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ozzgin · 4 months ago

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It is the 19th century and you are returning home by ship. Before you embark, you happen to find a glowing shell abandoned by the docks. It seems that the sea creatures are searching for it. Or maybe it's something else they're interested in. content: gender neutral reader, violence, dubious consent, based on Return of the Obra Dinn

January 1802 What's the matter with me, I wonder? As if my luggage wasn't heavy enough already, I had to drag around a big shell of sorts. Found it by the docks while I waited for my ship to arrive. It has a strange glow to it, this shell. Can't quite place it.

January 1802 Cheeky bastards! The seamen are such a flirt. From the moment I stepped onto the main deck, a handful of them haven't dropped the whistles and stares. One of the topmen - I recall he's Scottish? - he's been pestering me about the ship. "I'll show ye around, can't find a better guide," he says. His mates laugh and clap to his petty attempts.

February 1802 Some of the sailors are dying from lung illness. I was on the orlop deck, playing cards with the three Russians, when the surgeon rushed to one of the cabins ahead. "If it was contagious, we'd all have it by now. Damned if I know what it is, or where it comes from," I could hear him groan. I wondered out loud if I might catch it myself, but then I noticed one of 'em rascals trying to cheat the cards. February 1802 I saw it again tonight. Ever since we launched from Falmouth, as soon as the sun sets, there's an eerie glimmer in the distance. It reminds me of this damned shell. Are my eyes playing tricks on me? Oh, the sea is so terrifying in the dark. There's nothing but black stretching all around. My window is low; whenever the waves break against it, the wooden walls let out a groan that awakens me from the deepest slumber. Surgeon gave me pills to sleep. The creaks of the ship sound like a weeping maiden. February 1802 I think the cursed glow is getting closer. I couldn't sleep anymore, so I snuck onto the main deck. Scotsman found me wandering towards the bow, so he quietly hoisted me up by the waist. I thought he'd tell the Captain, but he sat me on the lower rigging, next to him, and we listened to the waves. I was afraid I'd fall off, but he kept a steady hand on me. I wish I could tell him about the light stalking our ship. Would he think I'm mad?

February 1802 Second Mate returned today on a small boat. We heard shouts coming from upstairs, so we rushed to see what was happening. Bosun had his pistol readied next to the Captain, and the sailors lifted the cargo from below. I thought I was dreaming at first. Some creatures, unholy beings, were caught in the net. They had the body of a human, but thick, fish tails covered in spikes. One of the Formosan passengers muttered something in Chinese, and some of the tail spikes suddenly pierced him dead. The old Miss next to me fainted on the spot, and the stewards urged us to leave. Right before I turned, I noticed one of the beasts pointing at me. It had a monstrous grin on its face. Oh, what a sight! The Scotsman guided me away, but I can't forget those eyes. Was it malice? Such an intense stare, burning straight into my soul. Now that I'm writing all this, a memory has come to mind: the creature had the same shell as mine, dangling from its neck.

February 1802 The pills no longer work. I can't rest anymore. Every time I close my eyes, I hear its wretched voice, calling me from the lazarette. That's where they locked those sea monsters. It sings nonsense, blasphemous lies. We're not fated soulmates. I've nothing to do with those devils. I should've never picked up the shell. I can only pray we reach land soon.

March 1802 God, oh God, what disaster has befallen us? I don't have much time. The gun deck is in shambles, more than half the crew dead. Underwater beasts have crawled their way up our ship; strange humans with spears, saddled on top of crabs larger than I've ever seen. The poor midshipman, oh, a young boy! He set himself on fire to stop the nightmarish fiend. Threw the lamp across the floor, and the flames swallowed both of them up. I scrambled up on the main deck, but there was no peace to be found; colossal tentacles sprawled around the ship, pulling the rigging apart, tearing humans like insects. The Captain's wife was struck by a falling pillar, I saw her crumble right before me. Scotsman is still alive, but his arm is missing a good chunk of it. I don't know where to find the surgeon.

March 1803 They left. They took the last boat, I only found out this morning. I tried to join them, but one of the sailors stopped me. "Witch," he shouted at me, "the beast down by the cargo hold screams your name. You must've called it here, brought this curse upon us." I don't know what he's talking about. Tonight I'm going to the lazarette, I can no longer bear the calling. This blasted fiend, oh, he's ruined me. I'll rot on this wreck. Mother, I don't think I'll ever reach the shore.

Your steps are hesitant as you tiptoe your way around the dried blood and debris, until you reach the locked chambers. The door is bent and folded away, as if hit by a great force. You do indeed notice the round prints against the rusty surface: giant suckers from a blasphemous being.

There he is, the wicked varmint who plagues your sleep! A pale creature is propped up, halfway out of the water, welcoming you with a toothy grin. The shell around his neck glows mockingly.

You throw your own shell at him. The small, ivory object rolls with a hollow thud.

"Is this what you wanted, damned monster?"

"Why, what am I to do with two?"

His voice is harsh and deep, rapping against your eardrums, scratching the inside of your head.

"I've been waiting for you. Can't leave this place without my beloved, can I?"

"There you go again with this nonsense. Villain! Drown me if you must, but spare me your deceit."

His smile falters, eyes narrowing in a frown.

"Is that how you find my love? Some petty lie told by a charlatan? Ungrateful brat, who do you think freed you from their shackles? Who do you suspect has summoned the leviathan, from the deepest trenches of the sea, to save your mortal soul?"

"The kraken left with the storm," you counter as the blood drains from your face. Could it be that you were to blame, after all?

"No, it left after the bargain."

He pulls himself up and sits on the edge of his former cage. You observe his features in mild awe: the texture of his skin, the dark locks of hair reaching all the way to the tail, the spikes breaking out of the thick, hard scales.

"What bargain," you ask fearfully.

"The last ones are free to escape, if they leave you to me."

Why, your horrified expression is not quite something he expected. Surely one must feel relief once their freedom has been guaranteed. And not just any kind of freedom - you've been returned to your soulmate.

He's spent weeks chasing the currents, trailing the faint glow in the distance. He hasn't stopped once, tail pushing forward to the promise of a reunion.

Yet, you seem unsure. Perhaps his approach has been too hurried, too nonchalant. You need a little bit of convincing, and he happens to be a master of courting.

His thorax suddenly expands, and you can almost hear the twisting sound of his ribs cracking and breaking under the pressure. A sweet voice rolls out of his mouth, a song you've never heard before. Your heart pounds tremendously, threatening to burst out of your chest, and a foreign panic floods your senses.

Despite your desire to flee, your lids are heavy, eyes slowly closing. Through your lashes, you can discern the beast crawling towards you, the same defiant grin plastered on his face.

It's time for you to come home.

#mermaid x reader #merman x reader #monster x reader #monster x human #monster boyfriend #monster fucker #terato #teratophillia #monster fic #monster imagine #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere monster

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oceandolores · 4 months ago

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ℜ𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔤𝔦𝔬𝔫 | chapter I

General Marcus Acacius x f!reader

"in her eyes shone the sweetness of melancholy."

summary: In the grandeur of ancient Rome, you are the secret daughter of Commodus, living a quiet life as a servant in the imperial palace. Everything changes when you meet General Marcus Acacius, Rome’s honorable and stoic leader.

Though devoted to duty and loyalty to the princess, Marcus is drawn to you in a way he cannot ignore. A forbidden passion ignites between you both, and an affair begins—one that threatens the very foundation of loyalty, power, and honor. As you fall deeper into your dangerous love for Marcus, each stolen moment becomes a fragile, dangerous secret.

warnings: 18+ only, 14 YEARS AFTER GLADIATOR 1, ANGST, Fluff, A LOT OF SMUT, Unprotected Sex, Exhibition Kink, Age-Gap, Ancient Rome, mentions of violence, Gladiators, Blood, Gore, Politics, Sexism, Forbidden Love, Loss of Virginity, mentions of death, Innocent and pure reader, Loss of virginity, Infidelity, more warnings will be added throughout the story

Chapter I

masterlist!

next | chapter II

The palace is alive with preparation, a beast of marble and gold that never rests. Its veins are the labyrinthine halls, pulsing with servants like you, carrying trays of delicacies, wreaths of flowers, and jugs of wine.

Its heart beats to the rhythm of whispered orders, clinking metal, and the distant echo of the marketplace beyond its gates. Tonight, the beast awakens for another feast.

You adjust the folds of your simple tunic, careful not to brush against the elaborate tapestries that line the walls. Each thread tells a story of conquest, glory, and power—legends you’ve only heard murmured by those old enough to remember.

You are not part of those tales, nor their lineage. You are a servant, a shadow cast by the towering figures who walk these halls.

The kitchen is a tempest. The air is thick with the scent of roasted meats, fresh bread, and sweet figs. Claudia, the head cook, barks orders, her voice slicing through the chaos like the edge of a Roman gladius.

You pass her with a nod, your arms laden with trays of fruit—gleaming apples, plump grapes, the kind of bounty the common people outside these walls could only dream of.

Livia catches your eye from across the room. Her presence is a steady anchor in the storm, her face worn but kind.

“Have you checked the wine?” she asks, her tone soft but urgent.

You nod. “It’s ready, Mother,” you reply, the word slipping out as naturally as breath.

She is not your mother—you know this much—but she is all you have.

The story of how you came to be here is one you’ve heard countless times: a baby abandoned at the servants' chamber door, cradled in a basket of woven reeds, with nothing to mark your origin save for a scrap of fine cloth that no one in your station would dare to own.

Livia found you there, swaddled in whispers of mystery, and against all odds, she chose to keep you.

Raised among the laboring hands of the palace, you were given no privilege beyond survival and no legacy but that of work.

The great marble halls and gilded frescoes became your entire world, a place as eternal and unmoving as the gods themselves—or so it seemed.

The servants’ quarters where you lived were nestled in the hidden bowels of the palace, far from the glittering feasts and marble statues.

You learned to scrub floors and pour wine long before you understood the language of wealth and power that filled these walls.

Your life had been carved out in the shadows, molded by the soft voices and calloused hands of those who raised you.

Today, like every other, begins in service to Rome's ever-churning hunger for spectacle.

The air hums with anticipation, thick with the scent of roasted meat and spiced wine, a stark contrast to the stench of poverty that lingers just beyond the palace gates.

“Are the platters for the atrium ready?” Livia’s voice cuts through your thoughts.

“They are,” you reply, glancing at the polished silver laden with grapes and apples, their skins shining like jewels under the torchlight.

“Good.” Livia’s sharp eyes soften, though her expression remains tense. “Take the fruit out yourself. And stay close to the kitchen. Today will bring trouble, I feel it.”

You nod, understanding the weight of her instincts. Years of serving in the palace have taught her to sense the storm before it strikes.

As you lift the platters, Claudia, calls over her daughter, Alexandra.

“Go with her,” Claudia orders, waving a ladle for emphasis.

Alexandra groans dramatically but obeys, rolling her eyes as she grabs one of the platters.

“She can’t let me rest for a moment,” she mutters, her tone more amused than annoyed.

You chuckle softly. Alexandra has always been like this—bold where you are cautious, quick to speak where you stay silent.

She is your only true companion here, older by four years and infinitely more daring.

As you and Alexandra arrange the fruits on a grand table in the atrium, she leans closer, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “The Princess will be here tonight.”

You nod absently, focused on ensuring the grapes cascade just so. “Of course, she will. She is the Princess after all.”

“No, I mean, I haven’t seen her in years,” Alexandra continues, ignoring your tone. “Not since I was a kid. That was ten years ago. You know she moved out of the palace after marrying the general.”

You don’t reply immediately, your hands steady as you arrange the fruit. Alexandra has always loved to gossip, but you prefer to keep your thoughts unspoken.

“Can you believe it’s been ten years, and she hasn’t had a child? Not one with him,” Alexandra muses.

“Maybe it’s their choice,” you say quietly. “It’s not our place to wonder.”

Alexandra scoffs lightly. “I’m just saying, after her son—what was his name? Lucius?—after he was taken and killed by her brother, Commodus…” She trails off, her voice tinged with something between pity and fascination.

You remember Lucius vaguely, a boy with a quiet demeanor and a sad smile.

You were too young then to understand the weight of his loss, but the servants whispered of curses and tragedies surrounding the imperial family.

“It’s not good to talk about the great emperors like that,” you murmur, hoping to steer the conversation elsewhere.

Before Alexandra can reply, the sound of heavy boots echoes through the atrium.

The guards step forward, their polished armor glinting in the firelight. “Make way for their majesties,” one announces, his voice carrying over the growing murmur of the guests.

You and Alexandra immediately bow your heads, the platters forgotten as the twin emperors enter the room.

Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla are a study in contrasts.

Geta, an imposing figure, commands the space with a cold and calculating gaze. His every step seems deliberate, as if the weight of the empire rests on his shoulders alone.

Caracalla, by contrast, walks with an erratic energy, his pet monkey perched on his shoulder. Dondus, the creature’s name, chatters and hisses, a mirror of its master’s unpredictable moods.

You feel the weight of their gazes as they sweep the room. Geta’s lips curl into a smile—or is it a smirk?—as his eyes linger on Alexandra.

There have been whispers, rumors of an affair, though Alexandra denies them with a laugh.

Caracalla’s gaze lands on you, and for a moment, his expression softens. Unlike his brother, he has always been strange but oddly kind to you.

When you were a child, he would find you in the halls, offering you small trinkets or asking you to keep him company.

“Your Majesties,” Alexandra says again, her voice like honeyed wine, sweet but strong.

She curtsies with practiced ease, her eyes cast downward, yet her boldness hangs in the air, unspoken but palpable.

You follow her lead, bowing deeply, but your heart pounds in your chest like the war drums of a distant legion. In the presence of the emperors, the room feels smaller, the air heavier.

To serve Rome, you think, is to breathe in the will of its rulers, no matter how suffocating.

Geta's gaze lingers on Alexandra, traveling from her head to her feet, as though she were a statue he might commission or a possession he already owns.

His smirk deepens, the corner of his mouth curving with an indulgence that unsettles you.

“Alexandra,” he drawls, his voice smooth as polished bronze. “Why do I find the table half-dressed? Are my guests to dine on the promise of fruit alone?”

You glance at the platters, perfectly arranged but not yet fully adorned with the remaining dishes. Your pulse quickens; you know the punishment for displeasing the emperors can be swift, unpredictable.

But Alexandra, bold as always, doesn’t flinch.

“Forgive us, Your Majesty,” she says, her tone measured yet edged with defiance. “The final trays are being brought out as we speak. The delay was unforeseen.”

Geta arches a brow, his smirk turning sharper, more dangerous. “Unforeseen,” he repeats, as though savoring the word.

“I wonder, Alexandra, if you’ve grown too accustomed to... distractions.”

You know the meaning behind his words. Everyone does.

The whispered rumors of their affair swirl through the palace like incense smoke, clinging to every corner.

Her mother Claudia knows, though she turns a blind eye, perhaps thinking it wiser not to provoke the wrath of an emperor.

Beside him, Caracalla shifts, uninterested in the exchange. His pet monkey, Dondus, chitters softly on his shoulder, its small, beady eyes scanning the room.

Caracalla’s gaze falls on you briefly, but it is not unkind. He has always been more erratic than cruel with you, there is a peculiar understanding in his glances—a shared knowledge of solitude.

“Forgive us, Your Majesty,” you say suddenly, your voice trembling like a bird caught in a net. The words tumble out before you can stop them, and the weight of the room shifts.

Geta’s eyes snap to you, sharp as a blade. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve made a grave mistake.

But then he laughs—a low, indulgent sound that sends shivers down your spine.

“Ah,” he says, leaning slightly toward you. “The little dove finds her voice. How curious.”

You stiffen under his gaze, your knees threatening to buckle. It feels as though he is peeling back your very skin, seeking something hidden beneath.

“You’re the youngest servant here, aren’t you?” Geta muses, his tone light but with an edge that cuts.

“A curious creature, so quiet and unassuming. And yet…” He trails off, his eyes narrowing, as if piecing together a puzzle.

The weight of unspoken rumors presses against your chest.

The whispers about your lineage, the murmurs that you are more than a servant—that you are the illegitimate daughter of Commodus himself, a shadow of Rome’s bloody past.

You’ve heard them before, though never directly. Livia, your steadfast mother in all but blood, dismisses them as lies, the gossip of bored tongues.

But in moments like this, when Geta’s piercing gaze locks onto yours, it feels as though the marble walls around you whisper secrets only they can hold.

Secrets of your origin, of what blood may or may not flow through your veins, encased in the silent austerity of Rome’s cold embrace. You feel the weight of it, a shroud both invisible and suffocating.

Geta doesn’t believe the rumors entirely, but he cannot ignore them either. To him, you are a thorn he cannot pluck without proof.

If the whispers are true, if you are indeed the hidden scion of Commodus and the only living grandchild of Marcus Aurelius, you would be a danger to his rule.

Rome, after all, has loved its Aurelius lineage fiercely.

The plebeians would rally to your name like vines twisting toward sunlight.

Still, no woman has ever ruled Rome.

The Senate, the soldiers, and the gods themselves would balk at such a notion. But Geta knows that power is not always rooted in precedent—it is rooted in the hearts of the people.

And the people would love a descendant of Marcus Aurelius far more than they could ever love him.

“You wear the palace well,” Geta says finally, his tone dripping with mockery. “A little too well, perhaps.”

You feel the heat rise to your cheeks but keep your gaze respectfully lowered. His words are like serpents coiling around you, their venom lying just beneath the surface.

Caracalla hums softly, breaking the tension. He strokes Dondus, the little monkey perched on his shoulder, as though soothing himself rather than the animal.

“Leave her, brother,” he mutters, his tone flat but carrying weight. “You scare the child.”

Geta casts his twin a glance, his smirk briefly faltering. With that, he straightens, clapping his hands once in finality. “Finish the table,” he commands, the sharpness of his tone slicing through the room.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” you and Alexandra reply in unison, bowing deeply as the emperors turn and walk away.

Their robes ripple like molten gold, catching the light as though the gods themselves had woven the fabric.

The moment they are gone, you exhale shakily, the breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding slipping from your lips.

The grandeur of the palace, so often a thing of wonder, now feels oppressive—a prison of marble and ambition.

Alexandra nudges you gently, her smile faint but reassuring. “It’s fine,” she murmurs, though the tightness in her voice betrays her unease.

You nod and return to your work, the routine motions of arranging platters grounding you once more. But the unease lingers, like a storm cloud that refuses to dissipate.

Later, after the feast preparations are complete, you retreat to the servants’ quarters. The hallways grow quieter as the palace begins to prepare for the night’s debauchery.

Your mother, Livia, finds you there, her expression tight with concern.

“Are you all right?” You nod quickly, not wanting to worry her further.

Livia’s sharp eyes search yours for a moment before she exhales heavily. “Stay away from them tonight,” she warns. “There will be soldiers, senators, politicians—men who think they own the world. And women and men from the brothels to entertain them. It will not be a place for a child like you.”

“I understand,” you say softly, though the thought of the gathering makes your skin prickle.

"Go to your chamber and stay there.” You nod, obedient as always, and Livia cups your face briefly before bustling away.

But as you walk toward your chamber, the stillness of the afternoon draws you elsewhere.

***

The sun bathes the palace gardens in a golden light, soft and warm, like an embrace from the gods themselves.

The sky is a flawless stretch of azure, and the air carries the faintest scent of blooming jasmine.

Unable to resist, you veer toward the gardens, seeking solace in their quiet beauty.

You make your way to the small pond at the edge of the grounds, where the world feels simpler, untouched by the weight of marble columns and imperial decrees.

This is your sanctuary, a place you’ve tended with your own hands.

The hedges are trimmed neatly, the flowers arranged in bursts of vibrant color—crimson roses, golden marigolds, and pale violets that seem to glow in the sunlight.

The pond reflects the sky like polished glass, its surface rippling gently in the breeze.

You settle onto the cool stone bench nearby, pulling out a small parchment and charcoal.

Writing has always been your escape, a way to make sense of the labyrinth that is your mind.

The words flow from you like water from a spring, each line capturing fragments of your thoughts and fears.

To live in the shadow of gods is to forget the warmth of the sun.

You stare at the words you’ve written, sentences about Rome and its people, the empire’s endless hunger that devours the poor while the rulers gorge themselves on the spoils.

It isn’t rebellion that drives you—at least, not yet—but a quiet, gnawing sense of wrongness.

You have lived your entire life within the confines of this palace, its gilded walls both a sanctuary and a prison.

Outside, beyond the Forum and its grand marble temples, the streets of Rome teem with despair. You’ve seen it, fleeting glimpses on the rare occasions you ventured beyond the palace gates.

Children with hollow eyes and grime-streaked faces.

Men broken by war or taxation, their shoulders bowed under invisible yokes.

Women clutching bundles of rags that you realized, with a sick lurch, were infants too still to be alive.

These thoughts weigh heavily on you as you sit by the pond, the garden’s beauty unable to shield you from the world’s harsh truths.

You lower your quill, pressing trembling fingers to your lips, when the sound of approaching footsteps pulls you sharply from your thoughts.

You stiffen, the air in your lungs turning to stone. It isn’t one of the servants; their steps are lighter, quicker.

This tread is deliberate, measured, carrying a weight of authority. When you glance up, your breath catches.

The man before you is not adorned with the opulence of the Senate nor the ostentatious silk of the emperors.

You know who he is. How could you not?

General Marcus Acacius.

Rome’s shield and sword, the hero of distant campaigns whose name is whispered with both reverence and fear.

You have never seen him in the flesh, for he seldom resides in the palace, choosing instead to live with Princess Lucilla far from its labyrinth of intrigue.

But his likeness is everywhere: etched in marble statues, painted in frescoes, immortalized as Rome’s protector.

Yet, here he stands, and for a fleeting moment, you wonder if the gods themselves have sent him.

The crimson cloak draped over his broad shoulders glints faintly in the golden light, its hem embroidered with intricate patterns that seem to tell the story of the empire’s conquests.

His tunic, simple yet stately, is cinched with a polished belt, a gleaming buckle bearing the proud insignia of the wolf of Rome.

Unlike the ornamental decadence of the Senate or the twin emperors, his attire speaks of purpose and practicality—beauty tempered by utility.

And his face—by Jupiter, his beautiful face.

It is a map of victories and sacrifices, weathered yet noble. The lines carved by years of sun and battle only enhance the sharpness of his features, as if the gods had personally molded him for their own designs.

His hair, dark and streaked with silver like the gleam of moonlight on a blade, curls faintly at his temples.

His beard, neatly trimmed, frames a mouth set in the hard line of a man who has spoken a thousand commands and swallowed a thousand regrets.

But it is his eyes that strike you most: deep, piercing, soulful-brown eyes.

They are the eyes of a man who has seen the best and worst of humanity and bears the weight of both.

Your breath catches as his gaze sweeps over you, taking in the sight of a young servant clutching a parchment like a shield.

He regards you with a sharp, assessing gaze, his eyes like iron tempered in fire—unyielding yet reflective.

His presence is commanding, a gravity that draws everything into its orbit. You are struck by how different he is from the emperors.

Where Geta and Caracalla exude indulgence and cruelty, Acacius carries himself with the disciplined grace of a man who has known the weight of true responsibility.

“Not many choose the gardens for their thoughts,” he says, his voice deep, steady, and tinged with curiosity.

It is a soldier’s voice, devoid of the honeyed pretense of courtiers.

You scramble to your feet, clutching your parchment to your chest. “General,” you manage, your voice trembling despite your best efforts.

He raises a hand, the gesture more commanding than any shout. “At ease,” he says, a faint flicker of something—amusement, perhaps—crossing his face. “You are Livia's daughter?"

His question hangs in the air like the distant clang of a bell. You nodded, your name feels small in your mouth when you finally say it, barely audible against the rustling of the garden’s leaves.

Acacius nods, as though filing the information away. His eyes flick to the parchment in your hands. “A poet?”

You hesitate, “I... I write, sometimes. Thoughts.”

He steps closer, his presence overwhelming yet strangely grounding. He does not reach for the parchment, but his gaze lingers on it as though he could read its contents by sheer will alone.

“Thoughts on Rome, perhaps?” he asks.

His tone is even, but there is an edge to it, a subtle weight that suggests he already knows the answer.

Your throat tightens. To speak of the empire’s flaws to a general of its armies feels like standing on the edge of a blade.

Yet something in his bearing—a quiet patience, a restrained curiosity—compels you to answer honestly.

“Yes,” you admit softly. “About Rome. And its people.”

Acacius’s expression shifts almost imperceptibly, a shadow crossing his face. He looks away, toward the pond, his gaze distant now, as if seeing not the still water but something far beyond it.

“The people,” he repeats, almost to himself. “The heart of Rome. And yet, the heart is always the first to be sacrificed.”

The words are spoken quietly, but they carry the weight of experience, of battles fought not just with swords but with conscience.

You watch him, your earlier fear now replaced by a cautious curiosity.

"Do you... believe that?" you venture, your voice barely above a whisper, the words trembling like a fledgling bird daring its first flight.

Marcus halts, his crimson cloak swaying like the banner of a legion stilled in the wind.

He turns to you, his eyes—sharp as a polished gladius—softening for the briefest moment, as if your question has reached a part of him long buried under layers of duty and steel.

“Belief,” he begins, his voice low and steady, carrying the weight of a man who has lived lifetimes in service to an empire, “is a luxury in the life of a soldier. I deal in action, not faith. But I have seen enough to know that Rome’s strength lies not in its emperors, but in its people. And we are failing them.”

The honesty in his words strikes you like the tolling of a great bronze bell, reverberating through the quiet garden and deep into your chest.

It is not what you expected from a man like him—a hero to some, a sword-arm to the empire—but here he stands, speaking not as a general but as a man, his voice laced with something unguarded. Regret, perhaps. Or hope—fragile and faint, but alive nonetheless.

“Do you believe in Rome, little one?” His question falls like a stone into still waters, and you startle, unprepared to have the conversation turned toward you.

“I—” Your words falter, and you look down at your hands, clutching the parchment that now feels like an accusation.

But then, something inside you stirs—something that refuses to shrink back beneath the weight of his gaze.

You lift your eyes to meet his, the courage in your chest kindled like a flame drawn from embers.

“I believe in what Rome could be,” you reply, your voice steadier now.

“I believe in the Rome that lives in the hearts of its people—the ones who work its fields, who build its roads, who kneel at its altars not out of fear, but out of love. That is the Rome worth fighting for. But the Rome I see now…” Your throat tightens, but you press on.

“...has forgotten its people. It worships marble statues and golden coins while the streets crumble and the people starve. How can an empire endure when its foundation is so neglected?”

Your words spill forth, unchecked and unmeasured, and it is only when you see the faintest flicker of something in his expression—respect, perhaps, or surprise—that you remember who stands before you.

The weight of your boldness sinks in like a gladiator realizing they’ve overstepped in the arena.

“Forgive me, General,” you murmur, lowering your gaze. “I forgot myself.”

But Marcus shakes his head, a wry smile playing at the edges of his mouth. “Do not apologize,” he says, his tone gentler now, though no less commanding.

“You are young, but your words carry the wisdom of one who has not yet been corrupted by power. Few speak with such clarity, and fewer still with such courage.”

His gaze lingers on you, searching, and you feel it like the sun breaking through storm clouds.

“You remind me,” he says, his voice quieter, almost reverent, “of someone. He believed, as you do, in the strength of Rome’s people. He would sit in gardens much like this one, speaking of justice and duty, and wonder aloud whether the empire could ever live up to its ideals.”

Your heart quickens, the weight of his words settling over you like the cloak of a goddess.

The way Marcus looks at you—as though he sees not the servant, but the soul beneath—makes you feel for a fleeting moment.

“I am no philosopher,” you say softly, your fingers tightening on the parchment. “But it is hard to remain silent when I see so much suffering.”

“A Roman citizen has every right to speak of their empire’s failings,” he says, stepping closer now.

“Do not mistake me for a politician, child. I am a soldier. My loyalty is to Rome—not to the men who rule it."

You nod, the words settling over you like a cloak woven of both gravity and reassurance.

The air between you feels charged, alive with the kind of understanding that is rarely spoken but deeply felt.

You watch him, his form cast in the golden hues of the setting sun, the crimson of his cloak vivid against the muted greens of the garden.

There is something about him that draws you—not merely his reputation, not the legends whispered in the palace halls of his valor and victories, but him.

The man behind the titles and statues.

You swallow, your heart a restless bird in your chest. You should not linger, not with him, not now.

And yet, you find yourself unable to walk away.

Words rise to your lips, hesitant at first, but then they spill forth, tentative and careful, like a child offering a wildflower to a god.

“Forgive me, my lord, but shouldn’t you be inside?” you say, your voice trembling under the weight of its boldness. “The palace is bustling with your celebration—wishing you fortune for your campaign, for Rome’s glory.”

He turns his gaze to you, the faintest flicker of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. “Rome’s glory,” he repeats, as though tasting the phrase on his tongue, finding it bitter.

He lets out a soft chuckle, low and warm, a sound that feels oddly out of place amidst the solemn grandeur of the garden. “Let them feast. Let them toast. I’ve no appetite for gilded words tonight.”

You blink, surprised by his candor. He is not what you imagined—not the marble statue immortalized in the Forum or the hardened general whose name echoes in the chants of soldiers. He is… more human than that.

“I’m waiting for my wife,” he adds, his tone casual, though his eyes seem to linger on you as if measuring your reaction.

Princess Lucilla.

The name hangs in the air, heavy with the weight of legend. Rome’s Princess. The only daughter of Marcus Aurelius, the philosopher-emperor. You’ve never met her, though her shadow looms large over your life.

“She was delayed,” he continues, glancing toward the palace, though his stance is relaxed, unhurried.

Princess Lucilla, her legend precedes her, a name spoken with reverence, and sometimes, in hushed tones, with fear.

Your mother, Livia, has served her since she was but a girl.

Livia, who moves through the world with a quiet dignity, has always spoken of the princess with unwavering loyalty. “She carries Rome on her shoulders,” your mother would say, her voice tinged with both pride and sorrow. “The weight of a crown rests on her brow, even though it does not sit there.”

Your thoughts drift, but his voice pulls you back to the present.

“Your mother,” Marcus says, his tone shifting to something softer, more contemplative, “she’s a loyal servant to our household, isn’t she?”

You nod, feeling a strange warmth rise to your cheeks. “She is, my lord. My mother adores the princess. She always speaks highly of her.”

At this, Marcus smiles faintly. His expression, though guarded, carries a warmth that feels rare, as if he’s allowing himself a brief reprieve from his usual stoicism.

“Livia is wise, then. Lucilla is… more than most know. Rome sees her as Marcus Aurelius’ daughter, but to me—” He pauses, his voice lowering to something almost reverent.

“She is a woman of strength, far greater than any man I’ve known. Her loyalty to Rome and its people… it humbles me.”

For a fleeting moment, his mask of a hardened general slips, and you glimpse something deeper.

A man bound not just by duty but by love.

His words hang in the air, gilded with affection, and you feel a pang of longing, though for what, you cannot say.

“I’ve never met her,” you admit, your voice quieter now.

He turns to you, curiosity flickering in his gaze. “Lucilla?”

You nod, feeling suddenly self-conscious beneath his scrutiny. “I’ve only heard stories. My mother always told me about her strength, her grace. But we’ve never crossed paths.”

Marcus regards you for a long moment, as if seeing something in you he had not noticed before. “She would like you,” he says at last, his voice steady, though something lingers in his tone, a note of intrigue.

“Are you coming to the feast tonight?” he asks, the question catching you off guard.

You hesitate, glancing toward the palace where the distant hum of celebration filters through the evening air. “Servants are not permitted to attend such events, my lord,” you say, lowering your gaze. “I am only a servant after all,"

His brows furrow slightly, as if the answer displeases him. “Rome is built on the backs of those it calls servants. Do not diminish yourself.”

You blink, unsure of how to respond. There’s a weight in his words, one that feels both heavy and freeing.

Before he can say more, hurried footsteps echo through the garden. You turn, and there stands Alexandra, one of the palace attendants, her expression tight with worry.

“My lord,” she says, bowing her head quickly as her wide eyes catch sight of Marcus.

The respect is immediate, almost reflexive. General Acacius commands not just authority but admiration.

Men respect him, but women… they speak of him in hushed tones, a figure both distant and impossibly magnetic.

“Forgive me for interrupting,” Alexandra continues, her voice trembling slightly under the weight of his gaze. “Your mother is looking for you,"

Marcus looks at you, his expression softening. He steps aside, the movement graceful despite his formidable frame, as though making room for your escape.

"Tell Livia my apologies for keeping her daughter here," he says, his voice low yet deliberate, as though each word is a promise carved in stone.

His gaze lingers on you, longer than it should, and it feels as though he is reading something beyond the surface—a map of your heart, perhaps, etched in the lines of your face.

For a moment, the world narrows to just this: the garden bathed in the golden light of a setting sun, the faint murmur of the distant feast, and the weight of his eyes, heavy yet strangely gentle.

There is something about you, his expression seems to say—something unspoken but undeniable.

You feel it too, a spark that flickers to life beneath the layers of duty, expectation, and fear.

“I’ll see you at the feast tonight,” he says, the words more a statement than an invitation, leaving little room for protest.

There is a finality to his tone, yet also a quiet insistence that stirs something within you.

Before you can respond, he dips his head ever so slightly—a gesture of respect, or perhaps acknowledgment—before turning and striding away, his crimson cloak flowing like a banner in his wake.

You bow reflexively, watching him disappear into the shadowed corridors of the palace, his figure swallowed by the grandeur of Rome itself.

Yet even as he leaves, his presence lingers, an echo in the air, a weight in your chest.

As soon as the sound of his footsteps fades, Alexandra is at your side, her face alight with barely contained awe.

“Was that… the general?” she whispers, her voice tinged with something between disbelief and reverence.

“Yes,” you reply, though your own voice feels distant, as though it belongs to someone else. Your thoughts are still tethered to the garden, to the quiet intensity of his gaze.

“By the gods,” she breathes, clutching your arm as though you might disappear. “He’s… he’s even more handsome up close.”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “Careful, Ale,” you chide gently, though there’s no malice in your words.

“I’ve heard so much about him,” she continues, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“About his loyalty to Maximus Decimus Meridius—the late general—and how he served under him during the great campaigns. They say he adored the princess even then. Some even whisper that his loyalty to Maximus was why he stayed so close to her after his death, marrying her to protect her.”

You glance at her, your brow furrowing slightly. “You know far too much for someone who spends their days in the laundry.”

She grins, unrepentant. “The laundry is where all the palace’s secrets come to dry.”

You shake your head, though her words gnaw at the edges of your mind.

You’ve heard the stories too, in bits and pieces from the older servants: tales of Lucilla’s love affair with Maximus, and Marcus’s steadfast devotion not only to his commander but to the empire itself.

A marriage born of loyalty, they say, not love. And yet, there’s something in the way Marcus spoke of Lucilla earlier that makes you wonder.

As Alexandra chatters on, her words a tide of gossip and speculation, your thoughts drift back to Marcus.

To the way he stood in the garden, his form framed by the soft glow of the setting sun. To the depth in his eyes, like wells carved by the gods themselves—deep enough to drown in, and yet you couldn’t look away.

You feel a strange restlessness in your chest, a stirring you can’t quite name. It isn’t admiration, nor fear, but something more complicated. Something heavier.

Marcus is unlike anyone you’ve ever known—unlike the indulgent senators with their honeyed words, unlike the cruel twin emperors whose laughter carries the sting of a whip.

He is a man of iron and fire, tempered by years of battle, yet beneath that hardened exterior lies something softer. Something… human.

And perhaps that’s what unsettles you most.

You’ve spent your life surrounded by women: your mother, Livia, with her quiet strength and unshakable loyalty; the other servants, who taught you to navigate the palace’s labyrinthine halls.

Men were distant figures, their power felt but never seen up close. Fathers, you’ve only heard about in stories—abstract concepts, not flesh and blood.

But Marcus is no abstraction.

He is real, tangible, a presence that feels larger than life yet undeniably mortal.

To see him, to feel him, is to glimpse a side of the world you’ve never known—a world shaped not by whispered orders or silent sacrifices, but by action, by conviction, by the weight of decisions made on the edge of a blade.

You shake your head, trying to banish the thoughts, but they cling to you like the scent of blooming jasmine in the garden. “It’s nothing,” you tell yourself, though your heart betrays you with its restless rhythm.

“Nothing at all,” you murmur, though even the words feel like a lie.

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dark-moonlust · 10 months ago

Text

Tentacle Trouble PART 1

Pairing: Tentacle monster x human f!reader

Summary: you decide to explore a cave that is surrounded by stories of a tentacle beast. You find exactly that, get pounded in all holes and bred.

Warnings: minors don't interact, 18+!!!!, dub-con, dark monster smut, explicit tentacle smut, p in three holes, HEA. Don’t like, don’t read.

Find the series here.

The dimly lit cave echoed with the roar of the ocean.

You ventured deeper, drawn by the stories of the creature that dwelled within its depths.

You were determined to uncover the truth.

You didn’t expect to find a monster. These were baby tales.

But your were wrong. So very wrong.

The presence lurked and watched you and before you could escape, thick, slick tentacles trapped you. Your clothes were ripped and tossed away, slimy tentacles roaming your body, their weight keeping you a captive. You found yourself being lifted, suspended in the air while wriggling appendages wrapped around your wrists and ankles, keeping your limbs wide apart.

The creature emerged from the shadows, its body a huge round mass of tentacles, each one glistening with a strange slickness. A huge head, and at its core were three glowing eyes, deep blue, like the ocean sea. They seemed to reach into your soul.

“Holy shit!” You gasped, unable to believe your eyes. “I’m so fucking dead.”

A husky voice filled your mind, you realized it came from the monster. “No one shall hurt you, little human. You are here now, your life is mine, your little holes are mine,” it drawled. “I will mate and love you endlessly.”

“Fuck you, you perverted—”

“What a filthy mouth.” A sharp slap against your ass made you gasp in surprise. “Quiet, noisy human.”

You shrieked and moaned as he repeatedly slapped your ass, pausing a little to caress your sore bum before delivering more smacks. No matter how much you wiggled and screamed, you couldn’t be set free. The slimes moved on to slap you pussy, finding it delightfully slick and plump.

You thrashed at each blow, the slaps were light but awakened a strange pleasure inside you.

You hated your treacherous body.

The monster didn’t seem pleased with your thrashing so he pushed one thick tentacle into your parted mouth. It plunged down your throat, stretching your lips and causing you to gag. Moist suckling noises resounded as it fucked your throat, thrusting back and forth until you no longer fought the creature back.

Gluck… gluck… gluck… gluck.

The cave echoed with your lewd slurping sounds as you were forced to swallow the sweet nectarine liquid dripping from his tentacle. Each drop aroused you, invading your system and intoxicating it with desire. In seconds, you were soft and pliant, more than eager to let him have his way with you.

“That’s more like it,” you heard his voice in your mind. “Beautiful human. My little mate.”

“What—hmm,” you gulped down more liquid, “is it?”

The monster’s voice rumbled through you. “That, my little one, is my elixir. It shall make you immortal and prepare your body for me. It is an elixir that only I, the master of these depths, can produce.”

You struggled to speak, a shiver running down your spine. Immortal elixir? It terrified and intrigued you. You looked into the creature’s eyes, asking for answers.

“Only my mate is deserving of my elixir. Now hush, do not fear.”

More tentacles came out of his body, of various shapes and lengths. They travelled over your flesh, leaving trails of slickness wherever they touched. It made your shiver. One tentacle slithered up your inner thigh, brushing around your pussy before slipping inside your depths. Shivers of pleasure ran through you as it fucked you while another slithery appendage rubbed your clit round and round.

Two more tentacles snaked over your ass, pulling your cheeks apart to expose your pouting rosebud. You squirmed and cried out around the tentacle fucking your mouth when the pulsating appendages slipped past the tight entrance of your asshole. The fit was tight but the tentacles were incredibly slick. Slowly, oh so slowly, they filled you up, inch by inch, until they were buried deep in your guts.

“Mnn…mnhaa!" You breathed through your nose at the way you felt, all holes filled.

When the tentacles started to thrust, your eyes rolled to the back of your head. The tentacles were all over and yet, you felt no pain, just blinding pleasure. You willingly surrendered to the feral ravishmest. The cave filled with the symphony of your high-pitched cries and the furious plap-plap of tentacles filling your body.

The creature’s rhythm grew faster, the tentacles working in perfect harmony.

By now, you had two tentacles buried in your cunt and three more crawling up your ass. The one fucking your throat hadn’t receded and kept feeding you its delectable elixir.

The insistent fucking brought you to a shattering climax. Your body tensed and you cried out around the thrusting appendage in your lips as waves and waves of pleasure crashed over you.

The creature didn’t stop its pounding.

Your voice continued to echo through the cavern. The slimes in your ass pistoned fast and hard but the ones in your pussy stopped and pressed against the entrance to your womb. You tensed, the pressure causing you to wince. You felt a soft pop, followed by the heavy weight of eggs. One by one you felt them as they were deposited deep inside you.

“Ugh .. ungh—" you whimpered and came hard, the walls of your cunt contracting around the ovipositor. Your whole body spasmed as the creature bred you and made you its mate.

It felt like hours later when the slimes exited your holes. The intensity subsided, but your belly was bulging with his brood. The creature gently lowered you to the ground, its tentacles wrapping protectively around you. You lay there, spent and satisfied, your mind reeling from the unbelievable experience.

The creature’s glowing eyes regarded you with a strange, almost tender curiosity. “You did well, my mate. Took six of my eggs on the first try. I am proud of you. Sleep now, little one. I will take care of you. Forever.”

And you did, your eyes shutting as you let go in his embrace. You had found what you needed, a new world of pleasure and otherworldly love.

#tentacles x you #tentacles x female reader #tentacles x human #tentacles x reader #tentacles smut #monster fucker #monster lover #monster x female #monster x reader #monster x you #monster x human #monster smut #monster x female reader #monster boyfriend #monster romance #monster fuqqer #monster fudger

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navybrat817 · 1 year ago

Note

Why isn't Bucky waking me up to have his way with me?

I wish I had the answer, nonnie!

Slip Inside

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky can't resist having you when he comes home.

Word Count: Over 1.5k

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, unprotected vaginal sex, somnophilia (at first), established relationship, pet names, possessive behavior, slight feels (it's me, okay?), lovesick and needy Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: I can't send Bucky, but here you lovelies go! ❤️Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky wasn't meant to be home until tomorrow. He almost called to let you know he’d be back a day early, but it was late and he didn't want to disturb your slumber. Imagining the happy look in your eyes when you woke up beside him brought a smile to his face. Being loved by you was something he still couldn't believe was real some days, but he knew in the depths of his soul that you would always be his girl.

“Welcome home,” he whispered to himself when he saw you in bed, a sight for sore eyes.

He kept his gaze on you as he undressed, careful not to make any noise. You had an arm draped over the pillow next to you, the one he usually rested his head on. His heart raced as he took a step closer and gently pulled the blanket away, your body barely covered by the shirt he recently bought for you. Shivering slightly, you tried to curl in on yourself, but stilled quickly.

Like you knew he was watching you.

“I love you,” he breathed into the room.

You replied with a moan and rubbed your hand against the pillow.

You were beautiful when you slept. If you asked him, you were gorgeous all the time. A breathless kind of vision that he grew to appreciate more and more each day. But you weren't like a piece of art for him to just admire. You were the type of beauty meant to be appreciated.

And he gladly did so with his hands, mouth, and cock.

Oh, he loved you. Fuck, he needed you, too. It was an ache. A hunger. Awake, asleep, it didn't matter as long as he had you. And you were understanding enough to let him take what he needed.

“Mine,” he whispered.

Bucky quickly took the opportunity to slip into the bed and spoon you from behind. Your steady breathing grounded him in a sense while awakening the beast he kept at bay. The one that wanted to come out and play. One that needed to bury himself deep and keep you full.

If you were awake, he would've turned your head to kiss you nice and slow, unrushed even with the mounting desperation. Instead he rubbed his nose and scruffy chin at the juncture between your neck and shoulder, breathing in the distinctly sweet scent of you while wanting to leave his claim. That no one else could touch or have you. That you were his.

“You're mine,” he growled lowly.

Rubbing the inside of your thigh once he pushed your shirt up enough, he heard your breathing hitch. He wasn't ready for you to wake up just yet, but it didn't keep him moving his hand higher and grasping the elastic of your underwear. He debated tearing the offending fabric off, but he couldn't fault you for wearing them.

You didn't know he'd come home tonight.

He also thought about touching you through your panties to feel you squirm under his touch. Your whines and whimpers always made his cock twitch, especially when you soaked the fabric. Sometimes he liked to shove them in your mouth so you could taste yourself and know he was the one who did that to you.

Only him.

He brushed his lips along your skin as he pulled it down, almost wishing he was in front of you so he could look down and see your exposed pussy. “Mine,” he whispered again as his fingers parted your folds and skimmed over your clit.

You moved back against him with a sigh, enticing him without even trying. Alternating between teasing the bundle of nerves and your slit, he felt his own breathing get heavier and harsh with each passing second. By the time he brought his fingers to his mouth to lick your juices away, his cock was hard and heavy with the need to sink into your dripping cunt. He grunted as your flavor exploded on his tongue. He was done with foreplay.

And with how you panted and writhed, you were ready for him.

He hooked your leg over his thick thigh to open you up, hoping it wouldn't hurt when you stretched around him. “I love you,” he said once more as he brushed the tip of his cock against your hole, sighing as he slowly filled you up.

He had to close his eyes and hide his face in your neck to keep from losing it. He could go for hours when he wanted to, but the feel of your warm wetness gripping him like a vice was almost too much. Finishing quickly or not didn't matter. You’d take it as a compliment if your sweet cunt made him empty himself inside you so fast.

But he had to make it last and make you come first.

With a deep breath, he got himself under control. You let out the sweetest whine when he almost pulled out completely and shoved himself back in. Curled around you, all you could do was take his deep thrusts. He could've breathed through his nose and tried to stay quiet. He could’ve gone slow and steady. But he moaned and nipped at your skin, not wanting to hide his desire for you.

He couldn't see your face, but he felt you roll your hips back as you began to stir and heard another whine escape. You weren't completely awake, but your body craved what he was doing to you. It was enough for him to roll you on your stomach and quicken his pace.

“Bucky?” You mumbled.

“Sorry, sweetheart. I couldn't resist. Your pussy’s too good,” he groaned, putting a hand to the back of your neck to hold you still. “I need you. Need to feel you come on my cock.”

You fluttered around him as he stretched over your back, forcing you to take every inch of him. Your body went pliant as you let out a tired and needy moan. If you wanted him to stop, you would’ve told him to do so. “Please,” you whined as he practically rutted into you.

“I got you,” he grunted, driving harder into you as your fingers twisted in the sheets. “Missed you. Missed you so fucking much. Might need to keep my cock in you all night.”

You trembled, both of you knowing you’d lay there and let him fuck you all night if he asked. You were so good for him. And greedy. It would be wrong of him not to give you what you longed for.

“And you'll let me fill you up, won't you? Of course, you will,” he panted against your ear. You tried to arch your back, but his massive frame overpowered you. “It’s okay. Just take it. Let me have you.”

Fucking you raw was a gift he’d selfishly continue to ask for and take. But how could he not? You always let out the prettiest sounds when he flooded your holes.

He couldn't stop himself from shoving his hand between the mattress and your body, seeking out your clit to tip you over the edge. Moans poured from you as he lightly pinched it, giving you the push you needed. “That’s it. Come on my cock. My cock. My good girl,” he encouraged as you clamped around him hard enough for him to lose his breath.

You nearly cried as he took you apart. “Bu… Bucky…”

“Trembling around my cock. Greedy girl,” he moaned, his hips snapping faster as he brought his mouth back to your ear. “My turn.”

He let out a deep groan as he stilled, filling you. His release hit him so hard his head spun, muttering his love for and possession of you as his eyes fluttered. You let out a broken moan as you clenched around him again and he had to keep from collapsing against you, both of you fighting for air.

“Love you,” he mumbled, wanting you to hear it now that you were awake.

He only pulled out so he could move you to your back and desperately kiss your lips the way he needed to, pushing himself back inside your leaking hole with a hum. Your eyes were half-lidded when he broke the kiss. Your gaze made him want to ruin you all over again.

“Love you, too,” you croaked, your back bowing when he groped your breast through the shirt. “Welcome home.”

Bucky’s heart pounded as he leaned down to kiss you again. It was a dance of tongue and teeth, dizzying and passionate. Some days you were the fire and others you were the fuel. You accepted the entirety of him and he welcomed everything you selflessly gave him in return.

“Good to be home, baby,” he smirked, brushing his thumb along your covered nipple. “Now stay awake. I need to fill you up at least two more times before the sun comes up.”

Even after that, he wasn't close to being done with you. But he was whole because he was home with you. And that would always be enough.

We deserve this, okay? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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yandere-wishes · 7 months ago

Note

What would Capitano do if reader gets a very bad cold after they try to escape him?

⋆⁺₊❅. This reminds me of the scene where Belle tries to escape from the Beast in the snowstorm.

⋆꙳•❅• •❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳•❅• •❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳•❅• •❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳•❅• •❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳•❅• •❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳•❅•

✧ He drags you back indignantly, armor-clad fingers digging fervently into your forearm. He longs to sink his metal hands into your silky hair, to weave and pull and make you feel a fraction of his pain.

✧ He's slow to notice your sniffling and paling face. Too busy swallowing down his rage, snuffing out fires in favor of earning your love once more. It's only when you faint, falling tenderly into his arms like the first snowflake of winter. That he notices your condition. The deadly shade of rose blushing your swollen cheeks, the sheen of sweat glistening along your sweet face. He pulls you to his chest cradling your body all so gently fearing the worst. Pricking his tongue with patronymic orison to the Tsaritsa.

✧ He's quick to rush you to his chambers, laying you tentatively upon his velvety bed and tracing his icy gauntlet upon your temples in hopes of decelerating the pyrexia. The syllables of each word cut his throat as he barks out orders to the maids. Call upon Dottore, call upon aide...

✧ He blames himself, letting the guilt gnaw at his heart as he stares outside at the blizzard. He should have been more careful, should have kept you closer. His mission had ended early and upon his return he'd found you running through the snow. His castle a distant silhouette upon the dark horizon. He'd been so angry in the moment. So heartbroken that you would do such a treacherous thing in his absence that he'd pointed his sword at your neck and forced you to mount onto his horse. Looking back he should have noticed the dazed look in your eyes, noticed the way your body slumped against his during the ride home.

✧ Capitano loves you, utterly, wholly. But his heart shatters every time you do not reincorporate his desperate feelings.

✧ Why must love sting, greater than any cut from any weapon?

✧ When Dottore arrives and tends to you. Capitano stands in the background like a shroud. Eyes never once leave your fragile frame. He longs to reach out and touch you. To lay beside you and have you rest your weary head upon his chest. He wants you to hear his heartbeat, have it haunt your dreams in hopes you'll follow the rhyme back to him.

✧ Dottore instructs Capitano to feed you plenty of liquids and soups upon your awakening. You keep ice clothes at hand and make sure you don't strain yourself. Once the doctor leaves Capitano removes his helmet, slowly crawling next to you. Peppering your face with tender kisses.

✧ "Forgive me, my love"

✧ You revive during the ungodly hours, eyes parting to see the moon rays adorning your capturer's scared face. Perhaps it's the delirium. But you have to admit that he looks so gorgeous with this particular shade of desperation painted across his face. Your lips gently brush his lips as you cuddle closer to the man who stole your life away.

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dxfiedfxte · 2 years ago

Text

Smut Starters & Symbols || Accepting for 16 more hours

@bluescarfvivi sent: [wall] :3

Minato had just awoken from a nap about ten minutes ago, evident from the fool giving an outstretched yawn. Upon his awakening, Minato saw that Vivi's spot next to him in bed was still empty, which was a shame, but that probably meant she was still out investigating the location her team had gone to about seven hours ago. Since she apparently wasn't back home yet, he assumed she would probably arrive back home sometime tomorrow and was probably spending the night in a hotel nearby since this location in question was all the way across the city.

Opening the fridge, the white light, was the only thing illuminating the darkness of the kitchen. After chugging an entire bottle of water, Minato crushes the bottle in his hand and tosses it into the recycling bin. Immediately after the door of the fridge is closed, and darkness once again returns, he's suddenly met with the shadow of what looked like a woman in the darkness.

It took him a double takes before he woke up completely. No longer half asleep, he's able to slowly start to make out the shape as his eyes begin to adjust to the darkness. Before Minato could fully realize who it was, in a matter of seconds, he felt himself get pushed, and the next thing he knew, his back was against the wall, and he was stuck there. Once the figure leaned in closer, Minato finally realized who it was -- looks like Vivi was home after all.

While he was definitely caught off guard, by her moving in close, a smirk finally curved along his lips, not the kind of hello he was expecting, but he was not at all complaining. Reaching out, he puts his arms around her.

[{ 🦋 }] - "Well well. Someone has a lot of energy at four in the morning. Welcome home Viv-Viv." He leans in for a kiss, locking lips with her for a few moments before it broke.

Keeping his arms around her, he trails one hand down between her legs, stopping just at the bottom of her skirt, and grasping a piece of the fabric with his fingers, he chuckles.

[{ 🦋 }] - "If you're not tired, and I'm not tired... then let's make use of this energy in there~" He suggests, pointing over towards the bedroom with his index finger.

#bluescarfvivi #I ᴡᴀs ʟᴏsᴛ - ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ I ғᴏᴜɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ - ᴀ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ's ᴅᴇʟɪᴄᴀᴛᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʀᴜʟʏ ʙʟᴜᴇ (Mɪɴᴀᴛᴏ x Vɪᴠɪ/Tʀᴜᴇ Bʟᴜᴇ)#//suggestive #//After all this time - I assumed they'd have moved in together by now if that's cool?#//Only these two would do this kind of thing at 4 am xD #//You awakened the beast Vivi -- and now you gotta deal with him in the bedroom >;p

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smuttysabina · 7 months ago

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Tropical Infatuation

(Male Reader x Lalisa & Jennie Kim, 4.4k Words) Tags: Incest; Back by popular demand; The plot thickens, and so has Lisa; Pregnancy; Copious creampies; Creampies NOT in your older sister; Vaginal sex; Anal sex; Blowjobs; Some pissing; You fuck your older sister Lisa some more; More sex than this fic has room for!

Part 1 Here!

Lalisa murmurs softly as she languidly rolls over, instinctively snuggling closer to her partner for warmth, pressing her lithe body against his back. She purrs as she gradually remembers who he is, and has to restrain herself from reaching down and touching his no-doubt throbbing erection, who would have thought that her baby brother's cock would fit her so perfectly? It had been four months since she had first allowed her darling sibling to fuck her for a week straight, and the perversity of it all still excited her to no end. Lisa's lower lips moisten as she remembers it, her holes had been relentlessly pumped full of her brother's semen, she had let him have his way with her in any way he could imagine; and she had loved every moment of it. Things had hardly slowed down after the end of the trip, her younger sibling had refused her love for so long, and now that he was open to it she had drowned him in affection. Lisa had submitted to her brother in ways she had never for any other man, her mouth, pussy, and anus were open for his free use whenever he liked; and she had happily dressed up and cosplayed for him when he asked. It had been nearly enough to satiate her boundless lusts, nearly. Lisa still enjoyed fucking her pets and fans, but she would always return to her baby brother, and relish in his roughness as he would jealously plow their cum out of her; honestly it was so endearing! But he really shouldn't worry about her affections drifting, considering the depravity causing her belly to swell and bulge, her womb belonged to him now after all. And with that perverted thought in mind, Lisa squirms deeper under the sheets, it was time to make her breakfast...

You stir as you feel a familiar wet sensation engulf your manhood, awakening you from your slumber, causing your hips to rock experimentally as you explore it. The deeper you push, the better it feels, and soon your entire length is inside of the warm stimulation, so you start to thrust. You groan as pleasure suddenly shoots down your shaft, as your still half-asleep body puts in the work for you until you are full cognizant, whereupon you gather enough wits to lift the covers and reveal the source of your rousing. Lisa smiles up at you from the twilight beneath the covers, pressing your hips so that they are flat against the bed as she greets you, "Hello baby brother," before returning to her work. You shudder as your older sister switches from her idle passivity and locks her lips around your shaft, taking your cock to the hilt without gagging as her tongue roils against the underside of your member. Laying back against your pillow, you sigh as Lisa determinedly sucks you off, your hand atop her head as she glides up and down your meat until your balls begin to pulse urgently. Your big sister makes encouraging sounds as your dick starts to throb, her tiny hands cupping your sack as it rises, as she stares eagerly up at you. Moaning, you creampie Lisa's throat, your seed spewing down her gullet as she patiently swallows every last drop, forgoing breathing so as to not waste any of it until you are finished feeding her. Wearing a naughty grin, your older sister pulls off of you, and opens her mouth to prove that she had drunk it all, "Good morning dear, ready to serve my cunt some breakfast as well?"

Lisa throws off the covers and rolls over onto her back as you scramble atop her, your manhood bulging as you drink in the sight of your sister's naked body. Your sibling had grown noticeably more curvy since that first morning you had rutted like a beast with her, her breasts had swollen up, her nipples had ripened, her thighs and butt had put on some meat, and her formerly taut stomach now sported a rather prominent bump; and this was what aroused you the most. Lisa smirks slyly up at you, "Are you going to keep admiring your work, or are you going to fuck me already?" Still slathered with her spit, you angle your cock downwards and press into the damp warmth of your older sister, slowly filling her pussy until your balls kiss her asshole. Lisa moans softly as you stretch her gluttonous hole out, her legs locking around your waist with loving familiarity, pulling your head down against her smooth neck. You start with slow, deep thrusts, but before too long you are lustfully trying to fuck your sister through the bed, as her cunt makes an absolute mess in the sheets. Loud, meaty slaps reverberate around the room as you plow your big sister, even as she shrilly urges you on while you nuzzle and gnaw upon her skin. Both of you groan when you finally creampie Lisa, your sibling quivering beneath you as your seed sloshes inside of her fertile pussy, coating her cervix in your sperm. You spend some time cuddling as your manhood gradually slips out of her, whereupon she idly explores the sticky load with her fingers before giving you an arch look, "You do know you can't knock me up if I'm already pregnant, right? You keep pumping me full of cum like you think you can..." Lisa glances down between your legs, "Oh. Fine, one more time, but there's only a few hours before the event, and getting ready takes forever..." your older sister sighs affectionately, "I'm going to have to rush again, aren't I?"

Lisa sweeps into the lavish gala, fashionably late as was her wont, dressed in a scandalous white skirt and top, reeking of sex and semen; which was only to be expected of an idol. Strutting socialites mingled with preening millionaires, their bodies dowered with gilt and finery, the ladies' flesh scandalously exposed, the men's pants bulging indiscreetly. She had arrived alone, leaving her darling brother behind so she could, mingle, with the wealthy guests, it would be rude of her to ignore their slavish attentions, and she enjoyed it as much as they did. After all, it was unhealthy to eat only desert, and as sweet as her baby brother was, Lisa still required a healthy diet to slake her sexual hunger. Better yet, she was able to get more business done on her knees than she would seated around the dining table; it was honestly unsurprising how many old, smelly cocks she had to suck to secure funding for her nascent company. Several million dollars later, the dinner bell is rung, and Lisa leisurely makes her way to her seat, smoothly seating herself next to her sibling as if she hadn't just been slobbering all over other men's cocks for the past hour; though to be fair, she had eaten out more than a few hairy blown-out cunts as well. Sitting next to her younger brother clearly implied that she intended to enjoy the meal on the table, rather than be bent over it, and the still unsatisfied crowd establish themselves along the long piece of furniture. Several spots remain unclaimed, but that was simply to be expected, some people simply could not wait to fuck until after dinner had ended, and so had started early. So Lisa suffers through several hours of banal conversation, while the businessmen's glittering escorts glare at her jealously. She had no doubt that all of the "ladies" would end the night with their panties around their ankles, anything to get these pampered scions to shut up for a moment.

The boredom was starting to get to Lisa, as well as several of the female companions, who had apparently decided that sucking cock beneath the table was a better fate than unceasingly tedious conversation. Lisa herself had found herself idly groping her brother's crotch as time had passed, discreetly nurturing the mound in his pants until a wet spot appeared; maybe it was time for a quick break... Politely excusing herself from the table, the idol sweetly asks her dearest brother to escort her to the bathroom, after all, it was so easy to get lost in the maze of corridors surrounding the event hall! As Lisa leaves, clutching her sibling's arm, she notices many of the older men staring at her slightly protruding stomach, their eyes glued to her womb. She sighs softly, men were just so obsessed with breeding, the moment they discovered that her pussy was fertile they had kept dumping their loads in there; her ass barely even got any use these days! Lisa used to be spit-roasted and triple penetrated by her depraved lovers, but now it was mostly endless mating presses; the men waiting patiently in line to breed her cunt; whereas before they had fought tooth and nail to cram themselves into any available hole. It was so boring! Whatever, Lisa thinks as she pulls her brother into the private bathroom with her before locking the door, this time she was going to be insistent...

You are humping your older sister before you can even think to remove your pants, rubbing your throbbing erection against her perky ass needily. Lisa laughs as she pushes back against your crotch just as hard, grinding her butt skillfully into your meat until you are about to fill your pants. Smirking, your sibling relents long enough to hoist her skirt up onto her, as she bends over and provocatively spreads her cheeks for you, "Well, what are you waiting for?" You nearly rip your pants off in your desperation to get your cock out, but soon you are shoving your cockhead against her drooling slit. Lisa's fingers find your shaft, but instead of guiding you inside of her, they push upwards so that you are penetrating her tight asshole, "Impregnate my guts for once, you idiot," your sister grunts as you shove your entire length into her mostly unlubricated ass, clutching at the sink for support. Lisa's entire body quivers as you violently ravage her innards, painfully pounding away at her until your balls are slick with her pussy fluids. Your big sister lets out hiss when you finally dump your pent up load into her guts, painting her tight coils with sloppy ropes of cum as you groan loudly. Lisa looks back at you in alarm and rolls her eyes, "Holy fuck keep it down! Save the noise for when we get back to our room!" Grumbling, your sibling wriggles out of your grasp and plops down onto the toilet, where she starts to noisily piss.

Lisa gives you an amused look as you stand there watching her pee, and motions you over, "You had better go as well, so people won't be suspicious," Looking bored, she opens her legs, revealing the gap between her and the edge of the seat, "Try not to piss on me, I like this outfit," Your pants still around your ankles, you waddle over and do your best to comply, sighing as you void your bladder, you had not realized it was so full after getting edged for a couple hours. Lisa watches the yellow stream passing between her thighs like a hawk, before suddenly surging forward and gobbling up your flaccid cock. You moan as the last portion of your urine shoots down your older sister's throat, while she enthusiastically sucks you off even as she swallows your heavy piss. By the time you had finished peeing, you were already rock hard again, and more than happy to let Lisa suck you off while she rubbed herself beneath her skirt. She noisily climaxes into the toilet, spraying the bowl with her squirt as she relishes in the sordid taste of her ass mixed with piss on your manhood. Lisa pulls off your cock before glancing to the side, eyes narrowed in thought, before conversationally saying, "I think I shit your load out," your sister looks back up at you, "Want to put another in me?" Giggling, your sibling bends over the stinking toilet, twisting her skirt into a bunch to make sure it did not get dirtied, and places her hand on your chest, "Don't you dare piss in my ass though," she tells you sternly, "We can try that out later in our room, got it? Good, now fuck my ass," And you happily comply.

Beaming innocently, Lisa rejoins the table as if she had not just had her guts hosed down with her own brother's semen, her outfit once more immaculately in place. Once back in her chair however, the idol immediately notices the change in the room, like any apex predator, she could instinctively notice the presence of another, it took only a quick glance to find her rival. Jennie Kim, seating ever so innocently next to some ripe looking fuck-meat that likely was going to rendered unconscious within half an hour once things got down to business; how delightful. The girls don't bother greeting another, for one thing Jennie was halfway down the table, but their sly glances were more than enough to convey their thoughts; nonverbal communication was common amongst idol groups. So Lisa sighs internally, Jennie says was here to see how her dear friend's pregnancy was coming along, but she could read between the lines well enough; it was about her brother. Incest was hardly uncommon in the industry, though pregnancy surely was, those few idols that ended up with a swollen belly usually took it to term simply for the massive publicity and financial boost it gave them; fans adored paying to support what might perhaps be their child. But incest still caused the more puritanical to turn their noses, which Lisa knew for a fact Jennie was not, they had made disgustingly sloppy love enough for that to be obvious, but Jisoo perhaps...? Oh well, she would just have to protect her brother like any good sister would, only with more sex, and probably fisting.

You squirm uncomfortably in the armchair as a literal goddess tenderly strokes your shoulder, her cherubic face graced with the sweetest smile, "Hello," says Jennie, "You must be Lisa's little brother, so nice to see you again..." She leans down and gives you a tender kiss on your cheek, her manners the epitome of an angelic lady, if only if it were not for the fact that she was completely naked and smeared with semen. You had watched Jennie rapaciously fuck her way through a crowd of the great and good, and it seemed like only your relation to her her beloved friend stopped you from suffering the same fate. Speaking of your sister, you spot Lisa energetically engaged in a ménage au quatre, her every hole filled by impressively meaty cocks; help would not be coming from her any time soon. All around you, guests were busy enjoying themselves, portly businessmen rutted with their much younger companions, while stately ladies frolicked with strapping young men; but the pair of idols remained the center of attention. At least, Jennie had been until she had finished off all of her most ardent lovers with savage speed, so now those who were unoccupied hurried into Lisa's sphere of influence. Which left the idol with more than enough time to lavish you with her full attention, setting your heart fluttering from the burning heat of her desire. She reassures you with a kindly purse of her luscious lips, "Don't worry about your sister, she'll be busy with the gifts I got her for a little while longer, so until then, shall we?"

Not for the first time this night, your pants were undergoing severe strain as your manhood attempts to force its way through them, much to Jennie's evident amusement. She pets the comical bulge around your crotch, teasing it for a few aching moments before unzipping you and allowing your member to arch up towards the ceiling. Jennie raises an eyebrow, "Such stamina, I can see Lisa trained you well," You sputter out a weak response, which only causes Jennie to laugh at your embarrassment; she taps your nose to quiet you, before smoothly sliding down onto the floor and confronting your cock. Without preamble, Jennie starts sucking on your manhood, expertly moving up and down your shaft until you are shuddering and groaning with pleasure; she was even better at it than your older sister! Then she pauses, her eyes narrowing in thought, before pulling off of you and giving you a quizzical look, "You have been fucking Lisa haven't you? I can taste her cunt on your cock, also I'm fairly certain you forgot to wash yourself off after fucking her asshole." You nearly puke in mortification, not only did your sister's groupmate know you had been with Lisa, but here she was openly mocking you for it! Jennie chuckles at your reaction, "Adorable, this will be fun," with that she lithely remounts the armchair and straddles you, her prim pussy lips nearly kissing your tip, "Don't worry," she reassures you once more, "I'll be gentle," and with that Jennie Kim sits on your cock.

Your older sister's pussy was sloppy, her folds greedily slobbering all over your cock, engulfing it in stimulation and affection until it is given its creamy reward; Jennie's pussy, was tight. It gripped your cock firmly, crushing your meat against her sensitive spots, relentlessly squeezing it without showing any signs of tiring. If she had been moving at her regular pace, you had no doubt that you would be busy plastering her insides with your semen, but luckily for you she kept her promise, and moves with languid slowness. You shudder as Jennie slowly grinds her way up and down your shaft, her pussy dragging itself across every inch of flesh, nuzzling against every curve and crevasse until your mind melts from this infernal edging. Your balls ache horribly, as overeager dribbles of precum slowly inundate the idol's hole, though most of it ends up back on your sack as her voracious cunt squeezes out any excess fluids. All the while Jennie stares down at you with something close to endearment, amused by your erotic suffering and indulgently prolonging it as you moan beneath her. Eventually, even Jennie seems to tire of her lazy pace, her face showing the the hints of an aroused flush as she leans in close and growls in your ear, "Impressive, just how much have you been fucking your sister?" your only response is a groan of pained delight, which makes her chuckle, "Let's see just how well Lisa has trained you..." And with that she pauses mid-stroke, and suddenly slams herself down onto your crotch.

You spasm as Jennie mechanically pistons herself up and down your manhood, flinging herself upward until the flare of your cockhead presses against her entrance, before pounding herself down into your pelvis. Her riding was relentless, and soon your already overstimulated balls are fast rising to the occasion, your member pulsating with sordid warmth as your climax approaches. Groaning, you clutch at Jennie's petite asscheeks as your load erupts inside of her, not that she was bothering to slow down in consideration of your orgasm. She continues to tirelessly bounce atop your cock even as you tremble and shake from the waves of pleasure coursing through you, while your load is ejected from her tight cunt as fast as you can fill it. Jennie only slows down when you start to gurgle and paw at her desperately, she cocks her head in bemusement, "Not even five minutes," she sighs, "better than average, but still disappointing," something feral flashes across her expression, and her eyes narrow as if she had come to some unknown conclusion, "I wonder if Lisa would forgive me..." she muses, before an angry voice interjects, "What the fuck are doing to my brother?"

Lisa was beyond furious. She wasn't mad about her little brother fucking other women, far from it, she was more than happy to share. Lisa had even been there to help him knock up that puritanical slut of a girlfriend he has, the bitch had been so worked up she had squirted before he had even put it in! A very messy few hours later, and her soon-to-be sister was beyond fertilized, which pleased her since she needed someone to help raise all the kids they would be pumping out. No, what Lisa was pissed about was that her dear friend Jennie was about to ruin her darling brother's cock because she wasn't able to control herself; if anything she was impressed her brother was not already rendered incontinent by that nymphomaniac. But still... she would be lying to herself if she denied the undercurrents of jealousy running through, pregnancy had some surprising emotional side-effects. Oh well, she could think about this later, time to save her baby brother...

The dreadfully sexual goddess staring hungrily down at you suddenly disappears, your manhood exiting her with a wet pop, and it takes you several moments to process Jennie's abrupt departure. There is quite a bit of yelling coming from the floor in front of you, but you lack the strength to satiate your curiosity. The shouting grows somewhat subdued, but instead a truly appalling squelching noise takes its place; and you feel hot liquid spraying across your legs. Eventually, the sloppy din quiets down, and a frazzled Jennie and Lisa fill your view, arguing passionately, both of their arms slick with fluid up to the elbow. The bickering pair finally agree upon something, and soon you find yourself being hoisted between them and hauled out of the ballroom, even as clusters of guests continue to make frantic love to one another. A blurry journey through bland hotel corridors later, and you are deposited in your bed, the stained sheets from this morning replaced by fresh ones; you really should leave a hefty tip for the maids. You are lovingly tucked into bed, before the two idols settle down on the couch and continue their ceaseless chattering, their soft murmuring often growing loud enough to require shushing.

"...and just look at him! He's exhausted now!" "I didn't use him too much..." "Oh please, he's practically a corpse!" "When did you start to get so defensive about men, is it...?" "...what, jealous?" "No, well.... Jisoo is pissed about it though." "That father-fucker Somi pops out so many babies she can barely even manage a comeback a year, and she worries about me!" "Hssst!" "Oh right... but still, if Somi can get knocked up by her dad, why can't I...?" "...I'm not the one complaining..." "Whatever..." "...Shall we?" "Of course! But keep it down, I want him to get some sleep!" "...I was right, you have gotten wetter down there..." "...Mmmmph! Less talking and more eating!" "Mmphmmmphmmmmm?" "Fuck, you are so much better at this than Rose..."

The dawn finds you in a familiar predicament, your surprisingly sore morning wood impaling the sheets, while a bundle of warmth has suctioned itself to your rear. Groaning, you roll over onto your back, and are surprised to find a second someone snuggling closer against your side. You open your eyes to find Jennie and Lisa staring blearily up at you, with tired smiles crossing their faces, their perky tits squishing against your chest. In perfect harmony their hands slither down to your crotch, as your older sister kisses you good morning, and Jennie soon follows suit. They smooch their way down your chest, toying with your nipples, until they are both nuzzling against your thighs, your manhood twitching between their faces. Lisa beams, "Good morning baby brother, Jennie here has a little gift for you to make up for last night, don't you?" Jennie rolls her eyes, giving you an amused look before turning around and spreading her petite cheeks to reveal her dark brown asshole above her glistening slit. Before you know it you are standing on your knees behind her, hands grasping her tiny waist tightly as your manhood drools in anticipation of entering Jennie's cramped pussy again. But Lisa presses herself against you before you can penetrate her, and purrs into your ear, "Oh no dear, you can use any hole, understand...?" You groan as you trace your tip up her slit before pressing against Jennie's wrinkled rear-entrance, as your giggling sister helps you force your way inside.

Jennie grunts as you shove your cock into her ass, her coils squeezing agonizingly tight around your shaft, her toes curling upwards as you violate her insides. Her work accomplished, Lisa plops herself next to Jennie and assumes the position as well, showing just how much curvier her rear was compared to her fellow idol, "You had better save some for me too little brother," Lisa smirks widely back at you, "I still think you need to fuck my butt more often..." Your sister waits patiently as you plow her friend right next to her, before you eventually give in and mount your sibling's far more welcoming hole; while Jennie grumbles in discontent. You fuck your sister's asshole, before returning to Jennie, now that you were on top, you were enjoying stretching the lithe idol out. With a groan you creampie her guts, even as she quivers with pleasure from the painful anal sex; Lisa pouts with exaggerated disappointment as you gift your first load of the morning to her friend. She doesn't complain for long though, as Jennie crawls atop her and parks her butt right above hers, their holes now lined up for your sole enjoyment. Jennie allows a trickle of semen to slip out of her ass and down her pussy, before it drips down onto Lisa's asshole and drooling slit. Both idols look back at you hungrily, each of them spreading their cheeks to entice your attentions,

"Well little brother," your older sister Lalisa smiles from beneath Jennie Kim, "pick a hole already, we have all morning..."

As it turned out, you had all afternoon as well...

#smut #kpop smut #blackpink smut #lisa smut #lisa fanfic #lalisa smut #jennie smut #Jennie kim smut #Jennie fanfic

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