Based On Your Request, Stoner König Who Breeds You While He Is High As Fuck And Breeds You Again In

AHHH I LOEV SWEET SUKUNA 😋

smitten!sukuna won’t admit he is absolutely enthralled by you, but he sure as hell knows how to show it. You want a vacation? First class flights and a five star hotel are booked. You like that diamond necklace? It’s in a box waiting for you when you get home. You want to spend some time with him? He can destroy that village another week

smitten!sukuna can’t function without you by his side, he always requires your presence no matter where he is or what he is doing, and vise versa. An hour without you is an eternity he would never live through

smitten!sukuna who has already arranged your wedding (something you are ignorant to) and is just waiting for the day you agree to be his bride (he has asked you 50+ times already)

“Come on princess, know you want to be my wife.” Circling your clit with the mouth on his stomach, he pulled out to the tip, his cock throbbing in protest

With tear stained cheeks, you shook your head. “Ryomen… it’s only been six months.” Six weeks. Six months. Six years. What difference did it make? You were his until the universe ceased to exist, in his eyes you may as well just skip a step or two.

But deep down, you already knew your answer, you were just waiting to exploit him a little before you gave into what you both wanted. What was the fun in having a big, burly king at your whim if you couldn’t play him as you pleased?

smitten!sukuna who kills anyone that dare question you in any capacity. You were a Goddess and should be treated as such.

smitten!sukuna had to close his eyes if you ever asked for something he didn’t want to give you. Like a pet. Sukuna hated the idea of sharing you with any one or thing, a furry nuisance included. But he could never say no while looking into those pretty eyes of yours.

smitten!sukuna hosts balls in your honour, flaunting off the pretty little thing he had managed to make all his.

smitten!sukuna who lets you peg him because you asked ever so sweetly.

“But Ryo.” You whined.

That damned nickname softened his will to something weaker than jelly.

“Princess.” He warned, not amused in the interest you had taken in dominating him. Sitting back, you crossed your arms and turned your chin up at him. “No pegging. No marriage.”

His mind had never changed so quickly.

Part 2

It's my 1 year anniversary on Tumblr 🥳

AHHH I DIDNT EVEN NOTICEEE IM 1 YEARS OLDD THOUGH I THOUGHT ID BE OLDER BUT YOU GET WHAT YOU GET

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

Oh, how I need a big beefy alien to take me from Earth and make me his lil wifey to please him and bear his pups so that I never have to work again and can be loved because I'm exotic to his standards. 😭😭😭😭

Like please!!

Gimme gimme *makes grabby hands*

MDNI 18+

simon would fuck like a wild feral animal the moment he comes back from a long mission. i’d like to think he’d fuck you in a headlock, his strong arm holding your head as your body shook from his harsh thrusts. the main reason for this is because he had full control, where you would be completely at his mercy, taking his fat cock as he splits your small cunt in half. after a long couple of months there was nothing more that simon wanted to do than to lose himself in your small warm cunt. whilst fucking you in a headlock ur allowed him to snuggle into the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet scent that he missed so damn much, whilst leaving wet sloppy kisses on your neck, gently whispering about how much he missed you. all the training from the military allowed him to have a strong stamina, his thrusts never faltering once as he was determined to full up your cunt. “missed you so much sweetheart, you’re gonna let me fill that little cunt if yours yeah?” he wouldn’t stop until you were dripping with his cum, to the point where he was convinced that your stomach was slightly swelling from it alone.

✮. ⋆ 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 (𝐡𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧) ⋮ smut. gn!reader. not completely proofread. ⎯ your instincts kick in when hobie takes off his rings

faint clinks of metal and the soft drag along the wooden table instantly turned your head towards the source— something that sets off a tick in your head.

everything you were doing before was put aside from your mind.

quietly, you followed the shine of each ring passing through hobie’s slender fingers, from an outstretched thumb to a twitching ring finger. you always found yourself admiring his hands, roughly calloused and blessed with a length that could reach places that you couldn’t ever seem to get. also, they were exceptionally skilled.

with one soft clink of his final ring, he gently latched onto your ankle that rested against the coffee table, carefully dragging you into his intense presence. you smiled at him, jokingly smacking his shoulder for using his spidey strength on you.

“may i?” his sweet tone automatically made your legs spread with ease.

hobie quirked a brow at your reflexive response and begin his usual technique.

you’re staring down at his lingering hands, one lazily gripping your waist while the other passes through the waistband of your shorts. you initially flinched at the contact but instantly melted into his touch. his hands are cold, but it soothed the scorching heat that followed towards your crotch.

“‘m sorry, my hands too cold?” hobie mumbled into your neck, suckling onto your sweaty skin— hoping to revive the marks he left weeks ago.

“it’s fine, totally fine.” you mumbled quickly, grasping the fabric covering his broad shoulders in anticipation for his icy touch.

heat enveloped your entire body as hobie probed a slender finger into your aching arousal— earning a soft mewl from your quivering lips.

he began with a slow pace, pumping deep inside you as he dazed over your wet warmth that squeezed like a vice around his touch. he couldn’t help but groan into your neck, sending a deep vibration onto your flushed skin.

with the confined room being filled with your whimpering and deep labored breathes from hobie, one finger became two, then three.

every wet click was muffled from the fabric of your shorts, only the outline hobie’s working hand sent sparks into your brain. even in the vicinity of your shared home, away from prying eyes, you were robbed to see yourself getting completely pleasured by hobie.

soon enough, his pace quickens as your whines began to become full on moans, feeling yourself reaching the edge. with hobie bending his fingers into your sweet spot for the past ten minutes and his teeth scraping your bruised skin, your back arched against hobie as a pleasure erupted throughout your body.

before you could wail an obscene amounts of profanity and announce his name like a broken record, hobie wraps his other hand around your neck— a grip tight enough for you to fall into soft whimpers of his name slipping past your drool-coated lips. slowly coming down your high, he mumbled slurred curse words as retracted his hand back with a snap of the elastic band of your shorts. completely coated with your lustrous arousal, he takes his fingers to his mouth and pulls them back with a lewd pop.

hobie gently caresses the nap of your neck as he ogled at the marks he littered with his mouth, guiding your head slowly onto the pillow beside you— tucking your bare feet onto his lap.

“shhh… we don’ want another noise complaint babe.” the vivid memory of the elderly woman beside your apartment knocking (rudely, in your opinion) in the middle of hobie going down on you made you groan into the pillow, it was completely embarrassing (for your sake, hobie ended up fitting into his plaid pants and talked to the lady himself, as much as he couldn’t care about the disruption).

hobie couldn’t help but chuckle at your flustered state, leaning back into the plush leather beneath his back as he haphazardly fitted the rings back into his fingers. a comfortable silence fell upon the humid room.

“hobie…”

“hm?”

“you’re hard.” you felt the throb of his erection against your feet.

he looks down with sleepy eyes, poorly attempting to pat down his hardness by rubbing down a lazy hand along the fabric, only for his hard on to bob back up— leaving a painfully obvious imprint along his thin pajamas.

“‘ll go away… eventually.”

MOCHIFILM © 2023. please do not copy, translate, or modify any of my work. all of my works are not permitted to be posted on any other sites.

No comment just HEHEHEHEHWHMWHWHAHWHW

I’m actually tweaking out I love this so much 😭

UNDER YOUR SPELL.

word count: 4,329 (someone got a little carried away...)

pairing: in-ho x you.

summary: you haunt in-ho’s every thought, an obsession he can’t shake no matter how hard he tries—you have no idea the hold you have on him. when you get drunk for the first time, in-ho seizes the opportunity to show you just how deeply you’ve affected him.

cw: 18+, age-gap, dubcon (forced intoxication), mirror sex, first time, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, stomach bulge, semi-public sex, dirty talk, corruption, manipulation

a/n: i’ve had this plot simmering in my head over the past few days ever since i wrote my in-ho hcs and it was practically begging to be written … manipulative in-ho my beloved

---

Ever since he first laid eyes on you, In-ho thought you were the prettiest little angel to ever step foot in this hellhole.

You were nothing like the others. Kind, wide doe eyes, sweet smile that radiated innocence. He wondered how a pretty thing like you had ended up in a place like this. In-ho always did pride himself in his appreciation for the arts, all things with beauty. The moment he took notice of you, it didn’t take long for him to wonder what it would take to make you his.

You had joined a small group, after having met a kind man named Jung-bae who graciously let you in. Everyone shared their names, and that’s when you learned his. Oh Young-il. Except, of course, that wasn’t his real name. Just a guise, a character to play during the time he spent amongst the players. That didn’t matter, though, since you rarely used his name. 

“Sir,” you’d say. The times you did call his name, it’d be “Mister Young-il.”

The first time you spoke to him, you were nervous. It was hard not to be, something about his piercing gaze had a hold on you. Yet, you couldn’t help but admire him. The way you looked up at him, your voice so soft and deferential, made his pulse quicken. He’d do anything to protect you, and he did. Each time the games forced you apart, you’d come running to him the moment you returned to the main hall, your face lighting up with relief.

“I’m so happy you’re okay, sir.” You’d smile at him, and he’d smile back, gentle and reassuring.

You hadn’t realized it, but your attachment to him was carefully orchestrated, a product of all the high-risk situations In-ho would engineer to put you through. He’d swoop in at the perfect moment to save you, it made you trust him, made you depend on him more than anyone else. It also nurtured the little crush you were already dewasveloping, and he noticed. You couldn’t help it. He  kind to you, protective, and so devastatingly handsome.

Behind the scenes, he dug through your file. Orphaned from a young age, too naive to understand the world’s cruelties. Trusting the wrong people, you had fallen into debt, landing here. The more he learned, the more he was convinced—You needed someone to take care of you. Someone like him.

One night, In-ho just couldn’t take it anymore. After hours of keeping up his cold, calculated facade, he found himself teetering on the edge of his own sanity. The stress of orchestrating the games was always a burden he bore in silence. But lately? It wasn’t just the carnage and strategy that weighed on his mind. On top of all that, now there was you. Every stolen glance, every soft word you uttered, every moment in your presence had burrowed under his skin. You consumed him, invading every thought until there was no room for anything else.

He knew he was losing control.

When the last murmurs of conversation faded throughout the main hall and the players around him drifted into an uneasy sleep, he finally gave in to his impulses. He had a guard sneak him a bottle of soju, not caring how inappropriate or risky the request was. Rank had its privileges, and he wasn’t above abusing them.

Even in the dim light he spotted you, laid in your bed not too far from his own. All curled up and completely unaware of the monster disguised as your guardian angel watching over you. He swallowed thickly, his jaw clenching as he tried to steady his breathing. 

He listened to the sound of your breathing as a guide, the quiet rhythm of inhale and exhale filling his ears before finally pulling the bottle from its hiding place beneath his pillow. With a sharp twist, he uncapped it, the faint scent of alcohol wafting into the air around him. Sitting up in his bunk, he took a long, deliberate swig. The burn of the soju as it slid down his throat was a welcome distraction, albeit temporary. He exhaled, running a hand through his disheveled hair.  

The alcohol dulled the edges of his stress but sharpened something far more dangerous, far sicker. Desire. Thoughts of you came to surface before he could resist, vivid and unrelenting. He thought of your wide, trusting eyes looking up at him, the way your voice wavered when you spoke his name. He didn’t stop his thoughts when they turned more and more depraved. Your quiet utters of his name turning into obscene moans, innocent brushes of skin escalating into him fucking you like a madman into the crummy bed he sat beneath. The way you clung to him, so innocent, so naive, so completely unaware of just how sick his thoughts would turn because of you. 

He took another long swig, his grip tightening around the bottle as his frustration intensified. How could you do this to him without even realizing? Without even trying? It was maddening, the hold you had over him. And now, with the liquor loosening his usually taut held control, he found himself wondering how much longer he could resist. How much longer he could keep his hands to himself.

And then, as if summoned by his desires, your voice broke the silence.

“Sir?”

He turned to see you turned towards him, rubbing your eyes like a sleepy child. He softened instantly, smiling lazily as he called your name. “You’re awake?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” You climbed up to his bed without hesitation, settling beside him. “What about you?” 

“Me neither,” he murmured. He thanked whatever god there was that you couldn’t read his mind, couldn’t take a peek into the sick fantasies that had clouded up his thoughts just moments ago. Even now, when sat face to face with you, they played in the background— like a channel he couldn’t turn off no matter how hard he’d press the remote. Only, he didn’t make much effort in stopping them. If anything, the fantasies only shot up with you now in front of him. 

Your attention was soon drawn to the green bottle in his hand. “Is that… soju?”

He chuckled at your amazement. “It is.”

“Wow,” you breathed. “I’ve never had any before.”

His heart skipped. You really were too good to be true, weren’t you? He feigned surprise. “Never?”

You shook your head. “No. But..” You hesitated for a bit. “I’d like to try, if that’s okay.”

How polite. How trusting. He handed the bottle to you, hiding his smirk beneath a kind, patient smile. “Of course. Go ahead.”

You took it with both hands, your fingers brushing his briefly. There was a moment of hesitation, a fleeting glance at him as though you were silently asking for reassurance. He gave you a small nod, his expression warm and encouraging. Uttey deceptive. The thought of getting you completely wasted, rendering you impossibly dumber and even more impressionable than you already are rang like music to his ears. You tilted your head back as you gulped down more than he expected. He didn’t stop you, though. Simply watching with quiet satisfaction as you drained a sizable amount.

The first sip had your nose scrunching up, the bitter taste of the alcohol overhwleming you. Instead of backing out, you pressed on, curiosity and his approving gaze egging you on. With each gulp, you felt your body tense slightly at the unaccustomed burn that slid down your throat.

In-ho watched you intently, his dark eyes locked on you as the bottle tipped higher and higher. You were drinking far more than he expected, but he made no effort to stop you. Instead, he leaned back slightly, his lips quirking into a faint smile. Quiet satisfaction flickered in his eyes as he watched your determination to please him override your inexperience.

When you finally lowered the bottle, your lips were shiny from the liquid, your cheeks already beginning to flush, something In-ho was quick to take notice of. Whether it be your inexperience, the quickness of which you downed the Soju or the fact that you haven’t really drank or ate much prior. The alcohol had hit you harder than you anticipated, working its way through your system with worrying speed. Your head tilted back slightly as you tried to regain focus, blinking up at him with worried, glassy eyes. 

“Sir,” you murmured, your voice trembling. “I feel…so funny.”

He stepped closer, his hand moving to steady you by your waist when your knees buckled slightly. “Funny how, sweetheart?” he humored you, the concern in his tone carefully crafted.

“Dizzy,” You clung to him instinctively, your hands gripping his arm like a lifeline as you specified. “I feel lightheaded, mister Young-il. M’scared.”

“Shh,” he murmured, pulling you closer against his chest. His hand slid to your back, rubbing soothing circles as he held you steady. “It’s okay. You’re just not used to it, s’all.”

Your forehead rested against his chest, your breath uneven as you tried to make sense of the overwhelming sensations coursing through you. He tilted his head slightly, looking down at you with something twisted in his gaze, though his voice remained tender and reassuring. “Poor baby,” he murmured, pulling you into his arms. His hand stroked your hair, the sound of his words soothing you. “I’ve got you. I’ll take care of you.”

You were too drunk to notice the dark glint in his eyes or the way his smile lingered just a little too long. Too naive to realize how tightly his grip held you, as though he’d never let go.

Young-il led you to the bathroom, steadying you with a firm grip as you clung to him for balance. Every touch, every reassuring glance he gave you was planned down to the last detail, feeding into the web he’d been weaving since the moment he first laid eyes on you. You were his perfect little pawn, and now, more than ever, he could see his plan falling into place. 

When he knocked on the bathroom door, you were already bracing yourself for the usual bargaining and desperate pleading that so often accompanied requests to use the facilities. But to your surprise, the guards let you both pass without hesitation, a testament to the sway your knight in shining armor seemed to hold.

He guided you inside, shutting the door behind you with a quiet click. Leading you to the sink, he turned on the faucet, letting the cool water rush out. “Here,” he said softly, his voice calm and soothing. “Let’s wash your face. It’ll help.”

You nodded, leaning over the sink and splashing the water onto your flushed cheeks. The cold sting sent a brief jolt through you, though it did little to clear the fog in your mind. When you blinked your eyes open and straightened, you nearly jumped at the sight of him standing right behind you, close enough that you could feel his presence like a weight against your back.

Your wide-eyed gaze flicked up to the mirror. He stood there, his expression as unreadable as ever, but the intensity in his eyes made your stomach twist. Despite yourself, you wiped your face with your sleeve and offered him a sheepish smile.

“How’re you feeling?” he asked, stepping closer. His hand brushed your damp hair back from your face, the gesture tender in a way that made your breath hitch.

“Good,” you mumbled, though the truth was far from it. The alcohol swirled in your system, leaving you dizzier than before. But the way he touched you, the way he looked at you, it sent a warmth through your chest that was impossible to ignore.

“Yeah?” he hummed, his tone low and velvety, each syllable wrapping around you like a shackle. You hadn’t even noticed how close he’d gotten until now, his chest pressing lightly against your back.

Your breath hitched as something firm brushed against you from behind, and you let out a small, involuntary whimper. “Sir Young-il…?”

“In-ho,” he rasped, cutting you off. “My real name, it’s In-ho.” His voice had dropped even lower, and there was something raw and possessive in the way he said it. You blinked, confused, his real name rolling off your tongue before you could even think twice to question him.

“In-ho,” you repeated softly, as if testing the weight of it. “What’s going on?”

His lips curved into a faint smile, his hands settling firmly on your waist. “Don’t worry, baby,” he whispered, his eyes meeting yours through the mirror. “I’ll take good care of you. You trust me, don’t you?”

You nodded too quickly, too eagerly, the alcohol and your long-brewing crush on him clouding your better judgment. “I trust you,” you slurred, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his grip tightening slightly as he trailed his fingers along your waist, his touch deliberate and possessive.

He leaned in, closing the already small gap between you two as his lips found yours in a kiss—the first one you’d ever shared. Admittedly, it wasn’t exactly how you’d imagined it to unfold. You pictured your first kiss with a high school crush, maybe some boy your age who’d take you out on an innocent date. But all those dreams faded the moment you met In-ho, and now, all dreams you had were consumed by him.

You pressed against him, letting him take control as his kiss deepened, hungry and intense, like a man starved for more. You followed his lead instinctively, trusting him—because you always knew, deep down, he knew what was best. So when he raised his fingers to your lips, you hesitated for only a moment before parting them, allowing him to slip two fingers inside. His dark eyes gleamed as you sucked obediently, your cheeks flushing deeper under his watchful gaze. A low, guttural sound escaped his throat, and his breathing grew heavier.

Pulling his fingers away, he wasted no time in hooking them into the waistband of your sweatpants, tugging them down in one hasty motion. His lips found the curve of your jaw, trailing kisses up to your ear as his right hand skimmed the sensitive skin of your neck.

You grabbed his wrist suddenly, your touch light and hesitant. “Wait, In-ho—” you murmured, your voice trembling with embarrassment. His dark eyes met yours in the mirror, his expression softening ever so slightly.

“I… I’ve never done anything like this before,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

He wasn’t surprised; he had suspected as much. But hearing it from you, seeing the vulnerability in your gaze—only stoked the fire burning within him.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, his voice deceptively gentle, though there was an unmistakable tension in his tone.

You shook your head quickly, biting your lip. “I trust you. Just… be gentle. Please.” 

He smiled at that, a flicker of something darker hidden beneath the curve of his lips. “Of course,” he murmured, his hands resuming their slow exploration. But in his mind, he knew the truth: restraint was never his strong suit. Especially when it came to you. 

And with you—so soft, so eager, so completely his, he doubted he could hold himself back for long.

His fingers, still slick with your saliva, trailed down to your entrance, brushing over it with deliberate precision. The touch made you jolt, a shiver running up your spine as you gasped. In-ho groaned low in his throat, his eyes fixed on your reflection in the mirror. “Fucking dripping,” he mused, his voice a sinful rasp. Slowly, he slid a finger inside, the intrusion making your thighs instinctively part.

A soft moan escaped your lips as he pressed deeper, his touch firm but unhurried. This wasn’t the first time you’d felt something like this, but the last time had been your own doing—fumbling, desperate, and entirely unremarkable. That had been just days ago, tucked away in one of these very bathroom stalls, shamefully thinking of him. Now, with his hands where yours had been, the stark difference had you feeling light-headed. 

His fingers were thicker, rougher, impossibly skilled. The sensation left you trembling, your legs threatening to give out as he worked you open. His other arm snaked around your upper chest, holding you close, his grip firm yet possessive. The position bordered on a chokehold, but instead of fear, it only sent another wave of heat coursing through you.

Your breath hitched as a soft, broken “Ohmygod,” fell from your lips. He didn’t pause, didn’t falter. His finger curled just right, hitting a spot that made you see stars. Your hands gripped on In-ho’s forearm, knuckles white as you bit down hard on your lower lip, trying and failing to stifle your moans.

“You okay, sweetheart?” His voice was like velvet, roughened by desire. He pressed a kiss into the crook of your neck. His other hand released its hold on your chest as it moved lower, settling on the curve of your ass. He squeezed firmly, eliciting a high-pitched mewl from you.

You nodded weakly, barely able to form words. “Uh-huh… feels so good, sir,”

That made him chuckle, a deep, dark sound that reverberated through your body. The honorific sent a thrill down his spine, his cock straining against the confines of his sweatpants.

“You’re ready,” he murmured, almost to himself, as he pulled back just enough to tug his waistband down. You glanced over your shoulder, eyes wide as you took him in, the sight was intimidating, your head reeling. 

"In-ho, I–I don’t think I can take that." Your voice faltered, a hint of shame creeping into your words. He laughed, a sound so familiar it sent a chill down your spine. It was the kind of hearty laugh you'd grown so used to hearing from him. But now, there was something different—something darker layered beneath it, like a cruel mockery. "Course you can, angel," he said, his tone smooth but laced with an unsettling edge. "I know you can. Let me take care of you."

“H-Here? Like this?” you asked, your voice small and unsure, referring to the state he had you in—bent over the sink and in front of the mirror. utterly at his mercy.

He leaned in, his hand gripping your chin and forcing your gaze back at your reflection. “Right here,” he confirmed, his voice a low growl. Want you to watch yourself while I’m fucking you open.”

The vulgarity of his words sent a shiver through you, your body instinctively arching for him. You nodded, too dazed and drunk to do anything else, and he didn’t waste another second.

He slid inside slowly, the stretch making you cry out and grip the sink tighter. The initial sting was sharp, but it quickly gave way to something deeper, something so intense it left you gasping. Your legs wobbled beneath you, and you leaned harder against the sink for support.

“In-ho… In-ho,” you whimpered, his name falling from your lips like a chant. “Sir… I— I feel you in my stomach.”

The confession had him groaning, a sound so guttural it made your knees weak. “Yeah? Fuck, baby.” He babbled as he moved closer, his body pressing against yours as his hand trailed down with deliberate slowness. When his palm flattened against your stomach, his fingers brushing over the faint outline of him inside you, your breath hitched. 

“Feel that?” he murmured, his composure slipping as he began to move. His hips snapped against yours, each thrust deliberate and punishing. You nodded frantically, a whimper escaping as he pressed down, sending a shockwave through your body. “In-ho, nngh!—“ 

You were completely out of it, your thoughts a tangled haze, your body slack and pliant in his hands. The alcohol coursing through your veins had stripped away every layer of hesitation, leaving you wide open to his manipulations. And In-ho, oh, he reveled in it. The way your voice slurred when you called his name, the way your movements were unsteady, dependent on him for every step and touch—it all fueled his sick delight. You were better than he could’ve ever imagined. 

As he pulled you closer, pressing into you from behind, your gaze flicked to the bathroom door, a flicker of worry breaking through your drunken stupor. “In-ho…” you mewled, voice soft as you felt your body jerk with each rough thrust he made.. “What if–ah!—someone walks in?”

He paused, his hands resting possessively on your hips, a smile ghosting across his lips. “Don’t worry about that,” he said, his voice low and soothing, though there was an unmistakable edge of amusement in his tone. “The guards won’t come.” His confidence sent a shiver through you, but you weren’t entirely convinced. “But… but what if another player—”

“No one’s going to interrupt us,” he said firmly, his dark eyes boring into yours before you could finish your sentence. His fingers tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze in the mirror. “You’re with me. They wouldn’t dare.”

Something about the absolute certainty, the power in his voice—had your anxiety ebbing away, replaced by a strange sense of safety. You nodded slowly, leaning into his touch, your inhibitions melting once again under his spell.

“You trust me, don’t you, sweetheart?” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear.

“Mmhm,” You squeaked out through laboured breaths. 

“That’s my girl,” he whispered, his hands sliding down to grip your waist, pulling you back against him. He watched your reflection as his fingers dug into your soft flesh, relishing the way you gasped and arched into his touch.

Your head lolled slightly, your body swaying under his hold. “Mmmh…I feel so dizzy,” you slurred, your voice barely above a whisper.

In-ho chuckled darkly, his hands moving to steady you. “That’s just the soju, sweetheart,” he said, though he didn’t bother hiding the smirk on his face. “You’re doing so well for me.”

He loved seeing you like this. Drunk, vulnerable, completely at his mercy. Every soft whimper, every stumble, every little movement that showed how completely you relied on him only fueled his desire. You were his, whether you realized it or not.

As his fingers grazed your skin, he couldn’t resist pushing you further, testing your reactions as he pushed your buttons. “You know,” he murmured, his lips ghosting along the curve of your neck, “Y’look so pretty like this. All fucked out and needy. Just for me.”

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, pressed against him. “Y-you think so?”

“I know so,” he replied, his voice a velvety purr. His hands roamed over your body, exploring, claiming. “Just look at yourself, baby. See how perfect you are for me?”

Your hazy eyes flicked to the mirror, taking in the sight of the two of you. His dark, piercing gaze met yours, his expression raw and predatory. The way he looked at you—it was almost too much. Your cheeks burned, and you averted your eyes, biting your lip.

He wasn’t having that. His hand left your waist, fingers gently gripping your chin and turning your face back toward the mirror. “No,” he said firmly. “I want you to watch. Watch yourself while I take care of you.”

The authority in his voice sent a thrill through you, your body trembling as you nodded weakly. “O-okay—ah, fuck!”

“Atta girl,” he chuckled, his lips curling into a satisfied smirk.

As his hands roamed lower, teasing and exploring, you couldn’t help the soft, breathless moans that spilled from your lips. Every touch, every word, every look from him pulled you deeper into the fog of your drunken desire, leaving you utterly helpless in his grasp.

And In-ho? He wouldn’t have it any other way.

The room filled with the lewd sounds of skin meeting skin, your muffled cries, and his filthy murmurs. “Thaat’s it, there’s my pretty girl.” His hand tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head back, his lips brushing against your ear. “Fucking take it. Just like that.”

Every thrust sent you higher, the alcohol in your system amplifying every sensation, every nerve alight with pleasure. Your mind was fogged, the world around you turning into nothing but a senseless blur. And yet, you felt every little sensation In-ho fed you, each rough snap of his hips driving you closer and closer to the edge.

You felt your climax building, overwhelming and unstoppable. Your eyes fluttered shut, ready to let go—but his hand suddenly cupped your cheek, a sharp slap bringing you back.

“I told you,” he growled, his voice authoritative. “None of that. You keep your eyes on me when I fill you up. Understand?”

You nodded frantically, gasping as you forced your eyes open, meeting his gaze once again through the mirror—the sight was enough to send you over the edge. Your release hit you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing as you cried out his name.

The sight of you coming undone beneath him was his undoing. With a few more erratic thrusts, he followed, his hips stuttering as he spilled inside you. A deep groan tore from his chest, his hands gripping your waist tightly as he rode out his high.

The room fell into silence, save for the sound of your labored breathing. In-ho steadied you, his hands gentle now as he helped you stand. He brushed your hair back, pressing soft kisses to your temple.

“If we get out of here alive…” A sheepish smile spread across your face, “Let’s drink again sometime?”

He chuckled, the sound low and rich. “When we get out,” he corrected, his tone laced with quiet determination. He kissed you once more, sealing the promise. And he meant it. If it meant keeping you by his side, he’d kill every last player in the game with his bare hands.

random thought but… stepdad!König fucking reader after finding out they wanna be in a relationship with him and saying “I’m going to marry you” or “I’ll make you mine one day” or smth like that. 🤭 and dbf!Horangi just kinda agreeing with him while sandwiching reader from the back, already having an idea of being the husband’s best friend that fucks his wifey 💝💝💝

—🎀—

Gah- that pink bow has my heart😵‍💫 cw: smut, STEPCEST, DUB-CON, creampie, sex marathon?, phone sex? Double penetration, p in v, breeding kink, pregnancy kink, cheating, marriage, tell me if I missed any.

For a second, he forgot how to breathe, his knees weak and fingers twitching, his cheeks flushed with the joy he felt. Your little confession riled him up, your sweet tears and pout gave him the hardest erection he’d ever lived. Sweet, innocent words that would’ve seemed blasphemous to any other, sounded erotic, making his blood boil and arousal simmer under his skin. It worked through his body with tight and rushing pleasure, pumping blood down to his engorged cock and heavy balls.

“I want you,” sealed the deal, commanding his body to pound you into your bed, make you forget you ever had a life without him - he promised it.

And promised he did, he fucked you all day, pressing you down on your bed, folding you in half as keened loudly. The bed creaked and the wooden headboard slamming into the wall behind it with every rock of his hips, fingers gripping your soft bedsheets and toes curling over his shoulder. You were stuck beneath him until the time he knew your mother would be back, taking every moment he had to watch his cock push in you and back out with a ring of cum and slick around his thick cock.

At first, he took you alone, slamming into your while you mewled out, your sweet sounds reaching the hungry ears of your neighbour on the phone. König had called Horangi in a blur, his mirth infectious, making Horangi happy, chuckling out praises to you and giving his word that he’d come by after his exercise at the gym. Your stepdad kept his friend on the phone, the Korean wearing EarPods during his whole course, working out with his cock throbbing and pushing against his shorts.

An hour in, waking up after you passed out in pleasure, eyes rolled to the back of your head in white pleasure, Horangi made himself home, naked and kneeling between your thighs. You let out a surprised moan, back arching when he drove his tongue inside your twitching hole, his thumb rolling your sensitive clit. He took his take taking you apart, watching you flay and cream all over him, covering is face with slick.

Near delirious and body oversensitive, you felt them push into you, softly alternating between both cocks stuffing your stretched cunt. You were trapped between them, body pushed back and fourth, feeling them fill you up, bottoming out, balls slapping the other man, pulling out to the tip and slamming back in. You bucked your hips, chasing their cocks, nails digging into Horangi’s shoulder, gasping and moaning with your legs spread open by König’s hands.

“I’ll marry you, ja, Schatz?” König growled, pumping you full of cum, womb stuffed full with his and Horangi’s charged load. “Breed you and make you mine.”

“Fuck, I can’t wait to suck your tits,” Horangi couldn’t stop himself from agreeing, mind conjuring every image of your swollen stomach and wobbling walk. “Drink your sweet milk.”

“Do you want that, Schnucki?”

All you could do was nod, throat sore from screaming and body limp in your stepfather’s arms, your eyes were heavy chest puffing with loud, exhausted breaths. You liked their idea, marrying, breeding, becoming theirs, perhaps their delusions finally got to you.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973 @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly

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

AHHH MY SWEET LITTLE BABY I SWEAR I IMAGINED THIS SO PERFECTLY

Player 001 goes grocery shopping and buys everything his girlfriend touches?

Oooo I like it!'

The very...expensive Shopping spree

Character: player 001 X fem!reader

Summary: As above

Warnings: None

Young-Il wasn’t sure how this kept happening. He had come to the grocery store with a simple mission: grab the essentials and go. But somehow, the cart kept filling up with things that weren’t on the list.

And it was all your fault.

"Oh! Look at these," you said, stopping to pick up a bag of chocolate-covered almonds. You turned them over in your hands, scanning the label with mild curiosity. "I wonder if they’re any good."

Without hesitation, Young-Il plucked another bag off the shelf and dropped it into the cart.

You frowned. "I was just looking."

"And now you have some to try," he said simply, pushing the cart forward.

The pattern continued in nearly every aisle. You lingered near a bottle of peach-flavored soju? Into the cart. You pointed at a new brand of ramen and mumbled, "I’ve never seen this before"? Into the cart. You absentmindedly touched a plush loaf of milk bread while talking about something entirely different? Into the cart.

By the time you reached the frozen foods section, you caught on. "Wait a second." You narrowed your eyes at the absurd amount of extra snacks. "Are you buying everything I touch?"

Young-Il, who was very obviously shoving a package of tteokbokki into the cart because you had picked it up two minutes ago, froze. "…No."

You crossed your arms, watching him closely. "Then why do we suddenly have three different types of cookies?"

"You touched them."

"Young-Il!"

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "It’s not a big deal. If you like something, I want you to have it."

You softened at that, but you weren’t about to let him off that easy. With a mischievous grin, you grabbed the most ridiculous thing you could find—a giant, neon-pink bag of cotton candy-flavored popcorn—and held it up like a challenge.

He stared at it, deadpan. Then, exhaling slowly through his nose, he reached out and added it to the already overflowing cart. "Fine."

You giggled, slipping your arm through his. "You’re ridiculous."

"And you’re expensive," he teased, nudging you lightly as he pushed the cart toward the checkout.

You didn’t argue. After all, if Young-Il wanted to spoil you, who were you to stop him?