Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
꩜ warnings: female!reader. switch!Jabber & switch!reader. fingéring. rough oral (m!receiving; dihh slappin’ + a bit o’ teeth on the dihh). kife play (with mankira). marking (hickéys, bites, cuts, scratches). blóod kink / blóod play (please don’t do that with strangers). p in v séx. rough séx. unprotected séx + creampie (also please don’t do that with strangers). choking. hair pulling. face slapping + ass slapping. slight dacryphilia. lowkey yandere!Jabber but also lowkey yandere!reader. ✴︎ reader has a tongue piercing and a bodysuit of tattoos, but it’s not really described. reader has grab-able hair. reader's appearance is not otherwise described. ✴︎ basically this entire thing is just two sadomasochists matching each other’s freak. probably went overboard but i hope you like it anyway. ♥
The two of you had met by happenstance at some shitty little dive bar. Jabber was there for work, and you were there just to blow off some steam. How loud-mouthed the bastard was had caught your attention, and he was quick to notice you checking him out, so he came to sit beside you at the bar.
“Is this the part where I ask what a pretty thing like you is doing here all by her lonesome?” he asked with a toothy grin.
“We could skip that and jump to the part where you offer to buy me a drink, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Ooh, beautiful face with a hot, inked up body – and she’s bossy? Shit, must be my lucky day.”
That was all… what, about an hour ago? Maybe two. You couldn’t be sure anymore.
Not because of the alcohol in your system, though. No, you’d had a couple of drinks, and so had he, but both of you were at the threshold of tipsy, nothing more.
You had lost track of time once you drug him by his collar to an empty room upstairs, on the very top floor of the building – one where you’d crashed a few times, too exhausted after a Cleaner job, and the owner let you make use of the vacant space.
Now, you were in Jabber’s lap, his back resting against the headboard of a worn bed of questionable but acceptable cleanliness, most of everyone’s clothes cast aside long ago. You’d been making out for a while already, and you were down to just your panties, tank top, and bra. He was down to his boxers and an old, holey tank. And his rings – those chunky silver rings adorning each of his fingers, that felt so good on your warm skin when his fingers creeped up under your tank top.
This was the longest duration of time he’d been silent for, since first striking up a conversation with you down in the bar – save the occasional grunts and moans from the two of you lazily dry humping.
Jabber’s fingers slithered lower and lower, before finally moving your panties to the side – slowly, giving you time to stop him if you wanted to.
You didn’t.
His middle finger played with your throbbing clit, and the cold metal of his rings brushing your wet, hot sex was making you twitch a bit, making you crave more.
“More,” you whispered against his lips, without even realizing you’d voiced your thoughts.
“Demanding lil thing, ain’t ya?” Jabber purred. The half-lidded eyes and wicked grin, illuminated only by the moonlight streaming in through the window. Fuck, he looked good.
When he sunk his middle finger into you – followed quickly by the ring finger, once he’d felt how wet you already were – the sensation of that cold silver at your entrance gave you exactly what you’d been craving. You gasped involuntarily, arching in a way that pressed your chest against his, and the way your long, pointy nails dug into his shoulders wrenched a gasp from him as well.
“Your rings – fuck,” you managed to choke out, forehead dropping to rest against his. Long fingers pumped in and out of you at a languid pace, and you felt his laugh reverberate through your own chest, still pressed against him.
“You like?” Jabber teased, free hand rising to cradle your jaw. His thumb traced your bottom lip, and you inclined your head to take the digit into your mouth, sucking it and swirling your tongue around his ring. “Mmm, I’ll take that as a yes. Best part is: they ain’t just for show. Wanna see?”
He didn’t wait for an answer, holding his palm an inch or two in front of your face. A familiar glow emitted from his palm, pink anima threading through the rings and morphing into a partial glove with a set of five, razor-sharp blades extending from his fingers.
“This here’s my baby: Mankira.”
Honestly, Jabber wasn’t sure what reaction he was expecting. It’s not like he’d ever shown off his Vital Instrument in the middle of gettin’ nasty with someone. But he damn sure didn’t expect you to lean forward to run your tongue along the side of the blade on his pointer finger. It pulled a groan from deep in his chest that he didn’t even realize was from him at first.
“Atta girl,” he murmured, toothy grin returning. Absentmindedly, he trailed the same blade you’d licked along your jaw, and down the column of your throat. His focus was entirely devoted to you: on the way your tits rose and fell as you breathed raggedly, and the way your wet, gummy walls felt around the fingers he pumped in and out of you.
So instead, Jabber let the tip of it press into your skin juuust enough that you’d feel it, but not enough to pierce.
Once again, he wasn’t sure what the reaction would be. He suspected any normal chick would probably smack his hand away and tell him to quit, or get scared. So when your cunt clenched around his still-thrusting fingers so tightly that he thought you were tryin’ to break ‘em – his eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning.
“You into that, dollface?” Jabber asked, head tilting to the side like an intrigued animal, a faint pink glow in his eyes. When you nodded and bit your lip, starting to buck your hips against his fingers as he did it again – he giggled with sheer joy.
“Oh, you’re gonna be fuuun,” he whispered, surging forward to kiss you – hard, feverish, desperate. His fingers began to fuck you faster, curling to brush against your sweet spot in a way that made your brain fog over more than it already had. With trembling hands, you moved his free hand to wrap around your throat, too horny to care about potential consequences of the blades piercing your skin. (Jabber did, though. It was his left hand, after all.) But he didn’t need to be told twice, squeezing the sides of your throat to cut off some of your airflow.
“C’mon, sweet thing – soak my fuckin’ fingers,” Jabber demanded, pulling you into another kiss by the hand around your throat. He bit your bottom lip in the midst of the kiss, cock twitching against your thigh when you whispered “harder.” He gave you what you asked for, biting hard enough to draw blood this time. And by the grace of god, it was in time with another brush of his fingers against that sweet spot inside of you, and another squeeze of your throat – sending you hurtling over the edge of release with an obscenely loud moan, prettier than anything he’d ever heard.
“Fuuuck, baby. I know that’s right,” he praised with that excited lilt to his voice, bucking his hips up to grind against your thigh, his boxers now sopping wet from your release. He pulled you into a kiss by your throat again, tasting blood as you made out sloppily.
Fuzzy-headed and panting, you reached for Jabber’s boxers, yanking them down and throwing them across the room. Still lounged against the headboard, Jabber sucked his fingers clean of you, moaning at the taste. He smiled around his fingers at the mewl you let out when he cut your panties off with Mankira. After he deactivated the Instrument to remove your top and bra, your shaky hands yanked his tank top off. Once all clothes were discarded, you reached for his long, thick dick – hard and leaking against his stomach. He sighed contentedly and let his head loll back against the headboard, relishing in the way you stroked him.
This stranger had cracked open something dangerous inside of you. The catalyst had undoubtedly been the feeling of Mankira against your throat. Now, you felt some sort of feral, horny adrenaline flowing through your veins, telling you to unleash every sick thought you’d ever had – the ones you kept to yourself, only fantasizing when touching yourself alone, because you knew it’d scare partners off – on this motherfucker. And something about the brainless grin he gave you, your blood smeared across his lips, told you he would be more than happy to take it all.
Wanting to see more of your blood on him, you kissed him again, wondering if he’d bite your lip again if you squeezed his dick just right – and he did, biting down hard as he gripped your hips, flesh spilling between his fingers. You tasted even more copper than before, and immediately began trailing kisses down his throat and chest, stopping occasionally to mark him up with bite marks and bloody kisses. Although faint, you could tell that Jabber was trembling with anticipation by the time your mouth actually reached his twitching, glossy tip.
A guttural, punched-out groan escaped him when the barbell on your tongue flicked across his slit. As you set to work – taking him down your throat, one hand squeezing the base and the other cradling his balls – one ringed hand twisted into your hair, pulling it into a ponytail for you, and the other gripped the sheets like his life truly depended on it.
“Fuuuck, baby,” Jabber stuttered out, gasping in a way that sounded pained when you pulled off just enough to suckle the tip, running the ball of your tongue piercing over the frenulum. Without thinking, he pushed your head down, forcing you to take his full length down your throat. It caught you off guard, and caused you to choke on it.
You pulled off, still holding it at the base, and slapped his cock.
Jabber cried out like he’d been wounded, but it faded into a pretty little whimper as his hips bucked up, trying to fuck into the hand that still held his cock.
“Godddd, do that again,” he pleaded pathetically, moaning at the mere thought of it.
“I’ll do it when I damn well please,” you countered, and he nodded obediently.
“Shiiit, yes, ma’am,” he replied, all whiny and breathy. He jerked violently when you trailed your sharply manicured nails up and down both sides of his cock as you sucked the tip again, moaning profusely now. “I’ll do whatever you want, baby. Promise. Just keep makin’ it hurt so damn goooood!”
“Make yourself useful and hold my hair again.”
Jabber did so before you’d even finished the sentence, pulling on it from his need to grip something, and the sensation went straight to your already-throbbing cunt.
You went back to sucking him off, alternating between digging your nails into his hips, stroking the few inches you couldn’t take without gagging, and cradling his balls.
“Close – fuuuuuck, I’m close, baby. I’m so close for you, dollface. So good– makin’ me feel so goddamn good,” Jabber rambled, scratched up hips twitching, careful to not thrust too deeply into your mouth. He wanted to be good so you’d give him what he wanted, just as much as he wanted you to punish him again.
That feral adrenaline bubbled up inside you again, so you pulled away, letting your teeth ever-so-gently scrape his mushroomed tip as you went, slapped his cock again, swallowed him whole, and gave his balls a squeeze – all in the span of what felt like half a second to Jabber.
“Oh – oh goddamn, girl – fuuuck!”
He came down your throat almost instantly, shaking so violently you faintly wondered if he was having a seizure. The string of curses, your name, and gibberish that fell from his lips ensured that he was still conscious, though.
Well… until he went limp, the ghost of a smile on his lips despite the ragged breathing.
Your eyes widened slightly, and once you swallowed all of him up, you moved to sit in his lap to wake him – trying to ignore the distracting feeling of his still-pulsing dick trapped between you, twitching against your pussy.
“Jabber,” you said sternly, slapping him gently. That didn’t work, so you slapped him a bit harder. He grumbled something nonsensical, then giggled, but still didn’t wake. So you slapped him again – hard. He woke with a jolt and a gasp, hands flying to your waist and bucking his hips up to grind his cock between your pussy lips before even realizing where he was or what’s going on.
Slowly, that deranged, toothy grin split his face, and he let out a manic laugh.
“Holy fucking shit,” Jabber said, laughing still. “You – you made me cum so hard I passed out.”
His hot hands massaged your hips, thumbs tracing the lines and swirls of the tattoos that adorned the soft flesh there.
“Kudos to you, girl. Like, for real. But, problem is: preeeetty sure I’m obsessed with you now. And when I’m obsessed – I’m real obsessed,” Jabber admitted in a tone befitting a giddy schoolboy with a crush – smiling with just enough insanity in his eyes that you knew he wasn’t joking.
“Aw, you got a crush on me now, sweetheart?” you teased, despite the fact that a less horned out brain would find it concerning that some stranger is now admittedly obsessed with you. Jabber’s pretty pink eyes darkened, and he nodded slowly – in a way that would probably concern someone in their right mind. But right then, it just looked hot to you.
“Yeeeaaahhh. I do,” Jabber replied, with a predatory slowness to his tone. “What about you? You got a crush on me, sugar?”
You nodded in the same way he had, only partially aware that you had the same psychotic look in your eyes as him. You might be a little obsessed with him too – or at least, with this deranged desire he was bringing out of you. And the way he took everything you had to give so, so well.
Both of your hands wrapped around his throat applying just the slightest pressure, and you kissed him again. Jabber smiled into the kiss, then whispered against your lips, “On your knees for me. I’ve been dreaming about the way your tats will look in an arch since I first laid eyes on you.”
He moved behind you while you did as he bade you, dropping into a nasty arch as his hands came to rest on your hips. He sucked in a breath through his teeth, running his hands all over your back, hips, and ass to trace the swirls of dark ink decorating your body. He paid extra attention to the spots where traces of ink were missing, from old wounds.
“Hottest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen,” Jabber whispered. You could hear the smile in his voice, but you turned your head just enough to see it for yourself, swaying your hips and pushing back against him.
“Do somethin’ about it then.”
Jabber grabbed the base of his cock, and slowly pushed into your syrupy, dripping pussy. Both of you moaned, and he pulled your hips back til they were flush against his, landing a harsh slap against your ass before beginning to drill into you. The pace became frenzied almost immediately, a mix of him thrusting into you in deep, powerful strokes that had you feeling him in your throat, and you fucking back against him, keeping pace as well as you could.
After he lifted your hips and changed his angle a little, it didn’t take long before you were nearly screaming into the sheets, praying the music from the bar downstairs would drown you out for the sake of the poor patrons – but also not giving much of a shit if it didn’t.
“Hit me.”
Jabber groaned, enthralled by the request itself. He slapped your ass – hard – leaving a distinct, welted handprint there, but he knew it had the desired effect when you clenched around him so hard he choked. So he did it again, and again, and again, until you were screaming.
“Ughh, that’s right, baby. Scream for me,” Jabber encouraged, smirking. He reached down to grab you by the throat and lift you until your back was flush to his chest, the sound of your screaming and obscene, wet skin slapping echoing throughout the room. “C’mon, pretty, say my name while you’re at it.”
“Jabber! Fuck!”
“Aaaaatta girl, keep goin’. Whose pussy is this?”
“Yours, oh my god!”
“Whose, huh? Answer right, sweet thing. Say my name all pretty for me again.”
“Jabber’s! Fuck, it’s yours, Jabber!” you wailed, voice going hoarse and eyes rolling back as you came.
“Yeeaahhh it is,” he laughed, fucking you through your orgasm, groaning at the feeling of you milking his cock so perfectly. The second your spasming pussy began to calm down, he threw you back onto the bed, rolled you over, hooked your legs over his shoulders, and folded you in half before pounding into you again. He took the new position as an opportunity to wrap a hand around the back of your head, grabbing a fistful of your hair at the base of your neck with his left hand, and squeezing your throat with the right hand again. “You’re mine, ain’t you, babes? C’mon, say you’re mine.”
“I will,” you panted, then smiled with bloodied teeth as he applied pressure to your throat. “If you bring out Mankira again.”
Jabber giggled madly, and held your gaze as his eyes and hand glowed pink in the dim room, and blades extended from the fingers on his right hand.
“How ‘bout this? You say what I wanna hear, and I’ll mark you up just a lil,” he propositioned, and his hips stuttered when you clenched around him at the thought. He already knew your answer from your body’s reaction, but you nodded in secondary confirmation. “These claws will make you feel a little floaty, but it’ll feel good, alright?”
“You gonna let me mark you up, too?”
Jabber laughed maniacally, “Be my guest, pretty girl.”
He ran a blade across the tops of both your breasts, as well as a line down the center of your bottom lip, and down the middle of your sternum. The pain was nothing more than a sting, but the way the head of his cock kept bullying your sweet spot made the combination of sensations exquisite. You moaned, loud and broken, as slivers of blood bloomed the wake of the blade – small but effective cuts, like deep paper cuts.
Jabber let your hand reach out and turn the blade on him, slicing a horizontal line above his collarbone and another across his pectoral, before drawing your initials in the center of his chest. He moaned at the feeling as well, overwhelmed from it, slamming his hand down beside your head and leaning down to kiss you.
When he pulled away a bit, you found that he’d slashed through the mattress, and your blood had mixed together on your chests. He ducked his head down to lap at the cuts on your tits like a thirsty dog, moaning at the taste of your blood as he sucked a nipple into his mouth. You arched off the bed, pressing your chest further into his mouth, and he rolled the bud between his teeth, earning another scream from you.
“Easy, girl, I got ya. But we made a deal, baby. Tell me what I wanna hear,” he whispered, kissing up your chest, up your neck, and mouthing at your jawline, smearing blood all over you in the process. The smell filled your nostrils – along with the heady scent of sex filling the room – and you wrapped your arms around his torso, digging your nails into his back and scratching down. He hissed through his teeth, hips bucking into you wildly, then with lightning speed, grabbed you by the jaw – the blades just scarcely avoiding your face. “Tell me.”
“I’m yours, Jabber,” you gasped, and he grinned lazily, glowing pink eyes half-lidded and content. He leaned down again to kiss you, sharing the taste of your blood from his reddened teeth and tongue. “Are you mine too, sweetheart? Hm?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely I’m yours,” Jabber replied instantly, groaning and diving in for another messy kiss.
Faint traces of the anesthesia from Mankira fully set in then, and it made the edges of your minds fuzzy. Jabber let his weight press you into the mattress more as he kept fucking you with harsh, powerful strokes. He deactivated the Mankira on his right hand to wrap it around your throat again, moaning more when your nails dug into his back again.
“Hit me,” he begged, desperate and broken. “I’m so close for you, baby, please – hit me.”
A loud, stinging slap landed on his cheek, and he whimpered as his hips stuttered.
“So good, sweet thing, soooo good. You close too, pretty? Wanna feel you cream all over my cock. Want it so bad.”
“Bite me.”
Jabber ducked his head down to bite your neck, hard. Blood bloomed there too, his sharp canines breaking the skin with relative ease. The scream that tore from your throat burned a little, and you felt yourself falling into an orgasm headlong – legs shaking around his neck, tears spilling from your eyes, cunt beginning to milk an orgasm out of him. But what really did him in – aside from how beautiful you looked with fresh tears and running mascara – was another slap across his cheek. A pitchy, whiny sound fell from his lips as his cum flooded your insides, hips grinding against you to fuck it deeper into you – wanting to mark you on the inside, just like he had all over the outside.
He let his entire body fall on top of you, not minding the little “oof” you let out. He was heavy, but it felt nice, especially with his slowly-softening cock still nestled inside of you. Although he hesitated, as though a bit of his bravado had subsided, Jabber pressed slow, sleepy kisses all across your throat and collarbone, admiring the bite marks, cuts, and slowly drying blood littering your pretty skin.
You traced your nails all over his back in mindless circles, causing a random twitch or shiver from his overly-sensitive body. Your other hand rested comfortingly on the back of his neck, cradling his head against you. It was obvious that you both needed a clean-up – a full-body shower, honestly – but both of you could feel fatigue seeping into your bones.
“So… did ya mean it?”
Jabber’s quiet voice broke the silence, his head stilling against your chest.
“Mean what?”
“That you’re mine…. And that I’m yours…. Or was that just some bullshit pillow talk?”
You laughed softly, but it didn’t sound teasing, and Jabber found that he loved the sound.
“Well, we don’t know a thing about each other, ya know. Might be a bit fast to belong to one another, don’tcha think?”
“Might be a bit fast for us to have our initials carved into each other’s tits. So, I ain’t keepin’ score if you ain’t.”
You laughed again, and Jabber smiled against your skin.
“Fair point.”
“Soooo?”
“….Yeah, alright. You gotta take me on an actual date, though.”
“Deal.”
a few weeks later
Jabber made good on his promise. A total of seven dates and just as many more nasty, filthy, raunchy-ass hookups later, was when it all changed.
“There you are.”
You didn’t know a voice so familiar could send such chills down your spine.
Kinda hot.
Jabber perched above the glowing green exit sign like a viper ready to strike, eyeing Rudo with manic glee in his magenta eyes.
Also kinda hot.
He hadn’t noticed you yet, primarily due to the fact that you still had your full-coverage Cleaner mask on, rather than just the standard partial mask part. He remained locked in on his primary prey. Part of you was grateful, because this gave you a second to process the realization that –
“He’s a Raider!” Gris announced, just as Jabber’s iron grip on the wall caused the cement to explode.
Sure, the two of you had discussed occupations. But it seems the truth of your occupation as a Cleaner had been met with a lie: that he was a simple wanderer and aspiring scientist, spending his free time experimenting with toxins. You’d even outright asked if his occasionally purple attire meant he was secretly a Raider, but he’d simply tucked some hair behind your ear, kissed your nose, and gave a convincing, “Don’t be silly, babycakes! Of course not!”
When the dust settled and Jabber began a tense exchange with Gris and Rudo, you kept quiet, unsure of whether your presence would be an asset or a catalyst.
However, the moment he mentioned having hurt Zanka, all bets were off.
“But if you come quietly,” Jabber said to Rudo, “I’ll make sure it won’t hurt a bit.”
“And what about me, sweetheart?” you interjected sweetly, stepping in front of Rudo and shoulder-checking him a bit, trying to urge the poor kid outta the way. Jabber’s eyes darted to you, face softening as he finally took notice of you – especially once you removed the entirety of your mark. His eyes outright lit up then, and he broke into a smile. “You gonna hurt me a little?”
“Baby!” Jabber exclaimed, bouncing from one foot to the other excitedly. You felt Rudo tense behind you, but he kept quiet. “I was so hopin’ I’d run into you here!”
“Can’t say the same to you. I distinctly remember you tellin’ me you’re not a Raider.”
Jabber was certain the venom in your voice was far more deadly than anything he had encountered before. It’d have been hot, if it hadn’t been for the underlying tone of disappointment, and the frown on your pretty face.
“Aha, yeah, so…. Funny story about that,” Jabber began awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck with a nervous smile. “I sorta… lied?”
“I can see that.”
“Ain’t notin’ a lil head can’t fix, right??”
The audible cringes from a grand total of five Supporters, and a soft gag from Rudo, would forever haunt you.
“Sweet offer, but no. I don’t fuck with Raiders,” you seethed, and Jabber frowned.
“No, no, baby – wait, okay? It’s like, forbidden love or some shit. We can work this out,” Jabber protested, then scratched his neck again. “Well, ya know… after I take the lil Sphereite to the boss man. Gotta job to do. You understand, don’tcha, pretty?”
“Look, I couldn’t care less about whatever lover’s quarrel you two’ve got goin’ on, but you’re dealing with me now,” Gris interjected, stepping forward to stand beside you and push Rudo back further. Jabber’s attempt at a sweet expression faded into irritation as he turned to Gris, clearly pissed about being interrupted, and his Mankira-covered hand raised towards Gris. Your hand moved to rest upon your Vital Instrument. “You need to understand one thing: I protect my team no matter what.”
“Ohhh, you’re one of them Supporters or whatever. The chumps Cleaners like to keep around for some reason…. So, chump, what can you do?”
In the blink of an eye, Jabber used the back of his forearm to push you to the side – hard. You managed to stay on your feet as you slid backwards a few yards, finding enough traction to stop in a cloud of dirt just a moment later. But it was too late.
“Oh, little Sphereite, and my pretty girl…. Promise y’all ain’t gonna crash out on me, a’ight?” Jabber said, feigned concern dripping from every word. Your eyes darted to Gris, and it felt like every nerve in your body became a live wire when you saw it.
Mankira, stabbed a few inches deep into his torso.
“I think he’s already dead. But don’t worry. It’s all good….” The air was collectively stolen from the lungs of everyone in the room, and before anyone could move a muscle – the remainder of the blades were pushed entirely through Gris and clean out the other side. “The weak are worth less than the stain they leave behind!”
You were the first to react, lunging at Jabber with a nauseating mix of hurt, disappointment, and rage pouring out of your very soul, Vital Instrument drawn and ready to strike. Rudo followed closely behind, shock and rage of his own fueling him.
Unfortunately for you, Jabber pinned you to a pillar after a few minutes, and tilted his head at you with a frown, just a couple inches from your face.
“C’mon now, baby. I’m used to you tryna hurt me, but not like this,” he pouted. “Not how you’re supposed to treat your boyfriend, ya know.”
“You’re not my fucking boyfriend,” you spat, and Jabber’s frown deepened, looking genuinely upset. It was quickly replaced with a wicked smile, and he grabbed your jaw with his left hand.
“I’ll always be yours, and you’ll always be mine. Ain’t no changin’ that, gorgeous,” he said in an even, earnest tone. “No matter what you say or do, we will always belong to each other.”
“In your fucking dreams.”
“You’re so hot when you’re pissed. But how ‘bout you worry about your own dreams for a while. Okay, baby?” Jabber said, his tone sickeningly sweet and condescending.
Only then did you feel it: the right-hand claws of Mankira puncturing your abdomen, just enough that the neurotoxins were beginning to haze your mind.
“No,” you gasped, shoving him away by the shoulders. As Rudo began to approach from behind him, calling out your name frantically, your knees buckled and you slid down the pillar behind you until you reached the ground.
Jabber crouched down to look you in the eyes, that same wicked smile on his lips. He leaned forward to kiss you quickly, and your limbs were already too heavy to protest. As your eyes fluttered closed and you slumped down to the ground, he whispered, “Night night, gorgeous. Dream of me.”
• carries guilt like it’s his winter coat. never takes it off. even when he’s holding you from behind in the kitchen at 2 a.m., chin hooked over your shoulder, breathing slow against your neck, you can still feel the weight pressing on his ribs. he thinks if he lets go of it for even a second the whole world will notice he’s not allowed to be happy.
• has the longest fingers you’ve ever seen and he knows exactly what to do with them. not even in a sexy way at first—just absentmindedly tracing the inside of your wrist while you’re both pretending to watch a movie. then one day he notices your breathing change and suddenly those fingers are around your throat, not tight, just resting, like he’s checking your pulse to make sure you’re still real.
• calls you by your full government name when he’s trying not to cry. “come here, [your name].” voice low, cracking at the edges. it’s never casual. it’s always when he’s standing in the doorway after a long case or a worse mission, suit jacket still on, tie undone, looking at you like you’re the only verdict he’s ever wanted to win.
• has a secret folder on his phone labeled “evidence” that’s just pictures of you sleeping. your mouth open. drool on the pillow. bonnet half-off. he scrolls through it on the train when he’s feeling particularly hollow. never shows you. never deletes one.
• gets mean when he’s horny. not cruel—mean. the kind of mean that makes your thighs shake before he’s even touched you. “you think you can walk around in my shirt with nothing underneath and i’m just gonna behave?” voice so low it vibrates in your chest. next thing you know he’s got your wrists pinned above your head with one hand and the other is already three fingers deep, curling slow while he whispers every filthy thing he’s been holding back all day.
• loves when you choke him. not lightly. hard. your smaller hands wrapped around his throat while you ride him, nails biting skin, his adam’s apple bobbing under your palms. his eyes roll back and the most broken, pathetic moan rips out of him—like all the guilt and shame finally has somewhere to go. after he’ll kiss your knuckles like they’re holy.
• leaves legal books open on the nightstand with little sticky notes inside. half of them are actual case thoughts. the other half just say things like “don’t forget to kiss her forehead when she wakes up” or “tell her she’s beautiful even when she’s mean about it.”
• has the most pathetic praise kink once you get him vulnerable. call him “my good boy” while he’s buried inside you and he’ll whimper into your neck and cum so hard his hips stutter for a full ten seconds. he’ll pretend he didn’t but the blush on his ears lasts for days.
• keeps your hair ties on his nightstand like they’re evidence he has to preserve. sometimes he’ll slip one onto his wrist under his suit cuff before court. no one knows. he just likes feeling something soft against his skin when everything else is sharp.
• after really bad cases he doesn’t want sex—he wants to be held like he’s small. head on your chest, your fingers carding through his hair, your heartbeat under his ear. he’ll whisper “don’t let go” so quietly you almost miss it. you never do.
• when he finally says “i love you” it’s not during sex or some romantic dinner. it’s at 6:47 a.m. on a random tuesday. you’re stealing his coffee. he’s still half asleep. he just looks at you over the rim of his mug and goes “i love you.” like it’s a fact he’s been waiting to submit into evidence. then he goes back to reading the newspaper like he didn’t just change your entire life.
reblog if higuruma could choke you with his tie and you’d thank him 🖤
summary: baelor abides by your wishes when you flee from your arranged marriage to be with the man they call the laughing storm. he asks only for one night with you, before he risks his life at the trial of seven, and lyonel doesn't mind sharing. (8.8k)
contents: targaryen!reader (no physical description other than r's hair color) strangers to lovers, established relationship(s), implied age gap, angst, hurt/comfort, unrequited love (baelor wants that cookie BADDD), canon divergence cw for targcest, vague implications of sexual assault (aerion sucks, you heard it here first folks!), smut (MDNI): threesome, p in v sex, unprotected sex, oral (fem and male receiving), lyonel is a munch and baelor is so touch starved
Lyonel Baratheon appears to you first in a flash of golden candlelight as he stumbles from the bustling inn, wearing nothing but a pair of slacks and an antler crown sitting askew on his greying curls. He sighs when the cool night air meets his burning skin, coated in a thin sheen of sweat that glows a pale silver in the moonlight. His chest, adorned with a dusting of dark hair, heaves as he takes his first good breath all evening.
The sounds of the party inside muffle a second later when the wooden doors creak shut behind him. The scent of sweat and ale remains, carried on the silky breeze of the starry night.
You study the stranger in the several long moments it takes for him to notice you — a high lord from Storm’s End, whose drunken mania in battle ultimately earned him the title of the “Laughing Storm.” You eye him over the rim of your heavy flagon and sip noisily at the bitter wine, not nearly as palatable as that of King’s Landing’s supply, but much easier to get drunk on.
Lyonel’s head snaps in the direction of the nose. His cinnamon-colored eyes, glassy from the alcohol, glimmer at the sight of you — slouched in an old rocking chair, with your feet kicked up on the railing before you. Your heeled boots match the color of your crimson dress, the hem of which sinks to your thighs from the angle your legs are sitting at.
His fleeting look of confusion gives way to a crooked grin, half-hidden beneath his grey-black beard. His voice is low and slightly slurred as he croons, “I remember you… You were the bride— Made of light…”
You figure it must be the hair giving you away. It’s the only real semblance you share with the rest of your family, of course — a mixture of your father’s white-silver and the subtle gold streaks from a mother you would never meet. It was your most obvious designation of royalty, of which you were afforded very many. Far more than most bastards ever got, anyway.
You were Maeker Targaryen’s only daughter, after all, and there was nothing quite as undoing for a man as that. Per his orders, you were to keep the family name, the subsequent titles, and, ultimately, the promise of Queen Consort upon your betrothal to your uncle — the heir to the Iron Throne.
Your marriage was more of a chess game among your father, your uncle, and your grandfather, more than it was a union built on any real affection. Baelor had already done his duties — he’d gotten married to a noble woman, who had given him an heir, and had died shortly after giving him another. He did not want another wife as much as he wanted a warmth to distract him from his grief. He ultimately found that in you, when your father traded your livelihood in exchange for your unwavering security in House Targaryen.
You were married to your uncle in the Red Keep at the age of one-and-six, in a gown made of silver-gold, which reflected the light spilling in from the stained glass windows on either side of you — known soon after as the bride made of light.
“My reputation precedes me, I assume?” you wonder aloud, before licking the sheen of wine from your lips.
“Aye. It does,” Lyonel nods slowly, antler crown tipping. His boots scuff the aged wood of the inn as he stumbles towards you on heavy feet. He catches himself on the creaking railing beside your boots before he can fall over completely. His lopsided smile never wavers. “You are an awful long way from him, little dragon…”
You can’t be sure exactly how far away from home you are now — you only know that, when you made it out of the Red Keep, you just kept going.
It wasn’t so much your uncle that drove you away as much as the constant pressure to perform, and the unrelenting leers from your dragon-eyed brother. Aerion grew jealous of your newfound position in the Targaryen hierarchy. He hated you for it, so much that he began to mistake the detestation for love, and believed his violence to be the very expression of his adoration.
You and your siblings had endured a lifetime of terrorization from your brother, but it was not the constant threats that sent you running. It was something far more measly in comparison — following the night of a lively feast, when Aerion closed the distance between you at the table to pull a scarlet ribbon from your hair, with the same pale fingers he’d otherwise etch bruises into your skin with. The act was as delicate as it was violating; a silent reassurance that he could unravel you as he wished, and that no one would bat an eye if he did so.
You made the sudden decision to run that very night. And, somewhere along the way, it led you here — a terribly drunken thing, sitting before the pretty man everyone calls the Laughing Storm.
“I’m right where I want to be,” you confess, half-echoed into your flagon as you take another lengthy sip. Your peer at the older man over the rim, eyes all squishy around the edges with a smile you don’t let him see.
The music inside dims for a moment before erupting into a loud, familiar instrumental. Lyonel’s grin blossoms into a wide, lopsided thing. “C’mon,” he tells you. “Come dance with me.”
“I don’t dance,” you dismiss with a stubborn shake of your head.
The last time you danced in a crowd was with your now-husband, and something about it felt distinctly like a severing of your girlhood. You’d spun in your uncle’s arms and fought the urge to cower beneath the prying eyes of high lords and low strangers — knowing you would never again be the young girl who stood on the toes of her father’s shoes when she danced with him.
Lyonel reaches out for you anyway. He curls his right hand around your left wrist, still holding onto your cup of ale. He props himself on the armrest of your chair with his free hand as he leans down over you, reeking of sweat and the grape wine staining his crooked teeth a faint pink color.
Your eyes dart back and forth between his dark ones. He’s sloppy and staggering and looking like the rest of your entire life.
“The earth is spinning, firelight,” Lyonel lilts, in a voice as smooth and low as honey. “We’d be fools to just stand on it, wouldn’t we?”
You had danced with him that night, despite your better judgment, and forgot to leave his side.
Your freedom comes at a compromise — in that, it was never completely yours. Baelor only extended the illusion of such as a kindness on his behalf. He knew what had been done to you, by him and your father and your brother, and felt you deserved to live your life the way you wanted for a change, before his inevitable ascension called for your return to the Red Keep.
Maeker sneered at his brother’s indifference to your well-being. “Your enthusiasm is honorable, brother. Truly,” he’d scolded. “You forget this is my daughter we’re talking about—”
“And you forget this is my wife. And that she's more mine than yours,” Baelor said, and waved his hands at the Gold Cloaks before him. “Leave her be. I will have the Bloodraven watch over her. His spies will see to her return when the circumstances call for it.”
A part of you knew that, when the royal knights hadn’t been sent to cease you, that Baelor was surely the one to talk your father off the ledge — to loosen his leash on you, as it were. You knew you were being followed long before the Master of Whispers ever sent his spies after you, on the rare occasions when Baelor needed to make a public appearance and your presence at his side was particularly paramount.
You had seen Baelor thrice in a year or more span, and your father only once. You had not expected to see them again, and certainly not at a low Lord’s tourney, which Lyonel had impulsively whisked you off to.
The golden sun rises slowly over Ashford Meadows, sitting heavy in a cloudless blue sky. The expansive, ornately decorated tent you rouse in fills with the still heat of an early summer morning. The silky humidity mixes with the scent of sex and ale from the long night before, both of which Lyonel struggles to recover from now.
You stand at his bedside, clad only in a thin pair of underwear, and watch the slumbering man for several long moments.
His naked body is twisted in the Baratheon gold sheets. His strong arms are curled beneath the thin pillow under his head. His scruffy face is half-buried in the cushion and half-covered by his wild grey curls. His soft snoring fills the quiet tent, which only slightly muffles the bustling crowd outside.
You can still feel the ache of his relentless thrusts between your legs from the night before as you nudge the mattress with your hip.
Lyonel inhales sharply at the rude awakening. “Wha—?” he groans, still half-asleep.
“Get up,” you command, arms folded over your naked chest like a stubborn child. “I’m bored. And hungry.”
“Have one of the knights fetch you something,” the man slurs, eyes still shut as he turns to face the opposite way. He waves you off with a tired hand and mumbles, “That’s what they’re here for, firelight—”
“Well, I, for one, would like to get some fresh air…” you trail off in a mischievous lilt, beneath the creaking of the wooden frame as you ascend upon the feathered mattress. Lyonel feels the bed cave under your weight as you plant your feet on either side of his hips. He can hear the smile in your voice, too, as you croon. “And, unless you want me going out like this, I suggest you get up and get ready with me.”
There’s a certain air of devilry in your words that piques the young lord’s interest. He blinks sleep from his heavy eyes and turns slowly onto his back to look at you. His hairy chest flares with a warm feeling at the sight of you on top of him — almost completely naked, save for the thin linen undergarments hiding the most sensitive part of you from him.
Lyonel sobers from slumber almost instantly, stretching out his tired limbs as his mouth curls into a crooked smile. His dark eyes glimmer as they dart between the delicate mound of your clothed cunt, to the swell of your breasts, and to your smiling face.
“Mm…” he hums in a gruff voice, propping himself on one elbow to reach out for you with his free hand. His calloused fingers are warm as they trail over the skin of your thigh. “I think you should wake me up like this every morning, firelight—”
His fingers curl in the hem of your underwear. Your fingers dart around his wrist to stop him.
“Mm-mm,” you hum and shake your head.
Lyonel freezes at your wordless demand. You meet his doe-eyed look with a playful grin and lift your pointer finger to your lips.
“Mouth,” you command vaguely.
Lyonel’s grin widens. He laughs, very boyishly giddy, as he sits up straighter on the mattress. You bite your bottom lip as you watch the man try and fail to sink his teeth into the hem of your underwear. You fight back a giggle when his teeth scrape your stomach, before finally snagging the soft linen between them.
He smiles with the hem of your panties in his mouth and bounces his brows at his successful attempt, leaning back to drag the thin fabric down our thighs. A moan grumbles in the back of his throat when your cunt is finally revealed to him, made of coarse hair and soft velvet skin. You watch his heavy-eyed look of desire flicker into a confused look a second later.
He pauses in place, with the hem sitting just above your knees, and with his gaze pointed somewhere past your spread thighs. A newfound breeze fills the tent, along with a fleeting sliver of sunlight, as your head whips around to follow Lyonel’s gaze. A gasped breath catches in your throat when you find the face of your uncle standing in the entrance of the tent, now closing shut behind him.
“Baelor!” you exclaim, scrambling to pull your underwear back up with one hand and covering your exposed breasts with the other.
The man clears his throat and averts his eyes as you rush off the creaking mattress for the robe hanging on the chair beside the desk. You blanket your naked body in the crimson silk, and Baelor makes a beeline for the flagon of wine on the table by the entrance.
“I do hope I’m not interrupting,” he says beneath the glugging of the decanter as he pours himself a goblet.
“Certainly not, Your grace,” Lyonel lilts, voice still gruff with sleep, as he lies back with his hands behind his head. He grins at the man across the tent, not nearly as terrified of him as he probably should be, after being caught sleeping with his wife. Though, to be fair, Lyonel Baratheon has never been terrified of much. “You know my philosophy, Ser Baelor. The more the merrier.”
“I’m sure it is,” Baelor nods politely, failing to match the Laughing Storm’s nonchalance, as his mismatched eyes dart back to you. He motions the jewelled goblet in your direction when you near him, and he tries not to notice how you wear sex and sleep over — in your wild hair and glassy eyes and the lovebites stamped onto your skin.
“Get ready,” he tells you. “Meet me in the study at Ashford Hall.”
Your fingers tremble despite yourself as you take the cup from him. “F-For what?” you stammer hopelessly, wide eyes darting across the older man’s bearded face. You think he must get handsomer every time you see him. He’s made of so many chiseled edges, carved from something harder than stone, but still somehow heartwrenchingly delicate.
Baelor grins shyly at your naivety, as if the distance between you has made you forgetful of your sworn duties. “’Tis a prestigious event, milady. We are expected to be seen together, as husband and wife.”
The titles sound half-foreign as they tumble from his lips. His eyes dart past you to where Lyonel stirs in bed, swinging his long legs off the side and reaching for his unders beside the mattress. He seems to forget that he’s still naked, or forgets to care otherwise. Baelor turns away and clears his throat again behind a closed fist.
“I’ll be waiting,” he says with a nod to dismiss himself.
He leaves without another word, parting through the tent door, as fleeting as the warm breeze and the momentary sliver of white sunlight outside. You feel a pang of something that feels like guilt when he’s gone. You wonder if the ache you feel now is a fraction of what he felt the night you left.
You were no longer the girl who left him behind — not quite the innocent bride with a head full of dreams that Baelor remembers. He thinks you haven’t been for some time, even before you left. He’d felt a certain shift the night before you ran away, the one and only time you had ever bothered to share his bed, aside from your wedding night.
You came to him when the rest of the castle was long asleep. You were sallow and sunken and full of sorrow, like a lily drowned underwater. You smelled like soap and sugar and bergamot when you slipped tentatively beneath the silk covers, moving carefully as if you believed Baelor to be asleep.
He pretended to be, for your sake, until you shifted on your back to face away from him. Then he turned his head and traced the edges of your exposed neck and shoulder with his tired eyes — skin bare from your silken slip, kissed in the moonlight streaming in from the windows. He balled his hands into the sheets to fight the urge to hold you.
“Are you alright?” he’d asked, voice gruff with sleep.
Your breath caught at the sudden question. It took you a moment too long to answer him. “Truthfully?” you whispered.
“Of course.”
“I think… I think I would be a great deal happier here if my brother were dead.”
Baelor didn’t need to ask for confirmation on which you were referring to. He knew there was only one sibling who could’ve sent you running to his bedside for safety. But, unaccustomed to such softness, and at a total loss for how to comfort you, he only said, “I understand Aerion can be cruel, but… The septons say we must love our brothers— even for their many… many faults.”
“That’s easy to say when you don’t have a brother who thinks himself a dragon, isn’t it, Ser Baelor?”
There was a sad sort of smile coating your fragile voice that made the man smile softly to himself, too. “Aye. I suppose it is…” he hummed. “Shall I speak with him?”
“No!” you blurt, far quicker than you mean to.
Your head snapped over your shoulder when you felt the man moving behind you, as if he’d planned to defend your honor in that very moment. He met your wide-eyed look of woe with a sterner, softer look. You fought the urge to reach out for him — to plant your hand on his bare chest and feel his heart beating against your palm — to melt into his warmth and hide there from your brother forever.
“Just… Just stay,” you’d pleaded with your hands curled into fists, because you always felt safest when Baelor was near, though it was never a word you’d speak out loud.
He woke the next morning to an empty bed, sheets that still smelled just like you, and a castle reduced to chaos.
He knew you were gone before anyone had sent to fetch him. It was not your leaving that had surprised him as much as the impact your absence had on his being. After you were gone, nothing quite felt like enough — not the sun on his skin, not the women in court, not the power he held in his hands. Baelor, instead, became a man full of all the letters he’d written you, but could never quite garner the strength to send off with his spies.
He was reduced to futility in the wake of your leaving, while you could only blossom without the weight of him there. You became half-girl, half-fairytale — both delicate and damned — fashioned from both a dagger and a silk heart. You grew into your girlish features and became saturnine, fawn-eyed, clever. A rose between thorns at the rambunctious tourney, which you long understood would end in a fight.
You watch from the stands, between Baelor and the empty seat where your father was supposed to be. “Any word from your brothers?” Maeker had asked you in the study of Ashford Hall, before tossing another grape into his mouth. He sighed hard through his nose when you shook your head. “Fuck me. I can’t seem to keep track of any of my children anymore. Except for the one…”
His lip twitched beneath his silver beard in disgust at the thought of Aerion, who mounts his horse for his first charge on the field below now. The boy is only slightly grieved by his father’s absence until he finds you staring. You catch him smiling to himself before he flips the visor of his helmet, fashioned into the head of a dragon.
The crowd erupts as the joust begins. Your racing heart rises into your throat. Your clammy hands twist into your scarlet dress, embroidered with Baratheon gold. You can feel the imminent violence as easily as you can feel the blood rushing in your veins, as easily as you can feel the rain in the air right before it storms.
“His lance is too low…” you murmur to yourself, hardly audible over the roaring chaos.
“What?” Baelor asks, scruffy features twisted in confusion. You can smell the spiced oil he bathed in on his skin when he leans in closer to you.
“He’s cheating—!” you shout.
There’s a loud crash as the two knights collide, then a whimper from a dying horse with a lance in its throat, and then a wailing from Ser Hardyng as his legs get crushed beneath the dying stallion. Aerion rides up to the stands with blood staining his dark horse and his dragon-scaled armor, taking his victory laps in spite of the roars of protest all around him.
He plants himself before you and lifts his ornate helm to reveal his smirking face beneath. Though you had not seen his face in quite some time, the sight of his chiseled features now strikes a deep fear within you, the same way it always did when you were younger. Your stomach swirls in disgust when his silver eyes meet yours.
“For you, dear sister,” Aerion calls, lifting a hand to reveal his favor — the thin red ribbon he’d taken from you the night before you left, now hanging off his gloved finger. “For there is surely no victory more beautiful than you.”
Your trembling hands ball into fists. You feel a sharp stinging in the fatty part of your palms as your dull nails threaten to break the delicate skin.
Baelor leans in close. His innate warmth, coupled with the scent of leather and jasmine on his skin, comforts you far more than his words do.
“Take it,” Baelor mumbles quietly, hardly audible over the crowd of angry guests.
Your head snaps to look at him. He tries not to cower at the offense twisting your features, like you’re terrified and half-betrayed by his command. But, without dragons to maintain the Targaryen family power, it was important to project the image of a united front (which was growing increasingly difficult, with each of you running away in some form or another).
So, despite himself, Baelor presses firmly. “Don’t keep them waiting. Take it.”
You fight back the urge to vomit as you rise tentatively from your seat. Your frail hand trembles as it stretches over the wooden barricade, reaching out for your tormentor, who now holds the remnants of your girlhood around his finger — like some kind of thinly veiled threat.
Something comes flying from the stands before you can take it from him — a clump of mud, or worse — that pummels Aerion in the side of his helm. The Kingsguard react instantly to defend their prince, while the peasants of Ashford swarm over the barricades to protect their own.
All seven Hells break loose thereafter, in far more ways than one.
Your brothers return — one drunk, as usual, and the other looking much older than you remember and without his usual silver hair. The freakishly tall man you remember from the tourney, (the so-called knight your brother had been squiring for in his time away), is imprisoned at Ashford Castle for assaulting Aerion, though you’d sooner grant him true knighthood for it. He’s granted a trial of seven instead, and in Ser Duncan’s scrambling for fighters, he goes inevitably for your Lyonel, much to your dismay.
“How sober were you?” you wonder aloud, standing between the man’s spread thighs as he lounges on the edge of your shared bed.
He props his weight on his hands and blinks the drunken haze from his eyes as he revels in your touch. Your soft fingers part from his greying curls to trail down his jaw and neck, heading for the opened collar of his unders. He fights back a shiver when your nails scratch gently at the exposed skin of his hairy chest.
“When my brother asked you to fight for Ser Duncan, I mean?”
Lyonel’s lips curl into a lopsided grin. “To be honest with you, I am not entirely sober now, firelight…” he confesses lowly, with a sheepish scrunch to the bridge of his nose, as if he were telling you some kind of secret.
“Then perhaps I should come out there with you. Make sure you stay safe,” you lilt, almost shy, as you tilt your chin to peer at the man from beneath your lashes. “My father fashioned me some armor for my nameday; I’m sure it still fits—”
“Well, that explains why your trunks are so heavy,” he quips.
“I’m serious, Lyonel.”
“As am I.” He shrugs at the stern look you give him. “I need you here. I need you safe.”
“I can fight,” you tell him.
“Better than any of us,” he concurs, smoothing his wide hands over your hips. His fingers ball the crimson fabric of your dress into his fists, which he uses to drag you impossibly closer to him. He rests his bearded chin on your breasts and tells you, “But if you won’t tend to me upon my return, then who will? My reasoning here is purely selfish, firelight, I assure you.”
“Well, I won’t have to take care of you,” you correct, twisting your fingers in his greying ringlets. “You’ll be just fine.”
Lyonel’s smile widens. “Surely nothing a good fucking can’t fix.”
You fight back a giggle when his hands cup your ass over your dress. “Are you capable of thinking about anything other than ale and sex, my lord?”
He clicks his lips against his teeth. “Not particularly.”
Lyonel tilts his chin to kiss you. You duck down to meet him halfway. He wastes little time in licking into your mouth, tasting of salty tourney food and sweet red wine. You sigh through your nose and melt into his touch, curling your arms loosely around his neck while his hands lift your dress to trail underneath it — to finish what you’d started that morning.
The tent flap swishes open the same way it had earlier that day. A cool breeze, smelling of earthy petrichor, comes in the same way Baelor does — swift and unannounced.
Your mouths part with a low clicking noise when Lyonel pulls away. He wears your spit on his mouth like some kind of trophy as he turns to face the older man towering at the entrance.
“We must stop meeting this way, Your Grace,” he jokes in a drunken slur as he leans back against the mattress and stretches his strong arms behind his head.
“I would like to have a word with my wife,” Baelor says, stern but not entirely unkind. “If I’m not interrupting anything, that is.”
“As you wish, Your Grace,” you say with a polite nod before Lyonel can make another stupid joke.
The man leaves without another word. You don’t breathe again until he’s gone, parting from your lover with a grieved sigh as you leave to find your cloak. You take the heavy velvet from your trunk and slide it over your form. You flash Lyonel a knowing look over your shoulder while you tie the thing at your collarbone.
“Behave,” you tell him as you go.
“Of course,” he grins, hips bucking gently against the mattress, all but flashing you the subtle tint in his dark slacks. “You know what the poets say, my dear— Distance makes the cock grow harder…”
Your quiet giggling follows you outside, where the air is cool and sticky with the promise of rain. A satiny breeze ripples in the skirt of your dress. You wrap your arms around yourself on instinct, though it’s hardly the cold you’re shielding yourself from now, as you flash a wavering smile at Baelor and the two handsome knights flanking him.
“Looks like it might storm,” you observe in lieu of a real greeting as thunder rolls overhead.
“I won’t keep you long,” Baelor promises, jaw clenched as he examines the black clouds hanging low in the dark sky. He nods his head to motion you to follow him, then flashes his guards a silent look before he goes, a wordless command to leave you be. He gives orders without speaking and without losing any of his inherent softness — there is hardly anyone in the Seven Kingdoms more fit to rule than he.
You trek the dark camp together, lit only by distant fires from the surrounding tents. You fight hard to keep up with his longer strides as your boots dig into the soft grass below. Baelor keeps his distance next to you, staying near enough to smell the floral scent stained on your cloak, but still far enough away to deny that he wants to be closer.
You spare him a shy look from the corner of your eye when he struggles to start the conversation. “Is… Is there something you wished to tell me, Your Grace?”
“Aye,” Baelor nods with a weathered hand propped on the hilt of his sheathed sword. His anxious fingers fidget around the thing, very uncharacteristically nervous before you now. “I felt it was best you hear it now. You know, from me…”
You give him a wordless look of apprehension when he trails off. He spares you only a fleeting glance before turning away again, looking everywhere but back at you.
“I intend to fight with Ser Duncan on the morrow,” he confesses finally, then follows quickly at your shock. “He will not find seven fighters by sunrise. We both know that. No one is stupid enough to go against the crown—”
“Other than you, apparently,” you interject, a little sharper than you mean to.
“Aye,” the man sighs. “Other than me…”
You still in place, tilting your chin to peer up at the man when he towers some several inches over you. “You’d really fight against your own nephew? Your own brother—”
“I’m fighting for what’s right,” Baelor tells you firmly, as if it’s always been that simple. “The rest of it doesn’t really matter, does it?”
Your squinted eyes dart back and forth between his brown and blue ones. A distant flame glitters in his lighter iris, and in the gold pin he sports on his broad chest. “Why are you telling me this now, Ser Baelor?”
“I know it may slip your mind every now and then when you’re fucking the Laughing Storm, but you are still my wife,” Baelor tells you in monotone with a soft, unfeeling smile. “I didn’t want you to feel slighted if I had not discussed it with you first.”
You shake your head with a sneer, as if you’d just tasted something sour. You hate how noble he is, how kind he is, when you have done nothing deserve it.
Baelor’s brows lower at your reaction. “Would you rather I’d stayed silent?”
“Perhaps. Yes,” you nod firmly. “I was worried enough as it is. Now, I certainly will get no sleep knowing both of you are going on that field on the morrow—”
“Well, surely my well-being doesn’t affect you as much as Ser Lyonel’s,” Baelor hums with an air of indifference, though something about it makes your chest ache.
“While I do admit that I do not love you as I love him…” you confess quietly, watching as Baelor turns away, pretending he doesn’t feel his heart breaking. “I will always have a sort of fondness for you. You are a far greater husband than I deserve — you’ve always been kind to me, faithful to me. Out of the hundreds of men my father could’ve given me to, I’m infinitely grateful that it was you, Ser Baelor.”
Your words knock the air from his lungs.
In the several moments it takes for the man to catch his breath, a fine rain starts to sprinkle from the starless sky — one drop, then another, then a few more. You wince and tug the hood of your cloak over your head. Baelor reaches for you on instinct, pressing a wide hand to the base of your spine.
“Let’s head back,” he tells you over the sound of rolling thunder, which brings in several more drops of heavy rain. Your rushed footsteps stomp hard on the wet grass as you rush the short distance back to camp. Baelor’s fingers hold tight to the soft fabric of your cloak to keep you close. Over the drumming rain, he tells you. “Perhaps… Perhaps it’s best you stay with me tonight. In Ashford Castle.”
You spare him a fleeting look beneath the edge of your hood. “Why would I do that?” you wonder aloud, a little more bluntly than you mean to.
“There hasn’t been a Trial of Seven in a hundred years,” Baelor says as he stills with you beneath the shaded entrance of the Baratheon tent. “It could very well be the last night we have together, is all.”
You flinch in response, like his words have hit you somehow physically.
“W-Why would you say that?”
“I… I have been having these… dreams, in truth,” the older man confesses, but struggles to find the subsequent words to explain them — to explain to you that he’s seen his death, and his son’s death, and his brother’s death in his nightmares most every night. “I would never demand something of you if you were not entirely comfortable with it, but… I do wish to have your presence in Ashford Castle tonight.”
You swallow hard, eyes darting between Baelor’s expectant gaze and the glowing tent behind you, where your lover lies in wait. “But.. But Lyonel—”
“Is not your husband,” Baelor finishes for you.
“Perhaps not,” you waver. “But he is whom I love—”
“And he has certainly never minded sharing.” Lyonel’s voice sounds from the entrance of the large tent. Your head whips in the direction of his voice, finding the man now shirtless and smiling wide. He meets your confused gazes with a knowing grin. “You both are talking quite loudly, I’m afraid.”
Baelor clears his throat, half-embarrassed. “I was just leaving.”
“Why?” Lyonel laughs with a lazy shrug. “We might as well have one good night before all Seven Hells break loose. Wouldn’t you agree, firelight?”
You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out for a few moments. “Only if it’s alright with you, of course—”
“Well, if I’m not mistaken, you once expressed your wishes of being shared…” he murmurs lowly as he saunters closer to you. A few rogue drops of rain splashing down from the awning fall over his exposed skin. “And who would I be but a cruel man to deny my woman of her innermost desires?”
You melt into his hands when he cradles your burning jaw between his calloused palms. You mourn his gaze when his glittering eyes fall over your shoulder to the man looming just behind you. “Apologies, Your Grace. I’m sure you’re well aware of how much of a dragon she can be in bed—”
“Lyonel,” you snap, swatting his hands away and pushing past him in the doorway.
“What?” he chuckles.
“Not quite,” Baelor answers vaguely and within a strangled sigh as he follows in behind you.
Lyonel’s head swivels on his shoulder as he watches the two of you duck inside. He sports an incredulous twist to his scruffy features, stunned momentarily by the revelation, before rushing in after you. The cool air outside gives way to the warm, candlelight tent as he blurts: “You don’t have to spare my feelings, Your Grace— I’ve already heard quite the tales of your wedding day.”
“And that’s precisely what they were,” Baelor huffs, unclipping his heavy black cloak from around his neck. Raindrops roll off the dark leather and onto the ornate rug below as he drapes it over the back of a wooden chair. “Tales.”
Lyonel’s dark eyes flit to yours, glimmering with an expectancy that makes you cower.
“We never… consummated the marriage,” you confess sheepishly, warming at the memory as you toe off your boots. “We just sort of… Jumped on the bed, and… Pretended to moan.”
You shrink inside yourself and wait for the man to laugh, like he does at most things. Instead, he only softens. “So… So you still had your maidenhood when we met?”
“Not quite,” you repeat Baelor’s same non-answer from before, and refuse to go into any further details, which threaten to send a shiver down your spine just now.
Lyonel catches you trembling and closes the brief distance between you. “C’mon. Get out of these clothes, firelight— You’re freezing.”
Baelor watches silently as Lyonel towers over you, curling his fingers beneath the thin tie at your collarbones. It loosens, and the rain-soaked velvet falls behind you with a heavy thud. You rest your hands over the man’s bare chest as he reaches behind you to unknot your corset. You never once take your eyes off of him, as if his inherent confidence was a catalyst for your own.
Baelor averts his gaze on instinct and busies his anxious hands by pouring himself a goblet of ale, which fills barely halfway from the half-gone flagon.
“Don’t turn away now, Your Grace,” Lyonel quips with a wide grin. “This is the fun part.”
Baelor takes a slow sip from the warm, bitter wine and watches over the rim of it while Lyonel undresses you completely. His wide hands push the sleeves down your shoulders until they fall to your elbows. You slip your arms the rest of the way out of the dress and the slip you wear beneath it. The fabric pools around your feet, leaving your naked body on display, kissed by flickering candlelight.
Baelor struggles to look away, and he hates himself for it. He hates the way his mouth waters at the sight of your supple skin and full breasts. He hates the way Lyonel leers at you like you’re his for the taking.
“I don’t believe in fate, firelight, but… Sometimes I do believe the Heavens made you just for me…” the man murmurs lowly, trailing his ringed hands from your bare shoulders to your breasts. Your breath catches in your throat when his thumbs brush over your sensitive nipples. “Two wise gods instead of seven, perhaps...”
“You’re a child,” you scoff.
“I’m a righteous man, my lady,” he corrects, dark brows lowered in a feigned offense. “And this is where I go to pray.”
He drops to his knees with a quiet thud. His glimmering eyes lock with your cunt, which begins to drool at the sight of him below you. Your hands reach for his curls on instinct, and Lyonel’s heavy head swivels to face the man across the room.
His mustache curls in time with his smile as he says, “Watch diligently, Your Grace. You could stand to learn a thing or two.”
The words of an argument die on Baelor’s tongue when Lyonel leans forward to lick a fat stripe up your cunt. His breath hitches when he watches your head tip back, sighing at the feeling of his tongue between your velvety folds and his coarse beard between your thighs. Your fingers twist in his hair to pull him impossibly closer, and his muffled laughter sends a shockwave up your spine. The pretty sound you make for him has him grinning against you.
“My poor girl,” Lyonel hums, half muffled against you until he pulls away. Your honey glittering in his beard beneath the orange candlelight. “You’ve been waiting for this all day, haven’t you?”
You nod with your head still tossed back. “Yes…” you answer, sighing when he leans forward to press a too-innocent kiss to your cunt.
“I wager you’ll cum as soon as I command it of you, won’t you, firelight?”
He licks you this time, like a kitten to milk, and a whimper sounds in your throat. “Yes…”
“What say you, My Lord Hand?” Lyonel croons with a swollen smile and your slick still on his lips. “Shall I make her wait for it?”
It takes Baelor a moment or more to come to his senses, feeling half-caught in a dream. His hands work first, unbuckling the scabbard from around his waist. His words catch up to him second: “Well, we don’t have all day, Ser Lyonel— And I’d very much like a turn, if it pleases my lady.”
You exhale a fragile sigh that gets half-buried beneath the heavy clunking of his sword hitting the table. “Please…” you hear yourself beg.
Even with your eyes still closed, you can hear the smile in Lyonel’s voice as he says. “As you wish, Your Grace—”
He dives in a second later, working mercilessly with his tongue and mouth. Your hips buck instinctively against him when he suckles at your sensitive clit. Your hands knot his hair to keep your balance as his strong arms wrap around your thighs, clutching at the plush skin there to keep you pressed to his face.
He smiles against you when he feels you trembling. You can feel the vibrations of his quiet chuckling against you, and your fingers twist harder in his curls.
“Cum for him,” Baelor commands from the opposite side of the tent.
Your head snaps in his direction, blinking rapidly through the haze of your imminent pleasure. You find him sitting at the round table, slouched in his seat with his thighs spread. The stern look on his weathered features makes your clenched stomach do a backflip.
“You heard me,” he says, bringing his goblet to his mouth. “Cum for him. Now.”
A whimper sounds in the back of your throat as your features crumple beneath the weight of your pleasure, which swells from the pit of your stomach to the top of your chest. Your legs threaten to buckle when the warmth finally releases, cascading into Lyonel’s wanting mouth. He happily slurps up every ounce of the honey you leak for him, and you whine when the man moans against your pussy at the familiar salty tang of your cum.
“There you go,” Baelor hums on bated breath in the interim, licking wine from his lips. “Good girl…”
You sigh at his praise.
Lyonel parts from you with a smack, wearing your slick on his swollen mouth and bearded chin. “My…” he hums through labored breaths. “You are in rare form today, aren’t you, my girl?”
Your softened eyes keep his gaze as he rises before you once more. You smooth your trembling hands up his scruffy chest and pant, “Your fault…”
He ducks down to kiss you, hard, with all the violence of someone taking a bite out of an apple. You sigh against him when you taste your cum on his tongue, melting his body with your naked breasts flush with his chest. Your hands twist in his greying curls, while his calloused ones swat at your bare ass — not enough to sting, but enough for you to feel the impact.
“Let’s not keep our gracious guest waiting, firelight…”
Your heavy head swivels slowly in Baelor’s direction. You peer at him with lidded eyes, like you’re seeing him for the first time. You exhale through your swollen mouth when Lyonel leans in to lick at the sweat-slick skin below your jaw. “Go kiss him, firelight,” he whispers against the shell of your ear. “I know you want to…”
Your legs are carrying you in his direction before your brain has even commanded it. Your bare feet pad across the thin rug to where Baelor sits at the table. He slouches further into his seat and sets his goblet onto the ornate oak beside him in a silent command. You straddle his legs and descend upon his lap a second later, resting your trembling hands on his broad shoulders.
You sit tentatively over his thighs, resting the bulk of your weight on your toes, lest you stain his garb with the slick between your legs. His calloused hands grasp the curve of your hips to pull you further into him. Your breath catches when your sensitive cunt brushes his stiff cock, trapped in the confines of his trousers.
The tip of your nose traces the bridge of his at the proximity between you. It is not nearly the first time you’ve kissed him, but it’s the first time you’ve begged him for it. “Please…” you sigh.
Baelor closes the distance between you, kissing into your open mouth before you have time to take another breath. He tastes like mint leaves and grape wine, still slightly foreign but strikingly familiar to you all the same. You whimper against him, trailing your hands from his shoulders, down his torso, and to the tie in his slacks. Your eager fingers fumble with the knot there.
He pulls away from you with a smack.
“You don’t have to…” He goes to assure you, but trails off when your fingers slither beneath the hem. Your warm fingers cup his cock, stiff but still softer than velvet in your fist. He sighs hard through his nose at the foreign feeling of pleasure, which he hasn’t allowed himself to feel since some days after you left — since he’d bury his face in the pillow you laid on, inhaling your scent as he fucked his own fist.
Now here you are, the real thing, mounting yourself on his cock like he always dreamed you would. He watches with a lidded gaze as you descend upon him, grimacing slightly at the ache of being stretched, then moaning quietly when you’re pierced fully by his length. He’s not quite as thick as Lyonel, but perhaps an inch or so longer, and with more prominent veins you can feel when you rock your hips over his lap.
“It’s… It’s been… A while for me,” Baelor confesses on bated breath, eyes darting wildly from your blissful features to where your pubic hair glimmers with the honey you leak for him. He swallows hard and fights the surge of pleasure already stirring in his stomach. “I won’t… I won’t last—”
“Alright. Make room, you two,” Lyonel announces suddenly, breaking the tender moment as he saunters the short distance to the two of you. Your heads snap in his direction and find him already naked, jerking his stiff cock in his fist. He shrugs at your confused glances. “What? I have needs to, Your Grace— C’mon, firelight. On the table you go.”
You obey without question.
Your sweat-slick skin sticks to the cool oak below, as you spread your naked body across the length of it, like a feast to be devoured. You vaguely hear the men discussing on top of you as they take their places on either side of the table — Baelor between your thighs and Lyonel at where your head hangs over the edge of it. “Don’t forget to rub her clit while you’re down there, Your Grace. Would you like me to point you in the direction—”
“I’m not a child,” the older man interjects with an impatient huff.
Lyonel laughs, then brushes the head of his drooling cock across your lips.
“Open up, firelight,” he tells you, then exhales through his nose when you take his cock in your obedient mouth. You moan around him when Baelor tips his hips forward to pierce you with his cock. The sensation of being so full makes your burning skin start to buzz, and your back arches off the table when the man presses his thumb to your clit.
“You’re a fast learner,” Lyonel quips with a crooked smirk and a lidded gaze.
“Do you ever shut up?” Baelor spits through gritted teeth.
“She likes it when I talk, actually,” the younger man quips, dragging his hips back until only the head of his cock sits in your mouth. “Isn’t that right, firelight?”
You moan around him, and he grins when he tips his hips forward again. His head falls back at the feeling of your mouth, all warm and wet around him. “I need you to cum around his cock, firelight. Can you do that for me?”
You whimper at his words, hips bucking off the table. Lyonel laughs deliriously through a moan at the vibrations it makes around his cock. Baelor bites back his own grunt when your drooling pussy clenches around him.
“She’s getting tighter, isn’t she?” Lyonel wonders with raised brows, cradling your throat with one hand and holding delicately to your left hand the other. Baelor grips onto your right one, while his free hand etches bruises into your thigh as he fucks into you. His belt buckle clinks with each of his thrusts. He nods in response, jaw clenched tight. “Gripping you like a vice, I’m sure—”
“I’m almost there,” Baelor blurts, more to shut the man up than anything.
“You hear that, firelight?” Lyonel asks, and you moan in the affirmative around him. “Be a good girl and cum for him. C’mon. Show him how good you are, and I’ll reward you with my cum, what do you say— Oh, there it is…”
He trails off with a quiet laugh when you whine around him, twitching on the table as your orgasm hits you full throttle.
Baelor’s knees threaten to buckle when your weeping cunt flutters around him — though he was undone the moment he pierced you, in truth. Your thighs tremble on either side of his waist as his warm cum blossoms inside of you. Your pussy clenches to milk him for all he’s worth.
“See? Told you she liked it,” Lyonel quips, but goes unheard as Baelor’s low grunts fill the tent like thunder. He scoffs, “Okay. My turn, firelight.”
You keep your mouth parted obediently, gagging quietly as you let the man fuck your mouth — heavy balls swaying at your forehead, coarse hair scratching at your chin. He keeps his heavy gaze trained on your parted thighs, where a mixture of Baelor’s cum and yours glimmers in the candlelight when the older man drops into the seat behind him, utterly spent.
“I’m almost there…” Lyonel announces. “Fuck, I’m almost there—”
His hips stutter for a moment before he tenses against you, pulling out of your mouth to grip the base of his twitching cock, and groaning when ropes of milky white cum spit from the head. He babbles through his high, “Yeah, that’s it… Be a good girl and take it all for me… There you go…”
The first thing Lyonel does when he’s finally spent is reach for the flagon of ale, nearly tipping over the table’s edge. His blissful features twist into a frown when he finds it almost empty. “Who the fuck drank all my wine?” he wonders through panted breaths.
“You did,” Baelor huffs, buckling his trousers again.
“Oh…” Lyonel trails off, dropping into his seat at the other end of the table and drinking straight from the carafe.
You’re slow to rise from the table. Your skin still buzzes with the aftershocks of your high as you prop yourself up on your elbow and wipe your glittering mouth with your free hand. You wear the remnants of your pleasure all over — in your wild silver hair, heavy eyes, swollen mouth, and sweat-slick skin. Your kissed lips curl into a shy smile when you catch Baelor’s unabashed staring,
“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask him, far too innocent for the way your legs are still spread before him,
“Because I would paint you if I had the talent for it,” he answers without missing a beat, mouth watering at the sight of your leaking pussy. “I could die a happy man just looking at you now.”
“You’re not going to die, Ser Baelor,” you tell him, foreignly stern but still soft in your way.
“No?” he muses.
You shake your head.
“How can you be so sure?”
“She’s a prophet, my firelight,” Lyonel grins, leaning forward to press his mouth to your pulse. You smile at the feeling of him there and press your cheek further into his curls.
“I’d sooner fight the Gods with my bare hands than lose you now,” you confess, unable to drag your eyes away from his, as if you were discovering something new in his gaze — how much you truly care about him, perhaps, or maybe how much you cannot stand to lose him. “We have to make up for lost time, don’t we, Ser Baelor?”
“Aye,” he nods, lips quirked into a faint hint of a smile. “We do.”
Please, Baelor prays despite himself, give me time to love her.
Please, you beg to whichever Gods will listen, don’t take this sinner away from me.
↳ previous: rule thirty-four
↳ this can be read as a continuation or a stand-alone
content warnings: she/her pronouns for reader, reader is referred to as Tav / Tavara like 3x, reader has a vägina and brëasts, øral (f!receiving), fïngering (f!receiving), top!Reader, unprotected sèx, crèampie, riding, overstimulation, kinda ooc!Wulbren because he’s a even more heart-eyed in this one, not proofread and written in the middle of the night after an edible
Blood-curdling screams were certainly Wulbren’s least favorite way to wake up from a good night’s rest.
Somehow, he’d managed to throw on a pair of pants and boots in the blink of an eye, then grabbed a battleaxe, and was still trying to secure a leather breastplate he’d thrown on as he ran out of the door of his small home in the Underdark. It only took a moment to find the source of the chaos: a colossal, looming hook horror – right in the middle of the more family-oriented homes of the Ironhand Gnomes’ settlement.
As Wulbren took a step in that direction, shouting from the opposite direction captured his attention. Another two hook horrors were entering the village, drawn in by the noise from the first’s attack.
A fleeting thought crossed Wulbren’s mind – one which his pride would never allow him to admit, even if his life were the line.
What would Tav do?
He decided that Tav would he should aid the women and children first, as they were in the most danger from the first monstrosity. Somehow, Wulbren and two others managed to distract it away from the toddler it nearly sank a hook into, and Wulbren landed the final blow quicker than he’d anticipated. The only drawback was that the beast had managed to slice through the leather breastplate, right above his heart. It wasn’t deep enough to be a cause for concern – regardless of the blood soaking his nightshirt – so he immediately began running towards the other two hook horrors.
For a moment, Wulbren wondered if he’d lost more blood than he thought. Because as he crested a hill, he saw a group of his men attempting to aid in the fight – only to look more like mere nuisances in comparison to the way you were fending them both off.
You. Tav. The brave, beautiful apparition that haunted every dream he’d had since parting ways with you in Baldur’s Gate. And a few before that, if he were to be honest.
What in the Nine Hells were you even doing here?
Wulbren hoped to Ironhand that no one had noticed his pause upon seeing you, but he recovered after just a moment, and rushed forward to join the fray.
It was over nearly as fast as it started. But it was obvious to everyone there that that was solely on account of your appearance.
“Casualties? Injuries?” Wulbren shouted at the others, the moment the final hook horror fell. (He allowed himself half a second to be ecstatic that he’d been the one to deal the final blow to the beast – and, more importantly, that you had seen it.)
“By the grace of all the gods, no casualties, it seems,” Barcus replied breathlessly, rushing over to Wulbren. “I just did a sweep over the residential area that was attacked. Hogi’s got a gash on her arm, and Fuffi has likely got a concussion. A few others have some bumps n’ bruises, but they’ll all be fine.”
“Good. Next question – how the fuck did those get in here?!” Wulbren practically snarled, turning to Thulla. “You were meant to be on watch!”
“I was! I was, I swear –” she started, but Nickels cut her off.
“Are you certain you weren’t asleep? Like you were last night when I showed up to relieve you and start my shift?”
Thulla visibly paled. A vein in Wulbren’s forehead twitched, and his jaw set, before taking a deep breath.
“Kitchen duty from now on, Thulla. Nimble, you’ll take her place. Everyone else, just – just fucking go back to bed,” Wulbren declared, sighing heavily. He pinched his nose, and forced himself to grit out, “And everyone thank Tav for saving our asses. Again.”
A murmured chorus of “thank you, Tav” made its way to your ears, and you smiled at them, awkwardly waving lightly and whispering hellos to a few familiar faces that passed as they headed back to their homes.
Barcus was the only one to actually approach, as it seemed the others were too worn out for a chat.
“Very well met, old friend! What brings you here?”
“Hello, Barcus. I was just, you know – in the neighborhood. Thought I’d pop in for a visit,” you replied, with a smile and obviously feigned nonchalance.
“In the middle of the night?” Wulbren inquired, a brow raised.
“The Underdark always mucks up my sleep schedule when I first arrive, so honestly, I didn’t even realize how late it was. But it seems my timing was pretty good, nonetheless,” you quipped back. Wulbren’s expression softened slightly, as though he found that endearing, and he hummed in agreement.
“Yes, it typically is.”
You smiled at him, and as the lethargy settled into his bones, Wulbren couldn’t muster the willpower to avoid returning it.
Ever the one to ruin a moment, Barcus suddenly gasped sharply, pointing at Wulbren’s blood-soaked chest. Wulbren attempted to brush off Barcus’s fretting, but Barcus was persistent, urging Wulbren to accompany him to their healer. When Wulbren continued to stubbornly decline, you stepped in.
“I know a healing spell or two. Show me to your place, and I’ll patch you up myself. How about that?”
A purple-hued blush tinted his cheeks, and – worried he’d seem too eager – Wulbren forced himself to hesitate a moment before nodding. Both parties opted to ignore the way Barcus grumbled, “Oh sure, you’ll go along with it when she offers.”
A comfortable silence befell the pair of you, as you followed Wulbren into his home. He kicked off his boots and moved to loosen the breastplace, but sucked in a breath as the wound moved with him, so you stepped in to remove the garment for him. Next went the bloody nightshirt, leaving Wulbren in only his messily-tied trousers. You gestured toward his bed as you kicked off your boots and shrugged off your armor. He laid down atop the blankets, feeling his body sink into it, the fatigue and adrenaline crash fully catching up to him.
“Alright, let’s have a look,” you whispered absentmindedly, sitting beside him on the bed. Gentle fingers traced along the wound, and Wulbren felt the still-present blush spread down his neck and chest. He expected the next thing you said to be in regards to the wound, or better yet, the healing of said wound. Not –
“Stop flexing.”
Wulbren bristled, because he only then realized that he absolutely was – without even consciously choosing to – likely from the moment you turned to face him on the bed. And in his panic, he did what seemed to be the best thing he possibly could do: lie.
“I – I am not flexing. That is absurd.”
You met his eyes then, grinning. “You most certainly are.” Wulbren began to stutter again, so you leaned in close to his face, pressing a finger to his lips, causing his eyes to grow as wide as saucers. “I can see all your hard-earned muscles just fine without you flexing, sweetheart. The spell works better when you relax and let it flow through you.”
A moment passed. And then a couple more. Finally, you could see Wulbren actually relax – arm and abdominal muscles still noticeable, but not as defined as they’d been moments before.
“Good boy,” you cooed, and he opened his mouth to retort. However, the healing magic began to emanate from the palm you laid over his chest, and it felt divine.
The healing spell then did its job, and you removed your hand – deciding against commenting on how fast his heart was beating under your touch. Wulbren opened his eyes to stare directly into yours, only then asking, “What’s the real reason you came all this way?”
You smiled at him, and traced a fingertip over the fresh scar on his pectoral as you contemplated how to answer. Your finger traced a few other scars after that as well. An old burn scar on his bicep, a slash across the ridges of his abdominal muscles.
“Tavara.”
“I… I suppose I missed you.” The gentle, faint touch of your fingertip continued to dance across his skin, absentmindedly now. “I put it off, because I figured you probably didn’t miss me. So, coming here seemed like a bad, embarrassing idea. But I gave into it eventually, as I often do with bad ideas. And I didn’t bother to think through a suave or delicate way to say all of that, so… there it is.”
Wulbren looked at you. Really looked at you, in a way he hadn’t ever before. For the first time, he saw you for more than The Hero of Baldur’s Gate. For more than the skilled, fearless warrior he’d always known you to be. And, for the first time – he saw you as a woman. A momentarily very shy woman. Speaking to a man she fancies, to see if he fancies her back.
When you managed to look up to meet his eyes, you found that he was giving you a lazy, lopsided grin you’d never seen before.
“I want to remind you, that if you’re going to make fun of me, I can kill you and be out of the Underdark long before your clan ever wakes up.”
Wulbren laughed – a care-free, genuine laugh.
“I’m not going to make fun of you.”
“Then why are you smiling at me all stupidly and not saying anything?”
“I’m smiling at you stupidly because you’re wondering if I missed you, not knowing that I haven’t had a single night without you haunting my dreams since I last saw you.”
You sucked in a breath, and Wulbren’s smile only widened.
“I’m smiling at you stupidly because you’re wondering if I missed you, not knowing that I’ve touched myself to the thought of you – to the memory of your taste, your smell, your hands – a dozen more times than I’d care to admit. You’re wondering if I missed you, and I nearly got myself killed out there, because I was too busy thinking, ‘Gods, how could she possibly have gotten more beautiful than the last time I saw her?’”
Despite the dizzying warmth spreading through you, you smiled.
“Wulbren, you don’t have to resort to flattery. I’m technically already in your bed.”
“I don’t mean to. And I never have before you. You just have an innate ability to make me start spouting off ridiculous, love-sick declarations of adoration every time I’m around you these days.”
“Hmm. I suppose… I could get used to it,” you mused, leaning forward to rest your hands on his chest, and your chin atop it. The violet of his eyes seemed to sparkle in the candlelight.
“Yes, well…. I’d hate to go entirely soft, so I’ll still need to talk shit to you on occasion.”
“Oh, I’m already more than familiar with your shit-talking, so go right ahead.”
“How kind of you,” he murmured sarcastically, craning his neck down to you, at the same time you began to lean up toward him. You hummed in agreement as your lips met his, and you both smiled into the kiss.
The sweetness of it only lasted a few moments, before Wulbren’s hands rose to cup your face and greedily deepen the kiss. You mirrored his enthusiasm, moving to straddle him, prompting his hands to begin to wander along your waist and hips. In the lustful haze captivating you both, he began tugging at the hem of your top, and you sat up for just long enough to remove it and unlace your pants. While remaining connected in a now-frenzied kiss, you allowed him to push you onto your back and help you out of your trousers, before the pair of you rolled over again to remove his. Now both fully nude, you reached down to grasp his throbbing cock and begin stroking it, earning a deep, guttural moan from the Ironhand leader.
Wulbren didn’t allow you to continue for long – mostly in fear that he’d spill himself in your hand, instead of in the pretty cunt he’d been touching himself over for the past six months. Instead, he pushed you onto your back, and began leaving a trail of hot, breathy kisses across your skin as he moved lower.
Your head fell back onto his pillow with a sigh as he dove into your pussy with a fervent hunger, slurping at your juices before suckling your clit. He moaned at the taste, hips rutting into the bed, allowing himself to enjoy it for a moment. Wulbren’s desperation to please you took over quickly, and he moved a hand to slide two fingers into your dripping cunt, relishing in the “f-fuck” he heard you moan. He began flicking his tongue over your twitching clit, sucking it into his mouth, and trading off with his fingers to fuck you with his tongue. Your moans and curses only fueled his fire, and you lost the ability to tell if this was more for you, or for him.
Wulbren was so lost in you that he didn’t push your hips down like before; he let your hips rock against his face, unwavering from his meal. He didn’t even realize he was still rocking his own against the bed until he let out a deep groan against your pussy, nearing his own orgasm. He grasped his cock at the base to halt it, and forced himself to stop the movement of his hips, again focusing entirely on pulling those delicious, mind-numbing whimpers and moans from your pretty lips.
When he had calmed down enough to release himself, and reached up with that hand to squeeze your breast, that was all it took for him to get what he’d been craving. The coil in your lower belly snapped, and warmth flooded you as your climax washed over every nerve in your body. Without even noticing it, Wulbren whimpered as he slurped up every drop you gave him, brows pinched together as he rutted his hips into the bed again. After only a few thrusts of his pre-soaked cock against the blankets, Wulbren gasped sharply and stilled, pulling away from you just enough for his warm breath to fan over your pussy, making you twitch and jerk.
You were the first to break the silence, and the way he shuddered when you reached down to run your fingernails over his scalp was vindication for your following question.
“Wulbren, did you…?”
“No…. Yes…. Shut up,” he grumbled, moving up your body once again to distract you with a kiss. His cock was still as hard as a rock, wet and warm against your sensitive skin as you wrapped your arms around his neck, melting into his kiss. Soon, however, you pushed him onto his back, and moved to straddle his hips.
A small part of Wulbren wished to save you the trouble of being on top for both occurrences of your coupling, and to show you that he was fully capable of doing so himself. Although, the wicked glint in your eyes as you took his length in your hand and he sucked in a stuttered gasp, seemed to indicate that you didn’t mind.
You lined him up with your entrance, and sank down onto his length, earning a satisfied sigh from each of you. For Wulbren, it was instantaneously overstimulating, given that he’d already cum once, just a few minutes ago. It overwhelmed his every sense in the best of ways, and his fingers dug into the malleable flesh of your hips as you began to ride him. He felt as though he were going mad, with the way remnants of his release mixed with yours, creating a warm, wet, ungodly tight haven.
It was only halfway through a garbled, whimpered sentence of “you feel so – fuck, oh gods – so fucking good” that he even realized he was talking. He vaguely wondered what else he’d rambled on about without noticing, but when he spared a glance at your face, seeing that the wicked grin had only widened, he suspected it was a lot.
Wulbren’s head was swimming, lust clouding his mind like a thick morning fog. His hands roam your body without any rhyme or reason. Flat against your abdomen, feeling the way your muscles move languidly to ride him. One hand on your hip, the other squeezing your breast. Both hands kneading the softness of your ass, fingertips digging in when you clenched around him, hard enough to bruise.
A whimper from you redirected his focus back to you – to your pleasure.
“Tell me that you’ve thought about this. That you’ve thought about me. And I’ll give you what you need,” he bargained, licking his lips.
You both knew what he was truly asking for: reassurance. Something warm, deep, and desperate within his chest – something well-hidden, something sacred – was cracking open and bleeding out. Emotions he had never let himself feel for another soul. And he needed to know that it was okay – that he could allow himself to feel the nauseatingly strong affection blooming throughout his entire being. Whether it was simply because you wanted him for his body, or for something more, he just needed to hear it.
“Every single day. There were a few times I exhausted myself on purpose, just to see if I could get you out of my mind – out of my heart – for one singular day. But even if I managed to wear myself out to the point that I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow, and I didn’t think of you to fall asleep for a change – I’d wake up soaked and desperate after a dream of you. I’d end up having to touch myself before starting the day, just to clear my mind from whatever spell you’d put on me in the night.”
Wulbren’s eyebrows pinched together as he mewled at your words, the scalding heat of affection in his chest overwhelming him now. He upheld his end of the bargain, though, reaching down to rub wet, tight circles over your clit. It tore a deep moan from you, and your head fell back as you rode him faster, chasing your release. Doing the same, his hips began bucking up to meet yours, and the pair of you fell apart in the same moment, gasping each other’s names like prayers into the night air as he filled you with his seed.
You let yourself fall onto the bed beside him, curling into him under his outstretched arm. His palm rubbed soothingly across your back, and his slightly-sweaty chest rose and fell beneath your cheek.
“You owe me another drink, you know.”
“Not this shit again,” you replied with a breathless laugh. “What’s your justification this time?”
“Making me wait six months to have this again. And taking advantage of a recently-injured patient under your care. That must go against some sort of oath, I’m sure of it.”
“An oath I have never taken does not pertain to me,” you noted, looking up at him, but he would not meet your gaze, a falsely patronizing expression on his face.
“Yes, well, best to avoid any negative nuance against yourself and remedy your slipup with a drink.”
“Right, because my reputation was on such thin ice already.”
“Indeed. I’m only looking out for you.”
“Ever the gentleman,” you said sarcastically, and only then did he grin down at you.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Warnings: Voyeurism (Levi watching a ~seemingly~ private affair), rough sex, implied authority/power dynamics, established relationship (between Erwin and reader), praise, creampie, a brief bite, Levi wants reader and Erwin and I’m not sorry about it, so mentions of Levi fantasizing m/m as well
Word Count: 3k
A/N: I’ve had this fantasy for-fucking-ever and finally decided to put it all together. I debated how to write it, but ultimately decided this would be sexiest from Levi’s POV 🥰
and as always special thanks to my pals @titan-fodder, @whats-her-quirk and @mindninjax for looking over this and encouraging me
Levi shouldn’t be here.
The hallway is cold, dark, dusty. Filthy, like him. There’s an immoral weight bearing down on his shoulders, heavier than the world itself. Envy and lust curl around his throat in the same way a fist cinches around yours.
He. Shouldn’t. Be. Here.
But the moment his eyes found you, the silky, naked planes of your back rolling, arching, catching firelight, he was cemented to the floor.
He can see everything through the door crack: hands in your hair, the curve of your breast, the perfect heart shape of your ass pressed against the Commander’s desk. And he can see Erwin, too, broad shoulders eclipsing the light, golden hair falling against his forehead, brawny arms flexing as they move, touch.
Intimate, private affairs happening right in front of him. He didn’t even know the two of you were fucking when no one was looking.
°｡✴｡° that bit of fuel to your fire, stoke your desire °｡✴｡°
toshinori yagi (all might) x reader
warnings: p in v, oral (f!receiving), overstimming toshi, riding toshi, dacryphilia / crackin that old man til he cries, toshi has a praise kínk, creampíe, 18+ ONLY, MDNI
It had been many years since you introduced Toshinori to the peace and comfort of a home – in lieu of the soulless, vacant penthouse he returned to every night, which he considered to be a mere vessel for sleep. Only after you moved in, filling every atom of the space with love, did he consider it a true home. Very quickly, he stopped dreading returning there after the day was done. In fact, he looked forward to it, and considered it the best part of the day.
Toshinori heard the shower and the faint sound of your favorite music coming from the bathroom as he shut the front door behind him. He smiled softly to himself – even just the thought of you always had that effect on him. When he made his way into the kitchen, following the scent of something delicious, he found that you’d saved him a plate of the dinner you’d made. And – as always, whenever he had to stay late at UA – a little note, encouraging him to go ahead and eat, and telling him that you love him.
Despite the flavor of the food, it was hurriedly and haphazardly eaten. The ache in the older man’s bones was a more pressing matter than savoring the food, and he wasted no further time in heading to the bedroom, stripping down to a t-shirt and boxers, and climbing into bed to wait on you.
An “everything shower.” That’s what you’d called it one day, when the task took considerably longer than a normal shower. Toshinori suspected that’s what was going on, so he allowed himself a moment to begin looking over emails and some papers he needed to grade.
When the water shut off, he called out to you to let you know he was home, and you greeted him cheerfully in response. But he knew to not expect you for a bit – especially after he once watched your post-shower routine.
Toshinori was focused on reading the last student essay when he heard you enter the bedroom. Determined to finish it and put that behind him, he called out “Hi, honey” with his eyes glued to the messy handwriting on the page.
“Hi. Grading papers?” you replied sweetly, and your husband nodded.
“This is the last one. I’ll be done in a moment, I promise,” he assured you, and you hummed in response. From his peripheral vision, Toshinori saw you move to your vanity, and a slight jolt went through him when he realized what you were about to do.
Lotion. That jasmine-scented lotion someone had gifted you, that he adored. And, most importantly, he couldn’t get enough of watching the way you applied it. Toshinori felt like a bit of a weirdo for it, but something about the way you rubbed it into your soft, sweet legs made his chest warm up every time.
Opting to steal a glance before returning to the essay, Toshinori granted himself a peek at you – only to find himself doing a genuine, honest-to-God double-take.
Light blue lace cupped your breasts, a bit of the supple flesh threatening to spill out over the top of the cups with the way you were bent at the hips to lather the lotion into your legs. Thin, gauzy material of the same color cascaded around your torso. As he followed it down, down to where it stopped at your hips, he caught a glimpse of the matching thong panties you had on underneath.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you. I went shopping today. Saw this cute nightgown in the mall. What do you think?” you asked, as nonchalant as could be, as though you had no idea what you were doing to him.
Toshinori was only vaguely aware that he scribbled an A onto the top of the essay before setting it on the stack of papers on his nightstand. Slowly, as though he thought he was dreaming and any sudden movement would wake himself up, he rose from the bed and came over to you, his boxers seeming to grow tighter with every step.
He stood dumbly beside you, fingers twitching at his sides, for several moments. You fought back a giggle as you asked, “You alright, honey?”
“It’s beautiful. You – you’re beautiful,” Toshinori managed to choke out, his voice a mere whisper. You murmured your thanks, but he hadn’t snapped quite enough for you to want to drop the nonchalant act yet. However, when a hand rose to hover near your waist, and he nearly whimpered, “Can… can I touch you? Please, sweetheart, I – I need to touch you.”
You stood up straight then – done with the lotion, and done with pretending you didn’t know what you were doing. The smirk on your lips told Toshinori that much.
“Of course, baby.”
Toshinori dove in to kiss you with all the ardor and adoration of a man who’s been lost at sea for a year. His arms circled your waist, massive hands splayed across your back at first, before they allowed themselves to wander. It seemed as though they were in a mindless frenzy – your hips, your ass, your breasts – but never too frenzied to focus on kissing you with such passion that your knees grew weak.
“Go lay on the bed, Toshi. You’ve had a long day – let me take care of you,” you purred into the shell of his ear. He groaned, but you felt him shake his head.
“N-No, honey, you… you dressed up so pretty for me. I want to thank you for it,” Toshinori argued, then began kissing down your neck. “Besides… I haven’t had any dessert yet.”
Everything between him saying that and how you currently found yourself was a blur. The thong had disappeared the moment your back hit the bed, but the babydoll top remained. You were vaguely aware that you’d cum once already – or was it twice? – but your husband showed no signs of stopping.
His thick blonde hair was as messed up as it could possibly be, from your fingers raking through and pulling on it, and you could faintly see a flush across his cheeks. But the way his brows pinched together, the way he was moaning into your soaked pussy, the way he was rutting his hips into the mattress – all showed how engrossed in his work he was.
Toshinori never ate you out merely as preparation for sex – he ate you out because it was his favorite goddamn thing on the planet. And it showed.
“Toshi – oh my god, Toshi, baby –” you whimpered, attempting to warn him that you were about to cum again. But the way he groaned with his lips wrapped around your clit when you said his name, caused all every word you’ve ever known to vacate your mind.
“I’ve got you, I’m here,” your husband murmured, and you scarcely heard him over your own sounds. Toshinori’s fingers maintained their perfect pace as they thrust in and out of your slick cunt, and he was practically making out with your clit, alternating between sucking on it and swirling his tongue around it. When he spoke again, the pitiful, desperate lilt of his voice sent a shiver down your spine.
“Please – please cum for me, honey. I want it – I need it,” the former number one hero begged and pleaded, right against his beloved wife’s throbbing clit.
If you had a little extra sense left, you’d have noticed the way his hips were bucking more wildly into the mattress now.
Then again, he didn’t have enough sense left to notice it either – entirely pussydrunk for his wife.
Voice hoarse, you cried out his name once more, hips bucking wildly against Toshinori’s face as you came. Only this time, you squirted – soaking his pretty face with your juices, and the pitiful, whiny moan he let out was the most incredible sound you’d ever heard. His fingers dug deeper into the soft flesh of your thigh, from the arm he kept wrapped around a leg to hold you somewhat still, and he breathed out your name before his hips stilled.
Toshinori went limp, resting his cheek against your thigh and breathing heavily. The feeling of his warm breath on your bare pussy nearly made you clamp your legs around his head, but the realization of what just happened kept you still.
Slowly, a smile spread across your face. “Baby, did you –?”
“Yes. Hush,” he grumbled, not sure he could bear any potential teasing from you. You felt his face heat up against your thigh, burning with embarrassment.
Opting to take pity on the retiree, your smile remained but you said nothing else. You carefully removed yourself out from under him, and he let you – under the pretense that you were both done. And when you silently turned him over onto his back – subsequently revealing the dark, wet patch on the front of his boxers – his eyes shot open.
“Wha– what are you doing, my love?” Toshinori questioned, but didn’t stop you as you pulled his ruined boxers down and off of him. He sucked in a breath through his teeth when the cold air of the bedroom hit his still-twitching cock, and found his fists balling into the comforter as he watched you climb onto the bed to straddle him.
The way your warm cunt rested atop his leaking, oversensitive length. The way your manicured nails gently scraped down his chest as you smiled down at him like a predator who’d caught her prey. The way everything was too hot, too cold, too much, and not enough – all at once. Fuck, it was all nearly more than Toshinori could handle – and you hadn’t even done anything to him yet.
But above all, what sent him spiraling the most? Every single goddamn time?
It was the way you made him feel wholly and truly desired – in a way he had once feared he’d never experience again, after his injury.
“You’re thinking too much again,” you murmured, and the low tone of your voice had Toshinori’s breathing growing heavier. Before he could form another thought, you reached between your bodies to grasp his still-hard cock then sunk down on it.
The groans that fell from both of you were absolutely sinful. Toshinori’s hands flew to your hips on reflex, fingertips digging in as you set a steady, rhythmic pace. He had half a mind to be embarrassed by the way his thighs were already trembling after just a few minutes of you riding him, but you didn’t give him a chance to dwell on it. Your hips picked up speed, and Toshinori thought he was going to die on the spot when your soft hand gripped his jaw and turned his head to face you.
“Look at me, Toshi.”
Fuck, he hadn’t even noticed that the overwhelming pleasure was causing him to turn his head away, into the pillow. It was as though half of him were trying to get away from the delicious burn of overstimulation, while the other half – the large hands squeezing your hips like it was the only thing keeping him on Earth, the hips weakly bucking up to meet your thrusts – was absolutely thriving in it.
But he did as you bade him – as always. But God, the pretty blue lace and mesh still adorning your body, the way your brow furrowed in pleasure, the fucked-out look on your face despite riding him within an inch of his life – it was about to send him over the edge.
“S-Shit honey, I-I’m gonna – I can’t – I need you,” Toshinori rambled senselessly, barely even aware that he was speaking. The warble in his voice prompted you to take a better look at him, and you noticed tears brimming in his eyes – though, he didn't seem to be aware. Or he just didn't care.
The love you have for that man knows no bounds – but God, did something nasty and feral inside of you want to see him cry.
Careful to maintain the rhythm you'd set with your hips, you leaned down and began kissing along his throat. His fingertips dug into your skin harder, and he whimpered quietly, but it wasn't quite as much of a reaction as you'd been hoping for. But you knew what would get him there.
"You're so strong, baby," you murmured against the sweat-slick skin of his neck, just below his ear. He sucked in a breath through his teeth, although you weren't sure if that was because of the praise or because of the way you intentionally squeezed his twitching cock. "You feel so damn good – always do. You – ngh, fuck – you're perfect. My handsome husband."
A pitiful whimper tore itself from his throat, and the rhythm of his hips meeting yours faltered. You couldn't resist leaning up to look at him, and saw tears flowing more freely from his eyes now – enough that you finally felt sated.
Through the daze of being overwhelmed by your praise, Toshinori realized he barely stood a snowball's chance in hell for holding back his second orgasm. A second realization soon followed: he needed to get you off before that happened.
Albeit slightly frantically, Toshinori still possessed enough sense to reach down and begin rubbing your clit. Despite it being a blatantly desperate attempt to make you cum, doing it juuust how you liked it was muscle memory for your loving, attentive partner.
A choked out gasp of “Fuck, Toshi” fell from your lips as your thighs began to shake, and he felt your syrupy, sopping cunt grip his cock in a chokehold as you came undone around him. Over the ringing in his ears, Toshinori heard himself groan – low, deep, guttural – as he spilled inside you.
Both sets of hips weakly chased that high before slowing to a stop, and two warm arms wrapped around you as you let yourself shakily lay down on his chest. Toshinori stroked your hair and rubbed absentminded circles on your back as both of you caught your breath. Ever reverent, he was the first to speak – pressing a kiss to your sweaty temple as he murmured, “Thank you, my love. You’re perfect.”
The next day, your dear, sweet husband didn’t have the heart to correct his grading choices to Kaminari, who loudly cheered about getting his first ever A on a report.
Kissing Keigo is like caramel. Specifically when it’s at its melting point.
He kisses you all slow, and sweet like he wants to both savor his time and like your about to leave him any second. It’s an endorphin rush on how good it is. Soft kisses, melty even, a warm mouth, and your gloss smudging his lips, it’s a bit addicting for him. He loves the slightly sticky feeling, and the taste of the added flavor to the gloss. But, the way he gets visibly greedy when you make those tasteful lil sounds goading him on, doesn’t make matters better and that is inherently dangerous.
Cause he wants more.
He likes it when saliva makes little strings when he parts to let you, catch your breath. He’s never breathless or well he is but he doesn’t care that his lung’s want to give. If he could, Keigo would spend half his day just kissing you. The other half? Lapping at that pussy of course or hearing that nice plop—plop sound when he in that. It’s free therapy.
And don’t be feeling at his stubble, neck, ears, or your fingers running through his hairs. It’s always gets more sensual, more needy, more “don’t be touching me like that, y’know I’m easy.”
He is. Real bad. It’s almost shameful the way he be acting like a bitch in heat, pressing you up all on the nearest surface, knee slotting in between your legs and dragging your hand right to where he’s hard as a brick wall. He’ll give it to you raw right here right now—it does not matter.
He wants you to touch him. Tease him. Feel that damp spot in the middle of his sweats. Cause you did this to him, you make him act like this. Makes him wanna take the DNA off your mouth, sneak into a random science lab and clone your lips, so he can take them wherever you’re not there with him. Just so he can kiss you. He’d even recreate your lip combo for more authenticity and if this actually could happen in an alternate universe where you FaceTime him and see lipgloss smudged on all his mouth, maybe accuse him of badly cheating on you, he would just show you a carbon copy of your lips and say “I got a lil desperate..”
It would be his version of a rose toy.
Yeah. He is so Coco Butter Kisses by Chance The Rapper coded.
And then, he likes to give you that look. Low lidded, smoldering honeyed eyes, solely intent on boring into yours like your more than a women, and don’t try to look away cause he don’t like that—“Don’t do that shit,” voice all soft, lightly scolding you, but his hand grabs at your jaw bringing you right into the focus of his attention again. “Know you like being loved on so stop,” It’s so intimate, it’s that heart racing, heat pooling low in your belly, shivers crawling down your spine and letting your lips form a soft “o” just so he can kiss you again and again and again.
That slow, antagonistic action that somehow never fails to make you weak in the knees and him wanting to make you sore all over again.
Tomura could remember the exact moment this sick, twisted little thought took root in his brain.
The two of you were sitting in the middle of the Kiyashi Ward Shopping Mall – people-watching, as you called it. He had only agreed to tag along with the promise of visiting the food court. He watched you as he ate – he was always watching you, it seemed – so it was easy for him to catch the way your eyes followed something intently. Tomura followed your gaze, and found that what had captivated you was… not at all what he’d expected.
A little girl. Toddler-looking, although Tomura couldn’t even begin to guess how old she may be. Couldn’t be very experienced with walking yet, given her wobbly but determined steps. Gummy grin beneath a neatly-braided head of hair, which matched the color of yours.
Tomura couldn’t understand what the hell could be so interesting about the little gremlin. So he asked you. As it always was between the two of you – open and upfront, never holding a single thought or question back, no matter how surface-level nor how deep.
“Do you ever think about it?”
You answered his question with a question – one that only confused him further. Sensing this, you elaborated, “Having one… a child of our own…. Has that ever crossed your mind?”
“No,” Shigaraki responded flatly. “I’m not sure what about me makes you think ‘father material,’ but you should probably reconsider that.”
You smiled at him, in that way you often do – that makes him feel like you’re seeing right down to his fucking soul with nothing more than a glance.
“I think you’d be a good father.”
“Yeah, well, you’re not exactly the most sane person I’ve ever met, so….”
“No, I mean it,” you stated with a soft laugh. “Sure, you’d be unconventional, but you’d be great. You’re capable of a very pure, very deep love, Tomu.”
Something in his eyes softened, before he pointed out, “That’s only for you. That’s only ever been for you…. You know that.”
“I do. But I also believe that you would extend that love to a miniature version of us, whether you wanted to or not,” you argued, still smiling at him with such innate warmth that it made Shigaraki feel feverish. When he gave only a non-committal hum in response, you added, “Picture it, Tomu. I’d look so cute with a baby bump, wouldn’t I? And I’d be tired all the time, and you’d take care of me –”
“You’re tired all the time now and I take care of you now,” Shigaraki grumbled, which you ignored.
“– And you’d sit with me while we feel the baby kick in my belly –”
“Which would be incredibly weird.”
Continuing to ignore him, you cuddled up to him, yanking his arm to drape it over your shoulders. He rolled his eyes and scoffed, but allowed it.
“– And then we’d get a cute, chubby-cheeked little mixture of the two of us. Maybe your hair, my eyes. Or my hair, your eyes….” You sighed dreamily, and Tomura loathed the way it made his heart flutter within his chest. “We’d teach ‘em about the world – the real world, as we see it. We’d give them the love and protection we didn’t get as children.”
Shigaraki allowed himself to absorb your words. He even allowed himself to consider it for a moment. And just when it began to sound somewhat appealing, the hate-fueled voice of his father telling him ‘you can’t ever do anything right’ flooded his mind, and Shigaraki found himself blurting out, “Raising a not-fucked-up kid won’t change the fact that we got fucked up as kids. If we even could raise a not-fucked-up kid.”
“You’re right. But… it’d be pretty fun to be parents together, wouldn’t it?” you asked, and the way most of the tension in Shigaraki’s shoulders vanished did not go unnoticed by you.
-------------
That night, Shigaraki found himself laying awake, staring at the clock as it read 2:38 AM. He couldn’t care less about the time, though. Not with the particular sorts of thoughts running rampant in his mind.
You with a swollen tummy and heavy breasts, in a too-tight dress, showing off what he'd done to you. The way he’d claimed your body – claimed your womb.
You bouncing a squishy little infant in your arms, both of you grinning with the brightness of the sun itself as he walks up to take the baby from you.
Him kneeling on the floor as that child took some wobbly steps towards you – who was smiling with a hand on your swollen belly, round and heavy with his seed for a second time.
Shigaraki felt like the final embers of his sanity were fizzling out – from nothing more than a few simple words from you.
It was only logical that you pay the price for it.
Before he was even consciously making the choice to do it, Shigaraki found himself moving under the blanket, and pulling your sleep pants and panties down before throwing them onto the floor beside the bed. Still in such a deep sleep, you didn’t even notice the removal of your clothes, nor the way he spread your plush thighs open – until he dove between your thighs and began lapping at your pretty pussy. That earned a few quiet noises from you – but it wasn’t enough.
Thankfully, he still had on his gloves that cover only his ring and pinky finger – which he did his best to always wear around you, unless he was anticipating some sort of combat to arise. Still yet, there was a moment’s hesitation before he touched you, before diving his uncovered fingers inside you.
That got the reaction he was craving.
You awoke with a gasp, which faded into a moan as your bleary eyes caught a glimpse of light blue hair beneath the comforter.
“Tomu,” you whispered, but it sounded much more like a mewl.
Shigaraki didn’t have the mental capacity to respond to you. Instead, he leaned down to flick his tongue over your clit, alternating between that and suckling on it as he pumped his fingers in and out of you. He was overly eager and fiendish, but not without purpose and intent, wanting to lose himself in the taste of you while still accomplishing his goal of making you gush into his mouth as quickly as possible.
The feeling of your nails on his scalp before grabbing a fistful of his hair was euphoric for Shigaraki, and he groaned against your clit, earning some delirious, breathy moans from you.
“You’re doing so good, my love. You’re so good,” you praised, and the faintest whimper escaped him. His rough fingertips brushed your g-spot, and he zeroed in on it instantly, desperate for more of those wanton noises from you. “Right there, baby. God, fuck – just like that. You’re so – ngh – so perfect.”
“If I’m so perfect, then reward me,” Shigaraki taunted. It was unusual for him, to taunt or tease, or even to take control at all. He always preferred you taking the lead. But something about the feral, raspy way he snarled out “Cum in my mouth – right fucking now” left you seeing white as you came undone on his fingers.
Greedy, desperate, obsessed, Shigaraki lapped at your fluttering hole as your pussy wept – mindful to continue pistoning his fingers into you, not wanting to risk cutting off your orgasm. By the time he’d gotten his fill, you were twitching and breathless, and he hurriedly stripped off his clothing, then your sleep shirt, leaving you both bare as he crawled between your legs. Shigaraki hooked your calves onto his shoulders before leaning down to kiss you, the tip of his hard, leaking cock teasing your clit as he folded you in half.
“Did you mean what you said earlier? You better have fucking meant it. Tell me you meant it,” he rambled, gently rocking his hips against yours to slide his pre-cum dripping cock between your gooey lips, continuously bumping into your clit and short-circuiting your brain. He was too far gone to even meet your eyes, forehead resting against yours with his pretty red eyes squeezed shut.
“Tomu, baby, what are you – oh, at the mall?”
“Yes.”
A shudder wracked his body as you reached up to trail your fingers along his temple, over his cheek, and down his jawline, then cup his cheek.
“Yes, Tomura, I meant it. Wanna have your babies.”
The moan sounded so deep, so guttural, as it escaped him, seemingly of its own accord. Shigaraki scrambled to take a hold of his cock and position it at your entrance, and as though he was trying to work as quickly as he possibly could, he canted his hips forward to drive his hard, thick cock as deeply as it would go.
The way your lips parted and the breath was stolen from your lungs – it was just too delicious. Shigaraki couldn’t help but kiss you again, all tongue and teeth, as he set a hard, vindictive pace with his hips. He would withdraw his cock until it nearly escaped you, then slam it back inside, the spongy tip hitting your cervix every time. It was somewhat painful, but in a tantalizing way – just how he knew you liked it.
Shigaraki broke the kiss to wrap a hand around your throat, squeezing so perfectly, cutting off just the right amount of air. His other hand held him up, allowing him a better angle to slam his cock into you, over and over and fucking over. He appeared to be hypnotized by the sight – his twitching, raw, cream-coated cock coming in and out of your tight, fluttering cunt.
At this point, he didn’t even feel like himself anymore. He felt like a fucking animal – and he was fucking you like one, too.
“I’m gonna breed you, pretty,” Tomura declared, leaning forward so he was speaking a few inches above your face. Holding eye contact as he squeezed around your throat. “I’m gonna stuff you full of my cum, again and again, until I can’t anymore – and then I’m gonna do it again tomorrow. And the next day. Until it fucking takes. Until you’re carrying a piece of me inside you. Until your pretty little tummy gets all big and round with my spawn. Until everyone just has to take one look at you to know that you’re mine, because they can see what I’ve done to you – see the way I’ve claimed you, claimed your body.”
It was all you could do to hold his gaze, never mind form a response. You were vaguely aware, through the ringing in your ears and the white-hot feeling of an impending orgasm, that you were moaning and crying out his name.
“Tell me you want it. Tell me you want me to breed you, to fuck you full. Do it,” Tomura snarled.
“Oh god, Tomu – fuck – I want it! I need it, baby, please. Need you to breed me – need to have your babies inside me, please!”
“Then fucking take it,” he hissed, slamming his hips against yours one final time, spilling his warm seed as deeply inside of you as he possibly could. The sensation of being filled, and the look of deranged bliss on his pretty, scarred face, was all it took for you to come undone too, pulsating and milking him for all he had. Tomura groaned brokenly at the sensation, shivering as he forced himself to remain inside you through every aftershock of your orgasm, not wanting to waste a drop of his precious seed.
By the time you regained some semblance of sanity and looked up at him again, Shigaraki was already looking down at you, a lovestruck and pussydrunk expression on his face. He kissed you with his usual gentleness – which he’d seemingly forgotten about for a while there – then began carefully maneuvering so he was laying behind you, his cock never leaving you even for a second.
“Whatcha doin’, Tomu?” you asked with a smile.
“Have to make sure it stays inside,” Shigaraki whispered, wrapping his arms around you and nuzzling his face into your neck. “Have to make sure it takes.”
You laughed softly, laying your hands on top of his – and only then did you notice the way one of them settled over your abdomen. Purposeful. Hopeful.
“Don’t you think we should probably be doing it more than once, to make sure it takes?”
“You’re so sweet for thinking I’m even remotely done with you,” Shigaraki replied, amusement in his tone. He kissed your temple, then settled onto his pillow again, exhaling slowly and peacefully. “Sleep. Because the second I see a shred of daylight, I’ll be stuffing you full again.”
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
♥ Dabi with a corruption kink ♥
x reader drabble. 273 words. smut. teasing. fingering. f!reader. and ofc, as the title says, (subtle) corruption kink.
"One of these days, you're not gonna want to go back to them, you know," Dabi murmured against the shell of your ear. His fingers busied themselves rubbing your clit through the wet lace of your panties, the texture sending your mind into a lust-fueled haze. "How 'bout it, princess? Gonna stay with me? Not go back to those stupid fuckin' heroes in the morning, like usual?"
When you opened your mouth to respond, it's like he could somehow sense that you were going to argue, and he wasn't having any of it.
Dabi moved your panties to the side and slipped a finger inside of you, then another, and began massaging your clit with his thumb. And you could hear his smirk when he spoke again. "So sorry baby, what were you about to say...? You were about to say that you'll stay here with me, weren't you, pretty girl? Stay here, with me, forever... keeping my bed and my cock warm...."
"Dabi," you managed to choke out, nails digging into his forearm as he began to kiss down your neck. "You know I – fuck – I have to go back."
"No, you don't. You just want to – for reasons I'll never understand," he grumbled, then nipped at your neck. He sat up then, pulling his fingers away then removing your panties.
You didn't just hear the smirk now. You could see it, as he sat back on his heels, still between your legs, and began peeling off his tank top.
"Don't worry, my sweet girl," Dabi cooed, sneering the word 'sweet' like it was a word most vile. "I'll change your mind."
CONGRATS ON 200 FOLLOWERS!! I absolutely love your writing and I just cant get enough, I NEED more of your Dabi 😩🤚🏻
so Dabi & 35 please~
ღ “I could fuck you all night and still not be satisfied. You have no idea how deep my hunger goes.”
Dabi didn’t know how you ended up his. Someone like you. All soft eyes and warm skin, smile like morning light. You should never have looked twice at someone like him.
Yet here you were. Spread out beneath him. Sweet and flushed, sighing out his name like it didn’t belong to a man who’s burned cities. Like you didn’t care about the blood on his hands. The heat in his veins. The fact that you could do so, so much better than a villain with a stitched-up heart. He could see it in your eyes even now. Love. Real, blinding, unshakable love. It made his breath hitch. Made his mind go quiet in that terrifying way, like everything he hated about himself just stopped mattering.
Your thighs trembled under his grip, breath coming in soft little gasps as he pushed deep again, slow and firm, like he was trying to memorize every inch of you from the inside. You were already so wet, already dripping down his cock and it still wasn’t enough. Would never be enough. He groaned. His head fell to your shoulder, voice rasping hot against your skin.
“I could fuck you all night and still not be satisfied.”
“Touya.” You whimpered beneath him, arms curling around his shoulders like you needed to hold him closer. To ground him, because you weren’t afraid of getting burned.
He pulled back just enough to look at you. Your lips were swollen. Your chest heaved with every breath. He could see where your thighs had started to shake, could feel how tight you’d gotten since the last time you came around him. But still, he needed more.
“You have no idea,” he whispered, “how deep my hunger for you goes.”
He moved harder then, not in a cruel way, but desperate. Slow but deep, dragging every sound out of you he could. Watching you fall apart from his touch like it meant something. Like it filled that endless void inside him. He kissed you mid-moan. Bit your lip. Groaned when you tugged his hair and begged for more. When you came again—body arching, mouth falling open in a cry that echoed like worship—Dabi came with you. With a curse and a growl and a broken sigh, rutting into you like he was losing his fucking mind.
Afterward he didn’t move. He collapsed against you, arms tight around your waist, face buried in your neck. And for once… he didn’t think about revenge. Or pain. Or anything that made him who he was before you. He just lay there, surrounded by your scent, your warmth and light. Obsessed. Addicted. Starved for the only thing he’d ever let himself call his.
1. he flirts like he fucks, playful, cocky and smooth as silk
Every wink, every teasing touch? It’s a promise. “You’ve been staring at my hands all night, pretty bird,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb across your lips. “Want me to show you what they can do?” When he does, it’s slow, precise like he’s playing an instrument. One that moans for him.
2. bedroom voice = panty dropper
His voice drops low when he’s inside you, rasped and delicious, breath brushing your skin like a secret. “You like that?” Thrust “Say it again, baby.” Thrust “I wanna hear you scream my name with that pretty little mouth.”
3. wing kink and I mean wing kink
They twitch when you kiss him. Shiver when you strip. You tug a feather and his hips snap into yours “You gonna lose control, baby bird?” and he’ll fuck you through the mattress just to prove a point. He loves when you touch them. Worship them. But more than anything? He loves when you earn the chance to.
4. he’s dangerous when he’s quiet
Sometimes he doesn’t speak. Just watches you undress like a starving man, tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek. He’ll push you up against the nearest surface and take his time with deep hard strokes. The silence? It’s just the calm before the moan-ripped, feather-ruffling storm.
5. oral fixation king
He loves his mouth on you. Everywhere. His tongue works your clit in slow, devastating circles while his eyes never leave yours. “Don’t you dare look away,” he mutters against your heat. “I want you to watch me ruin you.”
6. feral when you ride him
He pretends to be relaxed, hands behind his head and cocky grin. But the moment you sink onto him? That control shatters. Veins bulge in his neck, fingers dig into your hips, wings flare out. “F-fuck, you’re tight. You wanna break me tonight, huh?”
7. fast hands, fast reflexes
He’s got you on the bed before you blink. Legs spread. Hands trapped above your head with one feather. “Stay there,” he purrs. “Be a good girl, and I’ll make it worth your while.”
8. a dom with a praise kink twist
He’ll call the shots. Tease you until you cry and whisper what a dirty little thing you are while he’s deep inside you. But when you moan “Keigo, please, I want all of you,” His breath catches and rhythm stutters. “You want me that bad? Fuck… I love you.”
9. spends more time giving than taking
He doesn’t care if he comes. What makes him crazy? You. Your thighs shaking, voice breaking, nails clawing down his back as you scream his name like a prayer. “I’ve got you, baby bird. Come for me. Let me feel it.”
10. post sex god, feathers everywhere
He wraps you in his wings after. Brushes sweat-damp hair from your face and kisses you like you’re made of light. “You good, angel?” He holds you like he’s afraid to let go. Because you? You’re the only place he ever wants to land.
Synopsis. When he’s furious, he’s fast. And rough.
Pairings. [SEPARATE] Higuruma x Reader, Gojo x Reader, Ino x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!reader, angry s, manhandIing, they’re FÉRAL, full neIsons, headIocks, creampíes, cúmplay, GOJO’S POWERS, fíngering, chokíng, spítting, p talking, true form Sukuna, dp, p sIapping, breaking the bed, ratio technique, exhíbitionísm (Geto), rough s, they’re big, dumbíficatíon, pet names, swéaring.
A/N. Heheh hope you have a lovely week <3
♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - BACK-BREAKER.
CRACK!
It takes a second for Toji to even register the splintering noise let alone realize that he’d just shattered your bed into almost a thousand pieces. Darkened eyes narrowing- a bad gig today and now this?
“Mmm, Toji–” You’re turning your dazed head back to whimper oh-so-cutely. Lips wobbling as you take in the state of your poor bedsprings, “You broke the- oh!”
And Toji Fushiguro didn’t care.
He didn’t care if your bed was in one piece let alone sagging on one side. And before you can even flutter your teary lashes, you’re finding yourself flatly sprawled on your bedroom floor. Spine arched into a curve, legs smeared open by his strong knee.
“Be good for me, girl.” One of his rough, scarred hands creeps up on your neck to manhandle you still. He spanks his puffy n’ red tip down your core with a dampened pap! Voice fuming, “Your husband’s had a baaad day.”
Wait…husband?
Your poor mouth dangles open to ask what he meant by that- but the only thing sneaking out is a shrill whimper. “Fuh-fuck! Oh my god, why are you so big-”
Because Toji’s sheathing in a few of his hard, solid inches in a single thrust. Barely giving you time to adjust, barely letting you even breathe prior to holding onto your rapidly pulsating throat n’ dragging your body up and down in harsh jerks to meet his.
“Fuck. Shut up.” He’s channeling out a seething hiss, every one of your sweet sounds made his large, weeping tip twitch. Achingly. “Shut up and take- it-”
It’d been nearly hours now since he’d come back from some mission gone awry n’ taken it out on your poor, sensitive cunt. Now tenderly weeping out every time he furiously pours out another batch of wadded pre.
Toji’s barely even moving in his usually looong, teasing strikes that have you squirming endlessly. Right now he’s fucking you through the frigidly polished hardwood with rough, pummeling half-thrusts that have his own pelvis burning bright red at the slamming impact.
And you’re so sensitive from it.
Sobbing, “B-but it’s so much.”
“Shit- if this pretty pussy can’t take it then no one can, doll.” Toji has the audacity to tilt his head sexily and whistle. The wet underside of his shaft rawly inching deeper to stretch your hole wiiidely. “What is it- want me to beg? S’that it? You want me to beg, mama?”
Whining, his rude restraint on your windpipe grows stronger - and so does his cadence.
With a grunt he swats his plush balls against your cunt and watches as the contact makes your eyes stupidly whirl. “N-ngh- Toji–!”
“Heh- alright then…please.” Grinning, he’s so mean in the way he’s leaning his muscular body down so that you’re dealing with the brunt of his weight. “Please. Hold those legs up f’me and ngh- let your husband blow off a lil’ steam.” Mockingly, annoyed - but not at you, never at you. “Please.”
Leisurely, you’re only half-way registering what you’re doing once your hands instinctively dive down to perk the inner part of your thighs up. “Like this?”
“More.”
Struggling. “This?”
He snickers, “Difficult? Need me to fuck ya into the hah– floor instead?” He already was. Letting him throw your jittery legs onto his shoulders and bending–“Not enough, my wife.”
“Wh-what?!”
“I said…” It’s such a primal mating press right then n’ there on the ground. Your thighs on his deltoids, your ass against his washboard abs.
Toji pliably uses his inhuman strength to roughen you up all he wanted, the fleshy curves of his muscles flexing as he did. It was so mouth-watering to ogle him - all veins of his neck popping out, pecs tense, temple glittered with a thin line of sweat. Easing inside. Groaning, “-not enough.”
“O-oh mmm–” You’re steadily melting as his rugged length angles a straight whack! against the cute target of cute g-spot. Still so delicately bruised from all those rounds prior. “There! Right- ngh- there, baby–”
So deep and big inside of you now that his cocktip was stretchin’ the areas of your walls until you’re damn near seeing stars.
Swabbing every slick orifice with his reddened, blushing crown, he’s so far gone that the way you twist your hands into his beefy forearms and claaaw your way down only makes him let off a dopey smile. “Tch- like kitten scratches, mmmm- yeah yeah, try harder, doll.”
Harder. Faster. And it was all because of that damn gig- what that damn Shiu had said…
It feels so raw having him inside you, spank after spank you’re reeling from- easily making a complete mess of you.
Hiking his naturally sculptured thighs further upwards to press a deep snog against your cervix, you’re feeling the spheroid of his mushroomy tip surface the spongy layer of your womb and you sob.
“Harder. C’mon now- harder.” Toji bites out at you, the honed points of his canines gleaming with a layer of slobber. He was drooling at the repeatedly squelching music of your hot, dripping pussy now. “Oh, the lil’ kitty’s purring for me now…h-heh. Is she gonna cum—?”
He knew the state of your sweet, syrupy cunt more than you did.
Because just then you’re feeling the white-hot sparks swimming near your navel, thighs shaking ‘round Toji’s gyration hips. You can only nod and nod and nod, “C-close! Not gonna last…”
“There there, mama.” He flicks the pinkish edge of his tongue over his scarred lips, just the sight of you all wet and leaking over him maddening. Flopping his tastebuds out to taste your salty tear-tracks, “Cum for me.” Before you can utter a word, his free hand spanks down on your weepy cunt and dips a thumb past your slit. Treating your quivering clit like a button- one strike on your pretty nub, one strike to your g-spot. “Cum. Harder now.”
You don’t even realize you do until Toji’s gasping.
Until he’s grinning, until his painfully rock-hard cock bulges just a few centimeters even bigger at the sight of your mouth gaping in awe.
Toes curled, mouth flapping, overstimulated to tears. “T-Toji–! Cum…ing…”
Your slick-sprayed thighs plaster to the side of his obliques, front glued to his ladder-like abs as he sliiides down between vicious thrusts. Leaving no room for you to collect your breath. Leaving no room for you to even start thinking again—
“We haven’t broken the floor yet, doll.” Toji rustles his heady breath over your features, feral. “And Shiu’s gonna see what happens when he tries ta flirt with my wife.”
Oh.
♡ NANAMI KENTO - A reeeal man
You had your mouth gagged with Nanami’s silky yellow tie, your eyes curling to the back of your head. Jittery hands struggling to find purchase anywhere for dear life—“Mmpf, Ken—!”
And you were just so cute with your wet, puffy folds squeezin’ down on him that Nanami has to force himself to tear his hazy irises away from your cunt. “S’alright, my love.” Cooing, one of his fat thumbs darts up to swipe away the line of sparkly drool seeping from your lips. “Don’t wanna be mean. And I- ngh- don’t wanna be too rough, but…”
But he couldn’t help it.
Oh, ever since the moment he woke up in this very hospital bed after fighting that damned curse Mahito- Nanami Kento couldn’t help himself.
Parched for his dear wife’s pretty pussy when he thought he’d never see you again, he’s just slightly roughened up after Shoko had mended him, as good as new. Able to fuck you as good as new in this sloppy full nelson.
Chiseled pecs heaving, groans claggy.
“Fuck, darling, you’d be lucky if I don’t eat you alive.”
Whining, your back arches as his rugged hands come sliding underneath your knees to tug them all the way up to your tits. Tight. Rude.
His scorching hot breath hits the side of ear in gusts, “I’m- I’m gonna break you, my wife.” Uttering this just as Nanami’s feet plant firmly flat on the creaky bedsprings to shovel his cock deeper. The utter fuckin’ stress of everything that’d happened during battle only making his reddened, ravaged cock oh-so-merciless. “I’m gonna fuck you so had that m’gonna hafta apologize.”
You swear the round, curving edge of his cocktip only grows harder every time he’s remembering - getting angrier. Furiously pumping between your pussylips, it just feels so good to have your calm, sensible husband take it out on your pussy until the toned area of his pelvis is stinging red.
“Ngh– mmm- there.”
And Nanami didn’t know whether he should be proud or shocked at the way that geysering hole of yours only grows wetter. A sticky lather of syrup trickling down his veiny shaft- “You…you like that?”
All you can do is nod- your head falling slightly backwards to hit his strong collarbone, where he takes the opportunity to sweetly kiss the side of your cheek.
Murmuring - more to himself this time than you. “You want it- rough.”
It all happens at once- in one blink of your dewy eyes.
Nanami has your whiny throat caught in one of his big, beefy biceps in a headlock. His ankles looped over yours to smear them even further apart, n’ his large, bulbous cock swinging inside so deep.
And you suddenly have your teary cunt stinging with impact, your tastebuds sizzling at the stretch. “I’m r-really gonna break you, my love.” And yet, he just couldn’t stop himself. He’s rovering his hungry shaft with hard, slamming thrusts. “Really, really…”
Slap after slap.
Even though Nanami’s voice was so very gentle with you, his hips were anything but.
As if he’s slowly regaining his cursed strength and ramming every shred of it into swabbing your sloppy orifice. Letting his hip bones dig deeply into the cheeks of your ass, you’re whining. “M-more!”
“More…?”
“More.” Cheeks still stuffed with the length of his tie, you’re hastily trying to spit it out- just to have him push one of his ringed hands over and squeeze your cheeks. Pushing. Holding you still. And Nanami’s sheer cadence is so hard n’ fast that your legs fall further open like they’re completely boneless. “Want you in like mmm- this.”
Like this?
The metallic clinic bedframe creaks as he only picks up his pace, grunting. “Being all- hah-disrespected like this?” Drilling into you like he was crazed- he’s never been so sloppy, so disoriented, so messy with a pool of precum laying over your folds. He spanks his wedding band on your swollen clit and watches as you squirm. “How does it feel like this, huh?” Tugging rudely on that sensitive nub, “Lettin’ me treat that pussy like a little slut?”
It’s like he’s tightening his restraint on your windpipe and asking you into making your shrilling wails. Goading you to.
“P-please-”
“How does it feel? Goood?”
Your maw splashes a polish of drool down his veiny forearm, your head pathetically airy with bloodrush. All you can whimper are tiny ‘yesses’ and ‘please!’
Voice higher-pitched, breaking. “Don’t say things like that.” Cutting off your rapid breaths as he raises his toned spine to rut n’ rut- “Gonna hafta draw you a long-” His thick veins were throbbing at this point, patterning across every inch inside of you. The towering curves of his body frame twitch as he’s feeling the stress seep away from him. “-loooong bath after this- and the deepest- massage.”
You’re so wet that you’re squirting off a few dribbles of syrupy sap and his precum, shiny in the overhead lights. And he breathes, “And another ring- fuck!”
Oh, with his blond brows furrowed and his glassy gaze blurred at the feeling of your sweet, sweet cunt- Nanami doesn’t waste a single second before striking your sensitive g-spot with a slick thwack!
Repeatedly. Accurately, oh-so-hard with his strength that your teeth are on edge. “F-fuck! There-” Your poor hips are starting to run away from the raw impact, but Nanami can’t bear that-
“Come- come back.” Headlock still in place, you’re being hauled back down until the line of his tawny happy trail nuzzles your back. One more thrash of his weepy divot into your g-spot. Two more. Three more. Four-
And it’s only later that your mind registers the pricking sensation of the charged air around you two. Almost as if your pussydrunk husband was leaking…electricity? No, that couldn’t be. It was more like…
Oh, fuck…your eyes widen. His ratio technique.
He was out of control- and it seems like Nanami is hit with the very same realization. Gasping sharply, “Oh, darling, you are not going to be walking out of this.”
♡ GETO SUGURU - Jury Duty
“Now…I don’t get mad, gorgeous.” Oh, but Geto Suguru was fuming - not because you’d messed up your sneaky lil’ mission to collect data from the sorcerers- no.
The very memory makes him slide his glistening fingertips down your raw, leaking slit. Letting off the loudest ringing sluuuurp–! once he’s digging between your puffy folds to squeeze your clit. Humming, “But was it quite so necessary to be that…close?”
He was mad because of just how sweetly you were talking to that nameless assistant that’d tried his best to get your number. Oh, if only Geto could’ve taken care of him right then and there.
“B-but-”
“Was it?” Raising his head, his darkened eyes face your little audience of the rest of his cult members, surrounding the two of you on the tatami mats. “Did you think you could pull a fast one on me?”
Heads bowed, reverent of their leader. Each n’ every one there shivers at his attention- and you don’t even get to hear their answer before he’s kissing his plush lips down the line of your back- holding you firmly still with a hand at your throat once the curve of his cock slips just between your legs.
You’re whining, “No it wasn’t- please!”
“Stay.” Voice deep, tone guttural. He’s clinging on with a clawed hand onto the side of your hips, no matter how much you wrestle and thrash and ache for more- you couldn’t move because of his carnal, strong hold. Not a single inch.
“He was just hck! being nice.”
“And now you can’t stop talking about him, gorgeous?” And Geto knows he’s being unfair. He knows he’s being mean. But the way you just turned so slippery n’ wet once he’s spanking the entrance to your cunt with his reddened, blushing tip makes him only grin. “Guess you’ll just get to talk out of her.”
Geto was silently seething, watching the way your spit-stuck mouth hangs faaaar ajar with every solid inch he slips inside. Sensually, slow enough that your thighs twitch and you can’t do anything but whine once he’s holding you still to rub the fat of his veins against your sweetest spots. Over and over.
“H-heh-” Something in his voice cracks. “Don’t think she even deserves this. Now, do we think she deserves my entire fucking cock, hm—?”
Oh, the low purr in his voice makes both you and the cult shiver- and your popped ears catch a few stray agreements. Geto’s answering tone low in your ear, “You’re lucky they’re being nice~”
But he wasn’t - and before you know it, your boyfriend has one thigh hiked to help take you from behind. The spheroid of his mushroomed tip flared and red-hot lodging straight into your cervix as he sinks in, pushing and pushing and pushing.
He gasps at the slight resistance of your tight hole, “Take it.” Honed fangs snarling, partially-closed eyes locked onto the way slick was gluing your pussylips all sweet n’ together. Your mouth drops as you stare over your shoulder and wonder whether he was even talking to you.
Because his low, breathy tone made it sound like Geto was babbling like never before.
Spitting straight down the glittery slope of your slit so that you whimper. “Can’t hear you, pretty baby. Speak up.”
“Suguru–” Your mouth huffs out, lower lip pushing into a pout. Your eyes criss-cross stupidly once he flinches at the sound of his name on your tastebuds and strikes the spongy layer of your g-spot dead-on- as if it’d just electrocuted him. Slapping down two hands on the side of your hips to haul you deeper down his bludgeoning, split-ended crown. He probes a circular bruise into you, “O-ohhh mmm- s’in so deep-”
“And who said you could speak, gorgeous?”
You’re letting off a whiny shrill, questions building up on your tastebuds. Only for Geto to beat you to it and thwack! his meaty cockhead repeatedly against the splotch of your g-spot until you can’t speak.
Tilting his head towards your spectators with a grin, “Right~? I didn’t say hah- she couldn’t speak, right?” Seemingly nodding, you could feel him lean his weight further down into the base of your spine, pinning you down. “So shut up and take- it-” Punctuating his words with stiff jackhammers that blow your mind. “Let this filthy hole be the one ngh- talking t’me- she’s muuuuch sweeter than you.”
As if he’d just planned it, his flared slit snags on the quivering entrance to your pussy and makes such a saccharine squelch!
“Heh…when she’s not swallowing my fat fucking cock, that is.”
So vulgar.
You’ve never seen him like this- you’ve never had him like this.
Fucking you so deeply into the futon that you’re half-sure the pattern of the tatami below would still be on your front by tomorrow. He wasn’t just pounding away, though- it was hard, precise mazings of his slimy shaft that drove you the most mad. Geto spanks his hips down until it gives a good pummel against your g-spot and wonders whether it might’ve bruised.
“B-but-” Just barely managing to get out of your drivelling mouth before two of his arms loop underneath your own and hoist you halfway upwards. Held up only by his big, beefy biceps, splayed out like such a slut.
He sags his pretty face into the crook of your neck, still driving his hips until the fuzz of his happy trail was scratching you raw. “Still talking, gorgeous?”
“But- wanna-”
“Wanna? Hmmmm…” For a second, Geto looks as if he might just as the rest of his association whether or not you deserved to. And for a second, you expect him to.
But it happens all at once- his wrist reaching out to tilt back your woozy head, his rosy lips puckering, spitting a wadded stream of saliva straight into your half-open mouth.
He’s wrenching shut your jaw and making you swallow—“Clean that mouth out. Talking to hah- bastards.” Absolutely no shame, absolutely no disgust in the way he plants a lecherous slide of his tongue down in a French kiss. Fuck. “Mmm- now you’re mine. Say ‘thank you’, my girl.”
The sheer girth of his length already has you blubbering, mouth moving before your mind. He’s stirring up your insides n’ every ridge until you mewl, “Th-thank you.”
“Good—” The very same hand that was latched onto your jaw now moves to your cheeks, squishin’ them into an embarrassing pout as Geto makes you stare straight at the sprawling audience you two have. Heady. “Now…ask them if you deserve to cum.”
♡ CHOSO KAMO - “Fuck.”
It’s just about the only thing that your poor, twitching boyfriend can say right now.
And as he bruises a roughened hold upon each side of your bouncing hips, echoing in a pant. “F-fuck!” Baritone cracking into something high, he throws his head back into the cushy pillows and ruts just as far as his spine could curvaceously arch.
Mahogany eyes fluttering shut, teary lashes touching his cheek.
It takes the soft, fleeting caress of your fingers gliding across his bangs for Choso to even register that he should open his eyes. And you coo out in a gentle voice, “Is everything alright, baby–?”
“Yes-” Breath hitching, he’s almost immediately back-tracking his answer when your dewy wet folds try to clench ‘round his girth. And the very feeling makes him once more sloppily thrust- “No.” You smile as Choso’s plush lower lips fall into a pout, “N-no teasing, baby.”
Oh, there was something so primal about the way that Choso’s saying it.
Like he’s burning up with red, hot power sizzling underneath his skin. You’re pulling on his hair when he whacks your cervix once and the only thing he can keen is a low–“Harder.” Harder. “No- harder.”
It just isn’t enough, some carnal part of him thinks it might never be enough.
And the only thing that the half-curse can do is channel out a few harder hits, feeling his heart race at how that constant ramming of skin on your skin makes his v-line sting.
“Fuck- nghh-” Your eyes scrunch shut with a few pearly tears at the sultry sensation. Never ever has your boyfriend pounded into you like this, never has he held your drooling cunt hostage while he shoveled his length from the very tip-top of his strawberry divot, bottoming out until he physically can’t anymore. “So good mmm, feels so good, Cho.”
“Yeah? Yeah?” Watching as your puffy core starts squirtin’ out a few sleek ribbons of slick, Choso crinkles his nose and all but begs. “Can- can I go harder then, baby? Please?”
Oh?
He’s never the first to ask to go harder- usually, you are.
And that itself is enough to get you nodding stupidly, your glassy peripherals swirling in unison with his veiny shaft. Stirring in a slight curving gyration inside of your gummy walls before he pulls out and slams all the way back in. Methodical and mean.
“Fuck-” His flared mushroom tip hits the side of your g-spot and Choso drools. “M’not gonna hck! make it out of this alive. What…what is this feeling-”
Before you can even think of answering, he plants his feet firmly flat on the floor and uses the sinful leverage to slide you upwards on his hips. The feeling of your perky clit gliding down his happy trail making the man hiss—Reaching upwards, eyes dilated. “Feels like m’gonna eat you alive.”
Oh…you had an idea what it was.
Something about putting his cursed energy into overdrive during a mission today. And you’re sure that your dear, inexperienced boyfriend was simply stressed from the day.
Unsure how to take it out. Unsure how to do anything but flinch once you’re opening your sweet maw to shrill a few teasing words. “Awww– seemed like you’re under some ngh- stress, baby. Want me to take care of that for you?”
“I said no fucking- teasing-”
Choso looks as shocked as you at those words - apologies ripe on his tongue, cherry-pink lips wobbling adorably as he tries to reel it back in- Only for the weepy hole on top of his swollen crown to pour out a generous load of wadded pre, striking right into the very back of your pussy.
Going harder. Sloppier. And he’s so big that every second has your chin glitter with bubbles of spit.
“O-oh.” And he’s sucking in a shallow breath as if he’d just had an epiphany. Dark brows knitting together, the crevice of his damp mouth opens up to let his pinkish tongue peek through. Carefully grazing his thumb down that lil’ tummy bulge he was fucking into you, “You’re gonna take me like- like a good girl.”
Fuck- you’re so wet by now that the bottom half of his abs were polished with a glittery sheen. Making it sooo much easier for him to slip n’ slide you with his manhandling arms. “A good- ngh-”
“Yeeeeah, exactly that.” And he looks so drunk on that little sentence, a dopey smile playing along his mouth once he presses down on that bumpy, cylindrical outline. Giggling, “H-heh, my good girl. You’re gonna take me, aren’t you, my baby?”
Hands clawing onto the plush curves of his deltoids, you can only throw your head back and let yourself be moved. “Yeah- go on. Have your fun, Cho—”
“My fun. My fun.” Almost as if he couldn’t believe it. The buzz of his powers going into overdrive makes his long, sensitive shaft even more sensitive, rovering down your ridged walls so fast that his delicate veins start throbbing. “That means…I can bend you like this-”
His right hand, so loving n’ soft on your hips- starts arching you back, back, back back- until every ramming kiss of his glazed tip stirs your insides fully.
Until he’s staring at that tummy bulge and watching with such heart eyes, “And- and I can fuck you like this-” Not only were his hips rutting up animalistically, his strong, beefy arms were flexing upon your sides and making you bounce. Milking him. Slouching his toned upper body over to bite on the crook of your neck, “And I can bite-”
With his honed canines nibbling down on your heated skin, Choso’s mouth departs with cracked whimpers every time his tender slit was rubbin’ up on the side of your cervix.
“Please- ngh- please please please-” You’re throwing your head back as his ruby-red tip starts to twitch. Ferally. Every time he slides his velvety length through your walls, he’s striking hard enough that both of you see stars.
And Choso grins–“Can be all r-rough- and this pussy’s still mine.”
So it only made sense that he was going to cream himself inside like it. Like you owned him, he’s circling your hips in a wide semi-circle that makes his veins snag all over the insides of your cunt. Lecherous. Loud.
Choso just can’t stop whining with every splat! of salty white cum that sprays out into your pussy, “Gonna do this again.” Not even slowing. Not even faltering. His pulsating cock is just so big that you can’t even spill all over, just sheathing him in a layer of syrupy white. “Gotta- have to.”
Mewling, “Yes— please- make me cum, baby.”
“Hmm—” And fuck- you’d nearly forgotten just how strong he was. Because in a matter of mere sultry moments, you’re being bent forwards with a powerful hand at your throat. “Only if you spit in my mouth.”
♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - TRUE true form!
Ryomen Sukuna was big - so big that every smash of his dual, blushing tips made you throw your head back and see stars.
And his arms weren’t letting you off easy, either. All four of his bulbous, beefy biceps flexed once he kept his hold on either side of your body- damn near holding you off of the bed in midair as he fucked you like he hated you.
“P-please, how are you so hck! big, Kuna?” You’re whining, your chin splashing with a syrupy bout of saliva. And every tiny twitch of your boneless hips left his bludgeoning shafts travelling straight to the bottom of your pussy.
“P-P-please-” He’s mocking, gruff voice clinging onto the back of your neck like adhesive. You’re just on all fours and shaking like a leaf- “S’that any way to talk to your hah- king, little human?”
“Nooo- but…”
“Shut up and take it then- heh.” Legs boneless, every ricket! of the mattress leaves you wincing at the recoil of his hips. Ramming into yours so hard that you’re sure you have bruises now- his thighs on your own, his abs on your spine, his twin cockheads on the entrance to your womb.
And you have nothing more to say, every other end of your sentence smashed up every time he’d wetly plastering your cervix with a layer of pre. It was so hot n’ hard having him filling up your every tender orifice. “It’s so rough.”
And what else did you even expect?
Cutely asking him not to destroy a few souls- tch, of course he was pent up. Of course, he was seething and taking out every shred of it by clawing down the base of your spine and pushing n’ pushing.
Bottomed out but still half-rutting like it would kill him if you didn’t take any more.
Each lil’ clench of your bubblegum pussy making his black, clawing nails only surge, his muscles ripple even bigger, fangs growing-
“Haaa? What? You want me ta be gentle?” Sukuna purrs, low. And you’re whimpering once you feel the slimy tip of what felt like his second tongue sliiiide down your stuffed slit. “Your king will show you ‘gentle’, brat.”
Mewling, each spank of the velvety underside of his cursed tongue leaves you jolting. Purposefully dragging over his textured tastebuds just so that he could taste every syrupy ounce of you.
And not even clinging onto the aged headboard of the bed and squirming could get him to let up.
Could get him to move even a single inch when he’s alternating between rude bangs of his matching plump crowns into your cervix, and then a glutinous flick of his tongue. Again and again, he was letting it alllll out on you until you’re all bruised and battered on the gooey ends of your pussy.
Sukuna’s only holding you to his broad pecs with two of his hands, the other two drifting down to smear your sheeny thighs open. So, so wide but his toned hips were so bulky that stretchin’ round him made your hamstrings ache.
“You won’t let me fuuuck- consume humans and now you won’t let me consume this?” Both mouths drooling, he greedily gazes at the way each single whack! of his breeder balls leaves your cunt hole trembling n’ geysering. He spits, molten hot irritation. “Spoiled brat…I’m starved.”
“Can’t- hck! can’t help it- it’s so much-”
Spank after spank, he slots his second mouth in a steamy French kiss just where your cunt was quivering with delight. Every geysering slosh of sap streaming down to his greedy throat- “Yeah? Sayin’ that when yer making such a ngh- mess?”
And you were just slobbering everywhere, painting a translucent little puddle underneath you that he’s eagerly lapping up. Probin’ oh-so-stupidly deep that you can only babble, “Y-yes?”
“Tch.”
Oh. Oh.
That sinful little answer of yours makes the King’s tattooed body erupt in goosebumps. And you swear you’re feeling the weight of him press you into the bedsprings even deeper. So feverish, so hot that you blearily snap your head around and drink in the sight of Ryomen Sukuna with horns.
Red, jagged and long.
His true form.
And it was so unfairly sexy, glinting canines snapping at the tendons of your throat. “And ya think you deserve to be messy, hm?” Grinning in such a gone way, he tilts his head as he presses down on the edge of your spine with one knee. Drilling into you like he’s crazed. Out of control. “Think you deserve more?”
“Mmm- can feel you both inside- ngh, both-”
Something in his glowing, crimson eyes was dark- primal. And it was boring at you dead-on once Sukuna splays an open palm of his in front of your face and croons—“Prove it t’me. Spit.”
Your glossy, puckered lips curve into a pout, starin’ at that opened palm of his straight ahead underneath you. Saliva already dribbling down each side of your twitching lips, like he was spearheading you from the other side and pushing it out. You spit-
Only for Sukuna’s second mouth to manifest right at that very split-second on his palm, so that you’re spitting in there instead. “Filthy thing.” And as that great glittery glob disappears between his cursed lips, you don’t know whether he’s talking to you or his mouth. “Want more then, huh?”
And, truthfully, he doesn’t even know if you can handle it.
Doesn’t know if your stretched-out cunt can take any more with his mushy tongue trying to pry apart your core even further. But he wasn’t feeling any ounce of mercy.
Trying to fill you up so much that you’ll be able to feel it even weeks from now, Sukuna’s lengthy nails leave marks all over your waist as he hoists you up even more. Hissing at the way your fingers reach up to graze just the base of his draconic horns.
And the King blushes, he gasps.
“You- you vicious fuckin’ woman.”
You’d just made Ryomen Sukuna stutter.
The roughened thrust that comes next so hard that your eyes are swirling cartoonishly, arms aching where you yearn to touch that part of his true true form.
Holding on while he pounds you like he’s pressing you in to the royal silk sheets, the flatness of his tongue smacks down on the crevice of your pussy. Slipping inside- a third intrusion—“Now you’re really in for it, lil’ human.”
♡ INO TAKUMA - Got milk(ed)?
“This is what you make me, pretty.” And Ino’s tugging whatever’s left of his damn ski mask, he’s bending your legs firmly into a mating press with natural toned strength you didn’t even know he had. “And this is how you’re going to get hah! fucked.”
And just one swipe of his cute, pre-glazed tip would be enough for your boyfriend to be salivating at the mouth. Lips twitching with eagerness as he sinks his heavy shaft inside.
But right now?
Oh, right now he wasn’t even sensually slowing down to listen to your pretty trilling moans. He’s not going easy on you, he’s doing nothing but sheathing his prolonged length whole in a way that makes your woozy eyes tear up.
Lips speckling with drivelling spit as you whine, “Shit-” The doughy heels of your feet find purchase on his slender shoulders, unsure whether you wanted to push or have him stretch you out more more more- “Shit- you’re so big.”
“Gonna cry about it?” He smirks- meanly. And where the hell was your sweet, innocent boyfriend?
The Ino right now was just spanking down a few of his thoroughly ringed digits on your soppy slit, leaving you n’ your quivering cunt seeing stars at the sensation. Stirrin’ around the rotund, bawling edge of his pink crown until he manages to bully all the way into the back of your pussy.
Just barely managing to open your mouth, “O-oh my god- Taku, it feels so- oh!”
“Whaaat–?” And shit- the way his straight nosebridge was crinkling was sexy, looking at you through hazily half-lidded eyes that told you he wanted to devour you whole. “Look at her- just look.”
Ino lets his knobbly fingertips glissade down your folds and latches onto the button of your clit just enough to pull-pull-puuull. Low, gentle voice tinged with something so raspy as he groans, “M’being so meeean to her, making her cry n’ she’ll still mmm- sucking me in, sweetness.”
Truly, you were just so wet that your oversaturated walls were gulping down his every solid inch like you were starved. Filling up every orifice and cranny with his hot, heavy length- “B-because it’s just so good.”
“Is it—?” Ino sighs out, airy and flushed. For merely a split-second before he’s snapping out of it and promptly kneeing apart the insides of your thighs.
Bed creaking in protest when he reels his lean hips back to bring them down with a ringing smack! It’s so loud that it makes Ino’s pelvis sting, his chestnut lashes wring with tears, and he has to gnaw down on his lush lower lip to bite back a few broken whimpers. “Fuck- fuck, don’t you dare make me all pathetic, pretty.”
Mewling, one of his slender hands comes to push your cheeks together in a pathetic lil’ pout. The edges of his frigid rings lacquering with your spit- and the other keeps slithering right between your legs.
Not only was he toying with your clit now - he was circlin’ your cute, rubbery hole. Long middle finger scratching your outer entrance with his bands of metal before shoving its way inside-
“S-still taking me.” And for a lecherous moment there it almost sounds as if he’s just lost himself, it almost sounds like he’s breaking. Before shaking the tawny bangs out of his eyes and snarling down a feral grin. “Pretty hole’s takin’ all of me- wonder if you can take ngh- more, sweetness.”
“Sh-shiiiit–!” Your hands claw red, red lines all down Ino’s sculptured back when you feel the probing push of yet another one of his fingers.
Already stuffed to the brim with his sleek, pummeling cock - and now here he was thrusting in a sloppy cadence of whack-whacking your cervix with his bulbously swabbing tip and tormenting your g-spot with the glides of his digits.
They’re agonizing when they’re stimulating you at the same time, and the only thing you can do is throw your head back and listen to the noisy squelches and slurps. Moaning, you claw at his dextrous wrist as he spanks a third fingerpad on your slope. “Another- oh, fuck!”
Pushing and pushing
Ino groans huskily at the snug resistance when all three of his fingers can’t poke around- brows scrunching, tongue sticking out.
He looked drunk and gone by the time he’s hissing out a sharp breath and flipping the two of you over. And oh- oh, this position was ideal.
Because not only did it give him the heavenly view of your thighs spread all open n’ straddling his hips to ride him- but it also let him dip his creamy fingers down and rub them all over your geysering cunt. Bullying them the entire way inside up to his mountainous knuckles because enough is never enough.
“Fuck- oh.” Ino tumbles his head back once he’s hearing the sappy plop! of your dripping pussy gobbling up his second finger. Entire body twitching at the feeling of his chilly ring digging in- “Pretty, pretty- I can’t do this anymore I hck! need it—”
Your lips quirk up into a smug smile, hips hitting down with a slam of clammy skin sticking onto skin. And he can only half-rut, savage and angrily pumping his cock. “Aww, already, Taku?”
“Yes. Yes.” He’s begging by now. Pleading. This little roleplay you’d begun, now starting to completely switch when he had you on top like this ready to milk his swollen, reddened cock dry.
Such a pretty coral pink at his tip, and it matches the innocent blush on Ino’s hollow cheeks once he’s guiding one of your hands up to choke him. Gurgling out, “I want you to be angry at me now, sweetness.”
♡ GOJO SATORU - Mercy.
“Th-this is where you’re weak, right?”
And the strongest’s voice cracks.
Gojo utters out a rough breath as he catches his thumb on that designer blindfold of his dangling ‘round your neck and plasters you against his tensely glissading abs. The tip of his cock driving between your wet, aching folds, he’s jerking you up just enough to push his reddish crown into your g-spot with a splat!
“O-oh please mmmm–” Your mouth parts with a ribbon of sleek spit, tumbling out in a heap into the pillow lodged underneath your face. “There- right there, Satoru!”
“There- there.” You’re hearing him raspily utter from behind, each pant higher and more broken than the last. With your back arched oh-so-deliciously, he’s hiking up one of his meaty thighs to pin to the side of your hips and pump even deeper- “There?”
Oh, he knew it was there.
He’s rubbin’ his swollen, veiny shaft all over your sweetest areas like a massage. He was mean. And you’re crying out the cutest lil’ whines that only make him bite back a sleazy grin. “Such a good, tight pussy takin’ me- h-heh, so good taking me, sweetheart. So good…”
“S-so rough.” Your hazy peripherals whirl in circles ‘round the whites of your eyes, brows scrunching with every thwack! of his honed, chiseled v-line striking the cheeks of your ass. “It’s so much- ngh.”
And the only response that Gojo’s overheated body can think of is to twist his large fingers into the jostling fabric at your neck to pull you further backwards. Your breath stutters damply, chest heaving.
He didn’t care. He was going hard. Hissing swiftly in your ear, “If you think this is too much maybe I should knock you up then, my wife.” Something in the cloyingly sticky air crackles - power, raw need - as he snickers to himself. “Should I—? Should I knock you up like they say?”
They: those damn elders.
He wasn’t just irritated after that ambushed meeting on damn Gojo heirs - he was furious.
The very reason that Gojo hadn’t made two steps past the door to your shared penthouse before he’s practically dragging you to the bedroom. Shoving his heavy, aching cock inside until you were full, full, full-
“M-maybe you should.” You’re blubbering out through the primal mewls ripping through your throat, just another one of his jackhammers rendering you stupid. Almost instant the way he slimily grazes his bulbous tip down to whack the entrance of your cunt.
And Gojo seethes— cheeks angrily ruddied, spit flying in glittery flecks. “I should?”
“Yes mmm- please.”
“I…should?”
It’s not a question - it’s a realization.
The clammy pads of his fingers shake unstably, his touch zaps you with cursed energy, movements sensually languid- almost like Gojo doesn’t even register what his hefty body is doing right now. Almost like he doesn’t even acknowledge that he’s toeing his left foot upwards to plant it down on the crown of your scalp until he’s looking down at his pretty, pathetically drooling wife and gasping.
“Oh. Oh.” The red n’ full cock speared inside of you twitches, so big that he swabs all your each sultry, shrouded nook and cranny . “You don’t know how haaah- badly it pissed me off, my girl. Wanted to purple hollow all those fuckers.”
Your hands fist the silk of the pillowcase now sticking to you like adhesive, hips squirming restlessly- he was so fast that the back of your ass was raw with the texture of his pale happy trail. “Wh-what did?”
“Hearin’ them talk about an heir. Hearin’ them talk about you ngh- pregnant.” He snarls, heel pressing down with slight force that makes all the blood rush from your melty mind straight down to your dripping pussy. He’s fucking you like he hates you. “When really I’m your husband-”
As he speaks, the slick curve of his cockhead snags on your bundle of nerves. Your husband’s Six Eyes working overtime when he’s watching - mouth ajar, gaze half-lidded - as his lengthy shaft impales your gummy walls and drives riiiight into your womb. Precisely.
Gojo blushes at the x-ray vision, “-and I get to make my wife pregnant when she wants.”
They wanted a Gojo heir, they’re going to get one.
With your thighs shaking, breaths heaving- before you know it, he’s timing a direct three hits from your cute lil’ g-spot n’ barreling straight into your womb. And it makes you cum.
Long, vein-covered length barely even pulling out - Gojo feels your walls clench around his thick girth and he’s only half-rutting.
“That’s it- that’s it that’s it that’s it-” You can hear the pure crazed smile in his husked tone, the edges of his rosy lips twisting with every adorably pulsing ba-thump! of your cunt. Faster. Harder. He was wincing with each recoil of his sloppy strokes, unable to even bear being separated from the syrupy depths of your pussy. “Take it- take it like good girl-”
“I-it’s shoooo—” Left so helpless by the merciless way he was pounding you through your high, your mouth was slurring out bubbles of spittle after each second strike. “-so much- hck! So much.”
“More. Yeah, you’re gonna take more, my girl.” He can’t help but memorize the shocked lines of your face and giggle. Octaves higher. Movements filthier. Running a hand down to toy with your clit, “You’re gonna be filled up to the briiim.”
And usually Gojo would’ve rubbed the soft, velvety tips of his fingers on your sensitive nub in hearts. Maybe even his name, teasingly. Usually.
But he didn’t have the patience for that right now.
Right now, he was twisting his touch onto where you were most swollen and pinching your clit. Hard. Power sparking like some lewd bullet vibrator.
All that it takes for him to throw his head back and finish off in such a raw, primal way all up inside of your cunt. And you’re not even sure if Gojo registers it - whether he even feels himself cum, because he’s still drilling away like he’s addicted.
Bed dipping at the force of his blows, sheets staining pure white with the slippery sheen of seed that glues down your thighs. Toes curling, it’s only when you’re sniffling back a tear of overstimulation that Gojo snaps his head down to catch the pearly ribbon of cum escaping your geysering folds—“Need to get you pregnant. Need to- more.”
“What?”
You’re so wet that it feels like a damn waterfall down there, and your husband only glides his knobbly thumb down to plug every sappy, ivory ounce back into your hole. “More, my girl.”
The air bristles with charged atoms as he swerves his slender hips just right to push the knotted cobwebs of cum accurately against your womb. Every part of him charged, every part of him still powerful and fuming.
Whining, your knees buckle as if you were unsure whether you wanted to run or hit your hips back. Again and again.
And Gojo’s voice still shakes as he clings a hand onto the side of your birthing hips to manhandle you further down to him. Unable to escape. “You didn’t think you’re h-heh- getting off easy…mama?”
♡ HIGURUMA HIROMI - Mrs. CEO
“I have never seen a CEO this clumsy-” Higuruma’s deep, drawling voice speaks over the haze of your nth high of the night. Thin lips twitching as he takes in the sight of you sprawled on top of your own office desk, shuffling over so many important documents. “-ma’am.”
But oh, he couldn’t go easy on you just yet. Not when you had so much work to do.
And it’s why he’s shuffling his polished shoes further in a step backwards, tongue flicking out to lick his lips as he smeeears the layer of his cum sticking to your cunt like glue.
Grumbling, “Forgetting the most important hah- meeting of the day. I should report you.” Formal office pants still on, the dangling metal piece of his belt kisses the right cheek of your ass and makes you hiss. Rubbing your gummy walls raw on the slick, winding patterns of his veins.
And it’s just so wet with all your sappy syrupy and his, travelling down to where you’re rubbing your thighs together. “Are you complaining, hm?”
Spank! Spank! Spank!
Three exact swats of his rude hands slamming down on the teary crevice of your slit, Higuruma makes sure to angle his strikes just right so that he can feel the way your clit just quivers. “Watch that pretty mouth, angel.”
And he’s moving so agonizingly, just torturing you with the curve of his mushroomy tip bulldozing straight near your g-spot.
Never quite hitting it, never quite missing.
Right up until you throw your head back with a wail and keen–“Please.” Swervin’ your hips back in lecherous figure eights that damn near gets the man above you hypnotized. “M’sorry, Hiromi.”
Spank!
A hand on your throat- “No, you’re not.” One more to pinch n’ tug on your oversensitive clit until you feel all raw, you’re seeing stars every time he rolls his hips to play with your dripping pussy just right.
“You n’ this filthy hole need me to ngh- finally fuck some sense into you, riiight–? Finally stop that pretty lil’ head from being filled with just cock?”
You don’t know if you’re nodding, you don’t know if you’re sobbing- but before you can register it, Higuruma’s hiking his capped knee up onto the desk so hard that it rattles. Nearly stepping on the base of your spine just to arch you perfectly.
Whining, “O-ohhh mm- jus’ that deep.” The new angle makes him stretch you open so wide that every splash of buttery white cum slips out of your entrance like a waterfall. Your pussy struggling to suck in his sheer size into your hot insides, “Fuck me- oh, yes, fuck me.”
“S’what I’m doing, silly angel.” The vice-like restraint on your throat is mean, and Higuruma’s tone is even meaner. Cooing- but he’s dragging you by the neck upwards to look directly into his eyes as he sliiiides his lengthy, scorching cock inside and out. “Or are you already that ngh- stupid on my cock, hm?”
So deep, so fat that he can’t even help if the vein-covered sides of his shaft brush up against your sweetest spots by mistake.
Hips papping back into his, “More.” Cloying layers of seed saturate your innards so much, and you’re so sensitive that every honed thrust makes your knees weaken. “S’more, Hiro, c’mon.”
And the worst part was that your personal assistant’s pinning you with his weight and holding you there to watch you struggling and squirm. Slimy, erect cockhead driving right into the target of your lil’ nerves like he’s addicted to that very spot, “You’ll take what you’re given.” He tilts his head with a smile, “Why don’tcha get some work done, sugar?”
Oh.
You could barely even pick up the pen let alone sign off on important contracts like you were supposed to be doing right now.
And yet, every time your poor, boneless wrist showed signs of faltering, Higuruma would grit his teeth and painfully slow down his cadence. Each time he lazily rubs just the large, rotund curve of his cocktip on your g-spot, watching as you jerk your hips back for more-
Spank! Spank!
Massaging two direct swats on the flooded slope of your pussy, “Fuck! This tight little hole really can’t stay that hck! long without me?” Loosening his tie still on him, “She’s even worse than you, angel.”
And he’s milking himself on you- punishing your cunt with the most lecherous drags of his sloppy shaft. Each time you feel him enter past the door to your womb, you can only throw your head back and bite down on the velvety fabric of his damn office tie.
“H-hck! Please- gonna—” Muffled, your handwriting’s gone astray on whatever document it is by now. “So close-”
Tapping his chin as he pretends to think, “Hm, I’ll let you cum-” And before a gorgeous smile could even start to light up your face, before you can even breathe, Higuruma’s crowning your sweaty scalp with one hand and pushing you to further lay on the mahogany desk. Drooling in such a heaping puddle right then n’ there, “If you can use those fuck! awful manners n’ say ‘please’...”
“Please.”
“Louder.”
“Please-”
Purring, “Can’t hear you, ma’am—”
And you were so far gone that your irises are turning clockwise in circles inside of your eyes, mouth overspilling with a glittered polish of drool and whimpers.
You thrash your hips up higher on the table, “Please-” Batting your lashes just how you knew he was weak for. “Pretty please, baby.”
Oh- that did it.
That did it.
Because with a final one-two-three more vulgar strokes pumped into your puffy, sopping wet pussy, it isn’t just you hitting your high - it’s Higuruma, too.
Your stern, sensible personal assistant who slams the chiseled upper half of his body the minute he feels your melty walls clenching and heaves. Meaty quads shaking with every wiry ribbon of cum he departs, letting the goopy mess fill up your cunt to the maximum.
Gasping- “Fuck, look what you did. L-look.”
And for a second you’re so disoriented by your own white-hot flashes of bliss that you barely even hear what he’s saying. In your own little reverie until you’re hit with a spraying splat! of something near your shoulder.
Blinking, you’re turning behind you and noticing that Higuruma Hiromi was crying tears of overstimulation.
Crying.
“S’all your fault, angel.” Your thighs quake with each bout of your high, and just that tiny squeezing motion was enough for him to bead out another thin trail of tears. Milking himself. Your pussy’s holding him hostage until he’s nearly dry, only wrenchin’ out a few pearly knots of seed. Emptied out.
So lazy and feverishly drunk that he reaches over to softly kiss the matching wedding ring on your hand, “Next time you’re not missing another meeting with me, my wife.”
before you and nanami started dating, you thought you had him all figured out.
quiet. composed. polite to a fault. the kind of man who holds the door open for strangers and tips too well. the kind of man who never interrupts, never forgets birthdays, never texts past ten unless it’s an emergency.
you thought you knew what kind of lover he’d be. careful. respectful. maybe even a little restrained.
you were so wrong.
because nanami kento is the definition of “gentleman in the streets and freak in the sheets.”
not the loud kind. not the messy, aggressive kind. he doesn’t degrade. doesn’t spit unless you ask. doesn’t choke unless you beg. and even then, he makes you say please.
but he knows how to ruin you. with quiet control. with devastating precision.
he learns you like a language. reads you like scripture.
he notices the smallest things. the shift in your breathing when his hand rests on your thigh, the way your hips tilt slightly when you want more. he catalogs it all. stores it away. and when you’re under him, you feel it. every inch of that studied, focused attention.
he fucks like he’s solving a problem he already knows the answer to.
his fingers are experts. his mouth is lethal.
and the worst part? he says the filthiest things in the gentlest tone, like he’s giving a lecture. like it’s all just matter-of-fact.
“you’re soaking,” he’ll murmur, two fingers teasing your entrance. “i’ve barely touched you.”
“there it is,” he’ll say when he finds that spot inside you, the one that makes your back arch and your thighs tremble. “i thought so.”
“you can take more, can’t you? i know you can.”
he never loses composure. he doesn’t need to. he’s in control, always.
he’ll have you shaking, begging, gripping the sheets like you’re drowning, and he’ll still be fully clothed, sleeves rolled up, watch ticking on his wrist.
he praises you like it’s a prayer.
“good girl. just like that.”
“you’re being so patient for me.”
“look at you. you’re so gorgeous when you fall apart.”
and when he finally fucks you, it’s deep and slow and ruthless in its restraint. like he’s savoring every drag, every clench, every sound you make.
he doesn’t just chase his own pleasure. he chases yours. insists on it.
he’ll edge you until you’re crying, then kiss the tears from your cheeks and ask, softly,
“do you want to cum now?”
as if he hasn’t earned the right to decide for you. as if it’s still your choice.
he’ll hold your face in one hand while he pushes into you, thumb resting at your jaw. not to grip. not to control. just to feel you. to anchor you.
you’ve never been so exposed. so undone.
and he never rushes. never gets sloppy. even when he’s close, even when he’s quiet and tense and thrusting just a little harder, a little deeper. he still holds your gaze. still whispers,
“breathe.”
“you’re okay.”
“i’ve got you.”
and when it’s over, when you’re limp and dazed and boneless beneath him, he pulls you into his chest and strokes your spine like you’re something delicate. something treasured.
he doesn’t gloat. doesn’t tease. he just kisses your forehead and says,
“you needed that.”
like he planned it. like he’s known for days.
you thought you knew him.
but the truth is, nanami’s the kind of man who thanks you after eating you out for half an hour, who ruins you with his hands and then helps you into the shower.
he’ll say “may i?” like he’s asking permission to wreck your entire evening.
and when you say yes, he will.
completely.
beautifully.
quietly.a freak.
but always polite.
always in control.
always him.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
sylus has a long day and he needs to eat you out. simply because he's a giver, and he wants nothing more than to please you. that's his stress relief.
like, you're at home relaxing when you get a text from him, simply saying ‘need to see you’
so you unlock your front door for him and wait for him to arrive.
when he gets there you're on the couch in your comfiest sweatpants and your head perks up when he the door opens. you notice immediately the tension in his shoulders and the tired look on his face.
“how was your day?” you ask, your voice is curious. he meets your eyes as he walks towards where you're at on the couch, and he doesn't say anything he just drops to his knees in front of you.
“sylus?” you question as his fingers pull at the waistband of your pants. you let him take your sweats off, leaving you in just your underwear. he tosses the sweats somewhere in the living room and starts to leave a lazy trail of kisses from your knee to your inner thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.
“long day,” he says between kisses, “just need this,” he mumbles into your leg.
who are you to deny him what he needs?
“whatever you need,” you say, running your fingers through his hair, watching his eyes flutter shut at the touch.
he pulls your underwear off, leaving you naked from the waist down. he spreads your legs, admires the sight for a moment and then he's diving in
your back arches off the couch, your jaw going slack. he normally likes to tease you, take his time, but right now he's not wasting any time.
“aahh, sylus,” you say, it comes out almost like a whimper. the pleasure hitting you so suddenly you feel like you can't breath properly.
he's just as vocal as you are, too. he's moaning as soon as he tastes you on his tongue, he's whispering, “fuck,” to himself before diving back in. he’s gripping your thighs to keep them open so he can devour you.
he knows what you like, he knows exactly how to move his tongue to get those noises he loves so much. he knows that if he sucks your clit in just the right way, your hips will buck and you’ll let out a breathy moan. that's what he does; he’s in heaven.
you're flooding his senses, the stress of the day melts away instantly. he doesn't even remember why he was so pissed, why he was so stressed before because he's in his favorite place.
he gets messier with it as he loses himself to the action. not caring that saliva and arousal are dropping down his chin, probably onto the couch—he’ll buy you a new one. “need you to cum for me, on my tongue, i need it,” he says, only breaking contact with your pussy to ramble out what he wants. he's drunk on it. slurping and licking at everything you have to offer him.
when you're close, you have tells and he knows them like the back of his hand. your breathing gets shallower, your moans grow in pitch and frequency, your fingers grip his hair tighter. he inserts two fingers because he wants to feel you clench around them when you cum.
ultimately that's what pushes you over the edge, too. the way he curls his fingers has you seeing stars and you come hard.
he cleans you up, though it's more for his enjoyment. he takes his time doing it, still relishing in the taste of you, the feeling of you on his tongue. he stays down there until you're pulling at his head.
he’s rock hard in his pants, but he doesn't ask you to return the favor because honestly, he got what he wanted. maybe later he’ll fuck you, or he’s going to touch himself to the image of eating you out but right now he's helping you put your clothes back on and ordering take out.
Toji loves being between your legs. By that I mean he loves when your legs drape over his shoulders and your thighs squish his head. When he gets to lay comfortably against your tummy. When he can keep his large hands in the crook your legs make whilst placing kiss after kiss against your skin. When he can have you squeeze in a way his mind goes numb and he can't stop the grunt from rumbling out of his throat. He loves it.
tangentwithtanner
ellievsbear
dededos
kianamaiart
turnnoffyourmind
prguitarman
