Gay Shit written by A Gay Shit

•you practically pounce on him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and burying your face in the crook of his neck to inhale the scent of him

•he freezes for a second

•then he chuckles and wraps his arms around you, leaning down to whisper in your ear that if you'd wanted his scent, all you had to do was ask

•he grabs the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair. Then he raises his other arm, resting his hand behind his head. He grins at you

•and then he presses you forward, smushing your face right into his armpit

•you do your best to maintain your composure, halfheartedly pushing against him, but eventually you take a breath and shudder

•he chuckles again, and it's only then that you realize you've been whimpering and pressing yourself against him

•Using a strap-on to coax as many orgasms out of him as you can

•He's whining and whimpering under you, eyes glassy with tears

•You just coo and shush him, planting kisses to his temple, cheekbones, and neck

•he clings to you like you're his only tether to the world

•you start out making him count each release, but by the third one, he's completely gone, babbling nonsense and arching his back into you

•after you force the fifth orgasm out of him, you finally stop, pulling out of him as you coo at his whimpers

•you tell him to stay put while you clean up, taking care of the toy and wiping him down with a warm damp cloth

•he obeys, because he can't deny you anything, and stays put, even as the cloth travels lower and makes him whimper again.

•he's completely exhausted, barely able to keep his eyes open, though he refuses to let sleep take him until you climb into bed with him

•you curl around his back, pulling him close to you and pressing a kiss to the back of his neck

This night was no different. Lyndan had once again left Aerion laying on is stomach in a fresh wet patch on his own bed as he cleaned himself and dressed. This time, though, he’d simply left the strap-on buried deep in Aerion’s ass. He could deal with that on his own. Especially after how the prince had acted nearly all day. Lyndan pulled his night shirt over his head and glanced over at Aerion, who seemed to still be coming back down to earth. He frowned. As satisfying as it was to force Aerion into submission nearly every night, it turned Lyndan’s stomach to know Aerion was likely enjoying his nightly punishments. His frown turned to a scowl.

Before Aerion could do more than turn his head towards the door, Lyndan turned on his heel and stalked out into the hallway. The door slammed behind him, cutting off all thoughts of that arrogant, cruel prince.

Moments later, Lyndan had snuck through a servant’s door into Daeron’s chambers, where the prince was sat by the fire. A bottle of wine and two cups sat on the table next to him.

Instead of a proper greeting, Lyndan simply said, “Please tell me that’s Dornish wine.”

Daeron nearly leapt clear off his chair, barely holding back a surprised yelp as he whirled around to see Lyndan standing next to his chair. A small, delighted grin crept across Lyndan’s face – he had a bad habit of accidentally sneaking up on people, and it was endlessly funny when they jumped. The prince huffed a small laugh, running a hand through his tangled hair before gesturing to the other chair.

“You know,” Daeron said with a small grin of his own, opening the bottle and filling the cups with wine, “One of these days, you’re going to sneak up on the wrong person-”

“Like your father?” Lyndan interrupted with a snort, taking a long drink of wine.

“I definitely wouldn’t recommend sneaking up on him.”

“Oh, he wouldn’t hurt me. The man’s a softie.”

That made Daeron sputter and wheeze into his drink, leaning forward in his chair to cough as Lyndan laughed.

Once he caught his breath, Daeron turned towards Lyndan, an eyebrow raised, “We’re talking about the same man, right? My father. Maekar.”

“He’s a softie,” Lyndan confirmed simply, continuing after a moment of stunned silence from Daeron, “He’s just...a heavily armored softie. Maekar cares about you all, Daeron.”

Lyndan was going to continue, but Daeron sighed and set his cup down, looking into the fire. After a few seconds, he turned his eyes back to Lyndan, a small grin twisting the corner of his mouth up.

“Are we going to spend all night talking about my father,” he said, sliding down to sit on the cushions he kept by the hearth, “Or are you going to come over here and let me make you feel like the man you are?”

~ Maekar agreed. It seemed both families thought this marriage would "tame" or "fix" their respective offspring.

~ no one thought to ask either you or Aerion about it

~ the night before your wedding, you'd hacked at your long hair with a kitchen knife, sawing off messy chunks at random. At some point you noticed you were crying. You weren't sure when you'd started

~ the morning of your wedding, a servant had to be called in to fix your hair. They tsked and tutted about how terrible it was that your beautiful long hair had to be cut so short

~ you overheard a servant whispering to another as you looked at your new reflection. It sounded like they'd said you would make a handsome lad. It took effort not to grin at that.

~ Aerion had been furious when you'd walked out. He took your shorn hair as a deep personal insult to himself. A denial of the beautiful bride he was promised.

~ he'd planned to show you who was going to be in control from that night on

~ instead, you showed him

~ you wouldn't let him penetrate you, you hated him too much for that

~ hate sex. So much of it

~ ok it's mostly you using a strap on while his arms are bound behind his back because he's pissed you off all day

~ you fuck him, his face pressed into the mattress, forcing him to cum untouched

~ he lets out a sigh

~ and then you don't stop

~ you force him to cum over and over again, pain turning into pleasure and back into pain, until he's left drooling into the pillow, laying limp in his own mess

~ you cut his arms free, skimming his skin with the blade you keep nearby

~ then you unstrap yourself from the strap on, not bothering to remove it from Aerion's ass, and get up to dress without a word

~ you both know you're going to spend the rest of the night with his brother, Daeron

It takes him a few frustrating tries before he figures out the trick to winning. You tell him it's alright, he doesn't need to spend the money, but he's determined

He also insists on carrying the oversized stuffed animal he won for you

You get to carry the snacks

Bucky is a bit of a thrill seeker at heart, so he practically begs you to ride the Zipper with him

He's so cute when he's excited. How could you say no?

The two of you walk off the ride dizzy and giggling, leaning on each other as you stumble towards the next ride

You spend a good portion of the night there, laughing and riding every ride you see

You try to complain, whining about the pile of work you still have to do, but he shushes you and leads you to your shared bedroom

He quietly asks you to lie down on the bed, you raise an eyebrow, he just chuckles and rolls up his sleeves

You lay down, finding it a little difficult to get comfortable on your stomach

Once you're settled, Dark climbs onto the bed, straddling your hips

His hands quickly find and work to relax every knot in your back

You let out a happy sigh, which earns you another chuckle from Dark

He works on your back a while longer, until he can feel you relaxing into sleep

You’d held out this entire time, moving ever forward using nothing but pure willpower to continue. It reminded him of the flowers he’d seen back home, growing through stone paths and buildings. A slow but unstoppable force from each flower, each leaf, adding to the pressure that would eventually crack those stones in half. You were strong – powerful – in your own quiet way, Cahara knew that. Admired it. Unfortunately….even as tough as you were, you weren’t built to endure this place. No one was.

“I know,” he said with a sad smile, extending his arm to you, “C’mere.”

Cahara barely had time to blink before you’d launched yourself into his lap, trembling arms wrapped around him as tight as they could go. He froze for a moment; startled by how quickly you’d moved (he sometimes forgot you could be so fast) his arms finally coming up to pull you in closer.

He hummed softly to you a while, a song from when he was young, lightly rocking the both of you as you tried to relax in what he hoped was a safe room. The two of you had gotten separated from Ragnvaldr and Enki one, no, two a few days ago and had been running since. You were visibly exhausted and Cahara worried you wouldn’t be able to run much longer.

With any luck, one of them would spot one of the markings Cahara had left around the dungeons, coded messages meant to guide them to one hiding place or another. Hopefully they’d find the right one. He huffed a quiet laugh into your hair as he pictured Enki angrily decoding each message they find, spurring Ragnvaldr onward so he could scold the two of you for getting so lost. That was one angry rant he’d be happy to listen to, he decided, as long as it meant you were all back together.

Cahara hugged you a little tighter, relieved that you seemed to be getting some rest. He tried - and failed - to stop his wince as he adjusted the bandages covering the mangled, bloody stump of his right wrist, one simple phrase repeating in his head.

he drinks so much beer you're sure his mouth permanently tastes like the stuff

as horrified as you are by the idea, you think you might be becoming addicted to it

Strade is ROUGH in bed

i'm talking wrenching your arms backwards while his other hand presses into the back of your neck, leaning his weight onto you and forcing your face into the bed, leaving you to struggle for tiny breaths through one nostril

he will straight up fold your ass in half (you didn't even know your body could do that)

and one time he fucking threw you across the room-

no one can deny that Strade loves marking you up - just look at what he's done to Ren!

bruises, hickeys, perfect imprints of his teeth, scabbed over and sure to leave a scar

and the toys he brings into the bedroom?

ropes, handcuffs, gags, knives, lighters, duct tape and a plastic bag over your head, suffocating you and keeping you trapped on the verge of passing out as Strade ruts into you like a feral beast

the lewd groan he lets out when you clench around him nearly makes you cum right then and there

half the time Strade isn't fucking you, not really

he's simply using your body to get off. like some kind of living fucktoy

what's worse is he tends to fall asleep afterwards with alarming speed

sometimes right there on top of you, leaving you to rut desperately against him, crushed under his weight and still fully impaled on his slowly softening dick

sometimes you wake up to him fucking himself into you - seemingly still asleep himself

you're too delirious in your own half-asleep state to stop yourself from rolling your hips against his, whining softly when he presses himself in deeper. your eyes roll back as you spread your legs, allowing Strade's sleeping body to chase its own pleasure within yours. greedily you clench again, spurring his body to fuck a bit harder into you. you use his sleeping body just as he's used yours. and as you fall asleep, Strade's body still awkwardly moving against yours, seeking the friction you'd cruelly stopped giving him, you can't help the small smile that creeps its way onto your face