucked pussy making you cry. “You’re mine now.”
His. His, his, his. Your fingernails dug into him, his chest touching yours sending tingles all throughout your body, and he kept spewing out dirty innuendos. You never thought being fucked could feel this good. His fingers reached down and rubbed your swollen clit, and it was like magic, the way your pussy spasmed and your orgasm washed over you. Seizing up, you mewled out his name as you came on him.
Coryo was mesmerized by your cunt squeezing him so tightly. Your pretty folds, lips spread out and wet, your hole sucking him in like he was meant to be there, like he was meant to fuck his cum into your womb, it was all so much. No amount of classism could keep him from you. Not after this. District or not, he would make you his gorgeous little wife. He would give you everything, love for you, kill for you. With the thought of this possession towards you, his hips began to stutter. Your eyes were closed, but you were still humping yourself against his awaiting thrusts. His balls drew taught, and he could feel his awaiting cum begin to flood the condom wrapped around his length.
No. No, no, no. This wasn’t right.
Not to Coriolanus. Not now— your pussy needed to be fucked full of his hot cum. You needed to be bred. And he was going to keep you and make sure of it.
Coriolanus watched your fluttering eyelids, the small smile grazing your features as his thrusts slowed. Something primal coursed through him, and he slowly pulled himself out of you. Watching your gaping hole made his cock twitch again, and he used his fingers to slowly twist the condom off of his cock. Full of his cum, he spread your lips with two fingers and turned the latex upside down. His spend dropped out of it and onto your used little hole, and you whimpered out as his cum splashed against your cunt.
“Coryo? What’r you doing?”
“Just getting you nice and wet for me, little bird. Close your eyes.. let me fuck you again.”
And like clockwork, his cock was probing your entrance for a second time— his sticky cum being pushed into your fertile womb by the tip of his pink mushroomed tip, his balls making more seed for your perfect pussy, and he was claiming your spent body with everything he had. <33
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chrissv4mp · 27 days ago
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𐙚 NEW YEARS WITH GIRLFRIEND!BILLIE
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y/nwhosthat made a post!
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y/nwhosthat here's a few pics of billie (both old and new) for you little feaks... jk I LOVE YOU ALL TO PIECES, HAPPY NEW YEARRR
liked by finneas, quenblackwell, billieeilish, and others
quenblackwell is billie still stable after last night or...
y/nwhosthat no she's all over the place don't even get me STARTED
billieeilish BABE
claudasulewski new year, same typos in the captions!
y/nwhosthat and to think you're gonna be my sister-in-law...
billieeilish okay. why is that the first slide. y/n.
y/nwhosthat it's about time to get real glasses baby 🤍
billieeilish DUDE I CAN SEE
y/nwhosthat then why were you shaking me bcus you couldn't find the fireworks...
finneas never forgiving you for what happened with the grapes.
y/nwhosthat what are you even talking about whattt 😅
thesuavesolo y/n you know EXACTLY what we're talking about
sabrinacarpenter so when's the next party y/n...
matthewsturniolo i think nick died and came back to life after meeting billie 😭
christophersturniolo 🔥🔥🔥
nicolassturniolo gtfo with those fuckass emojis
christophersturniolo 👎👎👎
y/nwhosthat GET OUT OF MY COMMENFS CHRIS
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LETTERS. AAAAA I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCHHHH this year has been filled with nothing but good energy and great people, and ily all soso dearly 🤍
TAGS. @mseilishmwah @sophloveswomen @mxqdii @livvydunneness @vyntagess @afteraftercare @wiidfi0wer33 @dandelions4us @dandelions4us @fallingforfalll2 @cierraonline @dandelions4us @scarlittt @ifwdominicfike @slxtarchive @stonerfromlesbos @bilsdillldough @47lake @hopingforgoodblogs @karaeilishh @mybluebossanova @sturnsmia @moralesluvr @justtr @greenbttrflyy @billsbaby @hopelessfawn @zayluvss @meliciousmel13
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rafeandonlyrafe · 9 months ago
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almost sweet music
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words: 900
warnings: 18+ only, smut, thigh job, clit rubbing, brief tit play, childhood friends to lovers, kinda somnophilia?
your eyes are open, but they might as well be closed as you look at nothing but pure darkness. you shift ever so slightly, pressing further into rafes hold.
it's not the first time you've shared a bed. he's been your friend for years, and you used to have sleepovers every weekend before your bodies developed and it became awkward.
you would still occasionally fall asleep in rafes bed, usually when the movie he picked to watch was too boring, or when you were waiting around for him and ended up taking a nap enveloped in his scent.
tonight is different. even when you share a bed, rafe never cuddles so close to you like this. yeah, you'll wake up with your head on his chest or a leg slung over his, but rafe is pressed right against your back.
his chest is rising and falling in a steady rhythm, but you can't tell for certain if he's asleep or just relaxed having you against him.
you close your eyes, relaxing back into his hold. his soft breath fans over your shoulder, barely covered by your tank top strap.
you're about to fall asleep when you feel something poking you. your eyes open again, wider this time as rafes hip press forward.
his obvious erection grinds against your ass, slow movements fooling you into believing rafe must be asleep still, body acting on its own, much like yours does when you seek him out in your sleep.
rafe let's out a soft moan, then a mumble of your name, and now you're certain he must be awake since you've never heard him sleep talk before.
his hips begin to move faster, like he's testing out how far he can take it before you wake up. how much movement will it take for you to stir, testing how much he can get away with.
you stiffen for a brief moment before relaxing again. you squeeze your eyes shut as you try to keep your breathing regular. you don't want rafe to stop. 
to others, it's been a clear (and long) game you've been playing, both pining after each other while claiming to just be best friends. this is the first time rafe has shown any clear evidence to you of his sexual attraction. what you don't see is his longing looks whenever your back is turned, or the way he's quick to go after any guy who looks at you for a little too long.
you let out a silent curse in your head. of course he's only doing this because he thinks your asleep as he moves faster against you, barriers of fabric in the way but not stopping his light moans, almost sweet music against your ears.
you wonder how long he's been pushing up against you before it woke you up. you consider your options. sit here silently, let him cum in his pants, or take action, show you're awake, and change your life forever.
you're done with the game as you reach down, startling rafe as he lets out a curse, but you simply pull your shorts down along with your underwear, revealing your bare ass as you spread your thighs, pussy on show and already starting to get wet.
you wait for rafe to continue. when it's clear he won't, you reach behind your back to pull his cock out of his pajama pants.
rafe follows your motions, taking your lead and going as far as you will allow as you rub his cock through your folds before closing your thighs around him.
“keep going.” you say. 
the words is all the encouragement rafe needs as he begins to thrust, the slick between your thighs growing as he pushes against you.
a hand that was holding you close to him travels to your pussy, rubbing you with a single finger, the pad rough against your sensitive clit.
the sound of slapping skin is a telltale sign of what is happening in the dark, as rafes hips meet your ass with every thrust.
you long for him to press into your cunt, but you know you need to have an actual discussion about what this is before allowing him to fuck you properly. the thighs will have to do.
rafe rubs faster, with a clear purpose as his cock swells. you can tell he's not far off, and the pure excitement from finally being with rafe also has your high growing.
you press further into his chest as your thighs squeeze together as tight as you can force them, letting out a moan when rafe spills, cum spurting through the gap onto the bed sheet.
he leaves his cock to soften between your legs as his finger keeps working on you, free hand coming to grab your chest over your shirt, hand possessively gripping your tits until your back arches, a strangled moan leaving your lips as you cum.
rafes hands disappear from off of you. you turn to face him, but can't see his expression.
“im-im sorry.” his words are enough for you to pinpoint where his mouth is as you lean in, pressing your lips together in a heated kiss.
“we can talk about it in the morning.” you say, tucking yourself back into his side. “we will cuddle and sleep and be in a much clearer headspace.”
rafe hesitates for a second before pressing a kiss to the top of your head, a soft smile on his face as your breathing returns to normal, not allowing himself to fall asleep until he hears your gentle snores.
taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @forstarkey @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @drudyslut @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog @outerbankspov @drewstarkeyswifehoe @cutielando @sourkittie @rafeyslove @rafeinterlude @bellbottombaby @deeaardiary @rubixgsworld @wearemadeofstardust0 @leighbronk @starkeysheart @pradabambie @tobesolovelysstuff @akirkland @rafestar @brioffthegrid @juniebugg @magicalyoura @cokepewpsii @mysticallystilinski @luvdella @aerangi @vogueprincess @auryyz @raysmayhem-72 @thestarlithideout @marvelfanfics1recs @rafesgiirl @ditzyzombiesblog @chiaraanatra @tobiaslut @drewsephrry @1aarii1 @edszn @theoraekenslover
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squishykitty825 · 5 months ago
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Jason, amidst a heated argument with Bruce: Does my death mean nothing in this family?
Out of nowhere: "In the arms of the angel. Fly awaaaay..."
Jason: What the hell?
________________________________________________________
Tim, low on sleep and caffeine trying to convince Jason to give him back his coffee: You think your time as Robin was bad, you never had to deal with Bruce after your death.
Jason: Maybe not. But I was a little busy being dead, Timbo.
"In the arms of the angel. Fly awaaaay..."
Jason: Again?!
________________________________________________________
Damian: Stop being so childish, Todd.
Jason: I died. I can do whatever I want.
"In the arms of the angel. Fly awaaaay..."
Jason, now seriously confused and angry: WHO IS DOING THAT?!
________________________________________________________
Dick whining to Jason about life after his death: You died. I didn't have anyone to talk to.
Jason: I'm so sorry my death was such an inconvenience to you.
"In the arms of the angel. Fly awaaaay..."
Jason now infuriated with whoever is playing the song every time he mentions his own death: I AM GOING TO MURDER WHOEVER IS DOING THAT!
Jason storms off in search of the culprit, leaving Dick staring after him wondering what he's on about.
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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 5 months ago
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OMG no way are you going to write an AU of Daemon's visions at Harrenhal??? I know its AAAAAGES away from where you are in the current story but desperate hos wanna kno ;)
Ask, and ye shall receive!
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until i bleed myself dry
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Note: This is technically using the characters/characterisation I have established in my terms of endearment series, but really you only need to know that the Reader is Rhaenyra's younger sister and that, instead of marrying Laena, he spent a decade ho-ing it up in Pentos before coming home and getting dazzled by his niece before deciding to wife dat gurl.
WARNING: Please note this is dark, dark stuff. Discretion is advised. Please use your judgement wisely before engaging.
Triggers: graphic depictions of violence, violence against children, character d*ath, MAJOR hallucinations, sexual scenes including visibly underaged character/s.
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There is something fucking wrong with this place.
Daemon feels like a skittish child as he withdraws to his chambers, covers drawn up to his neck like the fabric will keep away the very worst of midnight evils. He does not know if the steady drip, drip, drip he hears is in his head or if the stone ceiling is cracked enough to let through the rain. Knowing Harrenhal, he would hardly be surprised by the latter. Still, the noise only serves to speed the racing of his thoughts, turning them fearful as he has not felt since the weakness of his youth.
In this moment, he curses his own doings. If he had stayed his hand—if he had held his tongue—the boy would not be dead, and mayhaps you would not be so wroth with him. He would not be alone in this shithole of a keep a world away, chilled to the bone and miserable as he thinks of you warm and safe in your bed with the children. Without him.
When he finally falls asleep, he dreams.
He knows it is a dream, for he can hear your humming. Soft, sweet, the kind of tune you sing to Daeryx after one of his tantrums. His head lifts from the pillow and he finds himself back in your shared rooms on Dragonstone, eyes finding you in the chair by the hearth. Your hair, unbound, shines like molten amber in the firelight, swaying softly as you tend to business that is concealed from his gaze. Enthralled, he rises, making his way to you.
Drip, drip, drip.
He pauses. That sound… it doesn’t belong here. He calls your name. You ignore him. He moves closer, tentative.
“Come look,” you murmur suddenly, startling him. “Come, kepus.”
His feet move unbidden, out of his control.
Bile pools at the back of his throat, gut curdling at the sight of the boy—the boy—cradled in your lap. You and he are wet with blood, and it drip, drip, drips to the floor, echoing eerily. His eyes are open, face petrified, and Daemon realises that the dark at his neck is not in fact a shadow but a gaping wound, made jagged by the weapon used.
You look up at him, skin shining with sweat and expression exultant. “Look at him, kepus. Look at what you made.”
Memory flashes—he brings his son back down to rest beside his daughter on your lap, two moonshine miracles side by side. “Look at them, kepus,” you whisper, spellbound. “Look at what we made”—and his lungs constrict. You make to lift the child up, but the movement jostles his head off its perch, and it rolls to the ground to stop by his feet. He cannot move. He is frozen, horrified.
You smile, tucking the headless corpse under your chin. Gore pulses against your throat as your chin settles to the yawning maw of the child’s open neck. You rock in your seat, a faint squelch each time your shifting weight disturbs the sodden cushion beneath you.
“I love him,” you whisper, lips pressing to where flesh meets innards. Your mouth comes away red. “I love him so much.”
Daemon awakens with a yell. He swallows once, twice, and then—
He leans over the side of the bed, retching violently. When it is over, he curls up on his side, shaking, staring at his hands. They are wet with blood.
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It does not take long for terror to settle in his bones like a longtime companion. It follows him each day, in every waking moment, manifesting in strange visions that he knows—he knows—must be untrue, cannot possibly be real, and yet… And yet. There is a sort of verity in them.
Dark Sister feels like a leaden weight at his hip as he stalks the keep, a reminder of his earlier encounter with Rhaenyra. Only she was not the Rhaenyra he knows, and instead a strange sort of blend of child-queen, the face of the girl peering out accusingly from under her father’s too-large crown, exclaiming all manner of hurt as she stepped from the Iron Throne upon which she perched.
“You put me on that throne. And you love me, and you hate me for it. You created me, Daemon. Yet you are now set on destroying me. All because your brother loved me more than he did you.”
And, without warning, he had taken his blade up in arms and struck off her head, a puppet on strings pulled by another. As her body fell, it morphed into the boy again. Jaehaerys. The child he had murdered. He heard your humming even while Simon Strong’s voice filtered through his unconscious mind, alerting him of the raven that just arrived.
The healer woman’s concoctions have helped little. He still wakes to strange noises, still finds himself stalking after his monstrous one-eyed nephew down the halls, only to find that it is himself he is pursuing. He hears the words you yelled at him in that last great quarrel— “get away, leave before you turn on us and murder us like you murdered that boy”—interspersed with the sound of your screams, and perhaps they are the screams you let out when birthing his children, or perhaps they are screams of a different kind, a version of himself making good on the implication of your words, steel in hand and pursuing his love, his life, his blood—
These figments blur with reality to the point that he becomes unsure of what is before him and what exists only in his head to haunt him. He comes to dread the resting hours, only to find their horrors bleeding into daylight. Whatever strange power has come to roost in his mind serves only to bring him torment.
Perhaps this is why he is not immediately suspicious when he comes face-to-face with you once more.
You stand by the window, the dim light filtering weakly over your bare form. Your back is to him, curls spilling to brush the tops of your buttocks. Their gentle sway—the barest kiss to your skin—is tantalising, and his mouth dries even as he watches your neck crane, sly smile tossed back over your shoulder at him.
“Daemon,” you beckon. Like a cuntstruck fool, he is helpless to resist the call.
His hands settle to the familiar divots of your waist, up and up and up to cup the fullness of your tits. You lean into him, a quiet huff of pleasure escaping as his fingers squeeze and his lips fall unbidden to the slope of your jaw. He inhales deeply, stirred even now by the simplicity of your scent, a throbbing line straight to his groin. You turn in his hold, nose nuzzling against his chin.
“You were right,” you say, eyes shining. “You were always right.”
He is under some enchantment, surely, for he is incapable of coherent speech. All he can do is feel the satisfaction heat his veins, allow it to tug at the corner of his mouth. I knew it, he thinks. I knew her will would bend eventually.
You speak still, even as he backs you toward the bed. “Papa was weak. Rhaenyra is weak. Only you are the true blood of the dragon.”
You shift backward onto the mattress, legs parting invitingly. The split of you opens, revealing flushed folds and the teasing glimmer of want, shining slick for his hungered gaze.
“Fearless”—your hand trails down your belly, fingers tracing around your pearl—“brave”—you venture lower, pressing teasingly at your cunt, your lip caught between your teeth—“strong.”
Daemon drops to his knees before you, tongue licking through the spill and catching on your finger. He bullies it out of the way, arms locking around your thighs as he gluts himself on the sweet tang of you, senses clouding and narrowing to a singular point of existence. You grip his hair, the arches of your feet digging against his back.
“It is not my place to question you,” you breathe, twisting and writhing with his ministrations. He watches your face, enraptured by the toss of your head and the shape of your lips as they form moan after moan. Your release is quick, a final sobbing yelp followed by a flood of slick warmth. When your eyes reopen, they are blazing with reverence. Reverence for him. Your knees flex up, your lower half folded almost to your chest. Your cunt contracts, fluttering like the wings of a butterfly. “I live to serve you, my king.”
His head feels heavy as he rises just barely to crawl over you. He frowns. When he lifts his hand to extricate yours from his hair, he finds not flesh, but cool metal. A crown.
“My king,” you coo below him.
Your surroundings are changed. It is not the meagre offerings of Harrenhal that frame you now, but the sumptuous trimmings of the king’s chambers in the Red Keep, only brighter, more lavish than they ever have been. Jewels sparkle at your throat, in your hair, at your wrists. The sheets are molten gold against your silver-pale, and you wind your hips up at him provocatively, catching his cockhead against your opening.
“You belong on the throne, husband,” you say, fist closing around his shaft and pumping once, twice. You lead him back to the core of you, nudging him just inside. “Uncle. My love. And I belong at your side—at your feet—under your body.”
“My queen,” he gasps, driving forward with a grunt, and oh, he has missed you, missed this, missed the clutch of your walls like a mother’s embrace and the sound of your breathy cries as he plunges deep. Plunges home.
“My king,” you call out, rising into him with unrestrained abandon, precious gems clinking frantically with each fevered hitch of his hips against yours. “My lord. My master. I was made for you.”
“Yes…”
“Chain me to this bed, my king.” Your spine arches toward him, hands grabbing for his own and leading them above your head. He takes this for the encouragement it is, pinning your wrists to the pillow and rutting harder. You shout, elbows flexing to no avail. “Give to me my purpose. Give me your heirs.”
He is helpless to stop the noises escaping his mouth, feral and uninhibited, fucking with near painful intent. You take it all, curving yourself deeper, holding yourself more open so that he may lay claim to his conquest. As only a king can.
“And when I have birthed one,” you say, though now it is more a prolonged keening sound, “give me another. Never stop. Oh! Make me—make me take it—”
He does not know if he is imagining it or if it is happening before his eyes, but he can see it: ruling the Seven Kingdoms, sitting the Iron Throne the way his brother never could, striding down the halls of the keep as the commons bow and scrape to their sovereign, bursting into his chambers after small council to find his queen, to find you where you always are, naked in his bed and belly round and leaking milky white between your thighs, for it is his kingly law that the only part you play here is this, waiting for him to find you and fuck you and fill you and keep you, his little niecewifequeenpet—
He snarls, pulsing and burning. You squeal as he pushes past onslaught and straight to violence, bodies colliding so forcefully that his bones ache and his brain feels like jelly wobbling in his skull. What leaves his mouth can only be bestial in nature now. “I’ll make you—”
“Yes, make me take it until I cannot. Until my cunt is ruined by you.” He feels his end rushing up with every word you wail, his joints locking and grinding and gut roiling with the anticipation of it. “Until my womb is destroyed. Until I bleed myself dry, my king. Only for you.”
“Wha—”
The horror of it escapes him, for it is too late: the release crashes on him like a tidal wave, shoving him below its surface and imprisoning him in its current. He makes a noise like a wounded boar, chasing through the high despite the alarm in his mind, so at odds with the soaring rhythm in his loins.
You laugh, tilting welcomingly to receive him. “Make me bleed, my king. Make me bleed like my mother.”
It is enough to chill the heat in his blood to ice, destroying any semblance of enjoyment. But he cannot stop the unsteady eking out of what remains of his peak. He tries, but he cannot stop.
“No,” he says, a contradiction to the enthusiasm of his flesh prison. “No, no, I cannot. No—”
“What do you mean?” you ask, a strange quality to it. A duality. It crystallises into something comprehensible with every word that comes from your lips. All at once, it is not your voice he hears, but something much higher, younger, blending and overlapping with the cadence he recognises. “You already have.”
He looks down as he makes his final groaning thrusts, only to feel his stomach drop through the floor. Your thighs are soaked in blood, his cock sluicing a path through it all the while. All that flesh covered in red, and he glances up, only to see that you are gone, you are replaced by someone so small, so frightfully small, and he realises you are not replaced, it is you, but it is a you he has not seen for well over ten years, eyes wide and frightened and gleaming like game stuck through by an arrow and taking its final breath.
Daemon rears back, but it is too late. You begin to cry. A dark patch spreads out from underneath your broken body, from where he had torn your fragile opening apart. What have I done? he thinks.
“It hurts, kepus,” you say. “It hurts.”
“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, fixed to stillness by revulsion. “I’m sorry. I never meant to—”
“But you did,” you insist, childish pout despite your obvious agony.
Your hands reach out, and he leans away, too horrified to touch you—and he doesn’t know if it is you or he that he is more afraid of in this moment—but you are not searching through the air for him, no. Instead, a bundled weight is settled in them, and you bring it into the crook of your arms, gripping it as though it is the most precious of objects. You smooth the fabric from the top of it to reveal a tiny head of silver hair. The babe gurgles and roots at your flat chest, absurd and awful.
“This is what you wanted,” you say, eyes filled with betrayal. “Am I going to die now, kepus?”
Your Grace…
He shakes his head, but he is no fool. You are too little to withstand the sheer volume of blood you have lost if the bedding is anything to go by. He feels it stain his legs. He feels it drying on his cock.
“Your Grace?”
“I will, though. I’m too young. You’ve killed me.” The babe begins to suckle, and you cry harder. Your body isn’t built for this task, not yet, not like this. He wants to protest, to tell you that this is not his work, cannot be, for he has and would never do something so foul, so wholly inhuman, that the you he has gotten with child has only ever been a woman grown, but it is like you know his thoughts for you scoff and say, “You’re lying to yourself. I was always too young. You just refused to see it.”
He stares down at you, immobile, unable to even think. The metallic scent of your life leaving you fills the air, floods his nostrils with stinging heat.
“… Your Grace?”
Daemon jolts, blinking. Ser Simon Strong looks back at him. “Is the duck not to your liking, Your Grace?”
All at once, you are gone. The king’s chambers are gone. He is not even within his dank chambers at Harrenhal. Instead, he sits at the table in what passes for the dining hall here, a plate full of food steaming before him. The smell makes him ill.
“There’s also goose, if you’d prefer…”
He swallows, trying to ground himself in the present. Voices waft all around him, but he finds it difficult to pay attention.
“I’m not hungry,” he says shortly. It sounds stronger than he feels.
A pause, and then—
Simon clears his throat, turning to his companions. “I was saying, given the rather dire news…”
Daemon tries to concentrate. He does. He knows the others are speaking of matters of utmost importance. Of  Rook’s Rest, of his nephew, of the war. But his mind can only turn over his encounter—his vision? His nightmare? Or is it merely truth finally unveiled to unworthy eyes?—with you, the last of your words haunting him near to madness.
“I was always too young. You just refused to see it.”
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He has grown restless here, revolving between the frustration of securing an army from those who see naught in him but the very worst and the torment of these terrible visions that seek him out at their pleasure, heedless of his duty or desire. Tedium or terror—when he is entrenched in one, he wishes for the other, and there is always a sick sort of irony in the granting of said wishes. In truth, he is able enough to tolerate the resistance of these riverlanders, insulting as it is. The phantasms that pursue him have almost become too much to bear.
What is worse? The accusations from the mouth of a juvenile Rhaenyra, full of admonishments for the way he’d so thoroughly undermined her claim before she ever got the right to exercise it? The condemnations from Viserys, a retracing of steps trod so long ago, brought to life once more and forcing Daemon to relive the very worst of his brother? The boy’s laughter darting through the stone halls, an ominous prelude to the sickening sound of steel sawing through skin and the rolling of his head, landing always at the feet of the one responsible for his fate?
They are all bad enough as they are, but for the simple fact that they do not surprise him. Monster, they call him, and he wears the name well. In most all aspects, he is a monster. But never has he thought himself monstrous to you.
He has come to despise the sight of you here, sometimes docile and worshipful, sometimes angered and raving. Sometimes you appear as a siren come to lure him to iniquity, and like a fool he always falls into the trap. Other times, you are battered, caged, a shell of yourself. No matter how it begins, the end is always the same: bloodied, beaten, fading from the world, and it is always his hands he finds the cause of it in. A new reminder every time of all the ways he has thought of taking you, owning you, keeping you. Always, he thinks to save you—to protect you. Always, he destroys you.
Just as he thinks himself finally driven to the edge of all reason, the Rivers woman beckons him to the godswood.
“When you came here,” she says, “you were a closed fist. You wished to bend the world to your will. But you’ve discovered, I think, that… this world will not be governed. There are omens here for those who seek them.”
She pauses. The air seems to whisper, to creak in the dark. Daemon suppresses the urge to shiver. Her eyes move to him, an odd little quirk to her mouth. Amusement, he thinks. Or pity.
“You do not scoff?” she asks.
How can he, after all he has seen here? He has been brought to the very edge of sanity by these omens. What irony, it is, after the great complaints he has made of superstition in past weeks (and months, and years).
“I’m no longer inclined to,” is his short reply.
She laughs. “I’m pleased to hear it.”
She stops before the heart tree and turns to him, expression solemn.
“Do you wish, then, to learn what is given to you?” The answer must lie in his face, for he cannot do anything but stare, silent, tense. “All your life, you have sought to command your own fate”—she takes his hand—“but today, you are ready.”
Gentle pressure at his wrist, and something in him knows to move past her, to take those final few steps so that he is close enough to make out the details of the face carved into the wood. His arm raises by itself, acting on its own power, or perhaps some higher power, his fingers brushing bark and the hot pulse of… blood? But he has no time to truly question it for—
He is flying—
No—
He is a raven, staring at the face of a pale-haired man with a wine-dark stain on his face and he flies into the forest, towards an army, only there is something wrong with the soldiers, they are blue and their eyes glow ice-cold and their breath is frosted with death and their bodies carry the look of corpses stood upright once more—
And then the dragons are dead, all of them, the ground wet not with water but with blood and he walks through it, falls straight into the ground and he is drowning, steel plate armour dragging him down into the depths and he looks up at the sky—
A red comet bursts through the air, hot like fire, and he sees eggs embroiled in flame, a girl sat in ash cradling the bodies of three newly-hatched dragons, a whisper of a memory on the air, “we are the only ones able to bring the fire to life… It is the secret”—
And he is before the Iron Throne, suddenly silent.
Rhaenyra stands before the seat. Viserys’s crown is in his hands. She moves toward him, down the stairs of the throne. He hears her speak.
“From my blood…”
But she does not finish. A roaring conflagration engulfs her and she screams, twisting and warping before him, burning, only not, because you step from the flames, unburnt, voice mingling with that of your sister’s, a haunting echo.
“… come the Prince Who Was Promised…”
You are before him, taking the crown from his grasp and retracing the steps your sister took, and then you are stepping over a charred body, Rhaenyra, oh gods, and ascending the steps. You sit. You lift the crown. You place it on your head.
“… and his shall be the song of ice and fire.”
He is on his knees now, right on that final step at your feet. He feels the warmth of you as you bend forward, your palm caressing his jaw. You look otherworldly in the shadow, backlit silver and gold and wearing a king’s accoutrements far better than any of your predecessors.
“You know what must happen now, Uncle,” you say gently, kindly. “You know what you must do.”
He bows his head to kiss your ring—the seal of the king—no, the queen—and then wind is whistling in his ears, chilling him to the bone and spraying his hair about wildly, so much so that he can barely hear the words yelled at him by the boy sitting astride Vhagar.
“You have lived too long, nuncle.”
—and he wrenches away, panting, body collapsing before the heart tree like a puppet with its strings cut. The world comes back to him in fragments: the scent of dirt and woodlands, the sharp sting of cold, the ache in his muscles that has since settled like sludge at the bottom of a river, ever-present and persisting. Finally, finally, he withdraws with hands washed clean, free of his many sins.
At last, he has come to the crux of it. At last, he understands.
He sits at the base of the tree, stunned and overcome, as faint words slither on the breeze, a final knell from the liminal space of prophecy. Your name. A cheer.
“Long live the queen! Long live the queen!”
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Read on AO3:
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vsimp · 4 months ago
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"glimpse of us"
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pairing: zhongli x reader
genre: angst, no comfort
w/c: 850
summary: "glimpse of us" by joji, but you are not her
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You have been through everything with him. Through the archon war, through the cataclysm, through the ongoing erosion, and through the “death” of Morax. You wanted to think that you were the closest person to him. You knew all of his likes and dislikes. You knew what all of his hobbies were. You knew how much he cared about his people, the people of Liyue. You understood him more than anyone.
“My dearest and oldest friend…” Zhongli’s deep voice rumbled through the plains of Liyue, like a gentle breeze that could soothe even the most unfortunate of souls. “My y/n… You have truly proved yourself to be my most loyal companion. I was once an archon, and now I am merely a man, yet you love me anyways, and it has taken me this long to realize that. Will you accompany this old soul for the rest of his modest life?”
When he had proposed to you, you felt like the happiest person in the world. The man who you had been in love with over the last thousands of years had finally realized your feelings, and you were ecstatic. But despite his whispers of love to you, despite all of the passionate feelings that he vocalized, there was always a lingering thought in the back of your mind. 
Indeed, you knew everything about Morax. Even his heartaches and troubles. Even his old love who he lost many, many millennials ago.
The death of Guizhong broke your heart as well. She was loved by many, that included the Geo Archon himself. You didn’t think your unrequited love would ever be returned, and yet, you still somehow felt guilty now that you’ve taken the place of your old friend, the one who used to stand by his side.
He had never once looked at you the way that he looked at her. He had never once smiled at you the way he did her. And even at night when he dreams, he dreams of her.
But you smiled on, hoping and wishing that Zhongli would be happy by your side. Minutes passed like hours, as you kissed his lips, and hours passed like seconds as you laughed by his side. But you knew that you were just her replacement. You knew that whenever he looked into your eyes, he was not looking at you, but instead at a glimpse of her. 
“I love you, Guizhong,” Zhongli had let out one day. Whatever you had in your hand had fallen to the ground at the time, leaving a loud thud amidst the silence. “No… No, I meant y/n. I love you, y/n.” Zhongli was flustered, which was unlike him, and also quick to correct his mistake, but it was too late. You had already found out about his true feelings.
He chased you outside as you ran straight into the rain, calling your name and asking you calmly to come back inside. You didn’t know how to feel. You didn’t know how to react. You just knew that you could no longer face him. The thunder roared loud in the sky as your heart ached.
Your fears were confirmed that night. You had never seen Zhongli look so desperate and scared before. It was like he knew what his true feelings were, but he just didn’t want to lose you. The damage, however, had already been done.
He held you in his arms tightly, catching you before you got too far, your back against his chest. 
“Y/n,” he pleaded, “please… come back inside. It’s raining and you’ll get sick.”
“It’s been thousands of years, Morax.” Zhongli’s grip tightened as he heard your firm voice, as if he was afraid he’d lose you like how he had lost everybody else in his life. “I’ve always been yours… but when will you ever be mine?”
“I apologize. I truly am sorry. It was a slip of the tongue.” But he couldn’t deny the truth. You had hoped he would say that you were the only one in his heart right now. That you are the only one he thought about. He remained uncharacteristically silent but still clinging onto you.
It was time you put yourself first for once. Everything you had done had been for him, the man you love. But his silence spoke louder than his actions in this case, and it cracked open your heart even further. 
“I think… we need a break. I’m sorry.”
There was a long pause before Zhongli let you go.
“Very well,” he said hesitantly and cautiously. “I cannot force you to stay. But remember this, I truly love you. And when you would like to speak again, I will be here waiting for you.”
“Unfortunately, I’m tired of doing the chasing,” you said simply. 
“The chasing…? Oh, my dear…” You couldn’t look at his expression, but you could tell he finally understood your feelings. Still, he hesitated to say what he truly wanted to say, a long pause between his words. “It appears I cannot convince you to stay…”
“Yes. Goodbye.”
Zhongli watched as you walked away. The light of his life had faded, and now, he truly was all alone.
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hoe4hotchner · 3 months ago
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May I please request Criminal Profiling (Aaron Hotchner) for this lovely GIF?
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Aaron's footsteps were heavy as he walked through the front door, the weight of the day clinging to him like a shadow. He didn’t say anything - he never had to. The moment you looked up from the couch, you knew.
“Rough day?” you asked softly, standing to meet him.
He didn’t respond with words. Instead, he crossed the room, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you tightly into his chest. His sigh was deep, his body relaxing as he breathed you in, as if your presence alone could ease the burden he carried.
You wrapped your arms around his waist, holding him just as tightly. “I missed you,” you whispered into his shirt.
“I missed you, too,” Hotch murmured against your hair. His grip tightened, but as you leaned further into him, the two of you stumbled. You gasped, your feet tangling together, and before you knew it, you were both falling - landing in a soft pile on the floor.
You ended up sprawled on top of him, your hair falling in his face as he chuckled, the sound deep and warm. “Well, this is one way to relax,” he said, his hands still wrapped securely around your waist.
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konigofmyheart · 16 days ago
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marry me (könig x reader)
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(fluff, gn!reader, you work at a cafe and könig’s a bit delusional about you…)
₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ���︎ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ☕︎ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ☕︎ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ☕︎ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
he can practically hear the clock of life ticking as he stands, the rhythm slowing when he takes the first step in your direction. he’s had enough of just watching you from afar. of course, it’s wonderful to see your cute expressions when you don’t think anyone is watching: that little furrow of your brow as you scroll on your phone at the counter during downtime, absentmindedly eating your daily complimentary pastry, or the way you bite the inside of your lip (imperceptibly for anyone except him) as you try to finally perfect a double cream heart for a latte…but the way you smile openly at him every time he walks up to the counter makes his heart skip a beat. he knows you do this for everyone as part of being a polite worker, yet he can’t help but imagine you smiling the same way as he arrives from work to your home, the one you will decorate and furnish as you please, where you will build a life and a family together…
he’ll make you feel like the most special being in the whole world, because you are, you’re his everything and that’s why he’ll tell you he loves you every chance he gets, he’ll hold you as close to him as possible, slightly crushing you, yes, but you’ll have to forgive him, schatz, he just needs to feel your heart against his. you’ll spend every holiday together, he’ll make sure of it, finally finding a reason to use his off time as he’s never done before. he’ll be smug as he confirms to his superiors that he needs the holidays off, telling them he has someone waiting for him at home, a lived in, full of love home. gone will be the days of shuffling into his cold, lonely apartment, being greeted with only one of everything; a lone spoon, an empty bowl, his toothbrush just laying there on the counter.
your home together will be full of you, your humming, your laughter, lazy mornings in bed, whispered sweet nothings, your matching wedding bands glinting in the low light, worshipping you with each breath, meals with the table set for two, your shoes next to his boots, your coat hung beside his on the wall, everything in a pair, just as you two will be. oh, how he’ll never want to leave for the first time ever, easily becoming addicted to existing in this warm place of happiness and life, for once belonging. don’t worry, though, he won’t slack off at work. never, not when he now has you to spend all his saved up money on, you’ll go on trips, get everything your heart desires, he swears you’ll never want for anything as long as he’s around. you’ll never have to work here, or anywhere, again, unless you really like your job in this café that much. in that case, he can buy it and you can be the owner, your workers teasing you as you invite your husband to the kitchen in the back, wanting him to be the first to try the new menu items. he can see the wonderful life you’ll build together playing out right in front of him, so vibrant he can practically reach out and touch it, a smile tugging at his lips as he finally stands before you at the counter.
“is there anything i can do for you, sir?” you ask, dazzling him with that bright smile again, making his breath catch in his throat for the umpteenth time, like only you can.
marry me?
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kisshwa · 10 months ago
Note
could you do texts of the reader thirsting after bf!ateez? i think you would make it super funny too!!
ATEEZ as BFS
and their thirsty s/o
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pairing: bf!ateez x reader
warnings: strong language, sewerslide joke, sexual comments, reader is not (necessarily) healthy minded
notes: i think reader’s responses are valid but maybe that’s just me :p
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coryosbaby · 1 year ago
Note
thinking about…
how stepbrother!coriolanus would not HESITATE to fuck the living daylights out of reader as soon as the guardians are gone and he wouldn’t care if reader was still sleeping either, he knows she’s a whore that’s ok with this shit
♡ 18+, MDNI !! Stepcest, somno, daddy kink mentioned once or twice
The moment that they close the front door he’s on her :( not that she gathers that information, pretty body napping under her big pink comforter after all. Completely dead to the world, she doesn’t hear his footsteps. He closes and locks the door behind him—can’t have any risks of someone walking in, right?— and makes his way over to her cuddled up form.
She’s wrapped up in the blankets. Face buried to keep away the little bit of sunlight streaming in through her curtains, mouth slightly open with drool pooling onto her silk pillow. Such a precious sight. His hands curl around the blanket, gently pulling it off of her and exposing her body. She’s curled up into a ball, wearing a flowery top with a pink bow, and panties to match. She must’ve been waiting for him.
His hand splays across her shoulder as he turns her onto her back. She makes a little whining sound, brows furrowing, before her arms move over her head and she’s asleep once more. Coriolanus pulls her thighs apart, not at all surprised by the wet patch forming there.
He can’t help but reach into his jeans and palm his aching shaft, letting out a tiny groan as she keeps her legs open. He’s trained her so well that she spreads her legs like a whore even in sleep.
His dripping length slaps against his stomach as he pulls his pants and underwear down. Stroking it with fervor he watches her heaving breasts with content. He slides her panties to the side— pretty, flushed cunt, sticky and creamy with arousal, lips plump and swollen. Fuck.
He runs his tip through her folds, gathering slick at the crown of his dick and trying not to fuck into her too quickly. He wants her to be surprised the most when he slides hot, heavy, and slow inside her. His bottom lip catches between his teeth as he presses himself up against her tiny hole. Breathe in, breathe out…
He pushes forward. Her puffy little cunt quivers at the stretch, juices flowing as she lets out a sleepy whimper. His tip pops in, then he deliberately sheathes himself inside her.
It isn’t long before she wakes. Groggily, her eyes flutter open and she looks up at her stepbrother, a smile spreading across her lips.
“Coryo,” she breathes. Her mouth soon falls open when she sees him pushed in to the hilt. “Oh, daddy..”
he groans at that, the name laced in sin and snake venom. He snaps forward, hard. He can’t contain himself.
“Yeah. Daddy’s right here. Being such a good little girl f’me.”
She squeezes him, arms reaching out and making grabby hands. He complies, letting her wrap her arms around his strong back and pull him in, in, in. She smells like vanilla and slick.
His heavy balls slap against her ass as he uses her, his big hand moving to her top so he can yank it down roughly. She mewls when his teeth scrape against her nipple. She sees that he’s left a trail of blood in its wake— he had bitten down. What a mean big brother.
She drools as he pounds her sloppy hole, spit trailing down to her cheek. Coriolanus chuckles at that, tongue lapping it up.
“Look at how messy you are, you dirty little thing.”
He scolds her this way as his tip stabs into her most special spot. Her back arches, and she lets out an incredibly loud mewl. The blonde laughs in her face, grabbing her ankles and pushing them up over her head. He can see her asshole this way, the way it clenches and unclenches with each movement. Maybe he’ll fill that hole up too.
She’s practically brain dead at this point. Eyes rolling back, choked sounds falling out of her mouth. Coriolanus wraps a hand around her neck, pressing her into the pillow. It’s sure to leave a mark, and he loves that.
“Oh, look at you,” he coos, knuckles turning white from his harsh grip. “Stupid little slut. You love when your big brother fucks this sloppy cunt, don’t you?”
No reply. He rolls his eyes, letting go of her throat so she can let out a choked cough. She nods at him then, a hoarse reply of “yes, sir” coming out of her lips. But it isn’t long before her nimble fingers are wrapping around his wrist and bringing his hand up to her cheek. He gets the memo, slapping her clear across the face and making her dizzy.
“My cock’s so big, isn’t it? Filling up this slutty hole. Look,” his hand grips her hair and yanks her forward. In between their bodies, resting in her stomach, his dick bulges out through the skin. “Look at how fucking deep I am inside you. I’m gonna cum, right there—“ he groans when you clench around him, hips stuttering. “—and you’re gonna take it, yeah? Take it like a good girl.”
“Yes,” she cries out, tears streaming. “Yes, yes, coryo, please!”
Balls drawing up, he gives another powerful thrust before he’s spilling deep in her guts. Overflowing with seed, her eyes roll back into her skull. The warmth of him drips out of her fluttering cunt, and Coriolanus pummels her aching pussy as he rides out his high. She whines at her unfinished orgasm when he pulls out. Coriolanus knows how to make her cum, but like always, he’s being so mean. He smiles when he sees her pouty lips, fingers grazing over the cum pooling beneath her.
“Oh, baby,” he says. “Don’t worry… mommy and daddy won’t be home for another few hours. ‘M not done with you yet.”
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:: @etfrin @mysticpenguincreation @nightmare-niko @iheartinkonpaper @claireyberryy @becauseseaotters @emmalandry @princesstiti14 @aerangi @kaithoughs @jamespotterismydaddy @thecrowdedstreetin1944
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chrissv4mp · 2 days ago
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♱ SOUNDS BETTER
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"m'wife's so pretty," she whispers to herself, but you hear. saying you were soaked was an understatement.
WARNINGS. SMUT, breeding kink, cum-filled strap, strap in v, subtop!billie × dombottom!reader, nipple play, pet names, use of y/n a few times, fluff.
SYPNOSIS. when the topic of whose last name one of you would be taking after marriage comes up, billie finds herself in a rather... sticky situation.
LETTERS. i hate this okay bye 💔💔💔
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"y/n o'connell," billie murmurs from her place at the edge of the bed, her legs hanging off while her body lays comfortably on the mattress. she rolls onto her stomach, resting her elbows on the bed so that she can lay her chin on her palms, "rolls right off the tongue." she giggles.
you shoot a smirk that matches her own cheeky one, your back resting against the headboard as your legs rested crossed over each other.
"yeah, but billie y/l/n sounds pretty good as well, no?" you ask, voice higher than usual. whenever you and billie landed on this topic, you always got so excited, and she was quite aware of that.
she shrugs, wiggling her entire body onto the bed and crawling over to you slowly. billie takes her lower lip between her teeth, blue eyes fixated on your own e/c ones. she straddles your lap, and you stretch your legs out straight so that she can sit comfortably, hands coming to her hips to pull her closer.
your smile grows as billie's hands cup your face, her thumbs—both adorned with rings—caress your cheeks gently. her smile fades, but you know she's still very much comfortable and happy in your presence. the cool metal of her rings on your warm skin makes you shiver, and when billie realizes, her smile comes back instantly.
in just a few seconds, billie manages to remove your hand from her hip, slip a ring off the ring finger of her right hand, and smoothly push it onto your own ring finger. she examines your hand for a long moment, her hand gripping your wrist possessively as she takes in the sight.
"a little loose, but..." billie speaks, voice quiet. her eyes flick back to yours, and this time, you catch the desire and longing swirling in her eyes—those pretty blue ones that always had you in a trance, "i think it looks pretty good on you," she whispers, eyes slowly moving down to your lips.
"mrs. o'connell." she adds, a lazy smile tugging at her pretty lips. your other hand squeezes her hip gently as you bite the inside of your cheek. it was taking all of her willpower not to beg right now.
you shake your head with a quiet chuckle, leaning closer to her face. billie quickly closes the distance between you two when she realizes. her hand moves to your neck, fingers wrapping around your throat to pull you closer. she scoots closer to your body, her heart beating rapidly and her head spinning.
just the taste of your lips had her going insane, hips rutting against yours so that you could feel the strap she'd hidden beneath her boxers earlier that morning. you groan against her lips, and billie swallows the noise with pride, smiling against you as her tongue swipes along your lower lip.
you allow her tongue into your mouth happily, ears picking up on her needy whines as you fight against the wet muscle. in the end, you win, but billie doesn't give up her role that easily. reluctantly, she pulls away from your lips—but not without dragging your lip between her teeth, the action that always had you soaked, even more than you already were.
her hands leave your face, fingers brushing against the skin of your cheeks before trailing down your half-naked body—thank god you both only slept in your undergarments. her touch leaves a trail of fire behind, only adding to the aching feeling between your thighs. her eyes never leave yours, even as she reaches behind your back to unclasp your bra.
you let the straps fall off your shoulders, leaving billie to rip the piece of fabric from your arms, throwing it somewhere around the room. she practically drools at the sight of your tits on display for her, her hand coming back up to knead one of your boobs while her lips latch onto your other nipple. a soft whimper leaves her, eyes rolling back before shutting closed.
your fingers tangle themselves in her black strands, tugging at her roots and causing billie to moan against your skin. she clings to you like you're her lifeline, fingers digging into your breast so firmly yet with such care, her thumb rubbing circles along your nipple as she suckles on the other. it feels like she's in heaven, her head spinning with nothing but the image of you beneath her.
when she pulls away from your nipple, a thin strand of saliva forms, and billie licks her lips hungrily before trailing wet kisses down your stomach, stopping when she reaches the waistband of your panties. her eyes flick back up to yours, staring at you through her lashes, asking silently for permission to take the thin piece of fabric off of you.
"take 'em off, pretty." you whisper, voice quiet and breathy from how worked up billie had you already. your tone makes her shiver, and she wastes no time, fingers looping in the thin, pink waistband and tugging them down your thighs, legs, and ankles before throwing them to the side like she did your bra.
billie whines softly at just the scent of your arousal, scooting closer and taking her place between your legs, "m'wife's so pretty," she whispers to herself, but you hear. saying you were soaked was an understatement.
her finger glides through your folds, lips parting to let out a quiet sound of surprise at how drenched you were. she grinds against the mattress, the base of the strap-on rubbing against her clit perfectly. her cheek rests against your inner thigh, her breath fanning across your pussy.
you chuckle gently at her needy actions, your hands running down your body to grab handfuls of her hair again. she raises her head again, getting the memo whenever you nod your head in her direction. who was she to disobey her (soon-to-be) wife?
she pulls away from your pussy with a sad whine, eyes locked on your folds as she scoots off the bed to rid herself of her boxers. she steps out of them, the indigo cock standing proudly between her legs. her face flushes in embarrassment as she catches your gaze, her eyes leaving your body as she crawls back on the bed with her head hanging low.
both billie's index and middle fingers come up to her lips, spitting softly. you watch as the saliva drips down her lengthy fingers, your pussy clenching as she lowers her hand onto the strap-on, pumping the large cock in her hand. you huff impatiently, rutting your hips up against the nothing. a silent plea—or, more so, demand—for her to hurry up.
billie nods in understanding, biting her bottom lip harshly as she crawls even closer, her hands moving down to push your thighs even further apart. her eyes are locked on your soaked pussy, enamored by the way you clench around nothing. her heart beats faster in her chest as she lines up the tip of the strap-on with your entrance, breathing getting heavier at the anticipation.
"bil, hurry." you command quietly, your hands coming around to grab at her back, sneakily undoing the clasp on her bra. she bites her lip even harder when she realizes the straps slowly sliding down her shoulders, helping you by taking it off completely and throwing it to the side.
"jus—wait, baby," she murmurs, clit twitching at the sounds of your labored breaths and the faint smell of your perfume. her head hangs low, eyes fluttering closed as she thrusts her cock into your core slowly, her movements gentle as she whimpers, "fuck, ma—can you imagine how much better this'll feel on our wedding day?" she babbles, smiling at the thought.
you throw your head back against the soft pillows, her words barely registering in your head as you feel her splitting you open on her cock. your nails dig into her back, pulling her closer in the process and feeling her chest press against your own. the mix of billie's whimpers and your moans fills the room and both of your guys' ears.
one of billie's hands leaves your thigh as she begins to see a perfect pace—one that's not too fast, but not too slow either. her ring-clad fingers drag across your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake before she reaches your arm and pulls one of your hands from her back. billie pulls away slightly, kissing down your body until she reaches your nipple, taking the erect bud between her lips again.
"jus' like that, love," you praise, mouth falling open into an 'o' shape. your eyebrows furrow as billie thrusts deeper, not even noticing whenever she interlocks your fingers with hers—until you squeeze and feel her large hand squeeze back, "shit, you're such a good girl." you moan.
billie moans against your skin at the name, hips rutting into yours faster. her hand on your thigh spreads you further apart, fingers digging into your supple skin as she suckles on your nipple. the combined stimulation of her cock rubbing against your walls and her lips on your tit makes you feel like you're on another planet—drunk off of her.
"gonna make you m'wife," she mumbles, releasing your nipple with a 'pop' before she continues, "then 'm'gonna make you a mommy." she says, voice laced with nothing but lust and adoration for you and you only. billie lets her head rest in the crook of your neck, placing gentle, open mouthed kisses on your sweaty skin.
at her words, you finally realize that she's fuckjng you with her special strap—one that she rarely used, but it was still her favorite, "s'one?—fuck, y'know how much i love 'ts one, bil." you breathe, nails dragging down her back and leaving a trail of red marks.
she hisses softly at the pain, nipping down on your neck in response before she feels a light slap on her back, "sorry—sorry, didn't mean to." billie babbles, soothing the sting with her warm, wet tongue.
"y'close, mama?" she asks next, voice whiny and broken as she feels her own orgasm approaching. her hips rock the silicone cock deeper into your pussy with each thrust, the base brushing her clit and sending shocks all throughout her hot, trembling body, "please. please, want'chu you t'cum for me." she begs, eyebrows furrowing as her hand leaves yours reluctantly.
her fingertips brush against your sweaty skin, your hips bucking in response before her touch is gone again. your jaw somehow drops lower as billie begins to rub tight circles over your sensitive bundle of nerves, your nails digging into billie's back harder than before and definitely drawing blood.
billie didn't care. the only thing that mattered to her was getting you off, making you hers, and making you a mommy—even if it wasn't scientifically possible, who cared? not billie, that's for sure.
"fuck, baby, you're gonna make me—!" you cut yourself off with a gasp as she bites down softly on your nipple, sending shivers all throughout your body, "god, 'm'gonna cum, bil!" you warn, pulling her closer to your body once again, making her cock slide deeper between your walls—if that was even possible.
"please. please, sweetheart." she begs in that whiny tone of hers, and that was what finally did it for you. the knot in your stomach snapped instantly, and billie was quick to reach down between your two bodies, squeezing the base of her cock and releasing the fake cum into your tight walls. you almost lost it at the feeling.
billie helps you ride out your high, grunting gently into your ear and muttering, "you're gonna have my babies as soon as we get married, baby. gonna—gonna make you mine. all, fuck, all mine." she stutters, her own orgasm approaching as her thrusts get sloppier and sloppier with every second.
"c'mon, pretty," you breathe into her ear, your hand leaving her back to run your fingers through her hair. that simple motion gives her the final push she needed, her own orgasm hitting her in waves of pleasure as she slowly thrusts into you, "that's a good girl." you praise, and billie cries out.
her hips don't stop, though, slowly and slowly getting faster despite her oversensitive clit. she trembles above you, wanting—needing to fill you up again, although you were already leaking with both your cum and her own, "wan' more," she mumbles.
"jus' a few more f'you." she says it as more of a statement than an ask, and you can't deny her, not when she's giving you those pretty puppy eyes and pouting her lips.
"mrs. o'connell, mrs. o'connell, mrs. o'connell," she repeats it like a prayer, her hips rutting roughly against yours as she whimpers quietly. she was gonna marry you. she didn't know when, but she knew that she was definitely gonna put a ring on it.
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4ranghaes · 1 month ago
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jingle bells !!! leehan ft baby it's cold outside ? 😗 tysm !!!!
christmas song fic!🎄
now playing… baby it’s cold outside by ella fitzgerald and louis jourdan
a/n - this isn’t how the song fic requests work but i couldnt resist completing it anyway😁😁
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23:15 - “god,” you suddenly gasped, looking at the time as leehan left you alone to grab some more snacks from the kitchen, “i need to go.”
he arrived in his bedroom door, snacks in hand and a disappointed look on his face.
“no!”
you laughed, “i’m sorry, baby, but it’s christmas eve eve! family plans all start tomorrow, it’s just better to get home now.”
leehan watched you get up, waltzing about the room to collect your belongings, he grabbed your arm as you did so, pulling you to his chest.
“donghyun,” you chuckled against his lips.
he pressed soft kisses continuously against your lips, laughing softly against them.
“you taste so good,” he mumbled, as you laughed, finally pulling away from his body.
“i’m serious, leehan,” you whined, pulling on your jumper and packing your belongings into your bag, “my entire family arrived tonight, they’re gonna wonder where i am.”
he sat on the bed with a pout on his face, sighing dramatically. “it’s so cold!” he exclaimed, a last resort as he saw you putting your bag on your shoulder.
“seriously?” you chuckled, looking back to him.
he got off the bed, holding onto your upper arms, inspecting your face with a serious gaze, “you’re gonna freeze! seriously you only have this flimsy coat?!”
“well it was a lot earlier, and a lot warmer when i first arrived,” you shrugged, “i’m fine, donghyun. i’m getting a bus anyway, it’ll be warm on there.”
he cocked his head, hissing in deliberation, “no. this won’t do.” he announced suddenly, taking your hand and dragging you out to the communal wardrobe in the living room of the dorm. he studied the racks, sighing, “no, looks like we don’t have any warm clothes, either. what a shame! i guess you’ll have to stay—”
woonhak looked up from his phone, “oh, y/n can use my scarf if they want—”
“no!” leehan exclaimed, trying to drag you back to his bedroom.
you laughed, pulling him to you, “baby, i have to go. i’m sorry.”
leehan sighed, pouting as he placed his hands on your jaw, “serious?”
you nodded, a pitiful look in your eyes, “i’m sorry.”
“okay,” he sighed, “at least let me wrap you up, i’m serious it’s cold out there.”
you smiled, “okay. thank you, my love.”
he took his own hoodie off the rack, taking off your coat and pulling it over your head, letting you dress yourself back in your coat and bag before wrapping a scarf around your face, handing over gloves and a hat too.
“donghyun!”
“just to be safe,” he laughed, watching you adjust before moving over to the door, “okay get home safe.” you nodded pitifully, hands on your boyfriend’s waist as he kissed you slowly. “let me know when you get home.” you let go, waving goodbye as you opened the door. “bye bye, my love. have a good christmas. good bye…”
he closed the door with a click behind you, sighing and turning to join his friends on the sofa.
“simp,” the younger boy said, jaehyun laughing from where he lay across the back, head on woonhak’s shoulder.
“shut up,” leehan laughed, shaking his head as he switched on the tv, surfing through the channels with a sigh.
suddenly, the door.
he looked at the boys, who both shrugged. he leaped up, swinging open the door with a wide smile as he saw you, wrapped up in layers on layers, a coy smile hidden underneath the scarf.
“it’s super cold,” you chuckled, “like… the buses are cancelled it’s so cold.”
leehan laughed, tutting, “that’s unfortunate.”
you giggled, nodding, “isn’t it just?”
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little-pondhead · 10 months ago
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Rick Astley Is Haunting You
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Someone bets Tucker he can’t hack into a hero’s patrol playlist and sneak a Rick Roll in there. He does, easily, and finds that said hero has horrible music taste.
So he sets out to hijack every hero’s music playlist he can find and rate their music tastes on a chart, sometimes adding in his own music or joke songs he thinks they’d like. It only gets back to the heroes when Tucker posts a video with his rankings. Up until then, they thought it was another hero or new villain messing with them. Not a civilian??
(Nightwing’s playlist is sixth on the list, and he’s furious about it.)
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