I Swear I'd Love A Part Two So So Much😭

Claimed

hi my little freaks and geeks!

here is the long awaited aemond x little sister!reader x aegon I promised ages ago. The original request doesn't ask for aegon but like..its set in a brotherl. bffr.

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Summary: You weren’t supposed to stay. But when lines blur and hands linger, silence becomes something else entirely.

WC: 6.0k

Warnings: 18+, hard smut (p in v, oral m!recieving, fingering, threesome, creampie, facial), targcest, drunk and disorderly, a lil bit of fluff at the end, no description of reader, no use of y/n

Aemond Targaryen x Little Sister!Reader x Aegon II Targaryen

MDNI!!!

You were always just a step behind Aemond. Before he had a sword, before he lost his eye, before you knew how to keep your head down when Aegon was in one of his moods. You would cling to the edge of Aemond’s tunic, small fingers curled tight in the fabric, too afraid to let go. He never asked you to. He rarely said anything at all, but he let you trail behind him through the halls and gardens and courtyards, never once leaving you behind, never once telling you no. You didn’t understand why Aegon’s laughter made your stomach twist, or why Helaena grew quiet when he entered a room. You just knew that being near Aemond felt safer than being alone. So you stayed close. You still do.

You didn’t know why you were afraid. Not really. You only knew Aegon’s laughter made your stomach twist. That his games never felt like games. That Helaena never laughed during them. But Aemond never hurt you. He never teased, never pulled away, not even when you cried. He didn’t say much back then. He still doesn’t.

Now you’re older. The court sees you as grown. Your dresses are nicer. You’ve learned to speak only when spoken to. But none of that has changed the way you watch him. He spends most of his days training or reading. Sometimes you find him with his dragon, sometimes in the library. You don’t always speak. You just sit nearby. He lets you.

That afternoon, you catch him alone in the library. He stands with his back to you, head bent over a scroll. One hand braces the edge of the table. His hair slips forward with the angle. He doesn’t look up.

“You’re following me again.”

You smile. “You noticed.”

He exhales. “You’re not subtle.”

You step into the room. “You didn’t tell me to leave.”

“I don’t have to.”

You still cross the room. You still sit down across from him, hands folded neatly in your lap.

He keeps reading. You watch him. You don’t say anything else.

You don’t leave when he sighs. You’ve learned to tell the difference between when Aemond wants to be alone and when he just thinks he should be. This is the second kind.

He reads. You sit. The quiet settles between you like it always does.

Eventually, he speaks again. “Did Mother send you?”

You shake your head. “She doesn’t know I’m here.”

That makes him glance up. Only briefly.

“She wouldn’t like it.”

“No.”

He looks back at the scroll.

You don’t ask what he’s reading. You never do. You just watch his fingers move as he turns the page. His rings catch the light. His nails are clean and neat, like always. You used to hold his hand when you were little. Now you just look at them. The fire crackles in the hearth. Outside, the wind howls along the stones.

“You’re not afraid of him anymore?” he asks, eyes still down.

You don’t ask who he means.

“No,” you lie.

He nods once, but doesn’t believe you. Later, when you’re leaving the library, you see Aegon at the end of the corridor. He’s half in shadow, leaning against the wall like he’s been waiting. His cup is empty. He watches you walk past.

“You’re always trailing after him,” he says. “Like a dog.”

You don’t answer.

“Does he even look at you?” Aegon grins. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “He’s always reading or sulking. Doesn’t seem like much fun.”

You keep walking.

“I’d look at you,” he calls after you. “Properly.”

You don’t stop.

That night, you don’t sleep. You wait until the halls go still. When the torches burn low and the servants are gone. You’re not sure what you expect when you slip out of your chambers. Only that you’re used to following him. You’ve done it before. He never notices.

But this time, he moves quickly. Quiet. Through side halls, out into the city. You stay back, careful, steps silent against the cold stone. He doesn’t go to the library. He doesn’t go to the dragonpit. He disappears into the dark.

The brothel smells like wine and incense and heat. The kind that clings to your skin and settles in your lungs, thick and cloying. The lighting is dim, all soft candles and red drapery, the walls close and heavy with smoke. Laughter drifts through the space, slow and indulgent, layered with something sharp underneath. You slip in through the side, heart already pounding, the velvet curtain brushing your shoulder as you ease into the shadows. You shouldn’t be here. You know that. But you keep going anyway.

You see him almost right away. Aemond sits toward the center of the room, half-lit by candlelight, a woman in his lap like she’s always belonged there. Her dress has slipped off one shoulder, her fingers are spread across his chest, and her mouth presses to the side of his neck, slow and familiar. His hand rests on her thigh. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. He just sits there, silent and still, letting her touch him like she’s done it a hundred times. His expression doesn’t change. He looks cold, distant, completely unreachable. But he’s here. And he let her.

You stay where you are, quiet and out of view, too stunned to look away. It isn’t that he’s smiling. It’s that he isn’t. And still, he doesn’t stop her.

Then you hear it—too close, too loud. “Gods. You really are obsessed with him.”

You turn fast, but Aegon’s already there. He sways where he stands, cup in one hand, the smell of wine rolling off him like rot. His eyes are red and unfocused, and his grin is wide, mean, and far too pleased with itself. His tunic hangs open, and there’s something sticky on his collar. You don’t want to know what it is.

“Didn’t think I’d find you here,” he says, already talking over himself, voice raised far too loud for how close he is. “Little sneak, following big brother through the streets like a stray. Look at you.” He laughs, open-mouthed and wet. You try to step back, but he’s already throwing an arm around your shoulders like you’re in on the joke. His breath hits your face, hot and sharp with wine. “You thought he was different, didn’t you? All dutiful and noble and above it. And now you’re watching him let some whore suck bruises into his neck.”

You try to pull away, but he’s stronger than he looks when he’s drunk, all dead weight and heavy limbs. He steers you forward so you're angled toward the room again, so you have to see. “Go on,” he says, voice rising, “have a good look. She’s got her hands down his breeches and you’re standing here like a kicked dog. What did you think would happen?”

A few heads turn. You wish the floor would open up beneath you. Aegon tips his cup back and spills half of it down his front, unbothered. “You follow him everywhere, all moon-eyed and quiet like he’s your knight in shining armor. But here he is, fucking some common cunt like you don’t exist.” He chuckles again, slurring now. “Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe that’s the problem.”

You try again to twist out of his grip, but he just laughs harder, keeping you pressed to his side. “Don’t tell me this was the plan. You came here hoping for this, didn’t you? Thought if you caught him like this, he’d finally see you.” His hand slips lower, not quite indecent, but close enough that you flinch. “Bet you want him to touch you like that. Want to know what it feels like. And now you do, don’t you?”

That’s when the silence hits. Aegon goes still. You don’t even realize you’ve stopped breathing. Across the room, Aemond has lifted his head. He’s looking right at you. Not at Aegon. Not at the woman still curled against him.

You.

His gaze moves lower—to Aegon’s hand, his arm around your waist, the way you’re held there like something cornered.

Aemond is on his feet before the room can breathe.

The woman in his lap stumbles back, her voice catching in her throat as she reaches for him, but he doesn’t spare her a glance. He brushes her off like she was never there. His eyes are on Aegon, and they don’t move. Not once.

Aegon lets go of you with a laugh that’s too loud, too pleased with itself. He holds his hands up in mock surrender, wine sloshing down his sleeve. “There he is,” he says. “Didn’t think you’d mind. She’s not a child anymore.”

Aemond doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. He crosses the room in four slow steps. Grabs Aegon by the front of his tunic and slams him back against the nearest wall hard enough to make the plaster crack. The wine cup hits the floor and rolls away. No one in the brothel moves. No one dares.

Aegon just grins. His breath is unsteady now, but he still talks. “You gonna hit me, little brother? Over her? Thought you were the one who didn’t want her.”

Still nothing from Aemond. His hand stays tight in Aegon’s collar. His shoulders don’t move. The silence stretches. Then he turns to look at you. And something changes.

You don’t speak. You don’t breathe. You only meet his eyes. You expect anger, or disappointment, or something colder. What you find is worse. It's unreadable. Aemond holds your gaze like he’s waiting for something. Maybe permission. Maybe a reason not to tear the room apart.

“She followed you,” Aegon says, his voice lower now. “All the way here. Watched you like it hurt her. Maybe she wanted to see it. Maybe she liked it.”

His eyes slide to you. His grin never fades.

“Didn’t you, sweet thing?”

Your mouth opens. Closes. No sound comes. Aemond turns back to Aegon. His grip shifts, sliding higher, fingers curling tight at the base of his throat. He doesn’t squeeze. Not yet.

“She’s not yours,” Aegon says, voice rough. “Not unless you take her.”

Aemond lets go.

Aegon stumbles forward, catching himself on the table. There’s laughter in his breath, but it’s quieter now. You feel the shift as it settles around the three of you, thick as smoke. Aemond doesn’t look at Aegon again. His attention is on you. He steps toward you slowly. No anger in his expression. No rush. Just something dark behind his eyes that you can’t quite name.

He stops in front of you, close enough to touch. You can feel the heat coming off him, the tension coiled in every part of him.

“Is this what you want?” he asks. “Tell me.”

Behind him, Aegon laughs again, softer this time. “Maybe she wants both.”

Your breath catches. You don’t answer right away, not because you don’t know what you want, but because the words won’t come. Aemond is too close. You can feel the heat of him, the strain in his shoulders, the way he’s holding back like touching you would mean something he couldn’t undo. His eyes don’t leave yours. He’s waiting. Not impatient. Not pleading. Just still. Watching. His hand hovers at your waist but doesn’t settle. Not yet.

You nod. It’s small. Barely there. But it’s enough.

His fingers brush your side. Just the tips. You feel the breath go out of him, soft and steady, and when he leans in, it’s not rough. It’s careful. His forehead rests against yours like he’s grounding himself. Like he’s making sure. Behind him, Aegon laughs again. Low, amused. He sinks into a chair like he’s settling in to watch something he’s already seen coming.

“I told you,” he says. “She came all this way.”

Your eyes slip shut as his hand rises to your face, fingers curling at your jaw, thumb brushing slow across the corner of your mouth. He doesn’t look gentle, not the way he’s holding himself so tightly, but the way he touches you is measured, precise, like he’s memorizing each point of contact before it even settles. You open your eyes again, and his gaze is already waiting for you, steady and unreadable. He doesn’t speak. He just leans in and kisses you.

His mouth is warm against yours, steady and sure, like he's been waiting for this. Like he's thought about it before. You reach for his shoulders without meaning to, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, and he makes a sound in the back of his throat that you feel more than hear. The kiss deepens, slow and deliberate, his hand sliding back to cradle your head, to hold you where he wants you. There's nothing rushed about it. Nothing desperate. Just the careful press of his lips, the heat of his palm at your waist, the way his breath catches when you lean into him.

The room around you blurs. The sounds of the brothel fade to nothing, and all you can feel is Aemond—his breath, his hands, the steady beat of his heart under your palm. The kiss grows deeper, hungrier, his fingers tightening in your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head back. When he finally breaks away, you're both breathing harder. His eyes search yours, still careful, still measuring every reaction.

Aegon shifts in his chair, restless and amused. "Don't stop on my account," he says, reaching for another cup of wine from a passing servant. "It's about time someone showed her what she's been missing."

Aemond doesn't look at his brother. His eyes never leave yours, his thumb tracing the curve of your bottom lip, his breath warm against your skin. Without warning, he takes your hand and pulls you toward the back of the brothel, through the velvet curtains and down a narrow hallway lined with doors. You follow without hesitation, your pulse racing beneath your skin.

Behind you, Aegon's chair scrapes against the floor. You hear his footsteps, uneven but determined, trailing after you. Your stomach twists with something like anticipation, like fear, but Aemond's grip on your hand is firm and certain.

He chooses a door at the end of the hall, pushing it open to reveal a small room with a large bed draped in crimson silk. A single candle burns on a bedside table, casting long shadows across the walls.

Aemond pulls you inside, his movements fluid and deliberate. You expect him to stop Aegon, to shut the door in his face, but he doesn't. Instead, he watches as his brother stumbles in after you, that same knowing smile still playing on his lips.

"You don't have to do this," Aemond says to you, voice low enough that only you can hear. His thumb traces circles against your wrist, a steady, grounding pressure. "We can leave."

You look between them—Aemond with his controlled intensity, his careful restraint; Aegon lounging against the doorframe, all loose limbs and predatory amusement. You should feel afraid. You should want to run. But instead, you feel something molten and dangerous unfurling within you.

"I want to stay," you whisper, and Aemond's pupils dilate slightly.

He nods once, a barely perceptible movement, and then his hand is at your waist again, steadier now, more certain. Aegon's presence fills the doorway, his shadow stretching long across the floor. You feel trapped between them, but not in a way that frightens you. It's something else entirely—a tension that pulls taut across your skin, that makes your breath catch in your throat.

"Tell me what you want," Aemond says again, his voice low and measured. His thumb brushes against your hip, a small circle that sends heat spiraling through you.

Before you can answer, Aegon laughs softly, pushing himself away from the doorframe. "She wants what everyone wants," he says, moving closer. "To be seen. To be touched." His gaze slides over you, hungry and amused. "To feel something."

Aemond's eyes narrow at his brother's words, but he doesn't contradict them. Instead, he watches your face carefully, reading every flicker of emotion. His hand remains steady at your waist, warm and grounding.

"Is that what you want?" he asks you, his voice so low it's almost a whisper.

You nod, unable to find your voice. Your skin feels too tight, too hot. You've spent years trailing behind him, watching from a distance, and now he's looking at you—really looking—with an intensity that makes your knees weak. Aegon moves closer, circling around until he stands behind you. You feel the heat of him at your back, not quite touching but close enough that his breath stirs the hair at the nape of your neck. Aemond's jaw tightens, but he doesn't step away.

After all those years, there’s something almost intimate in the sound of Aegon’s voice. He’s behind you now, close enough that you feel the warmth of his breath against your neck, the way it sinks into your skin and lingers. One of his hands rests at your waist, fingers spreading lightly, not holding but not letting go either. You don’t lean away.

Aemond is still in front of you, close enough that the space between your bodies feels more imagined than real. He doesn’t look at his brother. He only looks at you, eyes locked to yours, sharp and unreadable, like he’s waiting for something you haven’t said yet. Your breath catches. The heat from both of them settles around you, pressing in from either side, leaving nowhere to go but still.

Aegon shifts behind you, slow and steady, the curve of his chest brushing your back. His voice is lower now, all warmth and wine, curling soft against your ear.

“Let her speak,” he says. “She came here for something.”

You feel Aemond’s gaze drop, just for a moment, like he’s following the path of Aegon’s hand. The tension in him doesn’t ease. If anything, it sharpens.

"I want this," you say, your voice barely audible even in the quiet room. "I want..." You trail off, not sure how to name the feeling that's been building inside you for years.

"Show her," Aegon says to Aemond, his voice a low purr against your ear. "She's been watching you long enough."

Aemond's hand slides up from your waist, tracing the curve of your side, your shoulder, until his fingers curl around the back of your neck. His touch is firm but gentle, holding you steady as he leans in. This kiss is different from the first—deeper, hungrier, with none of the careful restraint. You gasp against his mouth, and he swallows the sound, pulling you closer until your bodies press together.

Behind you, Aegon's hands settle more firmly on your hips.

Aemond doesn't push you away, doesn't try to separate you from his brother. Instead, his fingers tighten in your hair as Aegon's hands begin to wander, sliding around to your stomach, pulling you back against him while Aemond keeps kissing you. You're caught between them, Aemond's mouth hot and demanding against yours, Aegon's body solid behind you. The room spins slightly, and you're not sure if it's from the lack of air or the realization that this is happening—that both princes have their hands on you, that neither is pulling away.

"She likes it," Aegon murmurs, his lips brushing against your neck. "Look at her."

Aemond breaks the kiss, his breathing ragged, his eyes dark with something you've never seen in him before. He studies your face, searching for any sign of hesitation, of fear. He finds none. Your lips are parted, your cheeks flushed, your eyes glazed with want. You reach for him, fingers curling into his shirt, and he lets out a sound that's almost pained.

"Please," you whisper, not sure what you're asking for, only that you need more—more of his hands on you, more of his mouth, more of this feeling that's threatening to consume you from the inside out.

Aegon's hands drift higher, brushing just beneath the swell of your breasts, his touch teasing and deliberate. "She's begging already," he murmurs, his lips trailing along the curve of your shoulder. "And we've barely started."

Aemond's jaw tightens, but there's something else in his expression now—a heat that matches your own, a hunger that he's no longer trying to hide.

"Take her to the bed," Aemond says, his voice rough with restraint. It's not a command for you, but for Aegon. His brother smiles against your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there before he guides you backward, his hands firm on your waist. The backs of your knees hit the mattress and you sink down onto it, Aegon following you, his body pressing yours into the silk. His lips find your throat, your collarbone, his hands working at the laces of your dress with practiced ease. You should feel shame—this is the prince you've always feared, the one whose laughter made your stomach twist—but there's only heat now, a burning need that crowds out everything else.

Aemond watches from where he stands, his gaze tracking every movement of his brother's hands on your body. There's something dangerous in his stillness, in the controlled way he breathes. When your dress loosens and Aegon pushes it down your shoulders, exposing the thin shift beneath, Aemond's fingers curl into fists at his sides.

"Come here," you say to Aemond, your voice barely above a whisper. You reach out a hand to him, an invitation he can't refuse.

He moves forward, slow and deliberate, like a predator approaching prey. The bed dips under his weight as he kneels beside you, his gaze never leaving your face. Aegon's mouth continues its path down your throat, his fingers pushing your shift aside to expose more skin. You shiver, caught between them again, Aegon's weight pressing you down, Aemond hovering above, watching with that unreadable intensity. Aemond's hand reaches out, his fingers ghosting over your flushed cheek. The contrast is stark—Aegon all heat and urgency, Aemond measured and restrained. Yet his eyes betray him. There's hunger there, raw and undeniable.

"You shouldn't have followed me," he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear. His thumb traces your bottom lip, still swollen from his kiss.

"I always follow you," you whisper back.

Something shifts in his expression then, a crack in that careful control. He leans down, capturing your mouth again as Aegon's hands continue their exploration beneath your shift. The sensation is overwhelming—Aemond's kiss deep and consuming while Aegon's fingers trace patterns on your bare skin, pushing the fabric higher until your thighs are exposed to the cool air.

You gasp into Aemond’s mouth as Aegon's fingers slide higher, tracing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. Your back arches involuntarily, pressing you further into Aemond's kiss. He swallows the soft sound you make, his hand moving to cradle your face, holding you steady as his tongue slides against yours. The dual sensation is dizzying—Aemond's careful, consuming kiss and Aegon's bold, wandering touch.

"She's wet already," Aegon murmurs against your skin, his fingers brushing teasingly close to where heat pools between your legs. "Been wanting this for a long time, haven't you?"

Aemond breaks the kiss, his breathing ragged. His eyes meet yours, searching, questioning. You nod slightly, unable to form words. That's all he needs. His hand slides down your throat, your collarbone, pushing aside the thin fabric of your shift to expose your breast to the cool air of the room. Aegon's lips immediately find the newly exposed skin, his tongue circling your nipple as his fingers finally brush against your core, drawing a gasping moan from your throat.

Aemond watches your face intently, cataloging every reaction, every flicker of pleasure that crosses your features. His hand covers your other breast, thumb grazing over the hardened peak in slow, deliberate circles. The sensation of both brothers touching you simultaneously sends waves of heat through your body, pooling low in your belly and between your thighs.

"You're beautiful like this," Aemond murmurs, his voice deeper than you've ever heard it, rough with something he's no longer trying to hide. His eyes track your every reaction as Aegon's fingers slip inside you, drawing another gasp from your lips. You reach for Aemond instinctively, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer.

"She wants more," Aegon says, his voice teasing but thick with desire. Your shift is pushed up to your waist now, bunched around your hips as Aegon positions himself between your thighs. He looks up at you, a wicked smile playing on his lips as his fingers continue their slow, torturous exploration.

"Please," you whisper, the word half-plea, half-demand. You're not sure what you're asking for—just that you need more, need everything they're willing to give you.

Aemond's expression darkens at your desperation. His hand slides from your breast to your throat, fingers spreading wide, applying just enough pressure to make your pulse jump beneath his palm. The gesture is possessive, commanding, so unlike the boy who let you follow him silently through corridors. His thumb traces your jawline as he watches Aegon's fingers working between your thighs.

Aemond begins to untie his breeches, his movements unhurried despite the tension visible in every line of his body. Aegon watches his brother with amusement dancing in his eyes, his fingers still working inside you, drawing soft, desperate sounds from your throat.

"Never thought I'd see you share," Aegon says, his voice rough with desire.

Aemond doesn't answer. He doesn't need to. His eyes meet yours as he frees himself from his breeches, his length hard and straining against his palm. Your breath catches at the sight of him, at the controlled hunger in his expression. He moves closer, until his face is hovering above yours, his breath warm against your lips.

"Show me," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "Show me what you want."

You reach for him without hesitation, fingers curling around his length, and the sound he makes is almost pained—a sharp intake of breath that catches in his throat. His eyes close briefly, jaw tight with restraint, before they open again, darker than before. Your touch is tentative at first, exploratory, but grows bolder as you watch his reaction. His hand tightens at your throat, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you of his control.

“Stand up. Both of you,” Aemond says, his voice low but steady. “I want her.”

Aegon pulls his fingers from you, slow enough to be deliberate, and you can’t stop the sound that escapes your mouth, soft and desperate. The loss of him makes you shiver. Aemond doesn’t look at him. His eyes are only on you.

“Switch,” he says, the word landing hard in the space between you. “Now.”

Aegon laughs under his breath, lazy and pleased, but he doesn’t argue. He moves around you, brushing against your shoulder as he passes, and you feel the weight of both of them shift. Aemond steps in without hesitation, his body flush with yours, his hand already rising to your throat, not tight, just enough to make you look up at him.

“You let him touch you,” he says. “Now you’ll let me.”

His gaze doesn’t leave yours. You expect him to lean in, to kiss you again, but instead his hands move fast. One curls behind your knee, the other grips your shoulder, and in a breath he flips you over, pressing your chest down against the mattress. Your cheek grazes the sheets. The sound that escapes you is soft and startled.

His hand spreads across your back, warm and steady, keeping you there. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just lets you feel the shift, the silence, the weight of him behind you.

Then, lower, rougher, right at your ear— “Stay like that.”

You nod against the sheets, unable to form words as you feel his weight shift behind you. His hands move to your hips, lifting them slightly, positioning you how he wants you. The air feels cool against your exposed skin, making you shiver with anticipation. You feel vulnerable, displayed, but there's power in it too. In the way Aemond's breath catches, in the tight grip of his fingers digging into your flesh.

Aegon settles beside your head, his back against the headboard, watching with lazy interest. His hand reaches out to brush the hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear with surprising gentleness.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice thick with wine and desire. "So eager for him."

Aemond's hands spread your thighs wider, his thumbs tracing the sensitive skin there. You feel him position himself behind you, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance. He pauses there, teasing, making you wait. Your fingers curl into the sheets, a whimper escaping your throat as you push back against him, silently begging.

"Patient," Aemond murmurs, his hand sliding up your spine to grip the back of your neck. "Always so patient." There's something like reverence in his voice, a quiet acknowledgment of all those years you spent following him, waiting for him to see you.

When he finally pushes inside, it's with one slow, deliberate thrust that fills you completely. Your mouth falls open in a silent cry, your body stretching to accommodate him. He's larger than you expected, the sensation overwhelming and perfect. He holds still once he's fully seated within you, giving you time to adjust, his breathing harsh and controlled.

"Good girl," Aegon remarks from his relaxed spot just above you. As Aemond starts moving, a flicker of envy appears in Aegon’s eyes. Shifting from his laid-back position, he lifts himself onto his knees and releases himself from his trousers. His cock stands thick and hard before him, the tip glistening with precum as he strokes himself lazily. "Open," he commands, pressing the head against your lips. You comply without hesitation, your mouth opening to accept him as Aemond continues his steady rhythm behind you.

The sensation is overwhelming. Aemond's thick length stretching you, filling you completely with each measured thrust while Aegon slides between your lips, his taste salt-sharp on your tongue. You're caught between them, used from both ends, and the realization sends a wave of heat through your core. Aemond's pace increases slightly, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to leave marks.

"That's it," Aegon murmurs, his hand tangling in your hair, guiding your movements as you take him deeper. "Look at her, brother. Taking both of us so well."

Aemond lets out a grunt and holds you more firmly. Aegon guides your movements with one hand on your head, while using his other hand to brush back his damp, wavy silver hair, releasing a moan in the process. Aemond watches your lips stretch around his brother's length, his eyes darkening with something primal and possessive. His rhythm falters for just a moment before he drives into you harder, deeper, drawing a muffled moan from your throat that vibrates against Aegon's cock. The sound makes Aegon hiss in pleasure, his grip tightening in your hair.

"You like this," Aemond says, his voice low and certain. It's not a question. His pace is relentless now, each thrust pushing you forward onto his brother's cock. The dual sensation is overwhelming—being filled from both ends, used and wanted by both princes. Your mind goes blank with pleasure, reduced to nothing but sensation and need.

Aegon's hips begin to move more insistently, fucking your mouth with increasing urgency. "Look at me," he commands, tugging your hair to tilt your face upward. Your eyes meet his, glazed with pleasure, and his lips curve into a satisfied smile. "Always thought you'd be good at this."

Aemond's hand slides around to find the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs, circling it with practiced precision as his thrusts grow harder, more demanding. The dual sensations overwhelm you, pleasure building in waves that crash through your body with each thrust. You're suspended between them, caught in a rhythm that leaves you gasping and moaning around Aegon's length. Your fingers curl into the sheets as Aemond's skilled touch drives you higher, closer to the edge.

"She's close," Aemond observes, his voice strained with his own approaching release. His fingers move faster against you, circling with precise, relentless pressure. "I can feel it."

Aegon's grip in your hair tightens, holding you still as he thrusts deeper. "Let her come first," he says, his voice rough with desire. "Want to feel it when she does."

The permission is all you need. The pleasure crests suddenly, violently, tearing through you in waves that leave you trembling and crying out around Aegon's cock. Your walls clench around Aemond, pulsing and squeezing as you shatter beneath them. The sensation pushes Aegon over the edge, and with a guttural groan, he empties himself down your throat, his hand holding you firmly in place as he rides out his release.

Aemond's rhythm grows erratic, his fingers digging into your hips with bruising force as he chases his own pleasure. You're still trembling from your orgasm, oversensitive and overwhelmed, but the feeling of him inside you, claiming you so completely, sends aftershocks of pleasure rippling through your body. With a final, powerful thrust, he buries himself to the hilt and stills, his release hot and pulsing inside you. The sound he makes is unlike anything you've ever heard from him—raw and unguarded, a moment of perfect surrender.

Aegon's breath quickens, and his body tenses as he reaches the peak of his desire. With a final, shuddering exhale, warmth splatters across your cheeks, leaving a glistening trail in its wake. For a moment, no one moves. You're suspended between them, every nerve ending alive with sensation, your mind hazy from pleasure. Aemond's breath comes in harsh pants against your back, his forehead pressed between your shoulder blades, his fingers slowly loosening their grip on your hips. Aegon is already pulling away, tucking himself back into his breeches with practiced ease, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

"Both of you," Aemond says after a moment, his voice rough and low. "Get up."

You feel him withdraw, the sudden emptiness making you shiver. His hands remain on your hips, steadying you as you push yourself up onto trembling arms. The evidence of Aegon's pleasure still glistens on your face, and Aemond's eyes darken as he takes in the sight of you—disheveled, marked, claimed by both brothers.

Aegon laughs softly, already reaching for the wine cup he'd set aside earlier. "Look at her," he says, voice thick with satisfaction. "Told you she'd want it."

Aemond doesn't respond. Instead, he reaches for a cloth by the bedside, dipping it in the basin of water before turning back to you. His movements are careful, deliberate as he cleans your face, wiping away the traces of his brother's release with surprising tenderness. There's something possessive in the gesture, in the careful way his thumb traces the curve of your cheek. Aegon watches with amused interest, sipping his wine as he leans against the headboard.

"Come here," Aemond says when he's finished, his voice softer than before. He pulls you against him, positioning you between his legs, your back to his chest. His arms wrap around you, one hand splayed across your stomach, the other curling loosely around your throat. The position is protective, possessive, a clear statement to his brother.

Aegon raises an eyebrow, that same lazy smile playing on his lips. "Marking your territory now?" he asks, swirling the wine in his cup. "A bit late for that, don't you think?"

Aemond doesn’t answer him. He leans in instead, mouth brushing the side of your neck, slow and deliberate.

“She was never yours,” he says, just loud enough for Aegon to hear.

You feel his breath at your ear, the way his grip steadies as his body settles behind yours. He holds you close, like you’re already his, like he’s done pretending otherwise. Aegon doesn’t push. He watches for a moment longer, then tips back the last of his wine and turns away. The room quiets again, but Aemond’s hand doesn’t move. It stays right where it is, fingers resting gently at your throat, his thumb tracing a slow line over your pulse.

And when he exhales, the sound is soft. Almost content.

@kckt88 @ylva-syverson @venusbyline

YESS FINALLYY A LEE BYUNG HUN X READER I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU SO MUCHH THANK YOU FOR THIS

Mistress

Pairing: Lee Byung Hun x Fem!Reader

Summary: No matter how many times you tried to distance yourself from him, you always ended up succumbing to the intensity of his touches and words.

Warnings: Smut 18+, MDNI, age gap (late-20s/50s), unsafe sex, infidelity

Word count: 1.9 k

a/n: It's my first time posting here, and English isn't my first language, so sorry if there are any mistakes.

The thumping music pulsed through the air, blending with laughter and lively conversation. The Squid Game 2 wrap party was at its peak—a well-earned celebration after months of hard work. You glanced around, awed by how far you had come. Being part of such a massive project had been an incredible opportunity, filled with unforgettable experiences and people… and one of them, one you should never have allowed, was the reason you had hesitated to come tonight.

Across the room, among the sea of familiar faces, you spotted Wi Ha-Joon approaching with his signature ear-to-ear grin. His contagious energy made you smile instinctively.

“Hey, beautiful. Glad to see you’re having fun,” he said before taking a sip of his drink.

“I wasn’t planning on coming, actually,” you admitted, holding your glass. You weren’t a big fan of these kinds of events, but alcohol certainly helped loosen you up.

“What changed your mind?” he asked, raising an amused eyebrow.

“I guess I needed a distraction,” you shrugged.

Ha-Joon chuckled, raising his glass in a toast before continuing the conversation. A few drinks later, his proximity became more evident. You couldn’t deny how attractive he was—tall, strong, and completely shameless in his flirting. His hand rested subtly on your waist as you danced, his dark eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

“I need to use the restroom,” you said with a smile after a few minutes.

“I’ll be here,” he nodded, watching as you walked away.

You made your way toward the hallway leading to the restrooms, but just before turning the corner, a strong hand wrapped around your forearm, pulling you back with firm determination.

“What the f—?” The air caught in your throat when you recognized him. Lee Byung Hun. Damn it. You hadn’t even noticed he was at the party.

He dragged you into a dimly lit storage room, shutting the door behind him. Your heart pounded against your chest as you met his gaze—tense, irritated, and brimming with jealousy.

“I see you’ve been having fun,” he sneered, crossing his arms over his chest. His dark eyes burned with resentment. “Is that idiot the reason you left me?”

Anger bubbled within you instantly. What right did he have to question you?

“It’s none of your business,” you snapped, yanking your arm free from his grip.

“So, you’re not denying it,” he continued, his jaw clenching.

“You know exactly why we couldn’t keep doing… this,” you shot back, your voice laced with bitterness.

“You can’t do this to me… I need you,” he blurted suddenly, desperation creeping into his tone.

Something in his expression cracked. He had spent the entire night watching you, seeing you laugh with another man, move so freely, so happily—something that had never been allowed when you were together in public.

“You can’t say that…” you whispered, lowering your gaze to his hand, where the ring on his finger gleamed under the dim light. “At the end of the night, you’ll go back to her.”

Your eyes burned, tears threatening to spill.

“You knew what this was from the start,” he tried to justify, in the worst way possible.

“I don’t need you to remind me,” your voice trembled, the ache in your chest deepening. It was true. You had known. From the very beginning. But that didn’t make it hurt any less.

Byung Hun exhaled sharply and stepped closer, lifting a hand to gently cup your cheek—his tenderness a stark contrast to the storm in his gaze.

“I know you don’t want this to end like this…” he murmured, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb.

Your breath hitched as he moved even closer, his warmth enveloping you entirely. His scent, his presence—everything about him disarmed you with terrifying ease.

“Don’t make this harder…” you pleaded in a whisper, but even you didn’t believe your own words.

Time seemed to slow as his lips brushed against yours—soft, hesitant, offering one last warning, one last chance to stop him. But just like the first time, you didn’t.

His gentle, slow kisses quickly turned urgent, pressing you against the wall as his hands roamed your body with desperate need. His tongue parted your lips, stealing your breath and any coherent thought.

“Fuck…” he groaned against your skin, trailing kisses down your jaw, lower, marking you as his. His fingers found the zipper of your dress, and without hesitation, he slid it down, letting the fabric pool at your feet.

“Byung Hun…” you sighed as his lips traced the curve of your collarbone, his tongue leaving a blazing path toward your chest. Your fingers gripped his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours.

He caught your silent plea, discarding his shirt and allowing you to admire the sculpted lines of his body. His large hands explored every inch of your body hungrily, skilled fingers slipping between your thighs, drawing a ragged moan from your lips.

“Look at what you do to me…” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear as he pressed himself against you through his clothes. The hardness of his arousal was undeniable, and the heat of his body ignited every fiber of your being.

His firm hands guided you toward what seemed like a wooden table. You braced yourself against it, feeling his body settle between your legs.

“You have no idea how much I’ve suffered without you…” he murmured against your neck, leaving a trail of fervent kisses. His voice, thick with longing, made you tremble.

A gasp escaped your lips as two of his fingers slid inside you—wet, expert, touching that spot he knew so well. His movements were slow, torturously precise. In and out, twisting, exploring. Then, with his thumb, he rubbed delicate circles over your most sensitive spot, making you whimper.

“He’ll never have you like this,” he said with pride, enthralled by your sweet moans and the wetness dripping down his fingers.

You could barely process his words, your mind clouded by pleasure. You just wanted more. When you felt yourself reaching the edge, your body moved instinctively, desperately seeking release.

Finally, it hit you—your climax crashing over you as his name spilled from your lips, your body trembling against him.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he murmured with a dark smile, lowering his zipper. With both hands, he pushed down his pants and boxers, freeing his cock—thick, flushed, glistening with need.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, wrapping a hand around your throat with gentle firmness.

But you’re not mine, you wanted to say, but desire drowned out your thoughts. You only nodded, biting your lip.

Without another word, he thrust into you in one swift motion, a shared moan filling the room. His strokes were deep, precise, sending waves of pleasure through your body. Your nails dug into his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him. The music from the party felt distant, drowned out by the sound of your mingled moans and the rhythmic slap of skin against skin.

“Shit…” he groaned, feeling you tighten around him. “That’s it, princess… come for me.”

His raspy moans were your undoing. His mouth found yours, swallowing your cry as ecstasy overtook you. Seconds later, with a few erratic thrusts, he spilled into you, holding you close as your ragged breaths intertwined.

He rested his forehead against yours, still buried inside you.

“I love you,” he whispered, breathless.

It wasn’t the first time he had said it in these moments. You had tried to convince yourself not to take it seriously, but you couldn’t stop yourself from wishing it was true.

He noticed the shift in your expression. You looked hurt. He had spent weeks thinking about you, regretting all the times he had made you cry. And yet, here you were again.

"Listen to me..." He cupped your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him. "I’ve fucked up. With you, with my wife, with myself. You have every right to hate me."

He paused, studying your face. When you didn’t respond, he continued.

"I'm afraid of what will happen if this gets out. Of what they'll say about you, about me, about us. I'm afraid of hurting the mother of my children… but I'm also afraid of losing you."

You parted your lips to argue, but he stopped you.

"Please, let me finish." He knew you too well. He knew you were about to interrupt him.

"I know I'm selfish, irresponsible… but I want to make things right this time. I can’t lose you."

"What makes you think I even want to give you another chance?" you cut in, frowning.

He let out a wry smile.

"If you didn’t, we wouldn’t be here like this, beautiful." You couldn't fool him. Not him, and not yourself.

"What exactly are you proposing?" You tried to sound cold. You tried. And you failed.

He ran a hand through his hair before resting it on your thigh.

"Give me a month. One month to talk to her, to start the process. I'm getting a divorce."

You looked at him in disbelief.

"I could give you a week, a month, or a year, and I still wouldn’t believe that," you admitted. You knew this was the usual lie a married man told to keep his mistress around. Mistress. The word made your stomach turn.

He sighed before finally pulling out of you, knowing you wouldn’t be easy to convince. A quiet gasp escaped your lips. He fixed his pants while you tried to steady your breathing and your thoughts. From his pocket, he pulled out a handkerchief and returned to you, wiping you gently.

You both dressed in complete silence. He zipped up your dress, and you helped him wipe away the lipstick you had left on his lips and part of his face.

"I know you don’t believe me," he said, holding your waist before you could step away. "But tonight, I’m talking to her."

You were about to tell him it was best to end this, but he shocked you by dropping to his knees and taking your hands in his.

"Please, trust me. I won’t fail you this time." His gaze locked onto yours, his eyes shining, on the verge of tears. You had never seen him like this.

Your emotions betrayed you. You found yourself nodding, even as every rational part of your mind screamed at you to walk away. But he was there, kneeling before you, looking at you with a mixture of vulnerability and determination that made you tremble.

As you stepped out, you prayed you wouldn’t run into anyone familiar, but as if fate itself found the situation amusing, you crossed paths with Ha-Joon. The young man’s gaze flickered between the two of you before settling on you, his eyes filled with disappointment. He didn’t need to ask what had just happened—he already knew. His jaw clenched, but he didn’t say a word. He only held your gaze for an agonizing few seconds before turning on his heel and walking away.

Byung Hun, standing beside you, straightened with an air of victory. His lips curled into the faintest smirk as he watched the younger man’s retreating figure. His hand slid down the curve of your hip before gripping your waist possessively, as if staking his claim.

OMG I WAS CRAVINGG FOR THISS I LOVEE ITTT SO MUCHHHH 🩷🩷

BREEDING — HWANG IN-HO

WARNINGS: Soft In-ho, slightly OOC, mentions of sex, pregnancy, the baby is a boy (for plot reasons), Breeding kink. A/N: I am eating, sleeping, and breathing squid games rn. It’s in my blood stream. Please give me more ideas y’all.

ꨄ After the loss of his first wife and unborn child, In-ho was completely destroyed. He thought he would never find love or have the chance to have a child of his own again…until he met you.

ꨄ While you probably fell first, In-ho would fall harder. Someone who sees a different side of him? Someone who isn’t a cold-blooded killer? He is completely whipped.

ꨄ You probably met outside the games, having no idea what your lover does for work—which he wants to stay that way…kind of. While In-ho doesn’t want you involved in his work at all, you deserve to know the truth, right?

ꨄ Will eventually tell you the truth, and couldn’t be happier when you accept him anyways. He vows to never show you the cold heartless frontman he has to be for the games.

ꨄ Once the two of you are married, In-ho goes crazy for your body. I mean you two had sex before marriage…but now? Man, he absolutely worships your body, as if you’re a goddess.

ꨄ In-ho fucks his cum into you, making sure not to waste a precious drop. He wants it to take after all. Will tell you how beautiful you would look carrying his children while he pounds into you.

ꨄ Really wants to get you pregnant and have a child with you, more than anything. So when he hears the news after returning from one of his ‘trips’ to the island, he is overjoyed.

ꨄ Makes sure your every need is met. If he can’t cater to you, he’s making sure his servants or the circle guards are waiting on your hand and foot. Only the best for his queen.

ꨄ Might even bring you to the island to keep you safe through your pregnancy. He is going to make sure both you and your baby surivive the best he can.

ꨄ Once your son is born, he can’t stop holding him. He lets the little baby wrap its hands around his finger as he gently cradles him in his arms. He may be a cold-blooded killer, but to you, he is just your warm and caring husband.

EXTRA: Your son definitely becomes the next frontman whether you like it or not. In-ho can’t help it. It runs in the family.

aizawa thee pussy eater.. he folds your body like a pretzel with so much ease that it's impossible to not feel lightheaded. he holds your lower body up against his chest while you try to bury your head into the pillows in order to hide the wanton moans that keep ripping out of you.

he's so serious though, determined – his eyes are glued to your face, observing every sharp breath you take and every quiver of your lip because he needs to know that you're feeling good. you're the only thing on his mind at this very moment, you and your pleasure. the way his cock throbs is irrelevant, the way it leaks pre-cum all over his happy trail a mere secondary thought in the back of his head as he eyes the sheen of sweat covering your body and the way your chest keeps rising and falling. he knows you're close, he can feel it.

he won't stop when you cum, though. he'll push you through that, no matter how much you paw at his hands and no matter how much you try to push his head away. this is his stress relief.

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Art the Clown x Reader SMUT • headcanons, how Art fucks, what he gets off to, etc

big content warning! contains some stuff that may gross you out; read at your own risk: menstruation kink, piss kink, oral sex, anal sex, object insertion, blood kink, various weapons mentioned, bondage, human hair and bones, butts and what comes out of butts, public sex, cockwarming, mostly dom!Art and sub!reader

🔪 Remember the work desk with all of Art’s weapons and tools on it? He knows you want him to fuck you, but he’s got shit to do (meaning weapons to build) so he lets you sit under the desk, cockwarming him while he works. You’re on the ground between his knees, patiently holding him in your mouth. When he finishes constructing his latest instrument of torture/slaughter, Art pats his palm against his thigh, wordlessly telling you to climb up into his lap and ride him.🩸

🔪 Art enjoys blood and guts, so it goes without saying that during your period, he’s particularly eager to fuck you. He can detect the slight change in your scent, usually aware you’ve begun to bleed even before you know. He plays with your pussy like it’s a new, special toy when you’re bleeding, spreading your lips and tracing his name on your inner thighs in red. Seeing/touching/tasting blood that comes from you is special to Art. It’s the only time he gets to play in blood without it being the result of him hurting someone, so that makes the experience unique for him. He saves your used pads for ‘alone time,’ using them later as a ‘sleeve,’ to masturbate with.🩸

🔪 Art sometimes fucks you with unconventional objects, like the handle of one of his weapons (knife, axe) or the neck of a bottle. If you’ve displeased him but he still wants to fuck you, he might deny you his cock and instead use something else, like the handle of one of his knives or the barrel of an (empty!) gun, to make you come instead of his cock, as a degrading ‘punishment.’🩸

🔪 Art loves bondage. He knows what he’s doing when it comes to tying knots, as evidenced by the multiple victims you’ve watched him restrain. He enjoys the power dynamic of being in absolute control of another person. When that crosses over into sex, you both get off on him tying you up and doing whatever the fuck he wants with your body.🩸

🔪 Art’s methods can border on sadistic at times (I mean how could they not??) but because he wants to keep you around to play with for the long haul, he never pushes you beyond the limits of safety, no matter how many new ways he comes up with to plug every hole in your body. If we know anything about Art, it’s that he’s perceptive. He studies the way your body responds to different forms of stimulation and mentally catalogs the information for later. All of his skill in crafting tools of torture means he’s able to create customized ‘toys,’ to fuck you with. But the thing is, they’re never normal, or sweet; they always contain something fucked-up and sick. Art once surprised you with a whip he’d put together for you. Its strands were soft and felt so good gliding over your clit. You came so hard when Art whipped your pussy till it was puffy and leaking. It would have been a wonderful gift, if you hadn’t realized later, upon closer inspection, that the strands now wet with your cum were in fact strands of human hair. And the custom dildo Art made for you, the one that was so smooth and colored beige/white? You later found out Art had chiseled and smoothed down a human bone to make it for you. The information almost made you sick on the spot. Art found your horrified reaction hilarious, of course, and it didn’t stop him from laying you down and fucking you with it all the same…🩸

🔪 ANAL ANAL ANAL ANAL ANAL ANAL …

He loves to fuck you in the ass. Art’s a nasty little motherfucker when it comes to the stuff that comes out of butts, and I’m not gonna elaborate here, but you can use your imagination to follow where I’m going with this…🩸

🔪 Art has zero inhibitions: he kills anyone, anywhere. Imagine that relating to sex; of course he’s going to fuck you wherever he wants, including places where you might get caught. Sex in public/risky spaces feels natural to Art, because he literally does not give a single fuck. Remember the first time you ever saw him? When you stumbled out the back door of that sleazy little bar in your home town, so drunk off your ass you thought you were leaving through the front? Art was in the alleyway behind the bar, black garbage bag hoisted over his shoulder, not even looking for anyone to fuck up but when he saw you, he knew he’d found a victim for the night. He’d planned to stalk you home and do unspeakable things to you-but as you took the lead and approached him, there in the alleyway, he was caught off guard, his whole plan upended the moment you slid your arms around his waist, stood up on your tiptoes, and placed a soft, sloppy kiss on his cheek. He was awestruck, and even if he could speak, Art would still have been at a loss for words. You walked him backward a few steps, lining him up against a dumpster in the alleyway. You began fondling him through his costume, grinning when you realized his body had already begun to respond. One thing led to another, and within minutes, Art had you bent over that dumpster, with a fresh hole torn in the front of his costume where your bodies were joined…🩸

🔪 No one would associate The Miles County Clown with tenderness, but if they knew Art, they would see a softer side of him only you do. He’s still fucking deranged, don’t get me wrong. But Art also has moments of vulnerability, when there’s nothing he wants more than to hold you. Sitting in Art’s lap, he wraps his arms around you and stays still, so still, just enjoying the soft thump of your heartbeat against his, and the low hum of your breath on his chest. Your nearness calms the monster inside Art so well that sometimes, he forgets he is the monster itself…🩸

🔪 Another benefit of having you in his lap? Art realized he could use his strength to make you stay in his lap no matter how badly you had to get up and take a piss, forcing you to wet yourself all over him. You felt him gradually getting hard under you as you began to wriggle on his lap. Art could see your discomfort, and when you told him you needed to get up and take a piss, he refused to release you. You’d expect him to be smiling at you at a time like this, silently mocking you; but the look in his eyes was deathly serious, pitch black and full of a demented lust that would have had you locked you in place even if his arms hadn’t. Blushing into his shoulder, you accepted the fact that Art wasn’t letting go of you any time soon, and that he really was into this. He wanted this to happen. You allowed your bladder to empty, a soft trickle saturating your panties, followed by a steady stream of hot piss that spread over Art’s lap. His clothes were soaked through below the waist, your piss running down between his thighs and dampening the couch cushion beneath you. Art was rock hard by this point, his wet cock throbbing against your pussy. He lifted you off his lap just enough to reach between your bodies and position his tip against your entrance, then used your piss as a lube to slide inside you…🩸

Based on your request, stoner König who breeds you while he is high as fuck and breeds you again in the morning when he is not high because he can not remember breeding you the night before

primary warnings are in the request + non-con 🍃 mdni 𓉸ྀི 𓅩

“fuck, fuck, fuck.” you cry, one hand slapped to your panting mouth while the other presses against his chest. he’s got you pinned in a mating press, overpowering your struggles as he fucks his cum into your quivering cunny. he won’t stop fucking cumming. this has to be the fifth load he’s spunked out. a milky ring of cream coats the fat base of his cock as he pistons it in and out at a ferocious speed — like he’s a power drill and you’re concrete.

“könig, stop. stop.” you beg, eyes pleading with his for mercy. but he’s not looking at you, he’s looking at the way his thick cock disappears deep into your cunt over and over and over again. his eyes are bloodshot, hooded and glazed over with a film of absence. your lips tremble, tears running down your sweaty cheeks as you thrash and writhe in his grip. his hands are splayed over the underside of your tucked-up legs, leaning his entire weight on the bent muscles of them for leverage. his angle is so deep, cockhead bulging in your lower belly as he prepares to empty his swollen balls into you yet again.

he only grunts, skin still snacking yours as his hips drive down into yours. he alternates grinding and rolling them, the massive, hairy bottom portion of his dick abusing your clit with every hard thrust. he looks ravenous and fucking psychotic above you, face languid as sporadic groans of your name tumble from his parted lips. he was blabbering about how pretty you’d look carrying his child when he took his first bong hit, and an hour later you’ve found yourself on the receiving end of impregnation.

“it hurts, please stop.” you sniff, eyes spurting impressive fountains of tears when he moves one hand to stamp on your stomach — applying pressure to your uterus as it squeezes and contracts around his semen. you cunt clamps down on him and he croaks out a sentence in german, which you’re fairly certain consisted of promises to fertilise you with his generous seed.

webs of ropey, white fluid squirt from your tortured hole as he pumps you full once more. so full in fact, that he’s actually plunging his cum out of you because you’re overflowing with his product, spilling it back out because your cervix is so flooded. his kids are gonna be leaking out of you for days, ruining your knickers and thighs :((

and come morning, he’s sticking it in you again, before you’ve even had chance to wake up. he’s sober now, talking of dreams about you nurturing his offspring. “i think after last night, those dreams will come true.” you try to remind him, but he’s not having it. he needs to fuck his baby into your empty tummy right now. it’s all he can think about and he won’t rest until your stomach is rounded with the growth of his kin.

NO BRAKES ! ᯓ⭑ 1.2K wc. ft. dabi x f!reader

summary: oh, so you wanna ask him “is that all you’ve got?” while he’s balls deep inside you and see what happens? here’s a lil hint for you: he’s not gonna be very happy with you.

contains : explicit smut (18+), brat taming, overstimulation, mentions of squirting, pet names, teasing, creampie, cw blood (his staple tore a lil bit), slight cw degradation (calls u dumb, but he also calls u cute !!), his dick has piercings <3, hate sex ??

note : okk here’s my response to this thirst ! ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა

“Look at you,” you hear Dabi growl from just above you, his hand pushing your face deeper into your couch as soon as you’re trying to spit a slew of curses at him, “What’s the matter? That’s quite the face you’re making.”

His pace doesn’t falter, still relentless even when he’s jutting out his tongue to quickly swipe at the blood that’s begun to drip down the side of his mouth, the result of the way his lips are overly stretched in a scary smile— his mouth spreading a bit too far from the way he’s laughing at how you’re squealing underneath him. “S-shut up,” you try and bark back, voice trailing off into a loud gasp when he hits a particularly deep spot inside you. “It’s t-too much. You gotta.. gotta slow down..!”

“Aww, you poor, poor thing,” he’s feigning sympathy, a terrible job at it— but the thumb that was previously pressing into your cheek a moment ago is now rubbing soothing circles against the skin. It does absolutely nothing to comfort you, only making your eyebrow twitch in annoyance at the mere thought.

“But.. i wouldn’t be complaining if i was you, little girl.”

You can smell the familiar scent of smoke as soon as he’s lowering himself to loom over you, the cold staples that line his chest now pressing against your back as you shiver. The movement has him suddenly reaching even deeper inside you, your eyes rolling further back into your skull when you feel a mixture of his cum and your juices spill out onto the fabric beneath you.

He was big enough as is… had already emptied himself inside you once tonight, got you completely filled up to the brim and yet you’re still somehow able to vividly feel the piercings lining his dick drag along your walls with each and every thrust.

The same walls he’s been so insistent on training. The same walls he’s always having to force to stretch out for him, make them open up and accommodate his thickness. It’s always been a mystery to him as to why you— down to your pussy, always act like such a fucking brat with him. Just how many times has he taken you by now?

Bent you over your couch, your table, he’s even taken you right on your welcome mat. But no matter how many times he buries his cock in you, he still has to spend his time working his fingers in you, get you all stretched out and ready to take him.

How much longer’s it gonna take for your pussy to ingrain the shape of his dick in its little mind?

He wants to make that happen tonight.

You hear Dabi loudly grunt above you before he’s suddenly grabbing you by your face, fingers digging into your cheeks as he forces you to crane your neck and peer back of him, cock twitching when he sees you shoot him your best attempt a glare.

“Ahh, still a fuckin’ brat,” he acknowledges, “looks like our practice has been helping your stamina.” His voice is steady and low, and if it wasn’t for the hungry and crazed look in his eyes— one you can easily recognize as the same look he gets when he wants to see you screaming and shaking under him.. you’d probably think he was bored otherwise.

“You know… if you didn’t have such a cute face,” he’s leaning in, and he has to stifle a laugh when your eyes flutter shut in expectance. Oh— you cutie. Did you really think he was about to give you a little kiss?

How adorable of you. So you really can be sweet sometimes.

There’s a tight squeeze to your cheeks to get you back to looking at him, your tired eyes meeting with his again as your lips are forcefully puffing out in a pathetic pout from his grip. “There you are. Said that if you didn’t have that face, then it’d be my foot pushing your head down on that couch and not my hand.”

“Consider yourself lucky.”

“..Huh?” you ask incredulously, and he’s immediately taking back what he previously thought about you being sweet, not with that attitude you’re giving him. Your voice is breathless, and he can tell your mind has already started to go dizzy from how good he feels, but you still have your pride if nothing else— much to Dabi’s dismay. “Y-you’d better not..” you’re panting now, “put your grimy feet anywhere near my face.”

He only laughs. God, he’d never even dream of ruining that pretty face.

“Yea, yea,” he coos, abruptly letting go with a disappointed shrug of his shoulders as you yelp, hands coming to catch yourself as you fall back onto the couch. “Not that it’d even matter, dollface… ‘s not gonna change the way you’re looking right now.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to retort, hands gripping around your hips now as he repeatedly pulls you back into him, bullying his achy cock into you over and over, ecstatic with the way you have to scramble to get a tighter grip on the couch, keep yourself braced and grounded so he doesn’t fuck you right off onto the floor.

And you’re being so loud. Did you really even hate him? Your neighbors wouldn’t think so. In fact, no one in a one mile radius would think so.

They would think you loved him.

“How cute— you’re already looking ruined.” There’s a subtle shake to his voice, a tell-tale sign that he’s starting to get close to his high, and the way he’s slamming so deep inside you is only a second confirmation of that. “Completely ruined. How’s that feel?”

“‘M not,” you spit back, glare contorting to a lewd expression as soon as he finds the spot that’ll have you creaming in seconds. Close. You’re so close, and it’s always about now when he starts fucking you like you’re nothing but a toy.

“Yeah?” and you absolutely hate that you know him well enough to be able to tell that he’s grinning ear to ear at the way you’ve started to tremble under him. “You’d break into pieces if i took off the brakes.”

“But you asked for it huh? Want me to destroy you and turn you into my dumb little cocksleeve?” He’s louder now, raising his voice so you can hear him over the shrieking sound of your moans. “Don’t needa ask twice, doll. now shut that bratty mouth of yours up already.”

stepdad!price x innocent!reader

note: this is a prequel to a possible series with stepdad!price x innocent!reader (obviously). reader is of age.

note 2: price is 37 reader is about 18-19 (DARK STORY !!!!!), reader gets picked up by price, 6'5 beefy price, shorter reader

໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა

lying your head on your stepfather's shoulder, you pressed your front against his side--leg thrown over his as you two got comfortable on the couch as you began watching a movie. a blanket thrown over the two of you as you nuzzled your head further into his shoulder, nibbling on your lower lip as you focused intently on the movie.

price let out a shaky breath, his eyes glancing from you to the tv to you again.

don't do it.

she's forbidden fruit.

but she is the sweetest fruit of all.

he kissed the top of your head, and you replied with his action by taking his hand under the blanket and absent-mindedly twisting the rings on his finger.

one of his rings: the wedding band.

the wedding band from the wedding between your mother and him.

it seared his skin.

he could not help that he had gotten married to the wrong person.

it should have been you.

but he had to remind himself that you were much too young.

freshly an adult. and he was 37. 37.

what the fuck was wrong with him?

he can't help that he fell in wrong with you.

you were too young..too innocent. too pure. he had blood on his hands.

your small hands fidgeted with his large, warm ones as you traced his knuckles with your cold fingers, creating odd designs that warmed his chest.

he must have been much too into his thoughts, as you giggled at something that happened in the movie, grasping and ungrasping his hand as you continued to fidget with his rings.

you looked up at him, your lips so close to his as you smiled softly. everything in him wanted to capture your lips in a kiss. your first kiss.

but he knew he couldn't.

instead, his softened eyes watched your face with pure love.

you snuggled impossibly closer to him, practically on his lap.

"honey?" his voice was deep but soft. he cleared his throat.

your eyes watched the television, never leaving them as you hummed a small, "hm?"

price thought for a moment.

your mother was out for the weekend. he could have you now...

no.

"uh, nothin'." he concluded, and you paid no mind. his right hand crept down to your exposed thighs that were thrown over his lap. he tried to ignore the intense throbbing and want that thrummed under his jean zipper.

he slowly tickled his fingers along the span of your thigh, down your calf and to your frilly-socked foot as you cutely wiggled your toes. his index traced along the delicate laced-ruffles--then down to rub the inside of your foot.

after a bit, his hand made its way back up to the side of your thigh again, running his fingers along the soft skin.

he looked over at you again.

god, how were you so beautiful?

his whole being ached with want.

he loved you so much it hurt his heart.

"that a new bow?" he asked, pinching the pink knot at the base of your messy pony tail.

you nodded, excitedly. "mm hm! do u like it?"

you always wanted his approval, and he knew that.

"i love it, sweetheart, 's beautiful jus' like you." he smiled, watching your face darken with a red blush. you giggled shyly.

"thank you, daddy." you replied quietly, still fidgeting with his hand under the blanket.

daddy.

god, were you trying to kill him?

he knows you've always had a bit of a crush on him. ever since you two met.

and he's only a little ashamed to say he immediately fell for you when you both met.

he was with the wrong girl.

he loves times like this though.

it is probably bad to say, but he loves when your mother is gone.

it reminds him of a life he could have possibly one day with you...away from it all. he has the money to start a new life with you, just not the opportunity yet.

he loves when you walk into the kitchen, stuffie pressed against your chest, hair messy, lips n eyes puffy with sleep; his t-shirt on and your cute little pink panties.

he loves when your sleepy. you cuddle up closer to him.

just this morning you stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing at your tired eyes.

price was already dressed for the day--up since 6 am.

"good morning, sweet girl." his voice made your heart flutter.

you whined, padding to where he leaned back on the kitchen counter, wrapping your arms around his torso immediately. he picked you up with ease, kissing your face as you giggled.

he sat down on the couch as you straddled him tiredly, head pressed against his beefy chest.

"you're my favorite girl, y'know that?" he whispered, petting your hair.

it was true.

you were his absolute favorite.

and he was not just about to give that up.

MDNI 18+

talking to older! simon riley who is your sugar daddy

mentions of: age gap (legal), vaginal sex

after retirement simon felt empty, the adrenaline gone as he was now doing small labour around the house that seemed pathetic compared to what he was used to. so now he found himself scrolling on an app to find a sweet thing to spoil with the amount of money he earned from the military. then he found you, your face barely visible in the photos except the first one. you looked like a little lamb, slightly awkward in the photos as you attempted to look sultry, your body positioned slightly awkwardly compared to the other women. though he found himself liking your profile, the idea of spoiling an awkward shy thing like you was more appealing than the other women on the app.

it first started off as a distraction, to keep his mind from going crazy as he adjusted to his new lifestyle.

casual texts were exchanged, which then led to occasional calls, then dates.

simon didn’t expect much from you, he didn’t expect any ‘sugar’, he simply enjoyed your company and had more than enough money to spend on you.

he would simply send a text after transferring money to your account - spoil yourself baby

it was the way you reacted that had him hooked, the way you called him at the end of the day sitting on your bed with your shopping bags piled up next to you. you made sure to show off each piece, giving him a little fashion show. it was probably the highlight of simon’s day, seeing his sweet thing all dolled up because of the clothes he bought you. he made sure to engage with your little fashion shows giving occasional comments and showering you with compliments.

“give me a spin luvie, want to see what the back looks like”

whatever you mentioned you would get. sometimes on the late night calls you would mention about the new dress you saw, or how it was time for you to get your hair glossed. simon made sure to provide for all of those things, after all, he couldn’t let his luvie pay for it could he?

he didn’t care about the stares he received whilst he went on a date with you, not when you were so blissfully unaware staring at him like he hung the stars in the night sky. the dates were simple, usually going to a small local diner out of town to avoid the prying eyes, though that failed many times before going on a late night drive. he found himself admiring you as you stared outside the window, one of his large tatted hand on your inner thigh, gently rubbing his thumb across your soft skin.

usually the dates would end with him dropping you off, watching as you disappeared when the front door of your house closed, leaving him alone once again. though this time he rented out a small house by the lake, a small weekend getaway from everyone. he expected some cuddles and kisses here and there, you being too shy to initiate anything. but it was quite the opposite when he walked out of the shower.

a towel wrapped lowly around his waist, his chest still dripping with water ever so slightly, his scars and tattoos exposed. and there you were, kneeling on the bed awkwardly as you fidgeted with the hem of the lingerie he first bought you. a pretty white lacey set, it reminded him of you, like a lamb.

simon was a man with needs, so when you stared at him with those big eyes and your teeth sinking down to your bottom lip how could he say no?

it’s been years since he’s touched another woman like this, let alone a sweet thing like you. his hips slamming as he pressed your knees down to your chest, bending you like a pretzel. “fuck luvie, yer lil cunnie’s gripping ‘round me.” he grunted as he watched the way your soppy hole stretched out, wrapped around him snugly as your gummy walls clenched around him.

he tried to hold back on his desires, but with the sweet little noises that left your plush lips, and the way your eyes rolled back whenever his tip nudged a sensitive spot he was slowly losing control. “fuck swee’heart yer so addicting,” his voice hoarse as he snuggled into the crook of your neck.

he felt like a wild animal rutting against you, like he had no self control.

simon has a gentleman of course, he was a man not a boy. he made sure to clean you up after, gently wiping you down with a towel whilst he whispered soft praises and reassurances as you trembled. his strong arms wrapped around you as he cradled you like the most precious thing in his life, because you were. he played with your hair until you fell asleep, whispering words of affection as his body heat kept you warm.

he made sure to put a ring on your finger after that.

tag list: @happysmappy @mydickishuge560 @prettyinpink-bimbo @dolli333 @madebyyicarus @l-otti @butlerslut @vampwifee @i-wanabe-yours @bluebarrybubblez @cinnamongrl2006 @akkahelenaa @yanfeiiiiii @actualpoppy

Giant! König Headcanons

Warnings: 18+, Creep! König, Perverted! König, König Owns a Cum Jar, Size Difference, Giant! König, Size Kink, Sadistic! König, Abuse of Power, Dub-Con, Cum Soaking, Attempts at Forced Impregnation, Implied Pregnancy, Voyeurism, Hostage Situation, Human Pet! Reader, Physical Violence, Human! Reader, Fem! Reader.

Giant! König captures you after he catches you sneaking around his castle, trying to loot something of value to take back to your impoverished village.

Giant! König immediately jumps at the opportunity to take you as his human pet, throwing you into a nearby jar and closing the lid, observing you like a spider beneath a glass.

Giant! König who, after deciding he wants to keep you long-term instead of turning your body into the sprinkles atop his ice cream, creates a more sustainable living space for you after discovering you’re not as durable as he thought (almost suffocating, dehydrating, and starving to death whilst being held in that damn jar).

Giant! König surprises you with a dollhouse of his own design: a door that locks from the outside, windows too small for you to crawl through, and walls made of a material too strong for your tiny utensils to burrow through.

Giant! König doesn’t take long to start using you for his own pleasure – almost like he has no other outlet; like he was just waiting for this opportunity to come.

Giant! König who, whenever he feels like punishing you, puts you in The Jar and stares you down whilst stroking his cock, gigantic even in comparison to other giants’. He grunts, berating you, telling you how he’d “Fill you with my cock if you weren’t so small – bet I could crush you with it if I wanted to.”

When he’s ready, he cums into the jar – all over you – thick and heavy, almost drowning you with just one spurt of his load.

He loves watching you struggle to keep your head above the viscous pool he’s trapped you in as you literally swim in his semen, looking up at him with pleading eyes, begging him to “Get me out, please!”.

He’ll often leave you in there without clothes to try and teach you a lesson. Until it turns into another reason – to breed you – which you accidentally sparked in him when you told him to be careful! You’ll end up getting me pregnant!

Giant! König can’t get your words out of his head, the primal urges he’s suppressed for so long unearthed by your pleas for him to spare you, if only once.

Giant! König knows he’s way too big to fit inside you, so this –  cumming profusely into a jar he’s encased you in whilst giving you no means of refusing his attempts – is the next best thing.

Giant! König gets off on the sheer size difference between the two of you  – the fact that you’re entirely dependent on him for your survival. Makes him feel like the kind of giant he’s supposed to be; strong and well-seeded.

Giant! König lays awake at night and fantasises about having a family, a far-off dream until you came along. It’s all he can think about as the image of you, his tiny wife, swollen to an almost painful degree as you bear his children, floods his mind, makes his cock twitch – harden. He resists the urge to relieve himself of this burden, preferring to save every ounce of his seed for you rather than wasting even a drop of it.

Giant! König who, despite his…questionable treatment of you, does try to treat you well. He lets you eat as much as you want, both because he knows you come from a poor background and because he has to keep you healthy to bear his offspring — especially since he knows they’ll be quite big compared to you.

Giant! König enjoys questioning you about your life before him, how humans work, what they do all day, whether the stereotypes of them all being lustful, pride-driven,  creatures are true.

If you validate any part of this stereotype, he’ll use that as an excuse to sink you in even more of his cum, to subject you to the task of sitting on his cock (horizontally, might I add) while he commands you to get yourself off by humping the shaft.

Man’s had no outlet for basicall all his life – he’s feral.

Giant! König loves to watch you while you’re tucked up in your dollhouse, observing everything you do. Humans are a rarity in the Giant Lands, so to have one in his home is a mythic occurrence.

Giant! König loves showing you off; he thrives on the reaction he gets when his friends see you. You’re, as stated before, a rarity in their parts, often used as a delicacy rather than a pet since humans aren’t particularly sturdy compared to giants, so managing to keep one alive is something of a status symbol in itself; the mark of a truly capable mate (hence captive humans are often given as courting gifts between giants).

However, König is also highly protective of you – especially after he caught Horangi (another giant he’d been showing you off to) goading you – harassing you – stroking his cock, telling you to “Lick the tip. Never felt a human tongue before.”

Needless to say, König never invited him around again after that.

Giant! König is, obviously, good with his hands and technical know-how. Thus, if his method of soaking you in his semen doesn’t work when trying to knock you up, he’ll create some unlawful contraption to make it inevitable.

Despite his size, König has managed to make a tiny glass syringe that he’s packed with his cum, holding you down easily with one hand as he presses the tip to your entrance, pumping you full of his seed.

He struggles to contain how the scene – the feeling – of you trying desperately to fight him off, to stop him from filling you, makes him feel. You have to watch the bulge between his legs grow as the feeling of being filled past full overcome you.

Giant! König does this as many times as he likes until he knows his seed’s taken, when you start showing. Which, considering how big his offspring will be, is pretty early on.

He definitely makes maternity clothes for you – comfortable garments that show the swell of your stomach as the weeks crawl by into months.

Giant! König loves bathing you, too. Especially after he’s covered you in his cum.

There’s something so intimate and gentle about it – a scarcity in the Giant Lands. Having something so small and fragile in his hands, knowing that he can crush you in his grip at any moment, makes him feel…responsible. Trustworthy.

Giant! König will never let you go, btw. You can try to run as much as you want, but he’ll always catch up to you, his human pet.

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