•°...Lay. . .

Morning After...

Jamil is said to be a great cook. He begs to differ, as he considers you to be the greatest meal he has yet to cook.

The vice housewarden was a sensual lover—putting your needs before him as always. Somehow, he had you spread on the counter as he ate his fill.

You simply reminded him to have his lunch, and he suddenly locked the doors and immediately started making out with you. He didn't even give you time to process, and before you knew it, your panties were ripped! Was he that hungry?

“Hng! Ja—! Darling, please… Slo-slow down!”

Jamil didn't even hear you; he was too busy with thrusting his tongue in and out of you. His hands gripping your thighs to keep them spread open, legs tensing every time his tongue flicked over your clit.

He was a starved man. It's been so long since he last touched you. Do forgive him for his impatience.

The man between your legs pulled away for a moment, trailing kisses from your inner thighs to the soft mounds of your breasts. His hips slowly grinding on your aching cunt, your slick getting all over his pants.

His mouth proceeded to leave marks from around your chest to your neck. Hot breath tickling your skin at every pause he made.

“So pretty just for me… All mine.”

Jamil had this habit of reminding himself that you were his. Whenever he lost himself in pleasure, he would begin to mumble praises and words of possession. The very idea of having you solely for him made his mind dizzy and his dick hard. The vice housewarden would always claim it wasn't about control, but you would think otherwise.

“Hurry, I need you, Jamil…” You whined out, fingers tangling in his dark hair as your legs wrapped around his waist. With his mind clouded in lust, he did not even think to tease you as he usually would.

His hands frantically pulling his cock out, aligning it to your drenched cunt before slowly pushing it in. Whispered praises spilt from his lips, wanting to imbed in your mind just how good you take him.

Soft moans echoed in the empty kitchen, the marbled countertop sending chills down your spine as it contrasted the heat that radiated off him. His lips found yours in a hungry kiss as he began to move. Every thrust was deliberate and precise, the tip of his cock hitting that sweet spot in an instant.

Your screams of pleasure were swallowed by him, not wanting his dormmates to hear your hypnotizing symphony. Jamil knew the risk of fucking in the dorm's kitchen, but did that stop him? Honestly, it exhilarated every fiber of his being.

While he did not welcome the idea of others seeing you in such a compromising position, he did relish in the idea that others would know exactly who you belong to. The very thought of it made his cock twitch uncontrollably inside you.

Jamil could feel the familiar coil in his stomach, his pace starting to quicken as he wished to come with you.

“Yeah! I guess Jamil must be in the kitchen!”

Was he hallucinating? Did the pleasure finally fuck with his mind? Why the fuck was he hearing Kalim's awfully cheery voice?!

His movements completely stilled as the voices got louder. You immediately took notice of his sudden change in behavior, a wave of panic evident in his face. The doorknob clanked loudly in the empty kitchen—Kalim was trying to open the door.

This, however, gave you a terrible idea. Your hips began to grind against his, pushing his cock deeper into you. A choked groan fell from his lips as he looked at you with fear in his eyes. So this must be what he feels when he's in control of the situation.

A sly smirk adorned your features as you made him thrust faster, not minding Kalim's from the outside. Your goal right now was to make Jamil come.

His moans were suppressed with a bite on his lips, trying his best not to make too much noise. Jamil was mentally cursing you for doing this to him. He wanted to grab your hips to make you stop, but the irrational part of his brain focused too much on the pleasure, his body already giving in to the pleasure you were giving him.

The thrill, your warmth, and your moans were driving him insane. He could feel his orgasm quickly approaching. He doesn't even know where to focus on with so many things happening all at once.

“Mmhp! Ha—!”

It wasn't until your hand grabbed a handful of his hair to pull on it harshly that his climax finally crashed down on him. A quiet whimper suppressed by biting down on his lips until they bled. The sight of his blood dripping from his lips forces your own orgasm to come crashing.

Both of you tried to silence your noises, too hyperaware of the audience behind that door. Your body collapsed on the cold countertop, the toll of your release finally dawning on you.

Jamil wasn't in good shape either, his body lying on top of you as he tried to catch his breath. Both of you didn't even realize Kalim and the others had given up on trying to open the door.

“Care to explain your actions?”

It seems Jamil has regained his strength, hands gently grabbing and squeezing your cheeks in an attempt to ‘punish’ you. He wanted to scold you for being stupid and reckless, but you fucked the energy out of him.

“I have no idea what you're talking about. I was just trying to make you come.” You gave him a sweet smile, eyes sparkling with innocence as you lied your way through his questioning.

Jamil sometimes wished he had the ability to resist you because at times like this, he is slapped with the reality that he has spoilt you a little too much.

[Idia]: ??? [Vil]: Are you okay, potato? [Azul]: highly doubt she is [Riddle]: can someone check up on her? [Leona]: I'll do it [Everyone]: NO! [Name]: im finsd guys i jusf feel a bit hot [Malleus]: child of man, are you drunk? [Name]: a bjt but notjing too strong [Jamil]: please someone go check up on her. [Idia]: why don’t you do it? [Jamil]: I'm busy with Kalim, and I would’ve told you to do it if it weren’t for the fact that you’re so incompetent. [Name]: i need someeione baddd rnnn… i’m so fdjuckjng hrnyyy [Malleus]: I’ll take care of you. [Everyone]: NO! [Leona]: there’s no telling what you’re gonna do, lizard. [Malleus]: not like you beastmen are any better. [Leona]: but i’d still treat her better than you. [Malleus]: i’d like to see you try [Idia]: hehe a battle of the housewardens, i like this [Vil]: Stop talking, Idia.

The dorm leader of Pomefiore breaks into your room swiftly, the door left permanently destroyed by his strong arms, but deemed to be necessary for you. 

He sees you on the bed— squirming.

You giggle as you get up to give him a tight, loving embrace. He reciprocates it with an arm around your waist, dragging you onto the bed to sit down, but you clearly had other plans. 

“V-vil… please,” you whine, hugging him tightly while you sit on his lap, leaving no room between the two of you. Your hands are wrapped tightly around his neck as your head rests on his shoulder, waist surrounded by his strong arm caging you in.

He hesitates. “No, you’re dr—” he pulls away from you when he feels your lips touch his neck, gentle hands on your shoulders to create some distance.

“W-whhy?” You hiccup. “J-just a little at least!” 

He sighs audibly. It’s really not like you to be so… needy. You should be glad it’s Vil because if it were anyone else, they would’ve given in to your needs long before and you would’ve been drilled to the bed so hard you wouldn’t be able to walk for weeks. But I digress.

He strokes your hair gently, “We can’t— not when you’re not sober.”

“Then, can we do it when I am?” You ask, sniffling and eyes glassy from holding back from crying.

He feels guilty, and it’s taking everything in him not to take you right then and there. “Sure,” he replies, but it’s only to satisfy you. He hates himself for letting this happen to you, because maybe if he was more involved then maybe you wouldn’t have plunged yourself so deep into the grave. Maybe if he scolded the guys for treating you differently then maybe you wouldn’t have drunk so much. 

It would be untrue if he said he didn’t feel bad for not stepping in but his emotions got the better of him. At first, he thought you deserved the backlash. Neige already took everything from him and now it’s Atlas. There’s only so much a man can do before he breaks. 

Take this as an honest and sincere apology. Whatever he’s done before, he regrets.

He sleeps with you for the night, hugging you tightly from the back. It would be a lie to say he didn’t want you back; it just didn’t feel right. He couldn’t take advantage of you when you’re so vulnerable, despite how adorable you were.

The morning after was embarrassing. Your eyes widened and cheeks painted a deep shade of red. 

Vil started to stir awake from his slumber, blinking a couple times before processing that you’re awake. He does nothing regardless, and just goes back to sleep.

Why is he here? What happened?

Your memories are blurry when you try to push yourself to remember. All you really saw in the unclear images were how sad you were when… yeah. Now, you remember everything from start to finish: how it started with you being rejected which made you drink to your heart’s content up until how the hickeys appeared on Vil’s neck. The guilt starts seeping into your skin.

They’ve darkened overnight, and you can’t deny how painful they look… and how many of them there were. You hovered over the spots, wondering if you should do anything about it. 

“Hm?” He opens his eyes and stares at you. 

“D-did I really do that?” You pointed at his neck.

He hums in agreement. “You did it everywhere, [name].” He sits up and pulls the collar of his shirt lower to show that it was not only his neck that fell victim to your overly violent affection.

The embarrassment stings more. “I-I’m so sorry, you could’ve stopped me,” 

“Don’t worry. I didn’t want to, you were having too much fun and you seemed so upset before,” he says, scooching over to coddle you. “Plus, it’s not like I can’t fix it with a little makeup and magic,”

“Don’t let me do that ever again,” you demanded.

“If I didn’t stop you, you would’ve done much worse,” he explains, slowly remembering the memories of last night.

—

“Mmh, [name],” he moaned. “stop it before you regret it.”

“I won’t— love you too much,” you nibble on bits of his neck, desperate to mark him.

He whines. “You’re just saying that,”

“I’m not!” You bite harder.

He grunts. “[Name], no.” He scolds you like a child, only further emphasised by how you pout and cross your arms.

“Hmph,” you look away.

He sighs. You’re so adorable when you’re so bratty, he thinks to himself. “Fine, continue on whatever you’re doing,” 

Your eyes lit up like a thousand fireworks, and you were quick to get back to work. Your mouth stuck onto his neck for dear life: kissing it, nibbling on it, and sucking on it.

—

Brain still fuzzy and groggy, you don’t exactly know what he means by ‘worse’, but soon you will know the answer. Sooner than you wanted it to be.

The biggest mistake was opening up the group chat between you and the overblot gang. And it’s not exactly a satisfying read.

[Vil]: I just arrived. [Malleus]: How is she? [Vil]: Not exactly the best; she’s whining about something. [Riddle]: About what? [Vil]: I have no idea, just small stammers and blabs. [Idia]: damn [Vil]: Nevermind, now I know what she wants. She’s clawing at my pants rn, wait. [Riddle]: Vil, don’t do anything. [Leona]: Oi, don’t do anything bad to herbivore. [Malleus]: If you hurt child of man, I’m coming for you, Vil. [Vil]: Gee, thanks for the appreciation.

It’s… disturbing. At this point, you’re not even sure if letting them know you’re this vulnerable or explicitly telling them about how desperate you are is worse. But the latter seems worse. 

Actually, you’re not even sure if trying to take off his pants was even the worst part. 

Then, you get a text from Leona— the ever-so-caring housewarden.

[Leona]: are you better, herbivore? [Name]: how nice of you to check up on me, but yeah, just a little dizzy though [Leona]: what did you do with Vil last night? [Name]: I can’t remember, you have to ask him for that. [Leona]: fine

It ends there. You grumbled as you looked over to Vil who was sleeping peacefully, looking gorgeous as usual. 

You went over to change your clothes and the realisation hit you like a million bricks. No wonder you were feeling so fresh despite not being sane enough to take care of yourself: Vil did it for you. 

Disappointed in yourself, you just decide to leave and visit someone else, who you know is definitely awake at the waking hour. 

You hugged Jamil from the back, tightly squeezing as he stirred the food in the bowl.

“Hello to you too, [name],” he mutters.

You hum against his back, placing all your weight onto him, but he doesn’t seem to mind as much. “Good morning Jamil,”

“Are you feeling any better?” He asks.

“Y-yeah…” you stutter. “But I'm still feeling kinda hot.”

“Hot?” He questions.

“Mhmm, like last night when I tried to— y’know— Vil,” you imply what happened last night.

“Oh, and what did he do about it?” He asks.

The memories make you blush. “I- He- I don’t wanna talk about it,”

That makes him suspicious, but it doesn’t take long for him to understand the weight of the situation since you decided he was going to be subjected to your affection.

You pulled him by the collar to get his lips closer into a kiss, earning a concerned reaction.

He’s quick to push you away gently, “[Name]... don’t do that,”

“Whyyy,” you whine. “But I want this,” 

He breathes, taking time to decide. “Fine,” he gives in, almost exactly like Vil did.

A minute passes by…

10…

15…

And it seems you have no goal of stopping. Jamil’s decorated in lipstick imprints from the top of his head down to his neck, an especially intense red on his lips.

He finally pushes you away, enough for you to stop but not too rough for you to be offended. You are still hungover, but that doesn’t mean your lack of respect disappeared.

“I-I’m sorry,” you mutter. “I should probably go,”

The silent walk back to Ramshackle was awful— stumbling over your feet, dizziness wrapping itself around your brain, body heavy as you dragged yourself.

The arrival felt like a reward, satisfaction flooding your mind as you passed the threshold. 

Plopping yourself onto the sofa, you were knocked asleep quickly. Not bothering to wash up or even tuck yourself into bed, you flat out slept in the living room, not excited for what the future holds for you.

The next morning was interesting, not to say the least. 

You weren’t expecting texts at all, but you received one. Honestly, you couldn’t care less who it was but you felt obligated to respond. So you checked the pop-up.

Your eyes widened and body shot up. 

[Atlas]: Hey, I was rethinking… and maybe thought we should give it a shot?

The text was sent at 6am in the morning that you’d woken up to.

It was also the same one that you didn’t reply to until 11pm at night. 

Malleus was there to visit you and you told him everything. The both of you laid on the grass field near Ramshackle. 

“I really do like him, but I’m just not sure,” you mutter, looking at him while he gazed at the stars above.

He looks at you, making eye contact. “Well, I’m here if you need anything.” 

You hesitate. But then you decide to just go for it. “C-can you stay with me for the night?” 

His breath hitches. “Like what you would call a sleepover?”

There is a sense of unfamiliarity in the last word, evident in the way his jaw clenches.

“Y-yeah… I just need someone right now,” you give him the pleading eyes that he could never say no to, even though he never thought of rejecting the offer.

“Very well then, I’ll stay with you for the night,” he replies.

“Y’know, I had a very weird dream last night,” you start talking again. “We were married and had a family and I became the ruler of Briar Valley with you,” 

He blushed. It wasn’t that bizarre for him to think about it since he did often. It was just weird that you were the one to mention it. “Did you like it?”

“Maybe, but shouldn’t you find someone better? Like a princess from another region?” You answer, slowly getting closer to him to the point that you were touching shoulders.

He grunts. “I do not need to. What makes you assume that?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Well, isn’t that what royalty do? The royalty marry royalty in stories usually,” you elaborate.

“Well, that does not mean I have to,” he utters, almost baffled by the words you were spewing.

That part was true. Technically there is no just law that forbids him from marrying commoners. But why would he? Why would anyone born as the crown prince want to date someone not of his level?

You hum. “I think we should sleep now; it’s getting late.”

The both of you were fast to get in bed, cuddling up with each other in forced proximity due to the lack of space it had for the both of you. It was fine at first, but grew more uncomfortable by the second. 

Trying to find a comfortable position while keeping distance proved to be difficult. But you two found one. 

However, it wasn’t necessarily a friendly one. He was big spooning you with your back pressed against his chest and an arm slung around your waist. It was too close, but the two of you could care less.

Leaving Atlas’s text unresponded felt annoying to you. A weird sense of guilt creeping into you as the hours passed.

[Name]: sure!

You send a reply text at 3am. 

—

Being completely honest, you liked starting over but didn’t really want to experience being left out simply for dating someone. 

So you snuck out in the middle of the night obviously. The departure from school was relatively easy since nobody was awake and Atlas was so understanding of your situation. 

You two met at the school entrance and made your way to a park.

It was dark, and scary. Not exactly the most popular idea for a date but it was something.

“Hey, do you really… see a future? Like… together?” you ask, biting your lip anxiously.

He turns his head slightly towards you. “Sort of. I envision us finding a home together but nothing else,”

“Do you see us having a family?” you enquire a bit more, even though the thought is daunting on you.

“I haven’t seen that part yet,” he answers. “You?”

“I mean, I think about it but not too much since it might be a little too fast for anything more than just a few dates,” you elaborate. “Do you ever doubt the outcome of this relationship?”

“What do you mean?” he furrows his brows.

“Everyone’s kinda against us in this and I’m not sure how much longer I can take it. It’s terrifying seeing everyone stare at us at school or avoid us,” you sigh.

He stops and grabs your hands, squeezing softly. “Isn’t this about us? This is our relationship— not theirs.”

You can’t help but admit he’s right. None of your friends have any business trying to break the two of you up but there’s a lingering thought in the back of your mind that makes you wonder if it’s all worth it. Is Atlas worth the stares and humiliation?

A boy should never be worth that much. Your parents would’ve yelled at you once they caught news of it, but it’s not like they’ll ever meet him.

The two of you continue to walk together outside of the campus, just chatting for hours until the sky starts to turn into a lighter shade of blue and the sun starts to peek above the horizon. 

“Do you think we should head back now?” he asks.

You reply, “Yeah, probably before any of the teachers worry about us,”

Once you two passed the gate, you parted ways with him, going off to Ramshackle while he went to his dorm. The journey to your assigned “dorm” was smooth until you heard a rustle.

It was bright but not enough for you. Peering your eyes, you see a warm body then you realise who it is. Stumbling across a sleeping lion was not on your list of activities for the day, but he seemed a bit interested. He starts to wake when he catches a whiff of your scent. 

“Leona?” You turn back, catching sight of the beastman.

“How’s your date?” He asks. 

“My— what?” you tilt your head. 

“Your date. Did it make you deaf all of a sudden, herbivore?” he asks smugly, jealousy practically seething through his teeth.

You deadpan. “There’s only so much you can say before looking too desperate y’know,”

“What? I’m just worried for your ears,” he replies.

“It went well. We talked about having a family and—” you plant the bait. “Maybe we could get married.”

“And you want that?” he asks. There’s an unimpressed expression on his face.

“Maybe,” you raise your brows. “Anyways, I’m tired. I’m going home,”

You took a quick nap before having to depart for all of your classes. It’s much less tense than it used to be. Everyone’s a bit nicer and more forgiving, despite you not ever needing their approval.

Doubt sticks onto your head like glue. Atlas is nice, well-off and just the dream man for every girl but the others offer so much more. Each of them has had their fantasies about the future and what they want to do with you (not in a weird way). 

Don’t you want to celebrate unbirthday parties with Ace? Don’t you want to be prince Leona’s wife? Don’t you want to enjoy Azul’s riches? And Kalim’s? Or Idia’s? If you get greedy, you can even rule the Briar Valley with Malleus?

Stuff like that doesn’t even cross your mind because Atlas just seems like everything to you in that short time. It’s not like it can’t be washed away with a little alcohol either. 

As if the first time isn’t enough for you to quit completely, the wine that rests in your cabinet screams at you. You bought way too much the last time so now you have a bunch of left over. It’s not like a little can hurt too much.

Right?

Wrong.

The next thing you know, you’re on your phone and texting Ignihyde’s housewarden.

[Name]: iDIAAA [Idia]: ??? [Name]: mmmmISSIN yiu reaal bad [Idia]: what? I’m not dead y’know [Name]: ywah bur it’s not liek you wanna talk to me anymkre [Idia]: i literally am right now? [Name]: plsss [Idia]: what? you want me to come over? like rn?

To your surprise, he manages to bring his real, physical self to Ramshackle.

You push him lightly onto the bed and he lays flat on the bed as you climb to straddle him, feeling his hard tent through the sweatpants.

With a soft grind against it, a groan comes from him and a moan from you. The grip he has on your hip is surprisingly strong enough to stop you from moving.

“Please,” you beg, eyes blurry and mind foggy. Lust takes over your mind as you force yourself onto him.

“[Name], no,” he says firmly, showing that small ounce of evidence that proves he can be commanding.

His clothes scrunch in your grasp, and his breath hitches. “Not even a quickie?”

He pushes you off lightly and calls for Ortho. “Help! The game is escalating quickly!”

The younger brother comes in fast like lightning, crashing through the door and is quick to move. He puts you to sleep with whatever nanotech he just conveniently has embedded into his robotic body. 

“What happened? She shows signs of an unusually high libido,” he explains.

“What—? Since when have I ever given you that ability?” Idia freaks out.

“You don’t remember?” Ortho stares at him innocently.

“No…” he calms down, but his hair is still red hot. “The love interests in my games don’t even have fan service like this,”

“Oh boy, you’re gonna need more experience than that to deal with real people, big brother.” Ortho shakes his head. “Should we bring her to our dorm?”

“What?” he looks dumbfounded.

“Yeah, I think your bed would be more comfortable,” Ortho replies.

The next thing you know, you’re waking up on Idia’s bed. It takes a while for your mind to process what’s just happened and history repeats itself. 

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry Idia,” you whisper, grateful that he’s not actually in the room because you would’ve sent yourself flying out the window.

Running out, you go to find the housewarden who’s relocated his gaming gear into the main room at his own expense and it makes you feel even worse. 

“Idia…” you call his name.

He turns his head around. “[Name]...”

“I’m so sorry about yesterday,” the words leave your mouth forcibly, as if you kind of want it to go further but it shouldn’t have been so forced. “Uhm, I’ll go now,”

You dash out the doorway and push past Malleus. 

“What was that about, Shroud?” he asks, suddenly taking an interest into the head of Ignihyde’s life.

“You don’t need to know,” Idia replies sassily.

“I think I should if she’s going to be ruling alongside me,” Malleus spits back.

“As if,”

Recently Epel had been a bit tense. He was a bit firmer with his words and he was always scowling, surely Vil would freak out if he saw him develop a wrinkle. He’d force himself to go ahead and work out for hours and get back to your dorm late at night. And he’s been acting a bit awkward, kissing you suddenly and putting his arm around your shoulder in the middle of schoolwork, it was clear that he was trying something but you couldn’t figure out what.

“Let me carry that for you!” A whole couch you wanted to bring upstairs.

“Just tell me who said it and I’ll deal with them!” A grown man three times his size.

“I was really hoping to take it to second base with her, I just froze up! You have to help me, Jack! I want to seem tough for her!” Something you overheard while passing by an empty classroom.

Currently you were just watching him watch his phone, you two were having a sleepover at your dorm and after watching about three movies you two finally decided to settle into bed.

“Quit staring at me.” He mumbled, taking a glance at you from the corner of his eye before focusing back on his phone. You just kept on staring at him, only blinking once your eyes began to feel dry every now and then.

He then turned his head to face you fully when he saw the flash from your phone, frowning. “Show me!” He demanded while you laughed and pulled away, “it’s a good pic I promise!”

“I know you’re lying, delete it!” He huffed, throwing a pillow at you. “I’m not, I swear, look!” You insisted, showing him your phone only for him to snatch it out of your hands.

“Y/n no, I don’t like this photo- I look cute.” He grumbled, deleting it off your phone. “But I like the photo Epel!” You complained, climbing on top of him to grab your phone but he instead tickled you to sneak away.

“Epel… give it back…” you whined, sprawling across the bed in defeat. “Why are you so worried about looking cute in a pic anyways? I think you look handsome in it…” you mumbled to yourself before sighing and pulling a plushie under your head.

“Cause it ain’t manly! I wanna look handsome and strong for you but I can’t if you keep on thinking I’m cute and pretty and- all of that girly stuff!” He insisted, now climbing ontop of you and straddling your hips.

“I’m supposed to be taking care of you, I wanna take the first steps as the man in this relationship but every time you call me cute it sets me back.” He said, talking to you seriously. “I wanna be handsome for you, attractive, but I can’t do that if you don’t see me in that light…”

You sat up on your hands, now face to face with him. “Epel, all people view things differently. You may see something that’s strange and I may see it as scary. You might see something as weird and I might see something as cool. When you think you look cute, I think you look handsome.”

He took a moment to take in your words, tilting his head and looking away in thought before huffing. “I guess you’re right…” “I like when you focus on stuff, and when you’re relaxed, when you’re crying, you always look handsome to me, Epel.” You softly pinched his cheek, bringing him closer to kiss his nose. He gave you a confused look, “When I’m crying…?”

“Epel, you’re supposed to look at the camera…” you whined, stopping your movements and making him groan. “It’s too much! I already can’t focus- how am I supposed to look at the camera?” He then tried getting you to move your hips against him yourself, feeling the stickiness created by you both spread even more around his stomach and thighs.

“Just for five seconds! This is all to prove my point!” You insisted, continuing your movements. You had already taken a photo of him focusing on getting himself off, one of him with his eyes rolled back, and you needed one more of him crying (•̀⤙•́ )

You instead began moving again, a bit faster to overstimulate him, his stomach was already caving in so he had to be reaching his limit. “I can’t- gah! Focus at the camera when you keep moving like that!!” He slowly began to cry, overwhelmed at the feeling of you being all over him, in his ears, on his body, in his mind, he was in absolute bliss.

“Mmph-!! Hurry up and take the photo already!” His legs began to shake under you noticeably and his hips began bucking up, he was getting close and it was obvious that he wasn’t gonna be looking into the camera.

So you took the picture of him crying and admired it happily, ignoring the boy beneath you groaning as he filled you up once again.

Author's Note:

Since this is a birthday gift to my friend, the persona of the Reader heavily mirrors her yumesona, from design aspects (i.e., piercings, plus size, etc.) to her preferred love interests. But don’t worry! Since this fic is written in 2nd-person POV and isn’t “lore compliant” in the slightest, it can still be read as a pure Reader-insert standalone.

Also please don't question the shocking lack of STDs or the suspicious absence of restaurant health codes. Everything here operates through hentai logic, and that includes food safety regulations!

"Welcome home, master!" You offered the three customers in front of you a deep bow, flashing them a full view down the plunging collar of your maid dress.

The most baby-faced of them, a man with magenta-streaked hair and pointed ears, respectfully flicked his eyes skywards, forcing out a chuckle that sounded fake even to your ears.

The taller man to his right reacted with more grace. He returned your smile with a wide grin of his own, inclining his head slightly with a clink of the drop earring on his left—a gesture you'd find kind, if not for the jagged tips of his teeth.

You fumbled for three laminated menus from the host stand, then gestured for them to follow you down a side corridor. Hugging the sticky menus to your chest, you launched into a high-pitched rendition of the spiel you've spent the better part of your morning memorizing: "I've waited so long for your return! I have your favorite spot ready for—"

"Just a moment, dear."

You looked behind you and saw Magenta Streaks and Shark Teeth lingering by the host stand, where their other companion remained rooted to the spot. He hadn't moved a muscle after you'd given him an eyeful of your cleavage—charcoal-grey eyes still bulging out of their sockets, purple flyer still crumpled in his tan fist.

You suppressed a sigh. Seriously, why did your clientele all love to act like they didn't know they were entering a sex cafe?

Maybe it was the pretty slope of his mouth, the cunning glint in his eye; but you had harbored high hopes that this one, at least, would be more perceptive.

You remembered him from your shift two weeks ago, when you had been assigned to trawl the busier streets near the cafe and hand out flyers. It had made you want to kill yourself, those hours in the biting winter air, clad only in the ruffles of a maid dress that barely covered your ass. No wonder none of the senior servers had jumped at the chance to ditch the musk of your windowless cafe. Your clientele may be disgusting, the services and performances degrading, but heat was still heat.

So when your gaze had chanced upon him—tall, tan, dark hair running in pretty braids down his back—you had felt a rush of heat course through you, and your body had acted without thinking. Your high-heeled feet had crossed the street with barely a glance at the crosswalk sign, and before he could even tuck his phone back inside the pocket of his hoodie, you'd thrust a flyer in his hands and rambled, "We're hosting a limited-time collaboration event at our maid cafe today. I'd really love it if you could drop by!"

And then, for good measure, you'd leaned in, brushed your lips against his cheek, and whispered, "I'll be waiting for you… master."

He had leveled you with an unimpressed frown, but held onto the flyer anyway as you traipsed away.

At the time, you'd thought that, as a sales associate or otherwise, surely you had blown your chances with him. With a modicum of paranoia, you had even worried that your little stunt would get you fired.

Strike one: protocol forbids physical contact with leads during promotional efforts (which includes but is not limited to flyer distribution) due to the risk of provoking aggression or providing grounds of arrest for solicitation.

Strike two: you had left the collaboration event unexplained, had failed to direct his attention to the suggestive phrasing on the flyer or your lack of underwear beneath your scant clothing.

And strike three, the most regrettable of all: you hadn't invited him, right then and there, to follow you back to the cafe as your first lucky customer of the day.

It had been a shame, really, that he hadn't shown up at all during the first two weeks of the collaboration event. You had bought a cute pair of panties the day after you met him—red and gold, the same color as the accessories braided into his hair. The panties had been ripped beyond salvaging five shifts later, but still. You had been looking forward to showing it to him, to seeing how far down your legs it could travel before his deadpan face flushed the same shade.

If you had known that all it took to break his composure was a little cleavage, you'd have followed protocol that first time you met him.

With a small tsk, Magenta Streaks pulled at his shocked companion's limp arms. "Jamil, don't be so prudish. You're keeping the girl waiting."

Shark Teeth nodded, and with a firm squeeze of Jamil's shoulders, pushed him to take a reluctant step in your direction. "Come now. We're long past the need to feign bashfulness. Or need I remind you of the efforts we made to research this establishment?"

With a smile that you hoped came off as reassuring, you sidled closer to Jamil's line of sight. "Jamil, was it?"

His gaze snapped to your face, then downwards, to the swell of your breasts, the visible garter belt straining against your plush thighs. You scanned him in a similar manner: thick hair, thick hoodie, thick hard-on. How cute.

You twirled his hoodie’s drawstring around one finger. "Do you still have the flyer I gave you?"

Jamil gave a stiff nod, then unfurled his fist to release the crumpled wad of paper.

"Excellent," you said. You smoothed the paper as best as you could, searching for the condom wrapper you had taped to the back. A thrill of excitement raced up your spine when you found it missing. "This flyer has a hidden voucher for any of our limited-time collaboration menu items, so please remember to present this later to your server."

With your other hand, you squeezed Jamil's clammy fingers, and then guided them to wrap around the leash tied to your collar. "Please, follow me!"

The three men followed you down the lavender-perfumed corridor, to a wall of thick periwinkle curtains with silver fringes. "Now, masters," you said, turning to face them, "before we begin, let's go over our house rules to ensure that everyone has a pleasant time."

You raised a finger. "Number one: we maids are more than happy to serve you, but we can't do that to the best of our abilities if we're limited to serving just one customer. Each maid and their specialty service can only be requested once per visit, so choose wisely!"

You raised a second finger. "Number two: we maids tend to sulk if your eyes aren't on us, so unfortunately, phones and other recording devices are not allowed beyond this point. But don't worry! We offer personalized Polaroid photos of our maids that you may take home as souvenirs."

A gloved hand floated up to ask a question—Shark Teeth, from the back of the line. "Pardon my interruption, but what exactly do you mean by personalized?"

You clapped your hands. "Thank you for asking! We offer three types of Polaroids: essential, deluxe, and premium. Essential-tier photocards are prepared beforehand by our wonderful maids, and they contain a kiss mark and sweet handwritten message at the back. There are no two cards that are alike, and each card only has a limited number of printed copies, so think of them like collectibles!"

"Is there a prize if a customer manages to collect all essential photocards of a certain maid?"

"Yes, certainly! We give that devoted master a one-on-one session where their maid can show their gratitude to them in private."

Jamil suddenly piped up, "And how many preset photocards do you have?"

"Excluding holiday specials? Ten." You winked. "And if you request me for your first-time visit, you'll get one of those ten for free."

Jamil opened his mouth to say more, but then, from behind him, came a slight laugh. From Magenta Streaks, maybe? "Fufufu, how exciting. Is the thank-you session also available for the higher tiers?"

"Unfortunately, no, but that's because the higher tiers have no need for it. Deluxe photos are shot and directed entirely by the master. They get to decide how their maid should pose, when they should pose, what they should wear, etc. It's as if the private session and the photo sets themselves were combined into one purchase."

From a deeper voice, from Shark Teeth: "How generous. But then what could the premium tier possibly be offering that outshines that?"

"Well…" You tapped your chin, mind suddenly struggling to recall the exact phrasing your manager had spouted during the onboarding. "We call it a photo souvenir, but it's really more like moving pictures? So in other words, a movie. It follows the same principle as the deluxe tier, only this time, you get to take home an amateur couple's video of you and your maid of choice."

Shark Teeth again: "Is there a time limit to the video? I take it we're not being literal with the movie comparison and that it's not meant to last 2 hours."

You fidgeted with your apron. "I'm… not sure, actually. Sometimes our masters prefer services that go that long, but I dunno… I suppose I'll have to check with my manager?"

Shark Teeth hummed. "I see." His tone was odd, like he had been quizzing you without your awareness and you had only just realized you had failed his test.

You giggled nervously. "A-Anyway, if you'd like, I'll pass by all three of your tables later with our menu for the Polaroid services. We're running a special right now, actually! A collaboration-exclusive set for all three photocard tiers. Which brings me to our last house rule…"

You lifted the hem of your skirt. Jamil made a strangled noise at the sight of your crotchless panties, and whipped his face to the side.

Despite yourself, you beamed and raised the hem of your skirt higher. "First cum, first served! Master, as my first customer of the day, may I interest you in a complimentary appetizer?"

Your hands scrabbled for purchase against the heart-patterned wallpaper as you shuddered through a second orgasm. Jamil, head tucked between your shaking legs, guided your fingers to tangle in his hair, his mouth sucking harshly on the swollen bud of your slit.

"Jamil," you groaned. You tugged weakly at his braids. One more lick from that torturous tongue and you were sure your knees would buckle and send you crashing to the floor.

A muffled laugh from Jamil. The vibrations against your clit made your eyes roll back to your head. Above the blood pounding in your ears, you heard his amused voice: "What happened to all of the roleplay?"

Right. You were still on the clock. You were supposed to be calling him master.

Somewhere in your haste to usher his friends through the curtains and leave them in the care of your frazzled trainees, in your haste to slot your mouth against Jamil’s in the flimsy privacy of the corridor where you’d left him waiting, you had almost fooled yourself into believing you weren’t working as a maid-server at a sex cafe.

Almost.

You cracked open a weary eyelid to peer down at him.

The shine of slick smeared around his mouth stared back at you. Jamil kept his eyes locked on yours as he lowered his mouth for a second taste.

"Master." The whine in your voice surprised you. You've never heard a sound that needy escape you, even with your most relentless customers. "W-We normally serve appetizers in the dining area. Might I suggest moving this to—"

Two thumbs pulled at the lips of your pussy and spread them wide. You squirmed, clenched uselessly around thin air. Jamil traced a trail of kisses up your mound, sticky lips teasing the desperate flutter of your weeping hole, the pink pearl crowning it, a shy little thing that had peeked out of its hood from his affections.

"Are all maids usually this sweet?" Jamil murmured. The warmth of his breath made you shiver. "Do they make you drink something to have you taste this addictive?"

"I—" You swallowed a gasp as his tongue licked a stripe up your slit. Two fingers prodded a cautious inch inside before sinking down to the last knuckle, massaging walls all too happy to envelop them. Your head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. A familiar pressure was building in your navel. "I'm not—"

"You mentioned something about a voucher?"

"What?"

Jamil crooked his fingers, massaged a bundle of nerves inside you. You doubled over with a cry. With a tone that sounded inappropriately placid, given the circumstances, Jamil continued: "You said the flyer had a hidden voucher. Tell me what I can redeem it for."

"It's for our collaboration event. With some—” A moan tripped your syllables; your head lolled against your shoulder. “With some s–stupid hentai series. Pretty Princess Paizuri. The voucher’s just f–for tit… ah—for titjobs… and stuff…”

His brow furrowed in exasperation. Your chest warmed at the sight of it. He really was cute. "You're doing quite a poor job of selling this to me, you know," he chided. "Even when you gave me that flyer, you hardly pitched the cafe to me. You just swiped a kiss and left."

The rub of his fingers turned harsh, almost punishing. "The condom you gave me was a size too small, too. It's honestly impressive how incompetent you can be."

You rutted helplessly against his hand. "That's not fair," you whimpered. "They gave us those condoms. It's not—It's not like we handpicked them ourselves—"

You slid an inch down the wall, legs turning to jelly.

Jamil steadied you with his free hand, the grey of his eyes darkening to the color of scorpions, of volcanic ash. "Of course they didn't give you a choice. Why would they? If it had been up to you, you'd have fucked every potential customer raw, protection be damned."

The languid pump of his fingers inside you paused, then withdrew with some reluctance. Through the haze of lust clouding your senses, you heard the clink of a belt buckle falling to the floor, the rip of trouser zippers drawing open.

Jamil rose to his feet.

You blinked once, twice, trying to reorient yourself to the sudden absence of his fingers, as he wrenched his boxers down to reveal his hardness.

You sank to your knees and licked up the vein along the underside of his shaft. But before you could take the swollen head into your mouth, a small force pulled at your leash in warning.

So you settled for a kiss, warm and lingering. You smiled in delight as his cock rewarded you with a fresh spurt of precum. You nuzzled the stickiness, cooing.

Another yank on your leash—this time, more insistent.

Puzzled, you lifted your gaze to Jamil.

Jamil gave a slight shake of his head. “Might hurt yourself,” he murmured. “Your piercings.”

Alarmed, you traced the curve of your lower lip and found familiar studs of metal dotting the flesh. You had forgotten to take them out prior to your shift.

A flash of fear rippled through you. Crap. Sex be damned, a maid cafe was still a maid cafe. Management had no lenience for inconsistencies like this, little tears in the cutesy aesthetic that backdropped all the perversion.

Your eyes shot up to scan the corners of the ceilings, the little crevices where security cameras could be glowing red, broadcasting your transgression.

Mistaking the panic twisting your features for insecurity, Jamil smoothed your hair. “It’s fine. I have snake bites, too. Used to.”

It’s not that, you wanted to mumble, but the words died in your throat. Thoughts of your manager reprimanding you faded as you watched Jamil wrap a fist around his painfully stiff length. Your pulse thrummed in time with the pump of his hand—missed a beat whenever his breath caught in hints of a whimper, each time his thumb brushed beads of precum from the tip. Your mouth watered. Your hands twitched against the frills of your dress, aching to touch him—all of him.

Months ago, during your job interview for this maid cafe, the raven-masked interviewer had grasped your hand for but a brief handshake before declaring that you’d be perfect for the role. “Warm hands mean warm hearts,” he’d simpered, already half-hard in his seat.

You’d thought that he was buttering you up for a free handjob. That, or he was simply desperate for bigger cup sizes to fill their roster. He’d spent the better half of the interview distracting you with his thinly concealed efforts to palm himself underneath the desk, so you couldn’t quite recall his reasons.

But nevertheless, the subsequent Skills Assessment Test had proven him correct. A tube of hand lotion later, and you were walking out of his office with a signed employment contract.

Every other day thereafter was some variation of the same song-and-dance: flattery, service, reward. You didn’t hate your job—who could hate a paycheck this high, in this economy?—but after a while, things did grow terribly dull.

When was the last time that a man had made you flustered? When was the last time that you’d dreamed of the sordid scenes from your favorite bodice rippers? That you’d felt yourself run slick not from lube or leftover semen but genuine desire?

When was the last time you’d felt the heat of wanting?

As though hypnotized, your hands drifted to the base of Jamil’s cock. Your fingers strained to close around the flare in girth. You wanted to hear that sound again, wanted to coax it out of him and bottle it—but Jamil swatted your hands away.

“Take that dress off.” His pupils were dilated. “I want to finish on your chest.”

You pouted, but reached behind you to loosen the strings of your apron. Your ears rang with the rhythmic squelch from Jamil’s hand as you unbuttoned the front of the dress, slipped your arms out the sleeves, felt the fabric pool in bunches around the plush of your stomach.

Jamil stepped closer, and you raised your tits to envelop his length. You worked in tandem with the shallow thrusts of his hips, squeezing the soft flesh spilling from your fingers. You were suddenly grateful for the no-bra policy of the cafe, the stream of sweat with which your stuffy maid dress had slicked your chest. The glide of his cock was smooth, so smooth that each stroke sent the leaking tip skimming against your lips. You stuck out your tongue, kitten-licking what little drops of precum you could reach.

Jamil shifted. A shaky exhale. His dick paused between your breasts.

You mewled, desperate. You suckled the tip.

Then, ever so gently, a hand cupped the back of your head.

This was all the warning you received before Jamil resumed his movements in greater fervor. He rutted against your chest, all but pushed the tip past your lips with each roll of the hips. Your head fell back against the cushion of his palm, his knuckles thumping against the wall, a staccato tempo to his moaning.

When he slipped his dick free from your chest, wrist bobbing in frantic twists along the length, you let your eyelids flutter closed. Your hands dropped to your lap as your jaw went slack—a silent plea to have him mark you.

Thick ropes of cum splattered your collarbones, your cheek, your open mouth. It felt like desert rain, like a never-ending baptism.

You caught the stray flecks and swallowed.

You opened your eyes, brought tingling fingers to the necklace of semen decorating your neck and chest. You giggled.

Above you, Jamil’s face softened.

The curtains to your right swished open.

Jamil yelped and whirled around to hide his bare crotch.

You blinked up in surprise at the jittery maid who stumbled out, tears trickling down her cheeks. It was one of your trainees, the one you had pawned off to Jamil’s razor-toothed friend.

“U–Um, I’m sorry but,” she hiccuped. “Master Jade wants to see you now.”

END NOTES:

Hope you enjoyed reading! (Especially you, my beloved Adonis!)

This is Part 1 of "First Cum, First Served," an R18 series that I plan to continue during my downtime. Each fic in the series will feature a Reader based on a friend's yumesona/OC or my own yumeship, and each installment will most likely be posted only on special events like birthdays, holidays, etc., though I will try to post something for my first ever Kinktober this year.

Next part of this installment will most likely be Jade x Reader so stay tuned!

Idia slumped in his gaming chair, the glowing monitors casting light across his pale face as the defeat screen flashed. His fingers still hovered over the keyboard, trembling slightly from the adrenaline crash. You stepped closer, placing your hands on his shoulders and feeling the tension knotted there.

"Hey," you murmured, leaning down so your lips brushed his ear. "Let me help you forget that loss."

Idia swallowed hard, his yellow eyes flicking up to meet yours. Before he could protest, you spun his chair around and straddled his lap, pressing your body against his. His hands instinctively gripped your hips as you ground down against the growing bulge in his pants.

You captured his mouth in a deep kiss, tongues sliding together while your fingers worked under his hoodie and the shirt beneath. Idia moaned into the kiss when you pinched his nipples, rolling them between your fingers until they stiffened. He bucked up against you, his cock hardening fast under the friction.

Panting, you broke the kiss and slid off his lap to kneel between his spread thighs. You tugged his pants and underwear down in one motion, freeing his thick cock. It twitched in the cool air, the head already glistening with precum. You wrapped your fingers around the base and stroked upward, thumb circling the sensitive tip.

Idia’s head fell back against the chair with a groan. You leaned in and licked a slow stripe from base to head, tasting the salt on your tongue. Then you took him into your mouth, sucking firmly as you bobbed your head. Your hand worked what your lips couldn’t reach, twisting on every upstroke. Idia’s fingers threaded into your hair, not pushing, just holding on as his hips jerked in small thrusts.

"Fuck… that feels too good," he gasped, voice cracking. You hummed around his cock, the vibration making his thighs tense. Spit dripped down your chin as you took him deeper, relaxing your throat until your nose pressed against his pelvis. Idia’s breathing turned ragged, his free hand clutching the armrest.

You pulled off with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting your lips to his flushed cock. Standing again, you stripped quickly—shirt, bra, pants, and panties hitting the floor. Idia’s gaze raked over your naked body, cock twitching harder at the sight of your wet pussy. You climbed back onto his lap, reaching between your bodies to line him up.

The head of his cock nudged your entrance. You sank down slowly, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt inside you. Both of you moaned at the tight, wet heat. You braced your hands on his chest and started riding him, rolling your hips in smooth circles before lifting and dropping again. Each time you took him fully, your clit rubbed against his pelvis.

Idia’s hands gripped your ass, spreading you wider as he thrust up to meet you. The chair creaked under the motion. You leaned forward, pressing your tits against his face. He latched onto one nipple, sucking hard while his tongue flicked the stiff peak. His teeth grazed lightly, sending sparks straight to your core.

You rode him faster, the wet sounds of your pussy taking his cock filling the room alongside his broken moans. Sweat beaded on Idia’s forehead, his hair glowing brighter with each thrust. You clenched around him deliberately, feeling his cock pulse inside you.

"I’m close," he warned, voice hoarse. You didn’t slow down. Instead you reached down and rubbed your clit in tight circles, chasing your own orgasm. Idia’s thrusts grew erratic, slamming up into you until his whole body locked. He came with a choked cry, flooding your pussy with hot cum. The feeling pushed you over the edge too—you clenched hard around him, walls fluttering as pleasure crashed through you.

You stayed seated on his lap, both of you catching your breath. Idia’s arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close while his cock softened inside you. Cum leaked out around his shaft, dripping down onto his chair. You kissed his temple, then his lips, softer this time.

"Feel better?" you asked. Idia nodded, still flushed, and pulled you in for another lazy kiss, his hands stroking your back as the monitors finally dimmed behind you.

He turns, and his eyes meet yours. They're soft, warm, yet carrying a flicker of something deeper. Nervousness? Anticipation? You know this is his first time too. For all his knightly composure, Silver has always been reserved, his body and heart a fortress he rarely let anyone enter. Until you.

"You're staring," he says, a faint blush staining his cheeks.

"And you're beautiful," you reply, sitting up slightly, letting the sheet fall to your waist. The nightgown you chose is delicate—lace and silk, a deep midnight blue that matches the ocean beyond. "Come here."

He crosses the room slowly, each step measured, as if he's afraid to break the spell. When he reaches the edge of the bed, he pauses, one knee pressing into the mattress. His hand reaches out, fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face with a tenderness that makes your heart ache.

"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice a low murmur. "We can wait. We can—"

You reach up, catching his hand and pressing a kiss to his palm. "I'm sure. I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

His breath hitches. Slowly, he climbs onto the bed, settling beside you, his body radiating a warmth that seeps through the thin fabric of your nightgown. He leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

But then you part your lips, your tongue tracing the seam of his, and the kiss deepens. His hand slides to the nape of your neck, fingers threading through your hair, pulling you closer. The taste of him is sweet, slightly smoky from the wine you shared at dinner. You moan against his mouth, and he answers with a low groan that vibrates through his chest.

His other hand finds your waist, fingers curling around the curve of your hip. He's hesitant at first, touching as if asking permission. You arch into him, pressing your body flush against his, and that's all the answer he needs.

"I want to see you," he breathes, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. "All of you."

You nod, and he eases you back against the pillows. His fingers find the straps of your nightgown, slipping them down your shoulders with excruciating slowness. The fabric pools at your waist, baring your breasts to the lamplight. His eyes travel over them, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows.

"You're exquisite," he whispers, more to himself than to you.

He lowers his head, pressing a kiss to the curve of your collarbone, then another just below your ear. His lips trail downward, hot and soft, leaving a path of fire across your skin. When his mouth closes around your nipple, you gasp, your fingers burying themselves in his hair. He sucks gently, his tongue flicking against the sensitive peak, and a jolt of pleasure shoots straight to your core.

"Yes," you breathe, pulling him tighter against you.

He switches to your other breast, giving it the same attention, his hand cupping the first as his thumb circles the wet peak. Your hips shift restlessly, a needy ache building between your thighs. You want more. You need more.

As if reading your thoughts, his hand slides down your stomach, fingers skimming over the lace edge of your panties. He pauses, looking up at you, seeking permission. You nod, biting your lip.

He dips his fingers beneath the fabric, finding you slick and ready. A shudder runs through him as he feels how wet you are. "For me?" he asks, his voice rough.

"Only for you." you manage, your voice barely a whisper.l

He slides one finger inside you, slowly, watching your face as he does. Your eyes flutter closed, a moan escaping your lips. He curls his finger, finding that spot deep within that makes your hips buck against his hand.

"Look at me," he says softly. "I want to see your eyes when I make you come."

You force your lids open, meeting his gaze. He adds a second finger, stretching you, preparing you. The stretch is just shy of too much, but you welcome it, your walls clenching around him. He pumps his fingers in a steady rhythm, his thumb circling your clit with just the right pressure.

The pleasure builds, coiling low in your belly, spreading through your limbs like molten honey. Your breath comes in short gasps, your hands fisting the sheets.

"Silver… I'm close…"

"Let go," he urges, his pace quickening. "I want to feel you."

The orgasm crashes over you, a wave of pure sensation that leaves you trembling and gasping his name. He rides you through it, his fingers slowing only when you finally collapse, spent, against the pillows.

He withdraws his hand, bringing his fingers to his lips. He tastes you, his eyes never leaving yours, and the sight sends another throb of desire through your still-sensitive core.

"My turn," you say, pushing yourself up. You shift, guiding him onto his back. He goes willingly, his silver hair splaying across the white pillows. He looks like a fallen angel, his chest rising and falling with quickened breaths.

Your hands go to his belt, working the buckle with trembling fingers. He lifts his hips to help you slide his trousers and briefs down his legs. His cock springs free, hard and thick, the tip glistening with precum. You wrap your fingers around him, feeling the heat of his skin, the rigid length of him.

He hisses through his teeth as you stroke him, your thumb sweeping over the head. You lean down, taking him into your mouth, and his entire body tenses. His hand finds your hair, not pulling, just resting there, as if grounding himself.

You suck him slowly, taking as much as you can, your tongue swirling around his shaft. His moans grow louder, his hips thrusting in small, involuntary movements. He's trying to hold back, you can tell, but you want to push him over the edge.

"Stop," he gasps, tugging gently at your hair. "If you keep going, I won't last."

You release him with a wet pop, licking your lips. "That's the idea."

He shakes his head, a strained laugh escaping him. "Not yet. I want to be inside you when I come."

The words send a shiver down your spine. You crawl up his body, straddling his hips, your thighs brushing against his heated skin. The head of his cock presses against your entrance, and you both still.

"Ready?" he asks, cupping your face, his thumb tracing your cheekbone.

"I've been ready my whole life," you answer.

And then you sink down onto him.

The sensation is overwhelming—the stretch, the fullness, the incredible heat of him inside you. You both gasp, foreheads pressing together, breaths mingling. He fills you completely, hitting depths you didn't know you had.

"Fuck," he breathes, almost reverent. "You feel… incredible."

You begin to move, a slow, rocking rhythm. Your hips roll against his, each motion sending waves of pleasure through both of you. His hands find your hips, guiding you, his eyes locked on where your bodies join.

"You're so beautiful like this," he says, his voice strained. "Taking me so perfectly."

You lean forward, capturing his mouth in a hungry kiss. The new angle drives him deeper, and you break the kiss with a cry. He grips your hips tighter, meeting your thrusts with upward ones of his own.

The room fills with the sounds of your pleasure—the wet slap of skin against skin, the moans and gasps, the creak of the bed frame. The lamplight flickers, casting dancing shadows on the walls.

He shifts, rolling you onto your back without losing the connection. He lifts your legs, hooking your ankles over his shoulders, and drives into you with a renewed urgency. The new position hits your sweet spot with every thrust, and your nails dig into his shoulders.

"Look at me," he commands, his voice barely controlled. "I want to watch you come undone."

You can't hold back. The pressure builds, coiling tighter and tighter until it snaps. You arch off the bed, a scream of his name tearing from your throat as your climax rips through you. Your walls clench around him, and that's all it takes for him to lose control.

He buries himself deep, his body shuddering as he spills inside you, hot and thick. He cries out, his forehead pressing against yours as he rides out the aftershocks.

For a long moment, neither of you move. The only sounds are your harsh breathing and the distant whisper of the sea. He slowly lowers your legs, easing himself out of you with infinite care, and collapses beside you.

He pulls you into his arms, pressing a kiss to your damp forehead. You curl against his chest, feeling his heart pound in time with your own.

"Was that okay?" he asks, a hint of vulnerability in his voice.

You laugh softly, tilting your head to look at him. "It was perfect."

A smile spreads across his face—rare and genuine—lighting up his features. He brushes a strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear.

"I love you," he says, the words simple but profound.

"I love you too, husband."

The word hangs in the air between them, beautiful and new. He kisses you again, soft and sweet, a promise of all the nights to come.

Outside, the moon continues its slow arc across the sky, casting silver light through the window. The waves keep their gentle rhythm, and in the warmth of each other's arms, you drift toward sleep, hearts entwined, bodies still humming with the echoes of your union.

It is the first night of the rest of your lives.

⋆. i. shroud ⋆˚࿔

the second your teeth made contact with his skin he shrieked into his pillow, lips drooling and legs shaking as you held them high over your shoulders to suck him off. that's what you claimed to do, until you did that and he was NOT ready.

you were afraid after hearing his soft, muffled moan go silent he passed out, but his legs were still twitched, along with his dick. you called his name softly, almost silent as you rest your cheek against his thighs.

his face was covered by the pillow, but you can hear the quiet whimper of a plea, a beg for you to continue. his hips jerked closer to you and you got the hint.

it didn't take long for idia to start actually moaning—thank the sevens for soundproof walls, huh?

⋆. m. draconia ⋆˚࿔

his breath immediately hitched at the feel of your teeth against his thigh, but he didn't pull away, his hands just tightened against the pillows beneath him. you kept his legs stretched even as you pushed yourself back upwards.

malleus let's out a tired pant, mouth gaped open as you towered over him, by the second you felt dominant and powerful enough to lean down and kiss him until he was out of breath.

"my love..." malleus breathes, "please, don't tease me like this...please "

⋆. l. vanrouge ⋆˚࿔

when it happens it's almost as if lilia knew what you were doing, and only chuckled softly when your teeth made contact with his skin. "oh, now that's adorable~"

you felt your cheeks burn slightly when you glanced back up to lock eyes with a man who has no shame. you decided to wipe that grin off his face and bite him harder again.

this time, lilia let out a groaned — pleasured — moan. and you actually managed to get lilia to moan, without even touching him. how that's something to brag about.

⋆. s. vanrouge ⋆˚࿔

the moment you bite down harder than expected, silver's eyes widen and he lets out a quiet, surprised noise. The two of you silently looked back at each other and you giggled softly, "sorry, baby~" you whispered, rubbing your bite mark on his thigh.

"just wanted to see your reaction~" when silver heard your reason, he chuckled softly and leaned back against the pillows. "don't...be sorry, that—" silver blushed, "that felt amazing..."

you asked again if silver was okay, and when he reassured you, you went back at it again and loved every noise silver let out.

‧₊˚ ┊ Ah, the fiancé of all time

‧₊˚ ┊ Malleus is nothing but loving and devoted to you as your bf, but the second you guys become engaged it's time for him to step it up a notch

‧₊˚ ┊ You're his spouse-to-be and his future royal consort, so he's gonna treat you like royalty now (not like he didn't before, but now his love knows no bounds)

‧₊˚ ┊ You're getting your own personal staff team (calling them servants is a bit icky imo) to wait on you hand and foot — Silver and Sebek also serve as your retainers too, so you'll have one of them guarding you at all times while the other guards Mal

‧₊˚ ┊ Briar Castle is now your home, so decorate as you see fit (you could paint the whole thing pink and Malleus wouldn't mind lol)

‧₊˚ ┊ Mal is, of course, busy running an entire kingdom, but he always makes time for you

‧₊˚ ┊ You guys have breakfast together in the morning before going your seperate ways, lunch/afternoon tea if Mal isn't too busy, and he always makes sure to eat dinner with you before bed

‧₊˚ ┊ Since you're not yet married there's a level of propriety to be upheld, so for now you have you're separate bedrooms (crying)

‧₊˚ ┊ Mal doesn't care too much about being proper, but he doesn't want his grandmother to get mad at him for acting improperly, so he doesn't do anything too crazy (he totally sneaks into your room to cuddle and all the staff turns a blinded eye to it — they'll even lie for Malleus if questioned about it lol)

‧₊˚ ┊ Malleus is definitely a wait until marriage sort of guy, but he can probably be persuaded to do a little bit of freaky stuff

‧₊˚ ┊ Bro definitely likes putting his long-ass lizard tongue to use lol

‧₊˚ ┊ He won't even make you return the favor bruh, he gives head purely for the love of the game fr (king shit)

‧₊˚ ┊ Mal is all about worshipping his lover — especially now that you'll soon be his spouse

‧₊˚ ┊ Your lovely fiance wants to indulge your not-so-pure wishes, but he wants your first time together to happen when yall are married (he's sentimental like that)

‧₊˚ ┊ Sure, he fantasizes about you riding him on his throne, or bending you over the council table and having his way with you, or having you you suck him off under his desk while he's meeting with his advisors — but that can wait until after the wedding (he's a closeted freak fr)

‧₊˚ ┊ Mal is going all out with wedding preparations

‧₊˚ ┊ No expenses will be spared — whatever you want, you get

‧₊˚ ┊ This absolute dork gets custom gargoyle wedding cake toppers lol (he's so cute)

‧₊˚ ┊ No ice cream cake for your wedding — he's eaten enough of that on his lonely birthdays growing up, so he wants to starts a new tradition with you

‧₊˚ ┊ Mal let's you handle deciding on the cake flavor and organizing the menu for the reception feast afterward (he deals with all the logistical stuff and you both collab on decorations and the like)

‧₊˚ ┊ He'll of course, upholding any wedding traditions from your world as well — anything for his beloved Child of Man

‧₊˚ ┊ Mal is incredibly protective of you as a human amongst the royal court

‧₊˚ ┊ If he ever hears anyone talking badly about you — especially if it's bc you're human — then he has the exiled immediately (a little dramatic, but you appreciate the gesture)

‧₊˚ ┊ He's super giddy about the wedding and the whole of Briar Valley looks forward to it as well

‧₊˚ ┊ Like he can't stop smiling and often daydreams of seeing you walk down the aisle (Lilia agreed to be the one to walk you <3)

‧₊˚ ┊ Mal likes practicing your first dance together — it's really just an excuse to waltz with you and hold you close, but he wants to make sure you don't step on his toes in front of everyone too lol

‧₊˚ ┊ Your engagement ring is already stunning, but Malleus is gonna make sure your actual wedding ring is a rock (he's picks the biggest, shiniest gem from his treasure hoard to be made into a custom ring)

‧₊˚ ┊ Malleus loves being your fiancé, but he wants to upgrade to being you're husband!!! He's impatient and kinda just wants to elope, but he knows his grandmother and Lilia would be endlessly mad at him if he did lol!

The first thing you do is push him onto the bed—face-down, because you want to see the way his shoulders tense and his fingers curl into the sheets. He's already stripped, pale skin glowing under the lamplight, and you trail a hand down the dip of his spine just to feel him shiver.

"Ready?" you ask, fitting the harness around your hips. The silicone cock stands firm, slick with lube.

Azul nods, but his voice comes out tight. "Yes. Please."

You press the tip against him, slowly, watching his breath hitch as you breach that first ring of muscle. He gasps—soft, almost surprised—and you pause, letting him adjust.

"More," he whispers.

So you give him more. A slow, deliberate thrust that sinks deep, until your hips flush against his ass. Azul lets out a broken moan, face buried in the pillow. You grip his waist and start to move, finding a rhythm that has him arching back to meet you, greedy despite his earlier nerves.

"Like that?" you murmur, fucking him steady and deep.

"Yes—sevens, yes—" His voice cracks, and you feel him clench around you.

You lean over, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades, and fuck him through it until he comes undone beneath you.

Azul’s wrists are already bound to the headboard with silk ties when you straddle his hips. His cock stands stiff and leaking against his stomach, flushed dark at the tip. You wrap your fingers around the base and give one slow stroke, watching his breath hitch.

“You’ve been a real pain this week,” you murmur, thumb circling the head. “Time to pay for it.”

You sink down in one smooth motion, taking every inch of him into your wet heat. Azul’s back arches off the bed with a broken moan, but you don’t let him enjoy it. You ride him hard for thirty seconds—just long enough for his thighs to start trembling—then lift off completely. His cock slips free with a wet sound and twitches in the air.

“No—please,” he gasps, hips jerking upward. You press a palm to his chest and push him back down.

“Stay still.”

You lower yourself again, this time grinding your clit against the head of his cock without letting him inside. The slick drag makes him whimper. When his breathing turns ragged you stop again, denying him the penetration he craves. His cock throbs visibly, a bead of precum sliding down the shaft.

You repeat the cycle for nearly an hour. Every time he gets close—hips stuttering, voice cracking into desperate pleas—you pull away. His balls draw tight, cock pulsing, but you never let him finish. Sweat glistens on his skin. His voice is hoarse from begging.

“Please, I can’t—let me come, I’ll be good, I swear—”

You answer by wrapping your hand around him again, stroking fast and tight until he’s right on the edge, then releasing. His whole body jerks, a frustrated sob escaping his throat as another ruined orgasm fades without release. His cock twitches helplessly against his stomach, still hard, still aching.

You lean down, lips brushing his ear. “Not yet. You’re going to stay like this until I decide you’ve learned your lesson.”

Azul whimpers again, thighs shaking, completely at your mercy while you keep him denied and desperate.