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quaintii · 11 months

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To be with you is all I want.

Warnings: breeding kink, slight choking, p with plot, fem!reader. Very passionate smut below! A slight spoiler of Atsv. torture, bodily harm, and blood!!! trigger warning !!!

enjoy 💖💖!!

You and Miguel have always been each other's partner in capturing anomaly's. Yet Miguel always suggested that you stay back, away from harm. But you continuously refused his request, you couldn't be inside your apartments, walking around in circles, wondering if he's fine or not. Worry runs through your bloodstream, every second, same goes for Miguel but worse. He worries every second that you'll die because of him.

In the middle of the night, you kept rustling back and forth in your bed, trying to grasp onto something. Someone. You immediately wake up and realize Miguel has gone off to a mission without even warning you about it. You are furious and quickly put on your suit and ask Lyla to find out where he is. You swing your way into a weird, black-noir universe. It looked bleak and darkly cynical. You figured that Miguel was using Spider-Man noir's backup. The atmosphere was so thick, you almost choked as you weren't adjusted to some multiverses. You caught a whiff of smoke and fire.

Your Spidey senses then took the lead and you finally found where Miguel was. You were incredibly furious with him but you couldn't think of that right now. Miguel was fighting Morlum. You've constantly heard slight whispers about him, especially from Miguel. What you can take from what you already know, Morlum has tried hijacking the multiverses and he is seeking to find the spider totems and take control of HQ. You swing your way in but your Spidey senses react too slow to a crashing wall heading your way.

Luckily, you crotch down to avoid it as best as you could. It leaves quite a big injury on you though. Your forearm now has a big open slit trailing down in blood, due to the concrete building. It was a deep cut. When Miguel felt someone else at the scene, he happened to lay eyes on you, he was worried you would severely bleed out. The blood wouldn't stop. His eyebrows furiously furrowed together and he clenched his jaw and tried his best to focus on Morlum. Spider-noir was throwing many walls towards Morlum, trying to crush him to pieces. Mush.

Miguel used his red lasso and webs to tie down Morlum's legs together, causing him to fall down. But Morlum uses his super strength to make the floor below him fall. Ensuring his legs to finally let go. The floor completely crumbles and produces a ton of dust. You wipe your dust off your suit and can seem to see anything. Your hearing is very sensitive so they start ringing as metal scratches at each other due to the collapse. You sense someone near you and before you have time to turn around and web them, they hold your back against their chest.

"Wow, you sure seem like a good piece of bait for me to use!" Morlum says enthusiastically. "You look pretty cute too..too bad I have to kill you." "NO! No, get your fucking hands off her, you fucking shitbag. She's not a part of this, let her go." Miguel yells.

Morlum holds a knife at your throat so suddenly, you shiver with terror, running through your blood. Your flight or fight turns on, and you don't look like you have an option. This man has such a strong hold onto your body, you can't even let alone, move a muscle. "You seem to be quite concerned about this woman, well that puts you to more use!" Morlum chuckles. Miguel's eyes filled with absolute trepidation. His breathing becomes rougher, he begins to hyperventilate. He can't imagine ever losing you, he can't lose another dear loved one again. He can't imagine the pain of two, let alone one. Morlum pushes the knife closer into your skin, carving a light line. Miguel's jaw clenched harder than a rock. He didn't know what to do and he didn't know where spider-noir went.

You were trembling with fear, tears swelled your eyes. You felt like this was all your fault, because you're always so stubborn and never bother to ever listen to Miguel. Your lips quiver as you bite down on your lips, hard enough to draw out blood. You felt like all of this was a dream, you hoped for it to be one. Miguel moved a few inches, trying to grab you out of his grasp. Morlum then threatened to stab you in the liver if Miguel moved any closer. Miguel's body felt like he was being stabbed with thousands of knives. Morlum would make small cuts around your body, some deep, some shallow. Miguel yells "Mierda!" with a hurtful tone, he secretly advises Lyla to send backup immediately. He was too scared to breathe, fearing he could easily lose you in a second. You both stared at each other, a wholeheartedly look within fear hiding behind it. Miguel was trying to reassure you that everything was going to be ok. "Esta bien, mi vida. Te voy a sacar de esto, te lo juro, amor. Amas quedate quieta." Miguel's expression was drowning in helplessness.

"She seems like quite a trophy, Miguel! I can see you do have quite a taste." Morlum licks your cheek and nibbles a bit at your neck. Your huge discomfort grows more and you can't stop crying. Miguel was revolted by this, clenching his knuckles till his blood went cold, white. He felt like his jaw was about to lock and break. "Don't touch her! You keep your repugnant self away from her." Miguel yelled with an immense amount of hatred. Both of your guys' Spidey senses tingle as you feel other Spidermen approaching the situation. They all work collectively to pick up a razor sharp platform, sending it straight towards Morlum's head. Before Morlum could sense what was coming towards him, you immediately tuck your head and his grip on you releases. His head was sliced off clean. Blood guzzling out of his body. Before you could fall weakly on your knees, Miguel runs towards you, carrying you in his arms bridal style. He hugs you so tightly and you both tear up together.

"I thought I almost lost you, amor. I can't ever imagine losing you, ever. You're my everything." Miguel says as he places you grabs ahold of your cheeks, wiping away the blood and tears off of your cheeks. Giving you long, passionate kisses to you. Pecks on your forehead too. The amount of reassurance made you feel more at ease and comfortable.

Miguel continues to carry you in bridal style on the way home. He opens the window to your guys' bedroom and heads to the bathroom. He keeps showering you with a lot of love and reassurance. "Mi amor, te amo, por favor nunca vuelvas a hacer eso. Mi corazón ya mero se murió. Te amo demasiado, princesa. I couldn't bear seeing you being hurt, ever. I love you so, so much." He said while holding your body from behind. You were between his thighs, you laid your head back onto his chest, hearing his heart thump loudly. The bathtub was so warm, you could stay like this with him for hours. You loved Miguel. And he loved you too.

Both of your bodies emit more heat and the warmth calmly engulfs you both. You were both now clean, Miguel got out first and dried himself off. Despite seeing him nude multiple times before, you loved seeing him like that. He then wrapped a bath towel around his lower waist. Then grabs your hand and lets the water drain. He wrapped a towel over your body. Letting you stay warm. Then he dried yours and his hair with the hairdryer. You loved how much he put focus and care into you. You would return the same back too by giving him massages, going out on walks, seeing movies, etc.

Miguel then caught your eyes wandering around his body, he slightly smirked. "Take a picture to look at me for longer, mi vida." Miguel said while sneering. "Porque? Cuando te tengo enfrente de mi, cariño. I can't ever take my eyes off of you, you're so handsome." You say while heading towards him, grabbing the back of his neck and rustling his hair. He then pushed his lips against yours. Unfolding a deep, passionate, needy kiss. Your tongue wrapped with his. The smell of skin filled your nose, your fluttering heart thumped more and more. The soft taste of his plump lips on yours, his warm embrace against your chest as both towels fall on the floor. His gentle hands reaching your body, aching to be touched. His hands roams to your neck and hair, proceeding down to your hips. You then jump onto his chest and he grabs a hold of your hips. You both try not bumping into the door and open it while still kissing.

Your mind was starting to turn dizzy and foggy. He gently placed your chest on top of the bed. Giving you pecks and small bites along your spine, making you shiver. He softly turned you around. Both of your guys' lips magnetized. Not letting go, not even for a gasp of air. Miguel positions his back against the bed frame, pulling you on his hip, holding you in a lotus position. Your chest touching him enlightens fire down your core. Your nipples perked from the amount of arousal growing down your core. "You're the most beautiful, sosphicasted, intelligent, erotic, loving woman I've ever known and loved my whole life." Miguel said with a soft tone. Whispering it in your ear. Nibbling it softly, pulling out small moans out of your mouth. "Susurro estas palabras solo para que el mundo las escuche. Tu eres mi mundo entero, mi amor." Miguel said while groaning against your neck. Your head slightly goes back, you bite your lower lips. "Miguel, please more.. I want you to touch me more." You say with a hint of desperation and begging. "No muñeca.. we have the whole night to ourselves right now. Let me cherish and worship your body.

Miguel slides his fingers across your cunt, pulling it to your face. You moan to the touch of his rough fingers on your slick wetness."Look how soaking wet you're for me, cariño. Let me put that pussy to use, si? ¿Quieres eso, amor?" Miguel said softly with admirable eyes boring into yours. You nod slowly, groaning as he picks you by the hips. He then placed the head of his cock against your entrance. Your cunt twitched at the heat emitting from his breath against your neck. He then slammed you onto his cock, reaching your cervix.

You feel your body's nerves crashing down, the pleasure makes you feel so full. You moan erotically against Miguel's chest, cursing under your breath. "F-fuck Miguel, I feel you in my stomach.. you're so big. It's t-too much f'me.." you say between pants. "I love having you like this muñeca. I can't ever lose you, understand?" Miguel said softly. "God your body does unimaginable things to me, cariño." He cups his rough, big hands around your ass, slapping it as he begins bringing your hips and down his cock. Miguel stared at your beautiful face, saying incoherent words and the seductive expressions you would make. Your mouth being agape, gasping for air as Miguel would push every oxygen in you out of your body with a simple thrust of his cock. Your cunt spasms as Miguel grabs your throat softly. "Look at me, amor. I wanna see your pretty face getting fucked." Miguel said with a lustful tone. His eyes never let go of yours. You tried your best to not roll your eyes to the back of your head and kept eye contact with him.

More fire enlightened deep inside your core when Miguel's cock twitched when you reached for his neck, nibbling on it, leaving hickies. Miguel returning the same for you. Both of you are groaning and moaning, loudly. Not having a care of who could hear the both of you. The pleasure was towering over your body and your cunt uncontrollably spasms when Miguel said, "Cum around my cock for me, amorcito. Do it. Make me cum. I want my babies inside of your gorgeous body. M-mierda.." As you ride your orgasm out, Miguel's pace fastens, leaving you with tremendous overstimulation that leaves your throat choking out screams and wails for him to stop. A few more thrusts and he finally pumps his seed inside of you. Small droplets of tears leave your eyes, Miguel wipes them away by kissing them. "You did good f'me, baby. I love you so much." "I love you so much more than you could even imagine, Miguel. Te amo cariño."

Miguel finally pulls out of you, leaving your cunt clenching around nothing. Miguel then grabs a couple of small towels to clean you up. He then gave you your loungewear as he clothed himself with his boxers and shorts. You tie up your hair into a messy bun, then turn to lay beside Miguel. His arm hugging around your body, pulling you close. His chest against your face, both of you easily fall asleep.

:33 hai guys this took me Abt 1 hr n a half to do! This was really fun to do, please send more requests! Love u all ! <3

#spiderman 2099 smut #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x reader #spiderman 2099 spiderverse #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara #spiderman 2099 #romantic #smut #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 Miguel

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k4vehrtz · 5 months

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⸻ FUCK THE LANDLORD ?!

. ✦ . starring — dom!top! t. fushiguro / m! reader

warnings — pwp, protected & unprotected sex, feminization, breeding kink, discussions of pregnancy, anal, minor degradation, creampie, cockwarming, implied dom/sub dynamic . ✦ . wc — 874 . ✦ . notes — anon said toji has a breeding kink and couldn't be any more right !! this man makes me feel things...

The groan that slips past Toji Fushiguro’s bloodied lip is nothing short of pure frustration. Then, as he throws his head back to emphasize this, he narrows his gaze. One of the fingers that was tangled in your dishevelled hair is brought to your lower lip. Prodding at it, at first, before he drags it downward for a reason unknown to you.

Your mind is elsewhere, focused only on the rhythm of his hips against yours as he drags his cock in and out of your winking hole. Your ‘boycunt’, as he calls it. It’s loud, lewd, and has your cock standing at full mast, throbbing as it threatens to splatter another load of cum onto your exposed stomach.

“Please,” You whimper, and you haven’t the faintest idea of what you’re pleading for. Maybe it’s for his permission to cum, paint your stomach with your bodily fluid like a debauched slut as he’d made you do so many times before. Or, perhaps, it’s a plea for him to go harder on you — your way of saying ‘I can take it!’ through short gasps that are cut off by your moaning and mewling in utter bliss.

He clicks his tongue in what you presume to be disapproval but it’s hard to say. His finger, or, rather, his entire hand has been moved away from your mouth, now tracing the outline of your stomach. It’s strange, which you convey by way of knitting your brows together, feeling him caress the fat of your stomach like that as the head of his cock presses against your prostate at that angle that makes you see stars.

“Maybe Megumi needs a younger brother or sister to get him out of that shell of his,” He muses in between grunts that border on animalistic as your cock begins to spurt another load of cum onto your stomach; the stimulation of your prostate proving to be too much for you. “At the rate we’re going yer’ going to give him a younger sibling.”

You shake your head — grimacing as the pile of used condoms comes into view. Your face heating up all over again (not that it had ever stopped, really). Toji, utterly unbothered by your attempt at denial continues, “How would you explain it? ‘I let him fuck me once a month instead of paying his rent in the form of cash and got knocked up somehow’?” He asks, his voice is all rough and manly, but there’s that unmistakable boyish amusement to it that his lazy smirk only highlights.

You want to tell him how ridiculous he sounds right now. Not only is that a shit explanation but it’s entirely impossible. It’s at the tip of your tongue, really, but so is your squeals as he continues his assault on your ass.

“Should I marry you?” He laughs, pressing the rough pads of his fingers (now with both hands) into the fat of your stomach as the rhythm of his hips becomes more erratic. He’s so close; the veins lining his thick cock throbbing against your walls as they clench around him. You could hear the sound of his balls smacking against you echoing throughout the room.

“Tell me, boy, do you want me to cum inside you like this? No condom protecting you from the possibility of a life-long commitment?” He pants, eyes gleaming with something you can’t quite discern, as loose strands of hair begin to cling to his sweaty forehead. And when you’re like this (you swear, your eyes have rolled to the back of your head), body jolting upwards on the mattress with each thrust of his hips like you’re nothing more than his fleshlight, the prospect doesn’t seem all that bad.

It admittedly takes some effort to string a sentence together. Your throat feels raw — a testament to all the noise you’ve made through the past few rounds. But you do, eventually, string one together. “I... I want it,” You respond, your voice wispy as your chest heaves, “I want to give Megumi a younger sibling.”

Toji smiles at that. It isn’t a warm smile; If the wolf smiled in Little Red Riding Hood, this would be it. All teeth and restrained aggression. But Toji doesn’t restrain himself per se, he continues to chase his high albeit with more resolve. His attention solely focused on breeding you — impregnating you, if he could.

Say what you will about Toji Fushiguro — and you can say a lot — he’s a man of his word. He doesn’t stop rutting his hips until his cock is painting your gummy walls white with his cum. Even then, as he rides out his high, he doesn’t detangle himself from you. He’ll see this through until the end.

You, on the other hand, are writhing underneath him. Eyes fluttering, threatening to close, but you dare not close them. Not when he’s still inside you like this, plugging your ass with his cock, trapping his cum inside you.

“You’re disgusting,” You grumble, exasperated, as you bring a hand to his face, tracing the outline of his jaw. He doesn’t kiss you — it doesn’t feel right to do that right now — but he does smile knowingly. “Then make me pay rent some other way.”

#x male reader smut #x bottom male reader #toji x male reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #toji x you #toji x y/n #jjk x male reader #jjk x y/n #toji smut #toji fushiguro #sub male reader

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pseudowho · 7 months

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Kento Comes Home Drunk

(help me find the Nanami artist in the banner, for crediting and thanks/permission!)

The reader manages her drunk, horny fiancé, Nanami Kento, like an absolute champ.

Link to the sequel here: Reader Comes Home Drunk

WARNINGS: 18+, soapy handjobs (F to M), mutual masturbation, cumshots, ethics of consent, Kento being a sloppy drunk

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Hope he's having a good time, you mused to yourself, nursing a late cup of tea. The clock ticked well past midnight; you were the overnight on-call for Curse-related shenanigans, so whilst you had wanted to join Satoru, Shoko, Ino, Ijichi and Kento for drinks, you had, instead, waved Kento off, and settled in for a night with your phone on loud, and late-night game shows.

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"Hate to see you leave," you'd sighed at 6pm, bobbing upwards for a kiss. He had traded his work attire for a buttoned black shirt, and simple dark jeans. Effortlessly handsome. You buried your face in his chest, breathing his cologne, and gave him a playful shove on the chest, like trying to push a truck.

He stepped backwards, with a lopsided smile and his hand reached out to pinch your chin affectionately.

"But love to watch me go?" You winked at him. You were wearing his favourite outfit; your oldest pyjamas. He found something so sexy about you being comfy. You preened at him, cradling your first tea of the night.

"You know it." He chuckled, but became serious immediately after.

"Call me if you're called out overnight. I want to be around if anything...happens." You nodded, hand on heart.

"Good luck beating off other women with sticks. Hope you've practiced your comedy rejections."

Kento hummed sagely, "Bold of you to assume I'm a man? My doctor said I shouldn't until the smallpox has cleared up? Undskyld, jeg taler ikke Japansk?"

You laughed, gave him one final kiss, and waved him out of the door.

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Firmly lost in late-night TV and stifling a yawn, you noted the time; nearly 2am. As you smilingly hoped Kento was having fun, there was a firm tap at the door. You rose to answer it, and you paused to hear shuffles, bumps, hushed voices and fumbled keys. Rolling your eyes, you opened the door to a waft of whisky fumes dressed as your fiancé.

"Fiancé delivery service! Sorry for the late call ma'am, I tried to throw him over the gate but he was too heavy." Satoru heaved Shoko higher onto his back, and she groaned, face first in his shoulder. Ino and Ijichi swayed behind him, quietly huddled over Ino's phone and arguing over what food to order.

You smirked up at Kento, who was possibly more gorgeous while dishevelled, shirt half untucked, sleeves rolled, and stumbling into the hallway to kick his shoes off. He walked the confident walk of a drunk man back towards the door, possessively looping an arm around your waist and planting a sloppy kiss to your neck. Glaring at Satoru, he gripped the doorframe.

"I didn't need you to get me home, Gojo. I'm not drunk." Kento shuffled his whole face into your neck, gripping your pyjamas hard. You thanked Satoru, and sent him off to deliver the other drunkards home. Kento slammed the door hard, and backed you up against the wall while you laughed, slapping at his chest as he mumbled incoherent greetings against the side of your face.

"Behave yourself, buddy, you're hammered. Let's get you to bed." He groaned cheerfully, taking this as an invitation. His eyes met yours, unusually playful, and with a wink started to slowly unbutton his shirt. You rolled up a nearby newspaper and swatted his hands. Mouth watering at the sight of his abs, you sternly told yourself off.

"It is unethical to have sex with drunk people when you're sober. I don't know what you think you're getting tonight, but you should adjust your expectations." Bodily manhandling him, you turned him around while he grumbled at you, urging him towards the bathroom. He sat against the counter, bum accidentally setting off the tap in the sink, while you set the shower running. He stumbled and cursed behind you, trousers now wet and clinging to his muscled thighs. You heard him stripping while you waited for the water to heat up.

He thinks he's being sneaky, you thought to yourself as Kento pressed himself into your back, erection now full and visible against his underwear, and his hands slipped boldly under your pyjamas. While one hand reached up to cup your breast, the other snuck down to graze against the top of your mound. Involuntary shivers of pleasure ran down your spine, his wet mouth on your neck smelling of hot whisky and smoke.

"I have full capacity," Kento purred against your neck, tongue trailing up to your ear now, "and I'm so delighted my girl is still home, and I'd love nothing more than to make her the final taste on my tongue tonight." He stopped, musingly, his gaze at you still drunk and fluttering.

"Unless you don't want to," he pondered, taking his hands from your body. You pouted up at him, crossed arms and faux-angry, and nodded towards the shower.

"You smell like a bar. Behave yourself." Kento chuckled at you, cracking his neck and sighing, absent-mindedly palming his erection through his underwear. His cock sprang up as he finished undressing, pink-tipped and perfect, and you couldn't resist looking him up and down. He stepped into the shower, hot water cascading down his broad shoulders. Leaning one hand against the glass, he eyed you ruefully again.

"I'll manage myself then, shall I?" Still leaning on the glass, his eyes drifted shut as his other hand trailed down his body to grip his wet cock. "Please don't feel obliged to stay." You tried to appear unaffected, and moved to turn, but paused as you heard the slow wet strokes of him pumping himself under the running water. The drink lowered his guard, and he let out a long, slow moan of relief as he pleasured himself, now totally oblivious to your presence.

You felt heat pool between your legs, your arms covered in goosebumps and your nipples pebbling under the cool pyjama fabric. You considered your options.

Still stroking himself, and gradually increasing the pace, Kento was imagining you riding him on the sofa, like you had done only days before, his hands on your eager hips as you told him how deep you could feel him. He groaned to himself, desperate to feel that intense intimacy and pleasure again, enhanced by the alcohol running through his system.

Thoughts interrupted by a tap on the shower glass, he opened his eyes to you, leaning against the bathtub, one hand moving slow circles over your clit and another rolling your nipple between your fingers. Lower lip between your teeth, you blushed as you watched Kento pleasure himself.

Kento moaned unashamedly, swiping his thumb over his tip, cock twitching furiously in his hand.

"I'll return the favour, I promise," he begged you, eyes fully focused on where your hand moved steadily beneath your pyjamas, feeling his pulse quicken as you flushed and moaned, legs weakening against the tub, "I know what you're like when you come home drunk, you're a nightmare, saying no to you is a chore."

Lip still between your teeth you smiled at him, and, now feeling especially naughty, you moved to straddle the lip of the bathtub. Kento's jaw dropped as you began to ride it, sighing his name as if he wasn't there, now slipping your pyjama top down to release your aching breasts.

"Shit...please get in here before I lose my mind," and he stopped stroking himself, hand gripping the base of his cock as pre-cum trickled out, merging with the running water. His head was still spinning with the alcohol, but his senses were sharpened by your performance, so he watched you hungrily, determined that he'd cum inside you if he had any say in the matter.

You continued to hump the side of the bath, shuddering, eyes glinting with mischief.

"How can I trust that you know what you're asking?" You replied breathlessly, "It is unethical. I'd be taking advantage. I'd hate for you to regret me in the morning."

Kento grinned at you. "But watching me is fine? It seems worse somehow. Regret you," he scoffed. Humour aside, Kento shifted uncomfortably, grunting as his cock continued to throb in his hand. "Get in here," he wheedled, "and stop fucking the bathtub in front of me, and use me instead."

You acquiesced, resolve cracking. Stripping quickly, you slipped into the shower, pressing against him and immediately gripping his pulsing shaft. He stuttered and whined, hands pressed back against the glass, panting as you squeezed him.

"Alright, you win," you breathed against him, licking the flat of your tongue across his nipple, tasting the sweat and nightclub on his skin, "but I will absolutely remember this when I'm the one who's drunk and begging."

You spun Kento around again, and reached around his hips to grasp his cock just as he would as he pleasured himself. He continued to pant, whining and begging you for relief. You rubbed his tip with the flat of your palm, teasing, before starting to stroke from the head to the base of his cock in well-practiced motions.

Kento moaned and murmured sweet praise. His hands pressed against the glass, fingers flexing and unfolding as you fondled his bum lovingly, nipping his shoulder blades and sweeping your wet hand up and down his cock, gently twisting and squeezing at the head until he was gasping. You kept a steady pace, Kento occasionally thrusting forwards into your hand, calling you his good girl, his sweetest thing, being so good to him.

Head swimming with the alcohol, Kento gladly accepted the handjob, overwhelmed by the pleasure and steam of the shower. As he was about to turn to insist on bending you over against the shower wall, your second hand crept round to his throat and squeezed just hard enough for his moan to catch in his chest. Balls tightening and abdomen twitching, Kento gasped as you whispered into his ear; "be a good boy and cum in my hand".

Kento broke, wave after wave of pleasure rushing through him, strengthened by the drink, as thick spurts of cum shot into your hand and against the shower glass. He moaned your name, hips thrusting sloppily, one hand reaching round to squeeze your waist. Your pace slowed, squeezing gently as you pumped every last drop out of him.

Kento slumped against the glass, a dopey satisfied smile on his face, and hummed happily as he felt a soapy sponge start to clean his back. By the time you had gently scraped your nails through his hair, rinsing him of the last suds, he was barely awake in the steamy bathroom.

"Come on, big guy. Let's get you to bed." Kento frowned at you, looking faintly guilty.

"But I haven't done anything for you." You stroked his cheeks, full of affection.

"Trust me, that did plenty for me. I'll be storing that in my head for a long time."

Kento blushed, but allowed you to lead him to bed and dry his hair. He was face down in bed and asleep within seconds, his body relaxed, his tense muscles loose and softened.

You hesitated before checking the time; if you hadn't been called out by now, you probably wouldn't be, you convinced yourself. Pulling on one of Kento's shirts, you sat your phone by the bed and slipped under the sheets, tucking close to his warmth with one knee lifted over the small of his back.

"Still think I took advantage of you," you mumbled to Kento, before falling asleep to his warmth and deep, soft breaths, safe and happy in the dark.

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This best boy deserves a soapy handjob

And the sequel, Reader Comes Home Drunk, link here.

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sailorrhansol · 6 days

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You. Always. | ksy (m)

❀ Pairing: Soonyoung x f. Reader

❀ Summary: Soonyoung isn’t a jealous guy - he’s not. But sometimes it gets to him, the way other people look at you and fall a little in love with you. Don’t they know you have him?

❀ Word Count: 5055

❀ Genre: Established Relationship, pwp

❀ Type: Smut, a little fluff

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

❀ Warnings: Almost jealous Soonyoung, a little hint of insecurity but nothing crazy, recreational drinking, Mingyu and Wonwoo lowkey being a little annoying and drunk, explicit language, explicit sexual content including unprotected vaginal sex, nipple play, oral (m. receiving), praise kink, pet names like baby and good boy, reader on top, spit and other bodily fluids, not explicit dom/sub dynamics but Soonyoung is very soft in this and reader is guiding him in parts, biting, both reader and Soonyoung are a little dazed and kinda spacy but it’s not explicitly subspace or described in the same way.

❀ A/N: This is straight up from a dream I had, no joke. Woke up and was like I just had the weirdest dream about Soonyoung but it was in the Bahamas and a cruise ship was involved at some point but this is almost scene for scene from my dream. I feel blessed.

❀ A/N 2: This was written entirely for @daechwitatamic and also thank you Jo for beta reading because I don’t know how to edit anything ever I’m baby

❀ Disclaimer: Disclaimer: All members of Seventeen are faces and name claims for stories. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios. Moreover, none of my works accurately reflect, represent or take a stance on the nuances of Korean culture, cities, people etc. Seventeen members are not Seventeen culturally, intellectually, physically, or representationally in my stories, and should be considered name and face stand-ins for made up characters.

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“Try this one,” Mingyu insists, laughing. He shoves a drink in your hand, all smiles and glittering eyes. You take the cup from him, the music of the club pulsing around you. A soft buzz ripples through you, a little drunk from the long day out in the sun followed by drinks at sunset, dinner and the afterparty. “It’s soooo good.”

You trust Mingyu’s judgment - about drinks, anyway. Wonwoo cheers for you, clapping to the beat of the music as you bring the cup to your lips and knock it back. The soda mixed in the drink bubbles in the back of your throat but the taste of something strong burns and you cough, pulling the cup from your mouth with a grimace and squinted eyes.

Both of them begin laughing hysterically, throwing back their hands and clapping their hands. You laugh too, setting the cup down as you try and clear your throat from the liquid fire, tongue stuck out as you reach for a sweating glass of water.

Wonwoo orders more drinks as you suck down water, freeing your mouth of the bitter taste of whatever it is they gave you. You turn on the stool, looking around the beachside club for Soonyoung. You catch him on the far side leaning against a wall, waiting for the bathroom. Sensing your gaze, he cranes his neck to look toward you, eyes pinning you to the spot immediately.

Even from across the room, his gaze makes your stomach flip. You grin shyly, waving your hand a little. His lips twitch but his gaze shifts toward Mingyu and Wonwoo. His mouth tilts down a little before the bathroom door opens and he turns away entirely, vanishing down the hall.

A server appears with a round of clear shots, setting them down on the table. Mingyu leans forward, picking one up with the intention of handing it to you, but you wave him off. “I’ll wait for Soonyoung.”

Mingyu cranes his head. “Yeah, where the fuck did he go? I kind of forgot he was here.”

It isn’t Mingyu’s fault - he hasn’t known you for very long. Soonyoung has a habit of making friends anywhere the two of you go on vacation, though, and through the last week, you’ve managed to make Wonwoo and Mingyu regular friends while enjoying the summer off the coast of Greece. It had started with a volleyball game and now it has escalated to lunches, dinners and nightly escapades.

Ever the talker - much like your boyfriend - Mingyu turns to the table next to yours and strikes up a conversation with the group of people there. Within a few minutes, he’s pulling their table to yours and shouting their names at you. You shake unfamiliar hands and grin, just happy to feel the balmy air on your skin and feel the heat of summer.

Another round of drinks appears in clear, plastic cups, obeying the no glass on the beach rule. The beach club is lowkey and tucked away into the side of the mountain at the very end of the beach, requiring a trek through the sand to get there.

The area is open to the elements with wooden pavilions housing a few tables and benches. In the middle of the club is a long, illuminated shallow pool with tables for guests who are willing to take off their shoes and wade through the cool water to get there.

You look down at the red drink in your hand, raising a brow as you watch everyone else throw the drink back, chugging as quickly as they can. When they put their cups down and realize you haven’t had yours, they immediately start yelling at you, Mingyu grabbing your forearm to shake you back and forth as he pouts and yells at you to chug.

“I’m gonna get too drunk,” you whine, holding onto the cup and trying not to spill the liquid as Mingyu complains. He pouts and gives you puppy eyes, clasping his hands together as he begs. Wonwoo and your new friends immediately join him, all of them peering up at you.

“Please,” Wonwoo pleads from across the table, clasped hands tucked under his chin. “Please please please please.”

Before you can tip the cup back, it’s being pulled upward and out of your grip. You look up in surprise, mouth falling open as Soonyoung frees it from your grasp and tilts the cup to his lips. You watch as he drains it, head tilted back to expose the tan softness of his throat. Some of the red spills over the side, running down his chin and throat.

You watch the beads of liquid, suddenly unable to focus on anything else but the way he looks in that moment. When you blink, Soonyoung’s head is no longer tilted as he leans forward to place the empty cup on the table. He doesn’t bother to wipe the red on his neck and you instinctively grab napkins as he throws himself in the booth across from you.

He notices you holding them out and he takes them wordlessly, his energy shifted suddenly as he wipes the sticky red from his skin. If your new friends notice, they don’t say anything, cheering for him and then ordering more drinks as they shout over the music.

When he left to use the restroom, your boyfriend had been in high spirits and a rowdy mood. Now, he’s subdued, eyes flickering between Wonwoo and Mingyu, a little darker than before. You frown, finishing the rest of your water as you drink in Soonyoung’s posture: slouched, mouth pouted, eyes narrowed.

Mingyu asks if you want another drink and you watch as Soonyoung’s mouth turns down. Ah. You decline and immediately Mingyu makes Soonyoung the same offer, but he shakes his head, suddenly interested in his phone. You think Mingyu notices this time that one of your party is clearly no longer in the drinking mood and disengages, turning easily to the others.

You nudge Soonyoung’s foot under the table. He looks up at you, a little dejected and shrugs his shoulders as if to say what? You nod your head toward the exit, raising your brows. He follows your meaning and pauses for a moment, as though he’s torn between ending the night far earlier than usual or trying to endure his mood.

Eventually, he nods, turning off his phone and shoving it in his pocket. You stand and announce that you’re feeling a little tired, but thank your friends for the drinks. They all immediately complain, begging you to stay for at least one more round.

“It’s always one more round with you all,” you shoot back. “We can catch up another day. I’m tired and honestly I really just want to lay in bed with my boyfriend.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mingyu huffs, waving you off. “Do whatever it is couples do on vacation.”

Without a word, you hold your hand out to Soonyoung to leave. He stares at it for a moment before his mouth twitches upward and he takes it, lacing his fingers with yours. You give him a gentle squeeze as you lead toward the exit of the club, waving to the manager who is used to your group’s presence by now.

Outside, the world is only lit by the moon. It sits high up in the sky, turning the world a dark blue as you and Soonyoung walk the beach. The quiet tension follows him outside of the club and down a few meters. You wait for him to say something, peeking at him from the corner of your eye.

In the years you’ve been dating, you’ve learned to read him pretty well. You know something about your interaction with Mingyu and Wonwoo bothers him, but you’re unsure of the specifics. Soonyoung isn’t a jealous boyfriend, but every once in a while there is something that bothers him. An old wound that peels open at the edge and stings him.

You tug on his hand. He’s surprised, stumbling a little as you yank him off balance and into you. His cologne is laced with his own natural scent, making your head spin as your chests press together and you bring a hand up to his face, stroking a strand of dark hair out of his eyes.

Soonyoung is beautiful. You’ve always thought so. Eyes that can go from intense to gentle, a round face that is somehow also sharp, a cute mouth prone to laughing. You’ve traced the lines of his face over and over again and still, every time you’re this close to him, you feel your heart skip a beat.

“You’re not jealous, right?”

He shakes his head imperceptibly. He looks down at you, bottom lip jutting out a bit. You fight a smile, trying to focus on making sure he’s okay instead of the way his face has melted from contemplative to pouting.

“You can tell me if I did something that made you uncomfortable, you know that right?”

He nods in tiny. His hands hang at his sides, like he’s hesitant to touch you. To do anything. You take his face in both of your hands, cocking your head to the side as you study him. “What’s the matter, baby? What’s bothering you?”

“I’m not jealous,” he starts and stops. You wait for him to continue. You’ve always been better at putting your thoughts to words than he has, and you know he just needs the time to organize them. “And you never do things that make me jealous. I just…”

Ocean water surges behind you, the gentle push and pull of the swells the only sound as Soonyoung strings his thoughts together. You continue to cradle his face in your hands, thumb stroking back and forth on his cheek. You feel him lean into your touch, going a little weak under your attention.

“I just know how easy it is to love you,” he finally says. He chews his bottom lip a little and you catch it with your thumb, keeping him from breaking the skin. “You are beautiful and charming, and I can always tell when other people realize it too. It isn’t that… I think you’d like them back or anything. I just feel possessive and then silly for feeling that way.”

“It isn’t silly.”

“It isn’t?”

You shake your head and his voice gets small and soft. “I don’t want it to seem insecure or annoying, and I don’t know why I suddenly felt that way. I usually don't.”

“It’s not silly,” you assure him again. “It’s okay to feel that way sometimes. You’re a human being and you’re allowed to feel things, even if you don’t necessarily know why or how you feel them.”

“I’m sorry I made us leave early.”

“You didn’t make us do anything, and there is nothing to apologize for. I like going home and just spending time with you. I came here with you. We can make vacation friends all we want, but I have the most fun when you’re involved.”

His mouth twitches in a smile and he nods a little, affirmed by your words. “Can we go home?”

“Mhmm.”

You lean up on your toes and press a quick kiss to his mouth. Immediately he wants more, chasing your lips but you skip away from him, tugging him along by his hand. He frowns, a little put out. You try not to giggle, feeling your stomach flip a little.

Soonyoung is so rare like this. He loves being soft, but this is something even gentler. Something delicate and wonderful and endearing. You can’t help but keep him trailing after you, feeling the way his eyes linger on you. Hungry. Wanting. Needing.

You keep him waiting.

Catching a taxi up the mountain to the house you’re staying at is easy. The driver rolls the window down, letting the salty air drift in as he goes up and up. You lean against Soonyoung’s shoulder, putting your entwined hands in your lap. He melts into you, head atop yours and eyes fluttering shut as the breeze lifts his hair.

You love him like this. He looks so young, so capable of love. It’s your favorite thing about him, his ability to love freely, deeply and often. There is so much affection and kindness in him, a well so deep that you have yet to hit the bottom.

Soonyoung is a little drowsy when the taxi pulls up to the village square. He rouses with a mumbled thank you and clambours out the car behind you, eager to follow your lead up the winding steps that lead through the village houses.

It’s mostly quiet, with the echoes of voices drifting up from open windows and patios, the din of voices from restaurants in the main square hanging on the wind. You manage not to get lost this time as you navigate the winding pathways to the correct house, the blue fence blending in with the dozen other blue fences.

The cicadas are quiet as you walk down the steps to the front of the home. You tap Soonyoung’s pockets and he blushes, forgetting he has the keys. He’s quick to produce them and pass them over, watching you expectantly as you unlock it and step into the darkness.

Cool air drifts in from the open windows. There’s no air conditioning in the rented house, but the ocean wind that comes in at night through open shutters is enough to cool you off.

Soonyoung is quiet. He follows your lead up the stairs to the second floor where the bedroom is, lingering in the doorway when you drop his hand and turn to face him as you walk backward into the room. He’s hypnotized as you unbutton the top of your shirt slowly, staring at him.

The way he looks at you ignites a fire inside of you. No one else could look at you like this, equal parts reverence and hunger. No one else could make your hands shake as you stare at him staring at you, his lips parted a little, tongue darting out to wet them as he swallows.

Your blouse falls open and you shuck it off, letting it hit the floor. Moonlight paints your side profile. Soonyoung doesn’t dare move from the door until you hold out a hand, palm upward. “Come here,” you whisper. He obeys immediately, nearly tripping over his feet to get to you.

His hands go around your waist, warm against your skin. You wind your arms around his neck, pulling him in close, fingers threading in his hair and pulling a little. He lets out a soft sound as you tilt his face toward yours, forcing him to meet your eyes. His pupils are blown and you can feel his heart thundering against yours.

“You know I love you more than anything else, right?” For a second, he just stares at you, eyes fixated on your mouth. You pull his hair a little more and he sucks in a sharp breath before nodding a little. He seems too dazed to do more than the barest acknowledgement. “Do you want me to show you?”

You lean up to brush your nose against his. Soonyoung’s eyes fall shut and you feel a shiver go through him. His breath is unsteady when you brush your mouth against his in an almost kiss. “Do you want me to show you how much I love you, Soonyoung?”

He nods again, unable to find words. Your nails scratch at his scalp gently and he lets out a breathy moan, melting in your hands. “Okay,” you whisper, pressty a soft kiss to his mouth. He tries to chase your lips again but you step back and tug at him. “Come lay down.”

Soonyoung obeys. He’s always been a good boy, but having him like this isn’t common. You like to think that you’re both equal parts in charge in the bedroom, flowing with whatever the other needs. Having him like this, sitting down on the bed and looking up at you like you cradle his world in your hands though… it lights you up.

“Lay back for me,” you instruct gently. He does immediately, bouncing a little on the mattress. You climb onto the mattress, knees on either side of his waist as you crawl up toward him, settling your weight on his hips. Immediately his hands reach toward your hips and stop, hovering as he gets stuck between doing what he wants and waiting for you to tell him. “Go ahead,” you whisper, leaning toward him. “Take whatever you want. You can have whatever.”

Warm hands grip your waist. Your fingers expertly undo the buttons of his shirt and you make sure to brush them against his stomach as you move upward. You feel the muscles jump and he lets out another breathy sound. His hands just remain on your sides, not ready to explore more as he fixates on the way you pull his shirt off of his shoulders.

He’s a little clumsy when he leans up to help you shuck it off. You don’t care, surging forward to capture his mouth in a full kiss as he does. He forgets all about taking the shirt off, sleeves halfway down his arms as he leans forward to lick into your mouth, hungry and desperate for whatever you’ll give him.

You don’t hold back, letting him consume you. His mouth is warm and wet, tasting faintly of cherry from one of the drinks he had earlier. You love it, humming delightly as your hands brush from his shoulders to where his shirt is stuck near the elbows. You tug but the material is restricted, making you break away from the kiss with a laugh.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, letting your hips go to take the shirt all the way off.

Immediately your hands seek the heat of his skin, brushing from his shoulders to his chest and down his stomach and back up, fingers loving every groove and plane. He shivers under your touch, eyes fluttering shut. “You’re so pretty,” you whisper, pushing him back gently so that he’s laying down again. He lets you trace him, though you can feel his hips twitch under you, turned on by your exploration. “So pretty, Soonyoung. Do you know that?”

Again, he gives the tiniest nod. You smile and lean forward, holding yourself up by planting a hand on either side of his head. You catch his mouth again and he lifts his head up, eager to taste you. A hum of appreciation escapes you as you kiss him slowly, pressing your hips down into his.

Soonyoung moans and it’s so delicate that it makes you dizzy. You feel fucked out from this version of him already, the room spinning as you rut gently into him. You grab his hands that rest on your ass and pull them up your sides to your bra, a command.

He understands immediately, pulling at the clasps to undo the back. You break the kiss again, mouth feeling bruised, to lean up and toss the garment. His hands find your chest immediately and you feel goosebumps burst on your skin at his touch, large hand squeezing.

You let him rub his thumb over your pert nipples, spiking the pleasure in your stomach. You let out a light sound and shiver in his hands, ducking back down to press your mouth to his lips, the corner of his mouth, his chin - anywhere you can kiss.

His skin is salty and sweet, your tongue darting out to soothe his flesh after a sharp bite. He’s putty beneath you, completely at your mercy as your mouth maps out the way you love him. Every kiss, bite and lick is another declaration: I love you. I love you. I love you.

Light moans drip from his lips as you pepper him with kisses. Dragging your teeth across his chest lightly, you watch as he shivers and squeezes his eyes shut. Grinning, you move your mouth over his nipple, tongue flicking out lightly. A sharp hiss escapes through his gritted teeth, his head digging backward into the bed as he arches under you.

“Fuck,” he gasps.

A hum escapes you as you close your mouth over his nipple, sucking gently. He’s so sensitive, whining and squeezing your sides. You trail your mouth across his chest, leaving a wet trail as you do before dragging your teeth across his other nipple.

“Pretty,” you mumble again, moving your mouth lower. You teeth at his skin as you go, feeling him twitch beneath you. His hands drop to the sheet, twisting them in a vice grip as he lets you scoot down his lap until you’re off the bed and on the carpet, undoing his pants as you go.

Getting him out of his pants is hard - Soonyoung is loose-limbed and clumsy, hands shaking as he helps you pull the fabric down followed by his briefs. You let out an appreciative moan when you take his cock in your hand, heavy, warm and leaking at the tip.

He can barely keep it together when you stroke him, hand firm, thumb brushing over the sticky tip. You watch every reaction, eyes focused on the flush in his cheeks, the way he chews on his bottom lip to try and keep from whimpering, the way his fingers twist in the blankets.

“So perfect,” you whisper, leaning up to kiss his inner thighs as you continue to work him with your hand. His hips twitch upward and you let him, continuing to run your tongue along his thigh. “You’re the perfect boyfriend.”

“Hnnn,” is the mumbled answer.

Leaning up high on your knees, you tilt his cock toward your mouth, licking leisurely around the tip. He keens and you smirk, feeling your cunt clench as you take him in your mouth properly, spurred on by the way he falls apart instantly.

This is another thing you love. It doesn’t matter the dynamic, Soonyoung always crumbles at your touch - craves it, needs it, wants it more than anything. It’s hard not to feel like a god as you hear him pant your name, watch the way the breath catches in his throat as you take him deep into your throat, the flat of your tongue scraping the underside of his cock as you go.

You’re not clean with it. You let spit drip out the corner of your mouth, let yourself gag a little. Work what you can’t fit past your lips with the rest of your hand, getting carried away. His hand shoots to your head - he doesn’t push or pull, just leaves it there, like it can ground him.

Pulling off with a loud pop, you give his shaft a squeeze, kissing the inside of his thigh again. A mix of cum and spit shine in the moonlight when you pull your mouth away.

“I love seeing you like this,” you rasp. “Love watching you fall apart.”

“Please,” he gasps, managing to lift his head up and look down at you. His hair is damp with sweat and his eyes are fucked out, gaze unfocused. “Don’t wanna come in your mouth.”

“I’ve got you.” You give a single, long lick up his shaft for good measure, feeling him tremble before you stand up to take your pants off. He makes a pitiful sound, hand shooting toward you, hating being away from you. “One second, baby. Sorry.”

“S’okay.”

Naked, you crawl up the bed again. His hands shoot to your thighs, kneading the flesh and rubbing his palms up and down, warming you up. You feel the wetness drip down your thighs, worked up from working him up. From the way he moans when you press your pussy to his cock, you know he can feel it.

“All good?” you ask gently, pressing your forehead against his. His eyes are closed and he’s breathing hard, a sheen of sweat on his brow. You hold yourself over him with one hand and bring the other up to brush the hair off his forehead. “Too much?”

He shakes his head. “No, just. Sensitive.”

“Mhmm. You’ll tell me if it’s too much?”He nods in tiny, opening his eyes to look up at you like you’re the sun, the moon, and all of his stars. “Good boy,” you breathe and he moans, hips canting upward to rub his cock against your folds. “I love you.”

He nods again, eager and desperate. “Love you.”

Sitting up on your knees, you reach a hand under you, gripping him firmly. Soonyoung opens his eyes, making sure to watch your every move with swollen, parted lips and half-lidded eyes. You feel drunk from the way he looks at you, as hypnotized by him as he is of you.

You press the tip of his cock against your entrance, both of you groaning. Carefully, you sink down on him, your breath getting stuck in your throat. The stretch punches the breath from your lungs but it’s good, the ache replaced with something stronger, better. He fills up every part of you - you feel him deep in your stomach as you fully seat yourself on him, ass pressed to his pelvis as you fight for air.

“Fuck, Soonyoung,” you mutter, falling forward to plant a hand on his chest. You lean your weight forward, pushing him into the mattress and holding yourself up. You can feel his thundering heart under your palm, beat matching your own pounding pulse. “Feel so good.”

“Wanna be. Wanna be for you.”

“You are. You always are. I could never want anything else, you know that right?” A tiny, barely there nod. “You make me feel so good. Always do.”

“Please.”

You know what he’s asking. You give it to him, slowly lifting yourself until you’ve almost pulled off him entirely. You drop back down hard, knocking the breath from your lungs as you spear yourself on him. It is intoxicatingly good, pleasure rippling outward like a stone dropped in a lake. You chase the feel, repeating the motion until you’re nearly mindless and out of breath.

“Shit,” you swear, laughing a little as your head drops down. You can’t focus on anything but rolling your hips, fucking yourself onto him as his hands grab your ass, not controlling you but gripping fiercely. “God damn fuck.”

Soonyoung laughs, deep and gravely as the cockiness you’re used to bleeds back in for a moment. “Yeah?”

You clench your cunt as you sink down on him, making him let out a high-pitched noise at the move and you grin. “Yeah,” you shoot back. “Thought so.”

A knot twists in your stomach as you set a smooth pace, thighs burning. Pleasure ribbons through you, twisting and turning, his hands dimpling your flesh. He lets you keep your pace at first, taking everything you give him, his feet planted flat on the mattress as he tries to contain himself, curses escaping between clenched teeth.

Your legs tremble. Your nails dig into the hard muscle of his chest. He senses your movements get a little strained, the pleasure making it harder to focus on lifting yourself. You feel his grip on your ass change, Soonyoung putting power behind it to help lift you up and pull you back down. He thrusts up to meet you, the wet squelch of his harder thrusts intoxicating.

“Fuck yeah,” you gasp, giving up the pretense of riding him and letting him take over. “Fuck me just like that.”

It’s all he needs before his grip turns iron and he’s fucking up into you with abandon. Your hand slips on his chest as the power of his thrusts knock you off balance. You let yourself crash together, chest against chest. Soonyoung wraps his arms around your back, holding you to him.

Your mouth finds his neck, burying your face in there as you try to steady your breathing. It feels like your heart might explode, his name falling from your lips as you press them against his neck. He mumbles something unintelligible, pace picking up.

“Shit,” you pant. “Shit shit shit shit - Soonyoung - shit.”

He huffs, something like laughter before his pace is brutal. He fucks you fast and deep, your mind blanking as you crest upward. All you can do is hold on to him, mouth panting against his throat, your muscles squeeze squeeze squeezing until you’re coming hard.

Everything goes blank. Your ears ring and you’re vaguely aware of his wild thrusts as he chases his orgasm. You melt in his grip, letting him use you, completely boneless.

Soonyoung growls your name as he comes, pace slowing as he fucks you deep until he stills. You feel the stickiness between you and the way he’s still shaking. You rise and fall with his heavy breathing, both of your heartbeats erratic and thoughts staticky.

You lay there like that for a while, a pile of exhausted limbs and few thoughts. His arms loosen their grip around you and he starts rubbing his hands up and down your back. It draws you back into the moment more and you open your eyes to look up at him.

Soonyoung’s eyes are closed and his breathing is deep. You can tell he isn’t asleep, but rather enjoying the moment, his face tilted toward the window where the moon floats over the mountains. He looks so pretty like this, face soft and serene.

“You’re staring at me,” he murmurs, his voice low and spent. “You could at least tell me I’m pretty.”

“I just did. Several times.”

His mouth tilts upward but he doesn’t open his eyes. “I like hearing it.”

“Fine. You’re the prettiest boy.”

“Hmm. Yeah?”

“Yes. And I love you.”

“Say it again.” Soonyoung opens his eyes and they meet yours. They’re clearer now, and crinkled at the sides when he gives you a smile that feels far too innocent for the fluids running down your thighs and the way your cunt still clenches around him. “I like when you say it.”

“I love you.”

He smirks. “Just me?”

You lean up and nip his neck. He giggles, leaning away from you. “You. Always.”

He sighs. “Me,” he agrees. “Always.”

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#hoshi smut #soonyoung smut #kwon soonyoung smut #hoshi x reader #soonyoung x reader #hoshi fanfic #hoshi fic #soonyoung fanfic #soonyoung fic #svt smut #seventeen smut #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fic #hoshi seventeen #seventeen x reader #i hate tagging fics lmaoooooo it feels so awkward

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angelicsoka · 2 months

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LAZY (SICKLY) MORNINGS AND MARRIAGE PROPOSALS, q. hughes

word count | 577 words

pairings | quinn hughes x reader

summary | where a common cold turns to the flu leaving quinn and his girlfriend to cancel their plans, leading to a lazy (sickly) valentines morning and a marriage proposal

warnings | descriptions of vomit and other sickly bodily fluids. not proofread. no use of “y/n”. lowercase intended. this is a work of fiction, i am by no means saying this is how they act in real life.

a/n | i was gonna post this for valentine’s day but never actually got around to writing it lmao, but here it is now!

a groan filled the silent room, followed by someone hurriedly throwing the blanket off of them and running to the bathroom. the sound of heaving could be heard as the other person rolled out of bed and hurried to the bathroom to help.

quinn rubbed her back with one hand, the other making a makeshift ponytail with her hair as she vomited what little of what remained in her stomach. she sat back against the wall once she had finished, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“you okay?” she shook her head no at quinn’s question, fearful if she spoke she would begin to heave once more. “let me get you some water.”

she rarely got sick, but when she did it was bad. she gratefully accepted the glass, sipping lightly. it eased the burning in her throat enough for her to speak, “you really shouldn’t be by me, quinny. the team can’t have their captain out sick.” she coughed roughly, trying to clear the flem from her throat.

“i’ve already told you: they can handle a game or two without me. i want to make sure you're okay.” he tried to conceal his own cough as him just clearing his throat, but she knew.

“damnit, i knew you would get sick. i told you!” she tried to come off as angry but she was too tired to portray an emotion she didn’t actually feel. quinn helped her off the ground, the two moseying their way back to bed. she sighed contently when her head hit the soft pillow, shivering slightly as she curled into the blankets. she began to shiver more as quinn got settled, unable to find warmth.

“cold?” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace. she moved as close as she physically could, in search of warmth from him. she hummed as she settled in his arms, her boyfriend placing a gentle kiss on her head. “well, this is one way to spend valentine’s day.”

“don’t remind me.” she muttered, turning slightly to look at him. “i’m sorry i’m sick. i know how hard it was to get that reservation and you got me that nice dress and–” quinn shushed her quietly, placing yet another kiss, this time on her shoulder.

“don’t worry about it.” she turned over fully to face him. “it does have me thinking though.”

“yeah?” quinn smiled softly at her. “about what?”

“about how i want to spend the rest of my life with you, ya know, through sickness and health and all that shit.” she giggled, a hint of confusion on her face. they had talked about marriage and family but she had thought he wasn’t ready.

“what are you saying?”

“i guess i’m saying– well asking, will you marry me?” she felt the oxygen leave her lungs for a moment, before a smile broke out on her face.

“hell yeah,” she watched him smile widely. “god, i love you.”

“i love you so much, baby, so goddamn much.” quinn leaned in to kiss her, only to be stopped by her placing her finger on his lips.

“you can kiss me after i brush my teeth.” quinn pouted, earning a small giggle before she paled. “fuck.” she rolled out of his grasp, getting up and taking off toward the bathroom once more. it may not have been the most conventional way of proposing but neither party would have it any other way.

#angelicsoka #nhl imagine #quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes imagine #jack hughes #jack hughes x reader #luke hughes #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes imagine #hockey imagine #hockey fic #nhl fic

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inkskinned · 1 year

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one of the things that's so frustrating is how often the arguments against us are actually happening to us. we said - you need to watch out, this will evolve into allowing fascism into legal statute. and we were told: you're a sensitive snowflake. you're annoying and stupid and have no concept of reality. nobody really believes that stuff.

but it's indoctrination for kids to even see queer people. it's grooming for kids to even be around queer people. it's disgusting to even put rainbows on kids clothes. it's inappropriate, shameful, still-an-argument. like any of this is new - we know already. for you, even seeing someone unashamed is the same thing as "forcing" it onto you. because god-forbid you confront any internal thought you have. because god-forbid you practice empathy. rage is better, i guess. it keeps you pretty.

this has always been the way of some people - a while ago, it would have been "sinful" for my white mom to marry my hispanic dad. once, in the year of our lord 2015, someone told me that "mutts" deserve a woodchipper. that one particular insult stayed with me - not because it was the first or last, but because there was something so unbelievably violent about it that i couldn't figure out how to hold it. the idea that someone is so assured of their bigotry and rage that they would paint this kind of a picture. even jokingly, even with the anonymity of the internet, it kind of centered things for me. a sense that, for some people, their rage burned so unimaginably large that it blocked even the basic fact of my humanity.

at one point, while i still had enough fire in me to get into long arguments, one of the bigots i was "debating" (being harassed by) said: to be honest, it's about the sex, not the love. between you, me, and the four walls of this blue hellsite, i actually didn't really care for "love is love" as the slogan of our community. it seemed so placid, so gentle, so ally-focused. where was the vitriol? where was the hours i spent agonizing over myself? where was the quiet moments of my life, filled with the sound of other people's hatred? this static that settles over everything; even for the action of holding her hand.

the world is unfair. i am an adult, and without the veneer and small-pond syndrome of my teenage years, the slogan has started sounding more desperate. the more places i went, the more people i met. love is love. love is defending him on a rooftop bar. the drink she throws at me goes down into my shoes while i stand there, wishing i had a better retort than what the fuck. love is both of us, keeping our heads down, the black SUV full of frat boys (?) pulled up next to us, howling, for five whole blocks, until we both gave up and had to stick our bare legs into the thicket by the side of the road, giving over into tick country rather than let it go on any longer. love is a lazy spring afternoon, my hand on her belly, the fan spinning overhead. did you hear the whole thing about target?

did you hear about being the target? that's a fun little parallel, isn't it. it almost feels like the game that-is-about-me is being played without-my-participation. someone wants to set fire to my life, and i have to wait for a response from a capitalist institution. i am watching a tiktok where a white woman under white lights complains about adult swimsuits, even though i think a lot of people would benefit from having swimming options that are not "instagram-inspired bikini" or "impossible to move in but otherwise pretty".

sometimes it just seems so fucking stupid. like, just to check, the rage you feel and the hatred - you could really just avoid all of that by minding your fucking business. sometimes (and this is true): it's not about you, and people don't need your permission. like, i don't understand any obsession with sports, but it seems to make other people happy. american football literally results in grievous bodily injury - and yet there are onesies for babies that say future quarterback. i personally don't love it, so i just don't buy that stuff. i walk by it, and don't let it bother me. there have been so, so, so many times that i was told - "so what if he's a little bit homophobic, if you don't like him, don't watch his movies." "so what if they fired her. don't buy their product." "so what if they wouldn't make a rainbow cake. just don't support them."

sometimes i feel the meaning of it scud against my body, an orca whale inside of me, threatening the boat. it is too large to see from my place; this shadow of a thing that dwarfs my petty other-concerns. i need to find a dress for an event, and florida is passing more anti-gay legislation. i need to text my friend back and confirm our plans, and someone is throwing beer bottles to the floor in a walmart because a different case had rainbows on them. it is a long fall, if i look down into it; this sense like the bottom doesn't exist. like i have only ever dipped my toes in.

sometimes i am unbelievably tired of talking about it. it feels like it has become too trite in my own poetry - queer writer complains about the state of the world! how original! - and then something else happens, and i am here again. i remember that it isn't a moment. i remember it isn't a scattered population of cartoon evil-doers, intent on world domination from behind handlebar mustaches. it is a concerted effort of real people with real power who really-do want to see my end. it is a lifetime of dodging the beercan as it sails out of the back of the van. it is a lifetime of not-kissing once we leave the apartment. it is a lifetime of watching someone protest our existence and then, very slowly, giving them the finger. it is a lifetime of holding my friends' hands and hearing the same agony in their life that i lived through. it is us, together, our faces turned upwards, the night sky so vast, milky way overhead like a lacework zipper.

it is a lifetime of staring down woodchippers.

#writeblr #this got away from me #i love you #whereever you are. u are mine. i am yours. i am sorry this is happening

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lexsssu · 4 months

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Odd (Hiroki Dan)

TAGS: Dan/F!reader, yandere, possessiveness, obsession, breeding, impregnation, smut, oneshot Ao3 ver. | Ko-fi | Commissions (OPEN)

Dan was always…odd.

Even when you were both still young preteens fumbling their way through puberty and middle school, there was always something about him that stood out from the rest of the student body.

Sure, he was smart, handsome, and came from a good family especially with his father being the current superintendent general at the police force. He had all the qualities that ensured his constant popularity, but despite how amicable he was towards your peers he always retreated back into himself.

At least, that was when it came to everyone else that is.

Because the biggest oddity you could find in him is his blatant need to ALWAYS be around you.

Whether he was merely within your immediate vicinity or engaging with you in some way, the dark-haired male was drawn to you like a moth to a flame. The eyes are the windows to the soul and for someone like him who was a master at molding his expressions in whatever face he needed at the moment, his eyes clearly revealed how genuine he was towards you.

Perhaps you should be scared, especially when his expressive eyes widen and dilate whenever your eyes meet with him for even a second. How it seems as if he’d been staring at you for long periods of time without you even noticing how heated his gaze was, but…

Was it bad that you found his attention…endearing?

Flattering even that such an eligible man such as him only had you in his eyes?

Dan never did anything that made you feel uncomfortable, but rather knowing that you had his eternal attention almost felt like a safety blanket was wrapped around you and that there was never really anything for you to fear. He is a gentleman first and foremost, but the longing within his eyes are unmistakable and the genuine smiles he bestows upon you wear down the walls you’ve placed around your heart little by little.

That is why is there really any surprise that you’re wedded beneath the sakura blossoms as soon as you’ve both graduated highschool?

To most people, marrying so early seemed like such an archaic practice or that you were both throwing your lives away so early.

Such a thought never passed through your mind however and much less your husband for that matter. If anything, both his family and yours were very supportive of your decision as they had all been witness to the love you both shared for one another through all these years. Plus, it also helps that his family was well-off enough and Dan himself driven enough that your father had no qualms handing you over to his new son-in-law because he knew that you’d certainly be taken care of and cherished.

However, as much as you were grateful to the family and friends that celebrated your union, nothing could still overcome the happiness that overflowed from your heart as you met this man at the altar and exchanged vows and a kiss to seal your everlasting love to one another.

Dan was certainly odd…but you loved him all the same.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“The doctor said that this is the best position to allow my seed to reach your womb and we’d be remiss if we didn’t follow her instructions. Besides, Masahiro deserves a new sibling, don’t you think so? I long to see you again growing ripe with my child…your breasts filling up with such fine drink that I’m already salivating just thinking about it…”

You don’t know what happened during work to set him off like this, but you weren’t complaining as Dan did his utmost best to practically rearrange your guts with how hard he was bearing down on you. The pillow he’d slipped beneath your hips just moments ago certainly helped as skin smacked against skin and bodily fluids dripped and stained the once pristine bedsheets.

The handsome investigator’s usually combed dark hair was in disarray as strands clung to his sweat-stained face, his movements & expression reeking of desperation and overflowing affection as he sought to get his cock as deep into you as he could. With luscious thighs wrapped around his narrow waist, hands raking against his strong back leaving faint red lines, and your lips kissed and bitten until it shone a bright reddish color, Hiroki knew that this might as well have been heaven.

For it is everything he wanted and dreamed of.

A precious young son sleeping in his own room, and the love of his life: his sweet little wife who still cared for him in spite of his need to ‘commit good deeds.’

And now that the newest member of your family was actively being made, Hiroki would make sure to continue his mission to cleanse the world of the filth that dared taint its goodness.

“ Leave it to me, darling. I’ll rack up enough ‘good deeds’ for you and all our future children so that you may all live without fears or worries… ”

With your face buried in the crook of his neck as you slept on top of him, his cock still stuffed inside your sopping cunt in order to prevent any of his seed from slipping out, the man smiled and closed his eyes and followed you into the land of dreams.

#lexsssu writes #Brutal Satsujin Keisatsukan no Kokuhaku #hiroki dan #hiroki dan x reader #hiroki dan x you #hiroki dan x y/n #yandere x reader #crossposted on ao3

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mitfloya · 3 months

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𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬: 𝐙𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞

pairings. Zayne x gn!reader

wc. 7K (yes, I like to torture myself)

synopsis. He was believed to be devoid of emotions, until you unveils his chilling secret. His hidden obsession with you has ensnared you in his icy sanctuary. You were blind to his fixation until it was too late, and now you find yourself trapped in his clutches, unable to escape.

warnings. The following content contains elements of obsessive behavior, yandere thoughts, stalking, possessive behavior, and may include poorly written narratives. Reader is referred to as 'you'. Proceed with caution, as this writing may be unsettling or uncomfortable for some individuals.

a/n. Hello people of the internet! I’m pretty new on this writing community so I hope I bring you guys some good crumbs to munch on! and excuse my horrible grammatical errors, English is not my first language. I may or may not have spend my time throwing up this whole ass detailed (press x to doubt) HC out of my mind, I tend to go overboard with my analysis and writing. Get some snacks and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy making this HC.

p.s. this is a reupload ver. the original of the post is accidently deleted

♡ Please reblog and comment on this post are much, much appreciated ♡

Ah…the ice king himself, known for his emotional detachment and seemingly heartless demeanor. His motives and intentions remain shrouded in mystery, as he builds impenetrable walls around himself. Yet, somehow, you managed to slip through those barriers, like a delicate flower pushing through the cracks in concrete, planting the seed of love without his knowledge.

Does he act upon it? Certainly not at first. He ignores it. Pretend that is was merely a sign you were someone he tolerated.

His acts of kindness are always subtle and unexpected. He treats you in a way that evokes certain reactions.

At first, he might seem out of reach. But you never know that he is always there for you. Always observing and studying your responses.

As you both transition into adulthood, he becomes your primary physician, a role that only intensifies his growing obsession with you. He never considered himself capable of falling in love at first sight, but his feelings for you gradually took root. He is always there with you, from childhood and in adulthood. Fate must have bestowed him with great luck to be your guardian, the one who monitors your health and controls your existence.

The time when you both went on your separate ways before you met again, he feels a void, a sense that something is missing. Maybe you meant more than he thought. The loss of you kills him. But does this heavy feeling affect his daily activities? no.

The thought of not knowing about your health and safety gnaws at him, like a splinter lodged in his mind. Have you eaten yet? Did you eat enough? Did you get enough sleep? Did you stumble upon an accident? Just a single scratch of wound on your skin would infuriate him.

You, on the other hand, dismiss it as the instinctual concern of a physician, and your own health condition made it even more difficult for him to let you go. You were far too precious to be released or, worse, left alone and broken.

Even when you’re away on your mission, he always ask about your being and whereabouts. He just wanted to know how you’re doing and it shows how much he cares for you, not monitoring you! That’s ridiculous, right?

However, whenever you were around him, you never felt like you were in control of your own bodily autonomy. Maybe you’re seeing things but have you realize how much you’re changing your lifestyle?

Zayne intelligence is no joke. You were far too naive to look back over your shoulder to notice he is manipulating you. He wants you to be completely dependent on him. But is it really that bad? After all, he was providing you with a healthier lifestyle, not to mention preserving your beauty. Or so it seemed.

Oh, but when you became his, everything changed. He became more open, more loving and caring, the kind that makes you melt to the ground and swallow you whole. Always attentive to your needs and wants, he has no problem with you buying expensive items, the money isn’t his concern. Your happiness is.

His actions become more evident, sometimes you notice it in the way he always makes sure you’re fully geared up and energized for the day, or the way he tries his best to brighten up your day in rainy days.

And when the time came for you to move in together, almost imperceptibly, it felt natural, that’s when he brings the real authenticity of himself, the carnal desire to claim over you starts to show.

He adorned you with the finest fabrics, adorned you with the most exquisite gems and jewelry that accentuated your beauty without overshadowing it. He always gives you the best and never less.

No one would question how many pictures he has of you around the house, as they simply depicted a man deeply in love with his partner…wait, you don’t remember taking this picture..how did he get this picture?

Caleb gives it to him. As always he has answers to everything, it makes you think he is expecting that kind of question, which is an odd behavior.

Even the windowsill display those seals and trinkets he has given you over the years, customized to your liking.

You saw it as a preservation of memories and the time he had spent with you, when it’s clearly a growing sign of obsession with the abundance of things of your own possessions, or things that reminded him of you were around the house, to the dark corners of his secret room you were unaware of.

You don’t realize you were brainwashed, did you? Or maybe because he is telling the truth from the start, he loves you very much and his actions serve as undeniable proof!

Until you try to resist or argue with him. It would be best for you to stay obedient and let him lead, he is the man in the relationship, you are his good girl, right? He never wants to hurt you, he is doing it for the better sake of you.

You learned your lesson when you got your first punishment. Each mistake or letdown adds a droplet, gradually increasing the intensity. When the glass finally overflows, it serves as a stark warning to never hurt or disappoint him.

Your life revolves around him. You want to buy groceries? Wait until he finish work. You want to go to the park? Let’s go together and don’t forget your coat, he doesn’t want you to get cold. You want to have some time alone outside? Sure.

Ah, the innocence of those early stages of dating, when the idea of tracking your partner's whereabouts seemed endearing. Little did you know that innocent app you stumbled upon on a social media platform would become the chains that bind you. In the beginning, it seemed like a cute way to track the distance between you and your partner.

That app, like a digital spider's web, silently weaves its threads around your every move. From the moment you installed it, it became his watchful eye, tracking your every step, monitoring your every move.

How naive and compliant you are, unknowingly making it easier for him to watch over you.

He doesn’t react much when a guy approaches you, no one will be brave enough, because you will always stay glued to his side. He often uses his sharp tongue to highlight their flaws and insecurities. Give them a judgmental stare at the guy as if he was nothing and brings nothing good in life like a mosquito.

Resorting to violence or criminal acts were never his first choice to get rid of those pesky nuisances, his jealousy always remains hidden and possibly close to nonexistent.

Because he knows, you will always comes running back to him. Even if you manage to slip from his grasp, he holds the power to reclaim you, by any means necessary. In dire circumstances, he does not hesitate to resort to violence, to eliminate anyone who dares to steal you away. He doesn't care if he has to hurt you or isolate you, nobody could ever love you like he did.

Once you are married and start a family together, your life will be forever intertwined with his. That's the end of you or maybe a better version of you that you never envisioned or hoped for, nevertheless it was all because of your love for Zayne that you willingly let him take control, it’s the best life you could ever live in, right?

You will never leave out of his sight forever.

#love and deepspace #love and deep space #love and deepspace headcanons #zayne love and deepspace #yandere zayne #zayne #li shen #zayne x reader #zayne x you #zayne x y/n

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avatartophblindbanditbeifong · 11 months

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Bloody Knuckles and Palm Kisses

Miles Morales x Reader

1.4k words

Warnings: blood, bodily harm, crying, angst, Miles being stubborn, & reader being a patient Saint.

“Ow.”

Miles hissed again as you swiped the alcohol-soaked cotton ball across his bloody knuckles.

Miles was seated on your windowsill. A dozen cotton balls, once white but now turned red, scattered next to him while you stood in between his parted legs. You would have him sit on a more comfortable surface like your bed, but there was a strict ‘no outside clothes on the bed’ rule that your parents implemented, and it was one you instilled in Miles, especially when he came over in his beat up Spider-Man suit.

“Sorry.” you said quietly. You looked up from Miles’s hands, and for a second, you saw his sorrow.

It was a quarter to 1 a.m. when Miles abruptly landed on the fire escape outside to your window. Bang! The sound of his body colliding with the rustic metal sounded through your room.

Your body reacted to the sudden sound by jolting upward, prompting you to drop your phone onto your face. “Shit.” you thought. You hoped with everything you loved that your parents weren’t woken up by the noise coming from your room.

It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve checked in due to Miles’ inability to be stealthy.

You got out of your bed when you noticed Miles’ state. You swiftly padded over to the window, tucked your fingers under the metal and pushed it up quickly. Something about his body, he looked tangled in the position he landed in, the slight red smears across his skin glistened; the sounds he emitted were those of a wounded animal.

When you stepped outside, you were looking at Spider-Man, but all you could truly see was a beat-up teenager looking for solace in something familiar.

And that was you.

“Here,” You cupped your hands together, “give me the cotton balls.” Miles then picked up one scarlet ball and placed it in your palm.

Then another.

One. By. One.

He did this for each cotton ball.

Into the palms of your hands.

Until they were full.

Miles let out a deep sigh when you turned your back to him, throwing away the blood shed he wore on his body just moments ago into the trash bin. When you looked over your shoulder, Miles was slouched over, leaning on his knees with his head in his hands. His mask was abandoned on the windowsill next to him.

You made your way beside him. “You did good today, y’know.”

He scoffed.

You let out a deep breath. You knew no amount of assurance would help ease Miles’ disappointment.

“You did the best you could, baby.” He lifted his head, staring into your eyes.

“You weren’t there Y/n,” His eyes were half lidded and his eyebrows frowned; he looked tired. The slight downturn of his mouth made him look like the most grief-stricken boy in the world. “I was there, and I-” he swallowed. “I could’ve done more,” he picked up his mask and held it firmly, “I could’ve saved them all.” His voice was hoarse and tears formed in the waterline of his eyes.

“People lost their family; their friends tonight because of me, because I couldn’t get the job done.” Miles whispered that last part. He didn’t want to let you in on the habit of self deprecation he’d grown into.

“Miles, you can’t blame yourself for every mishap that happens in Brooklyn.” You caught the way he shook his head. “You can only go so far with what you can do. You're fourteen. You can’t protect everyone-”

“I can be both!” He interjected exasperatedly. “I’m Spider-Man,” he croaked. You shushed him as his voice grew louder.

Miles pushed himself off of the windowsill, standing up tall. You looked up at him; he really had grown a lot taller these past few months, you thought.

“You are both. But not saving every single person in need doesn’t make you any less of a hero.” You replied, but he wasn’t listening. Trying to talk to Miles when he was upset was like talking to a brick wall; nothing was going to get through.

“I’m supposed to be the protector of the city,” he continued. “A-and I just let two people die!”

You shushed him again. “Miles, please.”

He paused before saying, “Peter could’ve done it.” flatly; devoid of any emotion.

The atmosphere in your room was muted then. The lack of noise was so deafening you could hear the faint sound of ringing that introduced itself into your ears every once in a while.

Miles sighed, breaking the silence. He leaned against the wall, slowly descending until he came in contact with the floor. You looked down at him and positioned yourself down the wall next to him, sitting on your heels.

“Maybe.” his eyes snapped toward yours like magnets. “But you’re not Peter Parker, Miles. You can’t compare the success of one Spider-Man to the other because you both serve a different purpose. Sure, Peter could do things you can’t, but he wouldn’t be able to do the things you can. And that’s okay,” he wasn't looking at you anymore, you slid your palm slowly up the back of his shoulder. “Look at me Miles — you don’t have to be Peter Parker to be Spider-Man.”

That’s when the dam broke. Miles's shoulders dropped in ruin, and his bottom lip quivered. He took in a sharp inhale before letting out a breathless sob. Seeing Miles break down like this was a rare occurrence. Sure, you’d seen him cry many times, but this…

He wasn’t just sad, you knew this. He was angry. He was ashamed. He was crushed.

Even though Miles had been Brooklyn’s one and only Spider-Man for the past eleven months, he still felt inadequate about being “Spider-Man #2.” It pained you to see Miles, an otherwise upbeat boy, feel so dejected and helpless.

You smoothed the hand on his shoulder across the length of his back and pulled him into you. Right then, he melted like a puddle in your arms. You rested your chin on top of his curls and a thin line of tears welled up in the corner of your eyes.

You and Miles both sat there on your bedroom floor in each other’s embraces, crying silently for two completely different reasons.

“I should go.” He breathed, sitting up right and detaching himself from your hold. The weight of his body left you feeling a lot lighter. When you opened your eyes, they slowly adjusted to the clock on your nightstand; 1:30 a.m. it read.

Had forty-five minutes gone by that fast?

“Stay.” is all you said, and it was all that needed to be said for Miles to do so.

When you let go of him and made way to your closet. You walked back to Miles with an oversized hoodie that you secretly stole from him and a pair of your pajama pants in hand to give him. He thanked you and wandered toward your door. A chuckle bounced in your chest when you noticed the way he peeked out of the crack of your door to check for your parents before he slipped out to the bathroom.

When Miles entered your room, a lot more silent than he did nearly an hour ago, you giggled at the sight before you. Miles was engulfed in your shared clothes. The arms of the hoodie made his already long arms look like those of Slenderman and the pants dragged on the floor before him. Miles stood there with a tight-lipped smile before moving toward your bed where you had already taken place under your blankets.

Miles laid on his side, in the space you had given him. This moment was one of the few times that you and Miles lay in the same bed together. You wanted to lay your head on his chest, but that would be too awkward. So, you reached out and put your hand on top of Miles's. Then, he did something that shocked you; Miles took your hand into his and kissed the back of your palm. It was soft and sentimental, you thought. Miles held your hand in his and set it back down gently between the two of you.

“Thank you.” he whispered.

You felt the soothing gesture of his thumb rubbing against yours and before no time you were asleep and so was Miles. You knew he’d be gone before the sun rose to get back home before his parents woke up, but that didn’t matter. What did matter was that he was there with you.

Safe with your hand in his.

Him tenderly holding you throughout the night.

Although he’d be up and out of your window soon, Miles thought he had never slept so well than at that moment with you.

#miles morales #spider man across the spider verse #spiderman into the spiderverse #miles morales x reader #miles morales x you #miles morales imagine #x reader #miles morales drabble #gender neutral fanfic #spiderverse imagine #spiderverse x reader #sony spiderverse #miles 1610

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crtter · 2 years

Text

List of New Spamton Lore

This post contains all the new information about Spamton revealed on September 17th and 18th 2022 through the Spamton Sweepstakes and the Twitter Q&A, ranging from the most important reveals to small details, in no particular order!

Spamton might be dual typed, with his two elements being Puppet and Cat. It could also be, however, that he merely meant that the Puppet and the Cat elements share the same elemental weaknesses and that his sole element is Puppet.

Spamton once considered Swatch a close friend who always listened to him and was a shoulder for him to cry on.

Spamton seems to be especially fond of the Mike person he mentions in the game, citing him as the only one he’d spare if he got revenge on all of those who he feels have wronged him and declining to give people any information about him in order to protect him from “THAT [Cathode]’S CREW”.

Spamton is aware “haters” want to inflict bodily damage onto him (especially cover him in milk and throw him against a wall) and his official stance on the subject is “[Cool down with a]!!! WHAT IF ONE DAY, YOU ENDED UP [Killed] ME!?” and “WE DON’T DO THAT WITHOUT [A 72 hour paid Appointment]!!”

Spamton met Noelle before her arrival to Cyber World through her replying to his spam e-mails (implied to be about a supposedly “friend finder” website she tried to find her sister through). She was the only one to ever reply to one of his e-mails and, in return, he sent her a code that, when input into the Cat Petterz 2 game, produced a pipis reminiscent to the Bad Egg glitch from the Pokémon games.

The Pipis Spamton sent Noelle is implied to be the only gift he ever gave someone, since he seems unable to give people goods without trading them for money, even symbolically, either because of his corruption or as a trait of his species.

Spamton is aware people find him attractive and attributes it to his “MASSIVE [Ass]”.

Spamton doesn’t know what his Spamton EX form would have looked like.

Spamton claims that first three letters of the hidden, garbled lyrics hidden in BIG SHOT and as a voice line in the Spamton plush are “F I N”.

Spamton recognizes that his speech contains “[Brackets]“ and “[Random sp4m quotes]” to someone who’s looking at it in text form.

Spamton can repeat pieces of phrases he reads or is told, something he does in four different occasions between the Sweepstakes and the Q&A, which implies some of the things he says might be fully copied and pasted together from other sources.

Spamton claims his favorite food is Mexican food, but very specifically from the Pipis “The Original” restaurant, which is a reference present in the original game.

When answering this particular question, he answered it by repeating phrases taken directly from the restaurant’s Facebook page almost word for word.

Spamton considers himself handsome.

Spamton might know about Jockington and thinks he’d disapprove of his “Pipis Big Shot Fantasyship Ring” product, maybe because Pipis isn’t a real sport.

Spamton is in a certain amount of denial about his downfall.

Spamton made two separate references to being willing to be in a three-way relationship.

Spamton doesn’t like people that aren’t very well acquainted with them referring to his Pipis as eggs and calls them “[The boys]”. He considers the idea of them being used as a food source as pretty barbaric but admits it’d look “DELICIS” and “[Cheap]”.

Spamton knows a certain man is responsible for handing white eggs to people.

Spamton doesn’t seem to remember the Knight (or is pretending not to).

Spamton claims the Cungadero is the “[Nation’s Most Popular Car]”.

Spamton has always been shorter than the other Addisons.

Spamton seems to find non-digital painting an interesting concept and dubbed The Mona Spamton as “[History's First Fully Authentic] PAINTING”.

Spamton describes what happened to him as being made “INTO YOUR [living puppet] AND [enslave me] WITH [visions of glory]”.

Spamton implies that, at one point, he was pushed inside the Queen’s pool and given a swirlie in the mansion’s toilets.

Spamton seems to believe he has “died” in the past in some way.

When asked about his sexual orientation, Spamton claims to “LIKE [anyone and anything] THAT GIVE ME [Money]!!” and to be a “[Business Loving Businessman]”.

The little animated sprite of Spamton dancing borrows some moves from the famous Dancing Baby, a CGI animation from 1996 that’s widely considered to be the first meme.

Spamton finds Queen attractive. More specifically, that she has a “[smoking hot a$$]”, something he mentions in two separate occasions when referring to her.

Spamton appreciates his fans, calling them [Fellow Freaks].

Spamton considers Ralsei a “[scringley]”.

Spamton knows what memes are (he spells them as “m3m3”) and referenced around 11 different memes in both the Sweepstakes and the Q&A.

He specifically referenced the everyteenagers4free hot dog husband post when talking about Jevil, which could imply they’re exes.

Spamton considers Berdly’s statue as the best thing he has ever found in the trash.

Spamton seems to have frequent flashbacks about being evicted from Queen’s mansion.

Spamton thinks the Addisons were never his real friends and were embarrassed to be seen with him because he was “bad for business”.

Spamton knows what Neopets are.

Spamton stuck his nose inside a Cungadero’s auxiliary power outlet at least once.

#god is this long! sorry everyone #Spamton #Deltarune #Spamton Sweepstakes #Spamton Q&A #long post

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 3 months

Text

Napoleonville [Chapter 7: The House Of Cards]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, smoking, drinking, drugs, infidelity, kids, parenthood, bodily injury, ANGST!!!!!!

Word Count: 5.8k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

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Under blue light like the gleam of sapphires, Aemond is standing shirtless at his bathroom sink and cleaning blood and grime from his face with a wet washcloth that has turned from white to a muddy maroon. His missing left eye is angled towards you; his scar looks black beneath the cobalt glow. He’s gingerly manipulating his eyelids so he can wipe away the filth, leaning in close to the mirror. Then his hands begin to shake and he throws the washcloth to the dark tile floor. The walls are painted like Van Gogh’s Starry Night; you remember learning about it in your 8th grade art class. The bathtub is deep, spacious. You think of Aemond filling it and sinking into the water with you, misty with soap and steam. You wonder how long it will be until Christabel is lolling in this tub, clean before she ever touched the water: no scars, no history, blue blood and pure fantasies.

He hears when the floorboards creak under your bare feet. He turns his face so he can see you, an intruder lurking in the doorway of his bedroom, soaked clothes beneath the warm, dry, smoke-smelling Marlboro jacket he gave you. “Get out.”

“Aemond, let me help—”

“Get the fuck out.”

But he hasn’t said the right word, and you both know it. He hasn’t told you to stop. You go to him and ignore it when he tries to push you away, when he tries to yank his hands away from yours.

“Don’t touch me—!”

But you aren’t trying to grab him. You’re trying to give yourself to him. You force your wrists into his grasp and then he understands, then he feels the desperate hunger flare up in him like a lighter flicked to life.

His fingers tighten; he drags you closer. Then he says, low and husky: “I’m in charge now.”

“I know, I know. I want you to be.”

“You’re going to do exactly what I tell you to.”

“Yes,” you whisper, perfect obedience, helpless need. You gaze up into his glinting, savage right eye. You do not allow yourself to glance at the empty socket of the left. That would be disastrous, ruinous, an irredeemable betrayal.

Aemond takes you to his bed: thick wooden bedposts and a navy blue velvet canopy swimming with koi fish built of silver stars, celestial fins and constellation tails. He tears off the Marlboro jacket, your drenched Pepsi t-shirt, your simple cotton bra. “Don’t move,” he growls, and momentarily leaves you. Moonlight streams in through the stained glass windows of fractured, kaleidoscopic blue. Goosebumps rise on your bare skin. You can hear the friction of a drawer opening and then closing again. Aemond returns. Every move of his hands is rough, insistent. You don’t care if he hurts you, if he scrapes or bruises you. You wish he could bruise you down to the bone, stay trapped there in an indigo pool too deep for anyone to cut out, remind you of his closeness with every ache, never leave you.

Aemond clicks a handcuff around your right wrist; not a silk scarf, not the weight of his own hands, but cold metal that he tightens until it bites into your flesh. You should tell him to loosen it, but you don’t. You want to help Aemond. You want him to keep going; you want him to touch you until you forget about Jade Dragon Energy, Lake Verret, The Last Desire, Christabel.

He loops the short chain around one of the posts at the foot of the canopy bed and then fastens your left wrist as well. The handcuffs are secured in an indentation between ornate carvings of the sun and the moon; you cannot slide them up or down more than a few inches. Your arms are trapped above your head. You are facing the bed—the one he’ll soon be sharing with Christabel—and cannot turn around. Behind you, you can hear Aemond unzipping his jeans that are still dripping with brackish lake water. Now he’s yanking off your shorts and panties, so hurriedly you almost trip when he wrenches them past your ankles. Aemond kicks your feet apart—farther, farther—and then pushes you down until your back is bent as low as possible. You moan, just as much in pain as ravenous anticipation: your wrists burn, your shoulders stretch until you can imagine them splitting open and spilling blood like a river, knots of ivory bone peeking through the gore.

He’s touching you, but it doesn’t feel like much. He’s saying things, but you can’t hear him over the hurricane raging in your skull, thrashing waves of fear, dread, agony, heartache.

Has he brought other women here? Who will distract him when he’s done with me?

Aemond’s hips are braced against yours, his fingers are between your legs. He’s making you wet, but you know you aren’t ready. Inside, you are tense, uneasy, unable to surrender yourself to him. You close your eyes and try to remember what it was like the first time you were together, or the second, or the third time in the back of his Audi Quattro. Those memories feel so far away now, like they happened a hundred years ago or in a different galaxy or at the bottom of the ocean. Aemond’s teeth nip territorially at your throat. He’s tearing open a condom wrapper.

He’s not mine, he’s not mine, he’ll never be mine.

Now he’s forcing his way into you, and he has no way of knowing that it feels like gasoline on a fire, like scissors and knives, like the first time Willis convinced you to sleep with him again after Cadi was born. And Aemond is so big that the discomfort doesn’t fade into a vaguely unpleasant numbness but swells like gales as a storm rolls in. You’re facing away from him, so Aemond can’t see when you wince or squeeze your eyes shut. You don’t try to slow his rhythm, you don’t ask him to be more gentle, you don’t tell him to stop. You want to help him and he needs this, even if he doesn’t need you.

Aemond twists your hair in his fist and tugs your head back, and when you whimper he mistakes it for kindling passion, for something approaching euphoria. His thrusts are hammering, merciless. He’s panting as he battles against his own climax. And he’s beginning to get impatient, too; his fingers stroke you relentlessly, when you glance back at him his brow is creased with thinly-veiled frustration, confusion, disappointment.

I have to finish, you realize, horrified. If I don’t, he’s going to think it’s because of him, his face, his eye, his weakness, his unworthiness.

You’re nowhere close to finishing. You know you won’t be able to; there’s too much pain in your body, too much torment in your mind.

I’ve faked it plenty of times before, on other nights with other men. I can fake it again.

You breathe in gasps, you moan, you beg, you arch your back, and then—

Aemond strikes the bedpost with an open palm, hard and loud enough to make you yelp. He hisses through your hair, fever-red, hateful: “Don’t fucking lie to me.”

“Aemond, it’s not you, it’s not your fault, it’s me, I’m so sorry, I’m just—”

“I want you out.” He disentangles himself from you, snaps off the condom, snatches a set of tiny keys off the floor where he must have left them.

“Don’t do this,” you plead as he unlocks the handcuffs, cold rattling metal. “Don’t make this about something it isn’t. Aemond? Aemond, please, it’s my fault—”

“Get out,” he says, stepping away from you. “Right now. Go.”

You reach for him, your fingertips settling on his bare chest, damp with sweat and still tarnished with the ancient silt of Lake Verret, with streaks of his own blood. “Aemond, listen to me—”

“Stop!” he roars, and your hands fall away. He points to the door that leads to the hallway. “Get out. Get the fuck out. Find someone else. I’m done.”

“What? No!”

He picks up your denim shorts and hurls them at you, then your Pepsi t-shirt and bra and panties. You fumble to catch them, and as your hands are occupied Aemond leans in close, grabs your face roughly by the jaw, forces you to look at him. The gory void of his left eye socket is close enough that you can see the flecks of dark grit from the lake that he will have to wash out of it. And you flinch—not at the wound itself, but for the child who was once maimed—and now you’ve proved him right.

Something flashes across Aemond’s scarred face, so animalistic in its mindless fury that for a sliver of a second you actually think he might hit you. Then he turns away without a word, walks into the bathroom, slams the door shut. As you pull on your clothes, you can hear his knuckles striking the mirror with sick thumps until it shatters. You bolt from the bedroom, through the hallway, down the staircase, surrounded by portraits of blonde strangers with foreign names, and whatever world they lived in wasn’t yours. Their world was made of gold and marble, contracts and lineage, chandeliers and champagne and coins sticky with some anonymous worker’s blood, and it was beautiful but it was cold, hollow, lonely, everything that would have made them human peeled away like a snake’s skin. You don’t belong here. You will never belong here. Your world is sloping floors and cracked paint and sun and salt and struggle, but it is real.

In the grand foyer, Vhagar is guarding the front door. The blue merle Great Dane bares her teeth as you approach. There is a rumble from low in her chest, a ferocity in her reptilian green-gold eyes.

“I really can’t deal with you right now,” you say, voice breaking as tears spill down your cheeks.

Vhagar trots towards you and you look around for a rescuer, Alicent or Criston or Daeron; but the house is hushed and still. You recall how Alicent once shoved Vhagar’s face away to fend her off. You don’t feel brave enough to attempt that.

“No!” you try instead. “Bad dog! Go terrorize someone else!”

The Great Dane snarls, ropy strands of drool dribbling from her jowls, and you fall silent. Vhagar sniffs at your ankles and then your fingers as you stand frozen. She seems to discover something that intrigues her. I smell like Aemond, you think, and almost start crying again. For the second time, your eyes search for a champion and find none. The dog nudges your right hand with her muzzle, licks at your palm, and then—bizarrely, shockingly—pushes her head under it and blinks up at you expectantly.

“What?” you say, confounded. Vhagar waits, suddenly cordial. Her long tail swishes; her floppy ears hang limp and relaxed. She doesn’t leave until you pet the top of her colossal head—once, twice, three times—and then she stalks off into the shadows of the kitchen. You hurry to the front door before Vhagar can return to second-guess your newfound alliance.

You step out onto the front porch, white paint and towering columns, lightning bugs and screeching cicadas. It is only when you survey the flock of Audis, Porsches, Alfa Romeos, and Lexuses in the cobblestone driveway that you remember you didn’t drive yourself here.

“Goddammit.” Then you catch a whiff of marijuana.

You turn to your left. Aegon is slumped in a rocking chair and smoking a joint. He has just showered. His long hair is wet and messy; he wears a tie-dye tank top, purple gym shorts, and neon yellow flip flops. Sunfyre is curled up in his lap. “You need a ride, cake lady?”

“Not from you.”

“It’s just weed. Weed isn’t a drug.”

“The Reagan administration would disagree.”

He rolls his eyes. “Those miserable fascists. They’d outlaw orgasms and ice cream if they could.” He slips his car keys out of his shorts pocket and spins them around with his index finger. “Come on. Let’s go for a drive.”

Aegon’s Porsche 911 has a custom paint job, glittering gold with pale pink accents. It’s even smaller than Aemond’s Audi; the back seats are impossibly tiny, and in any case they are filled to the windows with empty McDonald’s cups, Taco Bell bags, and Popeyes boxes.

“Here, hold him,” Aegon says, and tosses the ferret to where you sit in the passenger seat. The weasel-like creature scrabbles over your thighs, circling, burrowing, making some deranged gleeful sound halfway between a clicking and a chuckle.

“Um…?!”

“It’s fine, it’s fine, he’ll settle down.” Aegon starts the car and pitches the remains of his joint out the open window. “Where do you live?”

The directions are simple, a straight shot east on Route 401. But it’s going to be a long ride. Aegon is only driving 15 miles per hour.

“So,” he says, noting your bloodshot eyes and dazed preoccupation. “It didn’t go well. With Aemond, I mean.”

“I don’t want to talk about him.”

“Sure you do.”

You stare out your window, night wind in your hair and your lungs, stinging in your watery eyes. The southern live oaks—vague, monstrous shapes with branches like prehistoric claws—block out much of the moon, the stars. Distractedly, you rest a hand on Sunfyre’s small, furry back. “What happened to his face?” And then, remembering what Aegon told Viserys in the foyer: “What’s the North Sea?”

“It’s on the east coast of the U.K. It starts down by France and the Netherlands and goes all the way up to Norway. Jade Dragon has a bunch of North Sea rigs. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen offshore oil rigs, maybe on the news or something?”

“I haven’t.” When you look down at your wrists, beneath the dim silvery moonlight you can still see the indentations that the handcuffs left in your flesh.

“Well they’re fucking terrifying. You’re on a metal platform in the middle of the goddamn ocean, and the waves are smacking into it, and the whole rig is lurching back and forth. You’re standing maybe 200 feet above sea level. From that height, the water’s like concrete. If a man falls off, they never find the body. The sharks eat him, or the waves rip him apart, or if his gear is heavy enough he just sinks to the bottom and implodes like a crushed can when the pressure gets too strong. I hate those things. I hate them. And of course Viserys was always trying to drag me along when he’d fly up there to inspect the company property. Gotta parade the heir around. Gotta turn me into a real man somehow. I’d be doing lines in the helicopter the whole way there, trying to work up the nerve to step out onto the deck when we landed.” Aegon gives you a wry smirk, shadowy beneath the obstructed moonlight. “This was before Viserys gave up on me.”

“Aemond lost his eye on an oil rig?”

“Yeah,” Aegon says. “He was young, eight or nine, something like that. And he begged our father to take him with us. Can you believe that? I’m hiding under the dining room table and Aemond is clawing at Viserys’ feet, promising he can handle it. So Viserys says okay, fine, Aemond can come too. Mum and Criston didn’t want Aemond to go, Helaena didn’t like it, hell, even Otto thought it was too dangerous. But Viserys is God in the Targaryen family religion, so Aemond got to go to the North Sea.”

You’re watching Aegon, eyes wide, heart pounding, appalled. He was a little kid. He wasn’t even Cadi’s age. “Viserys didn’t protect him?”

“Oh yeah, at first he did. He was showing Aemond off to everyone—Look at my son! So brave, so clever!—and meanwhile I’m lying on the floor of the helicopter having a panic attack, I can’t stop thinking I’m about to go plummeting into the ocean, and Criston is kneeling beside me trying to strap an oxygen mask onto my face.” Aegon sighs, gazing at the yellow lines of Route 401. “And then Viserys got to chatting with some of the engineers and forgot all about Aemond. Aemond who? The middle son, the forgotten son, the runt, the backup plan. And Aemond started exploring, poking around in the wrong places, and he ended up watching some of the workers spinning chain, which is how they connect drill pipes together. A chain snapped. It hit Aemond in the face, fractured his skull, and basically liquified his eye upon impact. He was in a coma for two weeks. We all thought he was going to die. But he lived, and Viserys…that bastard was nowhere to be found while Aemond was lying half-dead in Moorfields Hospital. But the day Aemond woke up, you better believe our father waltzed into the room with balloons and Cadbury bars, gushing about how happy he was that Aemond was alright, how proud he was, how relieved. Within a month he was indifferent again. But Aemond’s been chasing that feeling ever since. Being wanted. Being seen.”

“Why do any of you do it?” you ask, nauseous with despair. “Why do you destroy yourselves for Viserys? Why do you listen to him, why don’t you leave?”

“I can’t leave,” Aegon says, stunned. “Do I look employable to you? I’d end up living in the woods with the paranoid schizophrenics.”

“But you’d be free.”

“I don’t want to be free,” Aegon replies. “Freedom? That scares the hell out of me. I don’t know who I am without my family. I don’t have the first fucking clue. I don’t want to be a Targaryen, but I am a Targaryen, you know? And there’s no going back. That’s my gravity. That’s everything I am. Trying to imagine a life without Aemond, Helaena, Daeron, Criston, Alicent, even Otto, even Viserys? I wouldn’t exist. I would blink out of existence like the Big Bang in reverse. They’re my bones, I’m just what grows around them. I’m a jellyfish, I’m a tangle of guts and arteries.”

You stare at Aegon as faint ribbons of moonlight stream in through the open windows, voice choked, tears falling onto Sunfyre’s sand-colored fur. “I don’t know how to help Aemond.”

“Yes you do.” Aegon smiles. “Give him what he wants.”

“I think he’s done with me now.”

“No, no way,” Aegon says. “What did he do, freak out and yell at you? Break things, tell you to fuck off? That happens sometimes. He doesn’t mean it. He’ll be back on your doorstep in a week.”

“He always has to have a girl. But that girl doesn’t have to be me.”

Aegon laughs, his blonde hair flying in the wind. “New girl, new rules. You ruined him.”

“What?”

Aegon grins. “He’s in love with you.”

You pet Sunfyre with one hand while you swipe tears from your cheeks with the other, sniffling, shaking your head. “I can’t be his mistress. It will kill me.” I want more than that. I want all of him.

“You’ll get used to it,” Aegon says encouragingly. “Criston did. Camilla did.”

“Please shut up about Camilla Parker Bowles.” You point as the mouth of your short gravel driveway comes into view. “That’s it. We’re here.”

Inside, the house is dark and quiet and cold; you were in such a rush to meet Willis and help Aemond find his ever-errant brother that you accidentally left the air conditioner on all day. You shut off the whirring machine in the kitchen window—Aemond put that there, he did it for me—and then turn on the little pink Panasonic boombox so it feels like someone else is here. Roxette’s Listen To Your Heart plucks mournfully from the speakers.

You draw yourself a bath, descend into the hot water, scrub Aemond off of you. The walls are adorned with no Van Gogh’s Starry Night, no stately portraits, no grandeur or glitter or marble or gold. They are only a pale, listless blue lined with thin cracks through the paint like the sinking house’s veins.

~~~~~~~~~~

Seven sunsets, six dusks, and then it is Friday all over again. You help Amir close up the bakery and then crawl into bed: head pounding, room spinning, that endless late-afternoon light of the summer flooding in through the window blinds. You unplug the phone on the nightstand and nestle into the pillows, hiding your face from the world. Cadi is fine, she’s blissfully playing her Nintendo and she knows there’s some of Amir’s leftover ribs and rice in the refrigerator. She doesn’t need you, and this will only become more true with each passing year. There was a time when you yearned for Cadi to become more independent. Now you’re beginning to see the horror in it, that bittersweetness that parents always talk about.

One day she’ll be gone. And she’ll get to choose whether she ever comes back.

No one has ever chosen you. It seems unwise to assume there will be exceptions to the rule.

You doze off for a while. There are distant noises you try to ignore: the kitchen phone ringing, the humming of the air conditioner, the drone of the microwave, the Super Mario Bros. theme. When you wake, it is because you hear the bedroom door creaking open. Through blinking, bleary eyes, you see Aemond’s silhouette in the doorway. You know it’s him; you would know even if he wasn’t wearing his familiar Marlboro jacket and red Converses and teal duffle bag slung over one shoulder. You would know him anywhere.

You say, unsure if you’re more angry or depressed: “I thought you were done.”

He ignores this. He has two eyes again, one real and one a lie, and this seems to be becoming a recurring theme in his life. “I called. Cadi said you were sick.”

“It’s just a headache. I’ll be fine.”

“Do you get them a lot?”

“Yeah.” When I’m stressed. When I’m sad.

There’s a palm on your forehead, cool and gentle, feeling for fever. “Have you taken anything for it?”

“Nothing ever works.”

You recoil from the thud of the duffle bag against the sloping wooden floor; every sound is too loud. You have your eyes pinched shut, but you can hear Aemond unzipping the bag and then opening some sort of container. “Try this,” he says, pushing a pill between your lips. “They knock out my nerve pain when it flares up.” Then he passes you the glass of sweet tea you left on your nightstand. You sit up to swallow the pill and collapse back onto the bed. The wildflower-patterned duvet covers you up to your chest. You moan softly, touching your fingertips to your temple.

There are small thumps as Aemond quietly kicks off his Converses, and then his weight settles onto the mattress. He waits to see if you’ll tell him to stop. You don’t. He folds around you, blood and bones and muscle and warmth. His lips brush against the shell of your ear. One of his hands interlaces with yours and settles on your waist. You inhale his smoke, his cologne, his strange intermittent tenderness. He murmurs: “I’m sorry I’m doing this to you.”

“I wish I could stop,” you answer through a thick fog.

“Stop what?”

“Wishing it was possible. Wishing we were different people.”

Aemond doesn’t reply. Perhaps there’s nothing more to say. Within minutes, you are unconscious again.

When your eyes flutter open—painless, glass-clear—the room is dark and you are alone. The flashing red numbers on your alarm clock read 10:14 p.m.

“What?!” you gasp, scrambling out of bed. You rarely nap, and never for that long.

You hurry to Cadi’s room, expecting to find her bored or irritated or prepared to launch a formal complaint. Instead, she and Aemond are sitting on the floor and watching Ferris Bueller’s Day Off; Ferris is currently singing Twist And Shout on top of a parade float. There are several Pizza Hut boxes scattered around them; Cadi is eating a slice of pepperoni and mushroom. She and Aemond are mid-conversation. She is asking him as you walk in: “Wow, so Bobbi was on the news and everything?”

“He sure was. But they made him sit in this glass box because the CBS Evening News staff were so scared of AIDS they wouldn’t go anywhere near him, not even to wire him up with a microphone.”

“That’s totally bogus.”

“Yeah. Yeah it is.”

“How old was he when he died?”

“Thirty-two.”

“Really?” Cadi says, alarmed. “Grownups can die that young?”

“Sure. It’s rare, but it happens.”

Cadi looks to where you stand in the doorway. “Mom, aren’t you like thirty?”

“Almost. I’m a few years away from it.”

“Still,” Cadi says; and you witness something unfold on her face that you can’t remember seeing since she was a toddler. She is shocked, she is afraid. Her eyes shimmer; she’s forgotten all about her pizza. Aemond is watching her, realizing he’s made her aware of something that didn’t exist in her mind before.

“Oh no, love, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Aemond tells Cadi, resting a hand on her tiny shoulder. “Bobbi Campbell had a very serious disease, he wasn’t your average person. Most grownups live a long time. Your mum is going to live to be a hundred, okay? Maybe even a hundred and ten. Maybe even a hundred and twenty. It depends on how many cupcakes she eats.”

“Okay,” Cadi says, somewhat pacified but still shaken up.

“Do you want any pizza?” Aemond asks you. “We got cheese, pepperoni and mushroom, and supreme.”

“No, I’m not really hungry, thanks though.”

“Are you feeling better?”

“I am. What did you give me?”

Aemond smiles. “Percocet.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “No wonder it worked so well.”

“I left a bottle with about ten pills in your bathroom cabinet. But don’t start liking it too much. You’ll end up like Aegon.” He staggers to his feet.

“You’re leaving?” Cadi asks, openly disappointed.

“It had to happen sooner or later. It’s long past your bedtime. And I don’t live here. You couldn’t pay me to either, not with that dinosaur that lives in your front yard. I’m in fear for my life every time I visit.”

“The gator wouldn’t hurt you,” Cadi objects. “She’s too small. She’s just a baby. Next time, can you bring Gremlins?”

“Sure. I think I’ve got that VHS. Daeron might have borrowed it.” Aemond gives Cadi’s hair an affectionate ruffle and she tolerates this, something you would not have believed was possible. “I’m going to go talk to your mum for a few minutes and then head out, alright?”

“Okay. Goodnight.”

“Cheers, love.” Then Aemond follows you to the kitchen.

You pour yourself a fresh glass of sweet tea as Aemond helps himself to a snickerdoodle cupcake from one of the cake plates on the kitchen table. He licks off the frosting as he gazes at you, and you try not to feel anything. “You didn’t have to stay.”

“I know. I wanted to.” His right eye flicks down to the copy of the Bayou Journal that lies on the counter. The headline proclaims: Early tests reveal increased salinity of Lake Verret; breach of underground salt dome is suspected. “I’m sorry about that,” Aemond says awkwardly.

“Sorry about what? Ruining our lake?”

“Well, it’s not ruined, technically. It’s just…salty.”

“Aemond, almost all of the fish are going to die.”

“Will the alligators die too?” he asks hopefully.

“No. They won’t.”

“Oh.” He takes an evasive bite of his cupcake then changes the subject. “Come to my house tomorrow. After Willis picks up Cadi.”

“We’ve had this conversation before.”

“Yes, and now we’re having it again.”

“I don’t think this situation is good for either of us,” you say, but with pitifully little conviction.

Aemond places his snickerdoodle cupcake on the counter and steps towards you. And for a moment you think he’s going to order you, to command you, and you know if he does you’ll obey. But that’s not what Aemond is doing. He cradles your face in his hands and kisses you deeply, unexpectedly, without any roughness to it. Then he touches his forehead to yours as he whispers: “I was wrong. I shouldn’t have done that. I was wrong, I was wrong. I was fucked up. But I’m better now.”

“Why did you jump into the water for me?”

“Come over tomorrow,” he pleads again without answering you.

“Aemond…I don’t think I can.” I think this is destroying me. I think it’s flaying me alive, carving me away piece by piece.

“I don’t have to fuck you. I don’t even have to touch you. I just want you to be there.”

“Can I bring a friend?”

This catches Aemond off-guard. “Amir?”

“Have you not yet memorized my long, long, long list of friends?”

“Of course you can bring Amir,” Aemond says. “He’s always welcome. The only reason I haven’t invited Cadi is because Aegon leaves coke all over the house and I don’t think a kid should be exposed to that.”

“Yeah, I mean obviously I agree.”

Aemond kisses you again, a swift parting token, kind and weightless. “Bye, Cupcake. See you tomorrow.” He wolfs down the last of the snickerdoodle cupcake, grabs his teal duffle bag from the living room couch and is gone, the off-kilter front porch steps groaning under his Converses. You stand in the kitchen sipping your sweet tea for a while, listening to the air conditioner purring and the cicadas shrieking and the long-eared owl hooting as it swoops for prey. Then you begin pulling bowls and baking pans out of the cabinets.

Cadi appears, helps herself to a beignet, and turns on the little pink boombox on the kitchen counter. “Hey Mom, listen, it’s your favorite song!” She cranks up the volume: Heaven Is A Place On Earth.

You force a smile. “Yeah, it is.”

And you wait until Cadi dashes off to the bathroom to take her shower before you change the station.

~~~~~~~~~~

“What the…?” Amir squints at Sunfyre, who is floating by himself on a neon green inflatable raft in the middle of the swimming pool. “What the fuck is that? A Chernobyl hamster?”

You laugh. You’re wearing denim shorts and an unceremonious white t-shirt over your swimsuit, Kmart sneakers, hair assailed by wind and humidity, a tiny bouquet of wildflowers that Amir picked for you tucked into your back pocket. “It’s a ferret.”

“It’s a freak of nature. This is how you know the Bible isn’t real, why would Noah have let that mutant on the Ark?”

“Oh, my very favorite Napoleonville residents!” Alicent calls, beckoning you and Amir over to where she, Criston, and Daeron are gathered around a dark green beach towel littered with playing cards, gambling chips, strawberry daiquiris, and Marlboro cigarettes. Apparently, they run in the family. Alicent puffs anxiously on one, rings gleaming on her elegant fingers. “Come play with us. Do you have good poker faces?”

“I certainly hope so,” Amir replies as he pushes his tortoiseshell glasses up the bridge of his nose. He’s wearing swim trunks patterned with bright, multicolored geometric shapes. “I suspect we can’t afford to lose.”

“Can’t afford to lose,” Daeron’s blue macaw squawks from where she is perched on a nearby lounge chair, and Amir gapes at it, startled.

“Quiet, Tessarion,” Daeron soothes the bird.

“If you incur any debts, Aemond can pay them.” Alicent smiles warmly, then takes notice of the two white bakery boxes you’re carrying. “Have you brought us more of your scrumptiously authentic Southern desserts? I’ve been raving about them to all my friends back home in London. I ring them and they’re mesmerized by the notion of hummingbird cake and sweet tea. They’re even having their own kitchen staff try to replicate them.”

How antebellum. “It’s nothing too special. Just a blueberry custard pie. And some Cap’n Crunch Treats for Aegon.”

“Wonderful!” Alicent chimes. “Criston? You must get us plates and silverware immediately. We must sample this new delicacy straight away.”

Criston dutifully rises and disappears into the house they call The Last Desire. Helaena—with her chameleon Dreamfyre clinging to her shoulder—is absorbed in a conversation with Otto as they wade in the shallow end of the pool. Aegon has fallen asleep on a lounge chair and is snoring loudly; the boombox beside him is playing She Blinded Me With Science. Aegon is turning lobster red beneath the sun, but no one has bothered to wake him up. Before you can do it, Aemond walks through the French doors of the living room and out onto the cobblestones, wearing his black swim trunks. He beams when he sees you, then kicks Aegon’s chair as hard as he can.

“What?!” Aegon shouts as he jolts awake. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“You fell asleep and you look like a Twizzler.”

“A chunky Twizzler,” Daeron adds.

“You want a palm reading?” Aegon asks. He grabs Aemond’s hand and flips it over. “It says you’re a bitch.”

“Aemond, phone for you,” Criston says as he breezes out of the house holding a stack of plates, forks, and knives. “I left it off the hook in the kitchen.”

“Thanks. Got it.” Then Aemond tells you: “I’ll be back in five minutes.”

When he vanishes, you and Amir join the poker game. Aegon splashes into the pool to grab Sunfyre, collects his bakery box of Cap’n Crunch Treats, and then pads into the house to presumably slather himself in Noxzema. Criston cuts everyone a slice of blueberry custard pie, which Alicent raves about. You can’t bear to have Criston inconvenienced once again to prepare daiquiris for you and Amir; before Alicent can think of it, you jog to the kitchen to grab two cans of Pepsi from the fridge. But just as you reach the doorway, Aemond’s voice stops you. It isn’t a phone call about the rigs or the stock market. It isn’t family, it isn’t friends.

“Yes, dearest,” Aemond is saying, and you peek into the kitchen to get a better look. He’s got the handset of a blue phone to his ear and is turned away from you. His back is straight and rigid; his voice is steady but dispassionate. “Right. I understand. Yes, completely. Don’t be ridiculous, of course I miss you. All the time. Yes, and we’ll discuss it then. I can’t wait either. I’ll see you soon. Yes, yes. And you as well. Cheers, darling.” There is a pause. “I love you too.”

Aemond hangs up the phone, sighs deeply, rubs his scarred forehead. You slip away before he knows you’re there.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen x you

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thisonehere · 5 months

Note

Hello! I really like how you write the boys, I'd like to request a smut one with them being the receiving end? Perhaps a prostate massage from their s/o? I would love to see Bi-han and Johnny Cage but you can also choose others I'd love to see them too!

Thank you and have a lovely day c:

Omg, Yes! I'll do it! :D

A totally normal Prostate Exam

NSFW HEADKANONS A/N: I'm so sorry for the wait, I hope you enjoyed this. Oh, and Merry Christmas and a horny new year lol Tags: MK1, MK1 AU, C/w: NSFW, Anal sex, fingering, pet names, dom!sex, mentions bodily fluids, you make them your b!tch, not fully proofread, g/n reader Characters: Bi-Han, Johnny Cage, Kung Lao, Tomas, Shang Tsung Next part

Bi-Han

As Grandmaster of the Lin Kuei, Bi-Han has always been a very dominant man. Especially when it came to you and the sex. He would always put you into specific positions where he had all the power and then he'd fuck you sore.

But this time, things are different. You want to try something different with him. Namely, you wanted your finger inside him.

Bi-Han was against this very concept at first. The very idea even offends him, the idea of you dominating him infuriates him and goes as far as offending him. Maybe he'll even give you the silent treatment for days. But as more time passes, the idea begins to intrigue him more and more. The idea grew more and more enticing and he finally gave in to the temptation.

Pulling you into a room, Bi-Han was sure to shut and lock the doors and cover the mirrors. He didn't want a single soul to see or know about this except you.

Finally comfortable knowing that anyone would see him, Bi-Han took off his clothes and lies on the bed, revealing his plump ass to you.

As you enter him, you can hear Bi-Han struggling to stifle his gasps. "Keep going." He demands though. As you continue, you notice him fighting too keep in moans as he balls his clutches at the sheets.

The room gets colder, no doubt a result of Bi-Han loosing control of his powers as you finger fuck him. You start to get faster and faster as time goes on. Bi-Han struggles even harder to hold in his whines as the feeling starts to overwhelm him.

The climax finally comes, Bi-Han can no longer hold back anymore. His hot semen spills it onto the bed and slowly sinks into the mattress. He raises his head abruptly and basically screams in pleasure. His cries are so loud that you are sure that it echoes off the walls, making sure that everybody heard him.

You pull out your fingers finally and Bi-Han collapses onto his stomach. He faintly looks up at you, a bit of embarrassment can be sensed on his face. "That was... adequate, Y/n." He attempts a compliment, obviously flustered as blush slowly develops onto his face.

Johnny Cage

When you first proposed the idea, Johnny almost bent over right then and there. At the end of the day, Johnny is very much a freak. Name anything kinky and he'll no doubt be into it.

He would insist that you do it right then and there, he could care less where you were, on a movie set, the royal palace, the Wu Shi academy, the man lacks public decency.

Finally finding the perfect place to do it, Johnny would insist that you record him, he wanted everything to be captured.

He took off his clothes excitedly, even tearing off some of his clothes in the process. If there is a bed, he throws himself onto the bed and rolls onto his back. He lifted his legs to reveal the tight, little hole in his big round ass. It pulsed, eager awaiting your touch.

Johnny moans as he feels your fingers enter him. "That's it, baby, fuck me." He whimpers, fully embracing your touch. He grabs his cock and begins to masturbate, perfectly in sync with your rhythm.

He laughs. "You're pretty good, Y'n, are sure this is your first time or are you holding out on me?" he jokes.

You get faster and faster and so does he, he's not exactly a screamer but he doesn't hesitate to let loud moans and whining as you get closer and closer to the climax.

Finally, seen spill out of his dick and it gets all over him. Painting his body with the hot sticky fluid.

He wipes it off and immediately goes to look at the the footage you recorder. As he reviews it, he looks at you with a smile. "Well, baby, looks like we got something award winning on our hands."

*Holiday Bonuses*

Kung Lao

Kung Lao laughed it off at first. You? Top him? He didn't think so.

But as he began to think about it, his pride began to get the better of him. Could you fuck him better than he can you? That thought would cloud his head and distract him almost every day.

Kung Lao finally succumbs to the curiosity and before you know it, he's on his back with his legs in the air, his nice ass laid out perfectly before you.

"Alright, Y/n, let's get this over with. But don't be disappointed when you don't get it right. After all, no can fuck better than the great Kung la-OOOHHHH!" you stick your finger inside of him before he can finish boasting. He gasps in surprise at the touch of your fingers suddenly inside of him, rubbing his anal walls.

Kung Lao attempts to play it cool at first, trying to pretend as it didn't feel as good as it actually is.

He grips at the sheets, doing his damnedest to contain his composure. He tightly shuts his mouth to prevent any moan. He can't allow you to know that he's enjoying this.

He looks at you and forces out a smile. "Okay, maybe you are pretty okay. But this is nothing compared to the way I fuck you." And with that, you go at a faster pace.

Kung Lao's eyes grow wide with surprise, he lets out a slight squeal at this. He can't even think straight anymore. Finally, he cums. The semen spills out and spreads across his body, glistening against his abs.

He struggles to catch his breath as he tries to contain you composure. His cheeks are flushed and he is dizzy. He slightly gets up to look you trying to smile, but you fucked him so hard that he can't help but feel emasculated by you. "That was-um- n-nice. Uh, how about you come here? I'll show you what a good finger-fuck feels like."

Tomas

His face is red with blush the moment you suggest this. During sex, he was never really submissive, but he wasn't dominant either. It isn't hard to convince him, he immediately gives in when see's how excited you are to try it.

He undresses and lies down onto his stomach, anxiously looking back at you. His beautiful ass sits there before you, it quivers at your touch.

As you plunge your fingers into it, Tomas throws his face into the bed, grips the sheets, and lets out a muffled scream in surprise. "K-Keep going, you're doing great." he attempts to encourage you.

You continue to finger him, pulling in and out at a steady tempo. Tomas slowly adjusts to this feeling, it starts to feel better and better as you continue.

He whimpers and whines from the pleasure he is receiving. He thinks to himself that if just your fingers could do this to him, what would something bigger do to him, say, a dick?

He looks back at you and smiles. "You're doing amazing, I love you so much." His endearing smiles encourage you to go on.

You go faster and faster, Tomas's moans soon turn into screams. His climax is getting closer and closer, he starts making inaudible sounds that make no sense. It's like he's speaking gibberish.

Soon he cums finally. His hot seed splashes and squirts everywhere. Onto his body, onto the mattress, it even finds it's way onto you.

And with that finished, Tomas lied on his back for minutes as he catches his breath and fully processes what just happened. He sits up and looks at you with an innocent smile, as if he wasn't fingered just a few moment ago. "Maybe we should, um, do more of this. I'd love for you to do more stuff to me, maybe I could even do some stuff to you." He says with his innocent smile. It seems that you've awoken something in him, and might never go back to sleep.

Shang Tsung

When you suggest such a thing to Tsung, he doesn't refuse at all, in fact even is kind of into it. Tsung is quite a freak himself, evening going as far as insisting that Quan Chi and a few of his other servants watch.

With a snap of his finger you two are suddenly naked and gets onto his back and spreads his legs. "Be sure to not waste my time, poppet, or else I'll have to... punish you.". You shiver, you know how ruff Tsung lies to get when he punishes you.

You stare at his delicious ass as it pulses, inviting you inside. You stick your fingers in and Tsung purrs.

He takes his giant cock into his hand and starts to masturbate and locks eyes with you.

You begin to thrust harder and faster causing Tsung to let out what sounded like a laugh mixed with moaning. He makes a strange gesture and you suddenly feels something inside your own ass. The bastard out spell on you to make you feel like you were being fingered too. Not that you were complaining.

You both start to moan loudly and in sync, you hear Quan Chi and the others chuckling and you notice that they are playing with themselves as they watch you.

Tsung makes a gesture with his hand and your head swivels over back to him. "Focus, Y/n, you'll get your turn to fuck them in just a second. First, you fuck me."

And with that, you both feel your climaxes coming. You cum and so does Tsung... onto you. He castes a spell which caused both of your semen to spill to splash onto you. Your covered with his hot jizz as it drenches you and makes you sticky all over.

Tsung Laugh as he magic his clothes back onto him, but not you. "That was beautiful, Poppet. In fact, why don't I have my boys show you my appreciation." He said with cocky smirk.

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sanjoongie · 4 months

Text

All that's delicious is dipped in gold

To my lovely @daesukiii, here's a drabble I wrote in mind for you. I hope you enjoy and it brightens up your birthday 😘 thank you for being the seonghwa to my joong 😂

👑Pairing: Earl! Jung Wooyoung x Countess! Reader (f) 👑Au: Royalty Au 👑Trope: fuckboi to marriage 😆 👑Genre: smut, pwp 👑Rating: 18+, MDNI 👑Warnings: penetrative sex with no barrier (we are trying to make babies here), creampie, begging, nipple play, wooyoung just looking to take care of his new wifey 👑Word Count: 1,689 👑Summary: it's your first night with the earl and denying him only intensifies the pleasure he's about to bring to your marriage bed

You cling the luxurious sheets to your chest, your heart pounding a mile a minute. Any minute now the earl--your newly-appointed husband-- would enter this room. His domain, his rules. You needed to consummate the marriage, hopefully become pregnant with an heir. But you had married a scourge, a rogue, a lord with no honor. He was your husband now, however, and your body became his new plaything.

“I've arrived!” Wooyoung declared throwing the double doors open wide. He gulped deeply from a jeweled chalice and then threw the glass of wine against a wall, smashing it and letting out a loud noise of happiness at the beverage being consumed.

You flinched at the loud announcement and dramatics, clinging even tighter to the sheet as the footmen hastened to grab the handles of the doors and close them.

Wooyoung’s eager eyes sought out your body and he smiled slowly upon finding you naked and in his bed. “Ah, there you are, Countess.”

He strolled across the room, shrugging off his heavy jacket and throwing that to a chair before the roaring fireplace. He then pulled his flowing white shirt out of being tucked into the waist of his pants and then pulled his shirt off by grabbing the back of it and pulling it over his head. Bare-chest, Wooyoung began to crawl up the bed to you, toeing off his shoes momentarily. He got about halfway up the enormous bed until he started to pull the sheets downwards so that you would have nothing to hide behind.

“Come come, little shepherdess, I promise to not be too rough with your sheep.” Wooyoung had the audacity to grin and then run his tongue along his bottom lip.

“You're hardly a big bad wolf,” You scoffed at him, rolling your eyes.

“That's not what your nipples are saying, my love,” Wooyoung teased you.

“It's cold in here and you're taking away the blan--”

Wooyoung grabbed both your feet and pulled you bodily down the bed. You squealed as soon Wooyoung had you boxed in: hands on either side of your head and knees on either side of your hips. “Wife, we are to become one,” Wooyoung said with a roguish smile, perking up one side of his face.

“Let's be reasonable, Wooyoung it's been a long day,” You whispered.

“I agree. I should already have been tongue-deep into you and would be working myself into your tight heat. But someone has a sweet tooth and wanted another serving of dessert.” Wooyoung’s eyes followed the lines of your face, down your neck and into your bosom. “Now it's time for mine.”

“Wouldn't you rather have a deep sleep in which you could ravage me tomorrow?” You managed to squeak, feeling your breath quicken by Wooyoung and his likeness to a wolf wanting to eat you up.

“Why are you avoiding this, wife of mine?” Wooyoung gently bounced your breasts in the palms of his hands, making you moan in response.

“You're going to make me dick-drunk,” You whispered conspiratorially.

Wooyoung blinked at you several times before he finally cracked into laughter. “Are you afraid to become addicted to my lovemaking?”

“What if you take a lover?” You wailed.

Wooyoung let out a scoff. “We just got married and you're already worried about our passion going cool?”

“I just don't want to get my hopes up,” You grumbled.

Wooyoung dropped his head to hover his lips over yours. “I won't ever let you down.”

With his lips slanted over yours, Wooyoung kissed like he always wanted to leave you wanting more. His short tongue would sweep across your lip to request entrance but when your own chased his, it went back into his mouth. He would pursue you with wanton eagerness but the minute you pushed back into his advances and he would pull back. You whimpered into his mouth and Wooyoung chuckled deeply.

“Please, Wooyoung,” You begged when he broke the kiss.

Wooyoung studied your features and he couldn't look more pleased. “I haven’t even given you what you want and you’re stupid for me.”

Wooyoung ignored the ache between your legs, and the press of his hard-on against the tightness of his pants, and paid homage to the globes of flesh on your chest that had been teasing him all night during the ball to celebrate your marriage. His red-from-wine tongue took broad licks of your nipple, eyes rolled up to your face to view it screwed up into pleasure. He left your nipples so spit-slick that they puckered in the cold air again.

Your lower half began to buck upwards in the air. “Woo-wooyoung,” You panted his name again.

“Tell me what you want from me, Countess,” Wooyoung tempted you with a playful smile.

“I need you… inside me… please!” You pleaded with a whine.

Wooyoung sucked heavily on two fingers and then found the juncture between your thighs. He hardly needed to wet his fingers because you were almost weeping there for him. “Wife of mine, you are practically dripping for me.”

You casted an arm over your face. This was incredibly embarrassing. You knew this was going to happen. “Shut up, Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung clucked his tongue at you. “That’s hardly the manner you should be addressing me, my love.”

Wooyoung began to play with your hole but only to torture you. He would push his finger only up to the first knuckle into your clenching hole and then he endlessly circled your clit but never actually brushed over your sensitive pearl.

“Wooyoung,” You said his name through clenched teeth.

“Tell me properly what you want, Countess. I want the dirty words coming from your mouth. I want you to be improper just for me,” Wooyoung commanded, tongue caught between his teeth in anticipation. “If you can do that for me, I will fuck you straight to your orgasm.”

You whimpered and widened your legs. “Wooyoung, I need your pretty cock inside my wet hole, please, My Lord.”

The dash of manners tucked into the filthy sentence made Wooyoung’s eyes roll into the back of his head. Oh, he had lucked out by marrying you and making you his Countess. “It would be my pleasure, wife of mine.”

Wooyoung undid the ties of his pants and pulled them down his legs, only so far to free his dick and bare his ass. He played the head of his cock along the folds of your cunt, wetting up his thick cock so that he could penetrate you with ease. You swallowed in anticipation, watching as his head pushed past your wet lips and finally entered you. Your back arched as he fucked his way in; slowly making his way in with shallow thrusts that opened your tight heat to his intrusion.

Once he was full hilt, all dogs were off to the race. His thrusts were accurate once he found the spongy area that made you gasp. He angled his thrusts so he could always rub over that place, no longer caring for his own orgasm and simply seeking out pleasure for his wife.

“Woo--Woo,” You whimpered pitifully. At least you could still remember whose cock was inside of you.

“It’s okay, my love, I’ve got you,” Wooyoung cooed to you, pushing hair fondly from your face.

His thrusts were calculated, powerful, and you didn’t even know if you knew where you were right now. The rub of the velvet sheets under your naked body as Wooyoung coaxed an orgasm from you made you spare a moment to think, maybe, you could live the rest of your life in this bed with Wooyoung. “So good,” was all you could manage verbally.

Wooyoung was focused but he was losing his control. You were clenching around him like he was the only thing to keep you alive and that was his cock inside of you. His thrusts became sloppy and you whined at the difference of pace. Wooyoung blew some hair out of his face and mentally slapped himself. He said he would take care of you and he meant that. Did your cunt have to be so fucking good though?

“Gonna cum for me, my love?” Wooyoung said to you, searching to bring you back to him.

Your hands dug into the ample flesh of his ass, urging him deeper and harder inside of you. “Please, unload inside of me. I want you to drip out of me too.”

Well, there went all of Wooyoung’s good intentions.

His thrusts were harder, choppier, and he was gone. He needed the mental imagery out of his head and before his eyes. Wooyoung fucked you through your orgasm, single-mindedly. He didn’t miss the way you whined through the drawn-out orgasm. He didn’t miss the way your walls fluttered around him; like he needed anymore more encouragement to come inside of you. He thrusted deeply inside of you and then felt himself explode there. You had to be better than any well-trained courtesan in the realm.

You were moaning his name, tossing your head back and forth, when Wooyoung suddenly pulled his cock from your hole. He crudely spread your cunt lips apart so he could watch your fluttering hole push his cum out. He watched with his mouth open in a small, pink ‘o’. He could get used to watching this, perhaps for the rest of his life.

“My lord…” You panted, attempting to push yourself up to meet Wooyoung’s happy grin at the sight between your legs. “That’s not going to get you heirs.”

Wooyoung made the rude noise of blowing a raspberry. “The night is still young. The first shot never matters the first time anyways.”

“The…” You blinked blearedly, “...first time?”

Wooyoung moved his body up so that he could give your lips a quick peck. “Why, of course, wife of mine. I could hardly deny myself your body while it’s so readily available.”

You whimpered and Wooyoung laughed. “Perhaps some water first and a nice wipe down.”

Somehow you didn’t think that the wipe down was going to be as benign as he was selling it. And you found that you didn’t want it any other way.

#kvanity #kwritersworldnet #pirateeznet #cultofdionysusnet #ateez smut #jung wooyoung smut #wooyoung smut #atz smut #jung wooyoung x reader #daelight 😁#topaz's works

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