shokoy ☆

shokoy || 20 — he/him ultramegasuperstar

[shok-oy]

shokoy's "masterlist"

THE WALKING DEAD

one shots

carl grimes x male reader "illness"

glenn rhee x male reader "grave"

[18+] daryl dixon x male reader "watchtower"

[18+] paul rovia x male reader "scavenging"

headcanons

"their love language?" part 1 | part 2

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON

one shots

[18+] gwayne hightower x male reader "sword-swallower"

[18+] gwayne hightower x targtower! male reader "one kiss is all it takes"

headcanons

none yet

~ shokoy ☆

[reveryfics]

Aphrodisiac - Clark Kent 'Superman' x Male Reader

Summary: Following a night of intoxicating pollen on Solanaceae, an overwhelmed Clark Kent seeks out an old friend.

CW: No use of y/n - Sex pollen trope - Poison Ivy reader - Reader is a scientist/botanist - Reader has a description - Pre-existing feelings - Established friendship - Top Clark - Bottom reader - Anal - Mating press kinda - Unprotected sex - Gay sex

Words: 6.3k

A/N: Big thanks to @magicstarbits for this, he had mentioned sex pollen and I remembered I really wanted to write it for superman at some point. It's not like typical or maybe it is, I don't read the trope often at all as a lot of it kinda comes off as non-con and thats a big no no for me. Anyway, hopefully this turns out good. Last thing, yeah not what I had in mind but it's something, also bonus points for anyone who knows what Solanaceae is.

FEMALES DNI + MINORS DNI

​Solanaceae. The air there didn't hold the familiar, comforting scent of damp earth or rain; instead, it was thick with the cloying, heavy aroma of night-blooming jasmine and crushed nectar. It was a strange, disorienting world caught in an eternal, suffocating twilight—bathed entirely in the eerie, violet luminescence of a dying sun that fed an aggressive, hyper-evolved sea of flora.

​Here, plants didn't just grow. They breathed. They pulsed with a slow, rhythmic heartbeat that vibrated through the soil. If you listened closely enough in the quiet spaces between the alien gales, you could hear them whispering in frequencies just below the threshold of human hearing—a living, breathing green consciousness stretching out across continents.

​Clark had long since formed a mental image of its beauty before he even set foot onto the planet's surface. Kara had spoken of it time and time again during their quiet moments at the Fortress, her eyes lighting up as she described its sprawling alien vistas and untamed wilderness.

​Kara, however, had somehow managed to forget a rather crucial detail: just how fiercely alluring Solanaceae's flora truly was. It wasn't just scenery; it was a siren song. Vibrant, aggressively brightly colored, and wrapped in a pheromonal scent so potent and intoxicating it felt capable of hypnotizing anyone foolish enough to drop their guard.

​Drifting silently across the surface of the bioluminescent waters were fields of lotus flowers—or at least, what Clark could only assume were the planet’s evolutionary equivalents. They covered nearly every inch of the glowing liquid, their petals shifting through impossible gradients of magenta and deep indigo.

​Clark found himself completely transfixed, unable to tear his eyes away from their mesmerizing dance upon the water. It felt as though an invisible tether was pulling him inward, dragging his consciousness toward the center of the bloom. And the very second he leaned in too close, misjudging the distance, the flower’s center shuddered. With a soft, mechanical hiss, it blew a thick, dense puff of hazy purple pollen directly into his face.

​He blinked, pulling back quickly, offering a quiet, self-reassuring sigh. Clark initially assumed earth's yellow sun would effortlessly wash away whatever foreign side effects were bound to enter his body, confident that his Kryptonian physiology would naturally recognize, fight off, and override any alien spores.

​By the time Clark touched down on the balcony of his Metropolis apartment, the yellow sun felt less like a battery and more like a magnifying glass burning through glass.

​He pulled off his damp suitt, the heavy red cape pooling behind him like a discarded weight. The city below hummed with its usual symphony of honking cabs, distant sirens, and the endless chatter of millions of heartbeats. Normally, that familiar chorus grounded him. Tonight, every sound scraped against his eardrums like sandpaper.

​While the pollen had seemed harmless at first, he started to notice the building fever, the way his flesh would flush and sweat would glisten against his skin. The building ache in his body that slowly spread to weakness in his knees.

​He staggered against the kitchen counter, his broad shoulders heaving as he tried to draw in a steady breath. But the air of Metropolis tasted stale, stripped of life, entirely devoid of the rich, chlorophyll-heavy vitality his altered biology suddenly craved.

​His vision swam, the edges of the room tinting a deep, bruised violet. Beneath his skin, his blood felt sluggish, humming with an alien frequency that echoed the heartbeat of Solanaceae. The pollen wasn't just a toxin; it was a catalyst. It was rewriting how his cells interacted with organic matter, turning his invulnerable body into fertile soil for something ancient and hungry.

​"Damn it," Clark muttered, his voice rough and breathless, lacking its usual steady baritone. He gripped the edge of the marble counter so hard the stone groaned under his fingertips.

​He knew brute force wouldn't fix this. His immune system wasn't fighting an infection; it was cooperating with one. And there was only one person on this entire green earth—or any other—who understood the intricate, terrifying language of botanical biology well enough to pull him back from the edge.

The glass doors of the loft slid open with a soft click, admitting a wave of humid, earth-scented air that contrasted sharply with the crisp Metropolis night.

You didn't even look up from the sprawling monstera you were pruning, your skin—completely verdant, a striking, vibrant green that looked as though it had been spun from chlorophyll and sunlight rather than ordinary flesh, yet possessed a remarkably soft, naturally earthy appearance—expertly snipping a rogue leaf. Dressed in fitted charcoal trousers and an unbuttoned emerald silk shirt that clung effortlessly to your lean frame, you moved with a quiet, predatory grace. Your hair fell loosely over your forehead, catching the amber glow of the grow lamps overhead.

"You're tracking cosmic dirt across my polished concrete, farm boy," you murmured, your voice a smooth, melodic purr that carried easily over the rustle of exotic ferns. "And judging by the way your heart is hammering against your ribs, you didn't just visit a garden center."

Clark didn't answer right away. He couldn't. He stepped further into the greenhouse, the heavy door sliding shut behind him, sealing them in an ecosystem of your own design. The sheer density of plant life—vines curling lazily around steel support beams, pitcher plants weeping sweet nectar, orchids blooming in shades of bruised plum—seemed to lean toward him as he passed, drawn by the alien spores radiating from his pores.

You finally turned, your deep eyes narrowing slightly as you took in the flushed expanse of his chest, the slick sheen of sweat coating his skin, and the distinct, unnatural violet shimmer tracing the veins along his neck.

"Solanaceae," you stated, dropping your pruning shears onto the potting table with a sharp clatter. A slow, knowing smile curved your lips, equal parts amused and fascinated. "Let me guess. You tried to smell the local flora, and it bit back."

"It wasn't a bite," Clark groaned, his knees finally buckling as the weight of the fever crashed over him. He caught himself against the edge of a mahogany worktable, scattering seed packets and glass vials across the floor. "It... it feels like my blood is turning to sap. The sun... it isn't helping."

You crossed the room in a few fluid strides, your bare feet making no sound against the damp moss carpeting the floor. Stopping just inches away, you tilted your head up, drinking in the scent rolling off him. Beneath the familiar ozone of a Kryptonian, there was an unmistakable, intoxicating fragrance—night-blooming jasmine, crushed nectar, and deep space wilderness, tangled with the unmistakable, heavy warmth of a potent botanical aphrodisiac.

"Of course it isn't," you whispered softly, stepping closer until the heat radiating from his broad frame washed over you. You reached out, your cool fingertips brushing lightly against his burning jawline. Clark let out a sharp, involuntary shudder at the contrast, his breath hitching as a sudden, overwhelming wave of clarity crashed through the haze in his mind.

The pollen wasn't just rewriting his biology; it was tearing down every wall he had ever built. The polite distance, the careful restraint, the years of burying every lingering, complicated glance he had ever stolen in your direction—the illusion dissolved entirely under the influence of the toxin. The way he looked at you shifted from desperation to a profound, undeniable hunger, every hidden desire suddenly laid bare in his wide, fevered eyes.

"You didn't just catch a space cold, Clark," you murmured, your voice dropping to a low, hypnotic hum as you felt the sudden, electric shift in his posture. "That pollen is trying to integrate. It recognizes a god-like vessel... and it wants to make a home out of you. Or perhaps, it's just stripping away all your pretty little lies."

"Can you... can you stop it?" Clark asked, though his voice lacked any real conviction. He looked down at you, his blue eyes glassy, dark with a mix of fever and a raw, exposed longing that made your own pulse quicken.

You let out a low, melodic laugh, sliding your hand down from his jaw to rest flat against the center of his chest, right where his erratic heartbeat thudded like a heavy drum against your palm.

"Stop it?" You whispered, leaning in close enough that your breath ghosted against his collarbone, smelling faintly of crushed ivy and rain. "Clark... I spent my entire life trying to make the world green. Why on earth would I want to cure something that finally makes you admit what you've wanted all along?"

Clark swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing sharply against the flushed skin of his throat as he tried to summon the familiar armor of his usual restraint. He dragged a heavy hand through his damp, dark curls, his chest heaving under the sheer strain of keeping his composure.

"I... I don't know what you're talking about," Clark breathed out, his voice carrying that earnest, earnest-to-a-fault earnestness that felt so uniquely, achingly him. Even with his knees trembling and his vision swimming with violet haze, he still tried to pull back, leaning away by a fraction of an inch as if pure willpower could override biology. "I’m fine. Really. I just... I need to get back to the Fortress, or—or talk to Emil. This is just a localized reaction, it's—"

"Shh," you murmured, the sound soft but utterly immovable.

You didn't let him finish the clumsy, defensive excuse. Instead, your hands—cool and firm against the fever-slick heat of his skin—slid from his jaw down to grip his forearms. Despite his godlike strength, Clark didn't pull away; the profound, caring ache in his chest made him yield entirely to your touch. His broad shoulders slumped, a ragged sigh shuddering past his lips as the fight drained right out of him.

"You're rambling, farm boy," you whispered, a gentle, fond edge softening the teasing curve of your green lips. "And you're shaking. Let's get you sitting before you accidentally put that broad frame of yours through my prize-winning monstera."

With a quiet grunt of effort—less from your own strength and more from guiding his dead weight—you wrapped an arm securely around his waist, pressing your verdant side against his burning heat. Clark let out a low, breathy groan, his large hands coming up instinctively to rest lightly on your shoulders, steadying himself not just to keep from falling, but because the mere contact felt like a lifeline in a storm.

You guided him across the moss-carpeted floor of the greenhouse toward a sturdy, vintage wrought-iron armchair nestled deep among a canopy of weeping ferns and cascading ivy.

As he sank down into the chair, the heavy leather cushion groaning under his bulk, Clark dragged his hands down his face, squeezing his eyes shut as a fresh wave of the aphrodisiac haze washed through him. The yellow sun inside his cells felt less like energy now and more like a live wire, humming in absolute harmony with the heavy, sweet scent of the greenhouse.

He looked up at you then, down from his seated position, his blue eyes wide, luminous, and terrifyingly honest. The polite, carefully guarded walls he usually kept between you—the safe distance of old acquaintances and shared orbits—were completely shattered.

"It's not just the pollen," Clark confessed, his voice dropping into that deep, resonant, impossibly passionate register that made your breath catch. He reached out, his calloused fingertips brushing hesitantly against your green wrist, as if needing to anchor himself to something real. His thumb traced the verdant skin of your pulse point with an aching, desperate tenderness. "God, I... I've been lying to myself for months, running back to Kansas, burying myself in deadlines at the Planet, pretending I didn't notice every single time you walked into a room. The pollen didn't create this, it just... it took away my excuse to keep quiet."

Your breath hitched, the playful, confident composure you usually wore like armor suddenly cracking at the sheer, overwhelming sincerity pouring out of him.

The confession hung heavy in the humid, jasmine-thick air of the greenhouse, vibrating with an intensity that outshone the amber grow lamps overhead.

For a heartbeat, the only sound was the rhythmic, organic pulse of the surrounding flora and the ragged, shallow cadence of Clark’s breathing. Your fingers remained pinned beneath his calloused hand, the contrast between his sun-warmed, fever-flush skin and your naturally cool, verdant touch sending a sharp, electric shiver up your spine.

You looked down at him—really looked at him—stripping away the invincible hero, the polished farm boy from Kansas, and seeing the raw, unguarded man underneath. The man who carried the weight of a dying world on his shoulders every single day, yet somehow looked at you as if you were the only real gravity holding him to the earth.

A slow, breathless smile touched your green lips, completely devoid of its usual sardonic edge.

"You really are a terrible liar, Clark Kent," you whispered, your voice softening into something rich and hypnotic as you stepped closer, closing the remaining space between you until your knees brushed against the edge of the wrought-iron chair.

With your free hand, you reached up, your fingers tangling gently into the dark, damp curls at the nape of his neck. The physical contact was immediate—his eyes fluttered shut, a low, helpless groan vibrating deep in his chest as his broad shoulders instinctively leaned into the touch, seeking relief from the fever consuming him.

"You spend all your time trying to save everyone else, carrying every burden, swallowing every truth just to keep the peace," you murmured, your thumb tracing the sharp, perfect line of his jaw. "Did you really think I wouldn't notice? Did you think I wouldn't want you right back?"

Clark’s eyes snapped open, a brilliant, swimming cobalt charged with an absolute, overwhelming tide of relief and raw desire. The hesitation—the lifetime of forced restraint and quiet longing—shattered entirely.

Before you could say another word, his large, powerful hands moved with sudden, urgent precision. One hand locked firmly around your hip, pulling you flush against him, while the other slid up to cup the back of your head, anchoring you to him as if you were the only anchor keeping him from drifting out into deep space.

When his mouth met yours, it wasn't hesitant. It was a collision of long-suppressed heat and desperate, starving honesty. His lips were burning hot against yours, radiating the excess solar energy and the intoxicating, alien pull of the pollen, tasting faintly of crushed nectar and ozone.

You gasped softly into the kiss, the sheer force of his emotion hitting you like a physical wave. Your hands slid from his hair down over his broad, flexing shoulders, feeling the heavy, frantic thrum of his heartbeat finally matching your own. The greenhouse around you seemed to respond to the shift, the surrounding vines and blossoms leaning inward, their heavy pheromonal scent wrapping around you both like a living cocoon, sealing you away from a world that neither of you cared about anymore.

The kiss deepened instantly, a fierce, hungry collision of breath and heat that completely overrode whatever remained of Clark’s legendary restraint. The pollen humming through his veins didn't just strip away his defenses; it acted like a live wire, short-circuiting every cautious impulse he had spent a lifetime building. Every stolen glance, every suppressed urge, every carefully guarded fantasy of pulling you close was suddenly demanding immediate, unfiltered payment.

Without breaking the kiss, Clark's powerful hands gripped your waist. With a seamless, effortless strength that ignored your protests entirely, he lifted you straight out of the wrought-iron chair. Your legs instinctively parted to lock around his hips as he surged to his feet, carrying you the few short steps across the damp, moss-covered floor.

A heavy mahogany potting table met your back, scattering a cascade of dried seed pods and small ceramic pots as he pressed you down against it. The hard wood bit through your thin shirt, but you barely felt it beneath the blazing heat of his body pinning you there. His chest rose and fell in jagged, violent intervals, radiating the intoxicating solar radiation mixed with the heavy, narcotic perfume of Solanaceae.

Abruptly, Clark pulled back, though he didn't let you go. His broad shoulders hitched as he fought for air, his blue eyes dark, wide, and dilated with an almost dizzying intensity. He stared down at your face, his gaze tracing your verdant skin before dropping to your parted lips.

"Sorry," he breathed, his voice thick, ragged, and trembling with a sudden rush of self-awareness. It was that instinctive, polite reflex—the polite Kansas boy trying desperately to apologize even as his body burned out of control.

Before he could pull away any further, you didn't give him the chance. Your long, perfectly manicured nails trailed sharply down the back of his neck, digging firmly into the taut muscles of his shoulders before slipping beneath the collar of his shirt. You raked your nails down his spine, a light, teasing scratch that made him shudder head-to-toe, a low, animalistic growl vibrating deep in his chest.

"Don't be so polite, farm boy," you rasped, your voice dropping to a low, wicked purr right against his ear.

Clark hummed—a deep, resonant sound of absolute surrender—and dove back down. His lips found the sensitive spot beneath your ear, pressing a hot, bruising kiss against your jaw before trailing a wet, deliberate path down your throat. You tilted your head back, exposing your neck to him as his mouth lingered deliberately over your throat, his teeth grazing your skin just hard enough to make you arch up against him with a sharp, breathless gasp. The greenhouse around you seemed to hold its breath, the heavy velvet petals of the orchids overhead opening wider in the thick, humid dark as Clark lost himself entirely to the pull.

The heavy, sweet scent of night-blooming jasmine felt almost suffocating now, wrapping around you both like a physical weight as Clark’s mouth worked its way down your throat. Every drag of his lips against your verdant skin sent a jolt of pure electricity straight to your core, the intoxicating mix of solar heat and alien pollen turning his usual gentle touch into something fierce, demanding, and utterly unhinged.

His large, calloused hands gripped your hips with enough force to bruise, hauling you flush against the hard ridge of his pelvis as he pressed you deeper into the mahogany table. The scattered seed packets and ceramic shards beneath you vanished from your awareness, entirely eclipsed by the friction of his body moving against yours.

You let out a soft, breathless sigh, your fingers curving tightly into the muscles of his back, tearing at the fabric of his shirt as you urged him closer, demanding more of the weight he was finally letting himself throw around.

Clark groaned into your skin, the sound vibrating straight through your chest. The pollen was rewriting every instinct he had, tearing down the walls of the careful, dutiful hero and leaving only raw, unfiltered hunger in its wake. He wasn't holding back for fear of breaking you; he knew exactly how strong you were, how much you could take, and the realization only made him bolder.

His lips traced a burning path back up your jaw, catching your bottom lip between his teeth in a sharp, possessive bite that stole the breath right out of your lungs. When he kissed you again, it was deep, bruising, and dizzying, tasting entirely of ozone, sweet nectar, and absolute surrender. His tongue swept into your mouth with a heat that matched the fever humming beneath his skin, completely consuming you as his hands slid up your sides, mapping the curve of your waist and ribs before tangling brutally in your hair, locking you in place so you couldn't escape even if you wanted to.

The greenhouse around you hummed in chaotic unison. Vines uncurled from the rafters, slithering downward to brush against your legs like green silk, while the surrounding blossoms spilled wave after wave of heavy, intoxicating pheromones into the humid air, feeding the frenzy.

Clark broke the kiss for just a fraction of a second, his chest heaving as he stared down at you, his blue eyes blown wide, dark, and wild with a terrifying, beautiful devotion.

"God, you're driving me insane," he rasped, his voice rough and broken, completely stripped of its usual steady baritone.

Without giving you a chance to answer, his mouth crashed back onto yours, his hands shifting to grab the hem of your emerald silk shirt, bunching the fabric in his fists as he prepared to tear it away entirely.

The rustle of tearing silk cut sharply through the heavy, humid air of the greenhouse as Clark's fists clenched, buttons popping and scattering across the mossy floor like loose gravel. The cool air of the room hit your bare chest, contrasting violently with the blazing, solar-heated brand of his hands as he finally pressed his palms flat against your skin.

You gasped, the sensation of his heat sweeping over your sensitive frame sending a violent shiver down your spine. Your legs tightened around his waist, locking him in place as your fingers dug deeper into the broad expanse of his shoulders, your nails scratching a sharp, possessive path across his skin.

Clark groaned, a low, resonant sound that vibrated straight through your chest. Every ounce of his legendary self-control—every careful boundary he had spent a lifetime meticulously guarding—shattered completely beneath the weight of the pollen and the raw, unadulterated need he had buried for too long. He wasn't holding back anymore. He caught your face between his large, calloused hands, his thumb pressing firmly into your bottom lip as his blue eyes burned into yours with a fierce, terrifying intensity.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice raw, breathless, and stripped of every polite veneer he usually wore.

You met his gaze, breathless and aching, your own green eyes flashing with an equal, answering fire.

"I'm looking," you rasped back, a wicked, triumphant smile curving your lips. "What are you going to do about it, farm boy?"

Clark didn't answer with words. He crushed his mouth back down onto yours in a desperate, bruising kiss that stole the air right out of your lungs. His body surged forward, pressing you deeper into the wooden table as his hands slid down from your face to grip your hips, lifting and aligning you with a sudden, breathless momentum. The ambient hum of the greenhouse reached a fever pitch around you—vines wrapping tightly around the legs of the table, heavy blossoms weeping sweet nectar, and the intoxicating perfume of Solanaceae.

Clark’s hands moved with a rough, urgent efficiency, his fingers working the button and zipper of your trousers with clumsy, frantic strength. He didn't bother trying to fold them; he simply hauled them down, stripping away your trousers and boxers in one swift motion and tossing them carelessly onto the damp moss below.

As the cool, humid air of the greenhouse hit your lower body, a sharp shiver raced down your spine. You instinctively tensed as your hardening cock, its tip flushed a striking, vibrant green against your pale verdant skin, was exposed to the open air.

Clark didn't give you a moment to adjust. His mouth dipped down, his lips hot and demanding against your stomach. He nipped and bit at your sensitive skin, tracing a deliberate, bruising path downward and leaving dark, blossoming hickeys across your lower abdomen before his lips hovered just above your navel.

He froze, his broad shoulders heaving as he forced his eyes up to meet yours.

"Is this okay?" he whispered, his voice thick with a raw, agonizing restraint that felt entirely at odds with the frantic pulse of the room. "I can stop."

You let out a soft, low chuckle, leaning back against the mahogany table with an effortless, languid grace.

"You'd make fine fertilizer for my pitcher plants if I wasn't okay with this," you purred, a wicked, teasing light dancing in your eyes.

Clark swallowed hard, the brief flicker of hesitation vanishing entirely under the double weight of the pollen and your teasing dare.

With a slow, deliberate movement, you sat up on the edge of the table, hooking your fingers into the hem of Clark’s red-and-blue jersey. You didn't give him a choice; you yanked the fabric upward, tearing it over his head and tossing it aside to reveal the broad, muscular expanse of his chest, slick with sweat and humming with pent-up heat.

You leaned back again, resting your weight on your elbows, and let your gaze drift downward.

Across the moss-covered floor, thick, fibrous vines snapped to life. They coiled like living serpents, slithering silently out of the shadows and weaving their way up Clark’s powerful legs. Before he could even tense, the vines slipped smoothly into the waistband of his pants, curling inward with an eerie, intelligent precision.

You smirked, crossing your ankles loosely as you tightened your mental grip on the surrounding foliage. With a gentle flick of your wrist and a steady, dominant pull of your consciousness, the vines tugged downward, stripping his pants and briefs away in one fluid motion and casting them aside into the ferns.

Clark let out a sharp, involuntary gasp, his breath catching in his throat as he stood completely, defenselessly naked before you.

The sight of him made your breath hitch in return. His god-like frame was magnificent, sculpted and flushed with fever, and standing fully erect—a blatant, undeniable symptom of the sex pollen flooding his Kryptonian bloodstream.

The moment the fabric fell away, a network of thick vines snapped tightly around his torso and thighs, pinning him momentarily in a cage of living foliage before they abruptly dissolved, sliding backward and disappearing entirely into the deep, breathing shadows of the heavy foliage that answered only to you.

Clark stood trembling in the center of the greenhouse, chest heaving, utterly at your mercy.

You curled your index finger, giving him a slow, deliberate beckoning motion.

Clark didn't hesitate for a single fraction of a second. The last fragile remnants of his restraint snapped clean in two. He stepped directly between your spread, open thighs, his large hands immediately locking onto your hips with a bruising, possessive grip that hauled you straight to the edge of the wood.

The movement brought your bodies flush together, alignment instant and electric. Your cocks brushed tip against tip—both of you slick, weeping, and aching with a vicious, hypersensitive friction that sent a violent, full-body shiver crashing down your spines.

Clark groaned, a harsh, ragged sound swallowed up by the humid air of the greenhouse. He leaned forward, his hot, heavy breath fanning wildly against your skin before his mouth found your collarbone. He kissed and nipped with frantic intensity, sucking hard at the verdant flesh until a cluster of deep, purple hickeys bloomed across your chest, matching the fevered marks he'd left on your abdomen moments before.

A sharp, breathless moan slipped past your lips. Your hands flew to his back, your long nails carving fiery paths up his spine while your fingers tangled fiercely in his damp, dark curls.

"Good boy," you hummed, your voice a wicked, praise-heavy purr. You shifted your hips just an inch, pressing your leaking cock hard against his to steal some friction, smiling darkly as Clark shuddered violently against you, his entire frame going rigid.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. His blue eyes were practically swallowed by blown, dilated pupils, staring at you with the absolute, feral hunger of a man who had gone days without water in a desert.

Without warning, his hands gripped your waist and yanked you forward, lifting and pressing you flat against the mahogany table. He shoved your legs back, folding you upward until your knees nearly touched your shoulders, trapping you open and utterly exposed beneath him.

He didn't rush. Instead, he stopped, hovering over you with wild, fever-bright eyes, watching with breathless fascination as your cock twitched in the humid air and your tight hole pulsed and fluttered with aching anticipation.

"Can I?" he murmured, his voice cracking, thick with a mix of raw reverence and desperate need.

A sharp, trembling breath hitched in your throat, your fingers curling white-knuckled over the edge of the mahogany table as the weight of him settled completely between your thighs.

"Yeah. Please," you whispered, your voice dropping to a raw, breathless rasp.

Clark’s large hand wrapped securely around your ankles, holding your legs bent back and forcing you completely open, while his free hand dropped down to grip the base of his heavy, aching cock. He was slick with pre-cum, gleaming under the ambient amber glow of the grow lamps, every muscle in his forearm corded with strain as he fought to keep his movements deliberate.

Instead of pushing forward, he dragged the tip of his cock slowly, teasingly across your twitching, hypersensitive hole.

A sharp whimper tore past your lips at the friction, your hips instinctively bucking upward toward the touch. Clark bit down hard on his lower lip, a low, ragged groan vibrating in his chest as he watched your body react. He pressed your knees back an inch further, his dark, dilated eyes tracking the way your ass lifted eagerly off the wood, exposing you entirely to his gaze.

"Look at you," he muttered, his voice thick with a mix of awe and unadulterated need.

He didn't wait any longer. Slowly, agonizingly, Clark pressed forward, driving just the blunt head of his cock inside you. The foreign heat of him—supercharged by the solar radiation and the intoxicating sex pollen—flooded your tight walls. He shuddered violently at the immediate, suffocating grip of your warmth, his head falling back as a raw, breathless groan broke from his mouth.

"Fuck," you breathed out, your back arching off the table as your own cock twitched, leaking thick beads of pre-cum that smeared hot against your abdomen.

Clark grunted, his hips snapping forward with a slow, heavy slide that buried him deeper inside you. The thick, meaty slap of his balls against your skin echoed softly through the humid air of the greenhouse, swallowed immediately by the rustle of the surrounding ferns.

"God, you feel incredible," he panted, the words dragging out of him with a heavy, instinctive honesty that bypassed every filter he usually wore.

Clark dropped his hold on your ankles, his large hands sliding up to cup the backs of your knees instead. With effortless strength, he planted his forearms on either side of your head against the mahogany table, leaning his heavy, fever-heated frame down over you. He locked you in place, keeping your legs folded back and your tight, aching walls stretched completely open, entirely filled by the massive weight of his cock.

Your hands flew up instinctively, your long nails sinking deep into the solid muscle of his shoulders as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, giving you a second to catch your breath and adjust to the sheer fullness of him.

You shifted your hips restlessly, a soft, high-pitched moan spilling past your lips as his cock pulsed inside you.

"Stop playing with me," you breathed, your voice a desperate, gravelly whine.

Clark let out a low, rumbling grunt against your skin. He pulled back slowly, dragging his thick shaft outward until only the blunt tip brushed your entrance, before smoothly, deliberately sliding back in. He set a slow, agonizingly steady pace, his teeth nipping sharply at your pulse point as his body pressed you harder into the wood. With every forward glide, your leaking cock slapped against his abdomen, smearing the thick, clear pre-cum across both your stomachs in a slick, warm friction.

He picked up the rhythm just a fraction, the slow slide turning into a deep, measured roll of his hips as he pushed himself up, trailing hot kisses along your jawline before capturing your lips.

Every thrust had you gasping directly into his mouth, your cries muffled against his lips as the small clearing in the greenhouse filled with the wet, rhythmic slap of skin against skin and the frantic, hammering cadence of your joined heartbeats.

Around you, the room itself seemed to inhale your shared panic and heat. The ambient pheromones triggered a wild, sudden growth spurt through the greenhouse: thick green vines snapped across the mossy floor, coiling and climbing up the metal supports to wrap around the amber grow lights, while night-blooming flowers burst open across the ceiling in a cascading canopy of deep indigo and magenta.

You broke the kiss, tossing your head back against the wood as a raw, demanding edge crept into your voice.

"Harder," you panted, your hips bucking up to meet him as the pollen drove every ounce of restraint from your mind.

Clark didn’t need to be told twice. The raw, demanding edge in your voice acted like a match to dry brush, short-circuiting what little restraint the sex pollen hadn't already stripped away.

A deep, feral growl tore from his throat. The slow, agonizingly steady rhythm shattered instantly, replaced by a punishing, relentless velocity. His hips slammed forward with terrifying force, driving deep into you over and over again until the mahogany table beneath you shuddered and groaned in protest.

Every single thrust sent a blinding shockwave of pleasure straight up your spine. Your legs, trapped and pinned back by his heavy forearms, shook violently with the impact. Your hands slid from his shoulders, your fingers curling into his thick, dark curls as you arched your back off the wood, crying out his name into the humid, jasmine-thick air.

The greenhouse responded to the crescendo of your climaxing bodies with absolute, chaotic reverence. The vines carpeting the floor whipped into a frenzy, tangling thickly around Clark’s powerful legs and your own ankles like living shackles. Above you, the ceiling canopy burst into a shower of glowing, luminescent petals, raining soft, violet pollen down over your sweating skin like glittering dust. The air grew thick, heavy, and intoxicating, humming with the living pulse of a thousand awakened plants thriving entirely off the heat and friction of your coupling.

Clark pulled back just enough to look down at you, his chest heaving, his blue eyes entirely black with dilated pupils. He looked completely unraveled—the invincible Man of Steel utterly brought to his knees, dismantled and remade by your hands.

"God, you're... you're driving me out of my mind," he gasped, his voice cracking into a raw, breathless plea.

He didn't slow down. He locked his mouth over yours in a crushing, desperate kiss that tasted of ozone and nectar, his hips driving harder, faster, chasing the edge right alongside you.

Clark’s rhythm fractured, his powerful, controlled thrusts suddenly turning desperate and sloppy as the final, overwhelming wave hit him. His cock twitched violently inside you, swelling and hot as the tip hammered mercilessly against your prostate with every ragged, uncoordinated drive of his hips.

A low, guttural moan tore from his chest. You clamped down hard around him, your inner walls convulsing in a tight, greedy grip that proved to be his undoing. Clark stiffened against you, a violent shudder wracking his massive frame as his cock pulsed deep inside your body, flooding you with wave after wave of hot, thick cum.

The intense pressure triggered your own tipping point. You let out a sharp, breathless cry, your head thrown back against the mahogany table, your mouth parted as a blinding flash of white-hot pleasure stripped away all remaining thought. Your own cock twitched frantically, shooting thick ropes of cum across your stomach and smearing it against Clark's lower abdomen as he kept driving into you, refusing to stop even as you shattered around him, riding out the endless shockwaves of your climax.

Slowly, the frantic energy began to ebb, leaving behind only the heavy, rhythmic thrum of the surrounding flora and your own ragged breathing.

Clark carefully released your body, lowering your legs down from the bent position. They felt heavy, numb, and stiff from the prolonged strain, trembling slightly against the now damp table below you. With a slow, reluctant groan, Clark slid out of you, a soft, wet pop echoing in the humid air as he pulled back. He staggered slightly, catching himself against the edge of the table, his chest heaving as he gasped for air, his skin slick with sweat and glowing under the amber lights.

He stared down at you for a long, quiet moment, the wild, fevered panic of the pollen slowly receding from his brilliant blue eyes, leaving behind a heavy, lingering haze of realization.

"I'm... I'm sorry," Clark whispered, his voice cracking with a sudden, agonizing wave of guilt and remorse. He dragged a hand through his damp dark curls, looking away toward the floor. "God, I—this wasn't... something like this isn't going to happen again. I lost control, I should have—"

You let out a soft, melodic laugh, the sound dripping with absolute amusement and quiet triumph. You reached up, your long, dark green nail pressing firmly against the underside of his chin, forcing him to look back up and meet your gaze.

"Don't lie to yourself, farm boy," you murmured, your voice a low, teasing purr that sent a shiver straight down his spine. "You didn't lose control. You just finally stopped hiding."

Clark blinked, the apology dying on his lips as he looked into your eyes, seeing the undeniable truth written there. The pollen hadn't invented his desire; it had only ripped away the walls he had spent a lifetime building.

A slow, helpless, and utterly smitten smile curved across Clark’s lips, chasing away the shadow of his guilt. He leaned his weight forward, resting his forehead against yours as the last of his resistance melted completely away.

"Yes, sir," he whispered softly.

[shok-oy]

minors dni [smut]

season 3. gwayne hightower x male, nephew! reader || aegon x twin brother reader. masterlist

notes. incest, smut, oral, oral fixation, targcest, hightower incest, targtower! reader (reader is aegon's twin brother), top munch gwayne, manipulative reader (he knows what he wants and he knows how to get it). hightower hate. just found out today that gwayne is (most likely) gay!

words. 6.4k

✒️ … one kiss is all it takes

you once shared a womb with your twin brother, aegon. you remember your mother had made a jest that aegon was much larger than you at birth, and even during the months that she had you both in her belly, she feared that aegon would eventually devour you. thankfully, he wasn't that much of a cunt back then. gods, you missed those days. now, your twin brother, five minutes your elder, was a selfish, drunken, slut, whose cock would harden at any pussy that wandered in his line of sight.

but you were different, and your mother thanked the gods everyday for it. you were kind and just, skilled and virtuous, studious and pious. part of her wished you'd been born first, and not aegon, whom her father would eventually see to his ascension to the iron throne. but alas, you were not the elder. you played your part in your family quite nicely though; you got along with your siblings, reigned in aegon and aemond when need be, and it was made clear to everyone that you were the one in charge, not the mother who had gone through pains to birth you.

but alicent feared for you. she feared the vipers of king's landing would poison the purity of you one day, so she made the heartbreaking decision to send you to oldtown, after your brother daeron.

so upon your tenth name day, you were sent away to oldtown, to be raised a hightower with your youngest brother and more faithful cousins.

it did not please you to leave the comfort of your family, but the hightowers were your kin as well, unfortunately, and you disliked the daily reminder from whenever you would pass by one of your cousins or uncles.

your hightower blood was a subject of your ire, you, who was raised to believe in the superiority of the dragon's blood in your veins and the power of your valyrian name. it shamed you to know it is weakened by your mother's blood, and everyday, you cursed yourself for it, despite your father claiming you as his, and the dragon that hatched upon your cradle during the earliest months of your life. 

your avid dislike for the hightowers was well-known in oldtown, especially among the devoted septons of the faith. yes, you played the part of the honorable targaryen prince, but you were surrounded by men of unyielding faith to their gods; men who would sooner spit in your face than accept you as a true man of honor. every time they would put down your father's blood to raise up your mother's, you would dare to wield your tongue against them.

your ancestry was a curse in the eyes of the faithful men; an abomination of all that was pure and good. who were they to dictate what was right and wrong when you yourself had a mighty dragon that would burn their cities down in a heartbeat.

“you seem distracted, brother.” you gave your brother, daeron, an exhausted look as you were pulled away from the thoughts that otherwise had you occupied. 

the hand that held your sword dropped to your side as you brushed your hair back. “what is occupying your mind?”

you sighed, planting your steel blade on the ground. your gaze turned upwards, where the beacon of the hightower seemed to climb high into the skies. a moment passed and your brother approached your side. you turned to him, smiling softly.

“nothing, sweet brother.” you assured him. 

the blade in your hand is polished and sharp, yet you felt the sudden, undeniable urge to clean and sharpen it further; or perhaps it was the growing discomfort in your nerves that willed you away. before you could walk that far, your brother called after you.

“do you hate it here?” he asked you, and your movements paused.

“of course not, why would you ask me such a thing?” you chuckled, though it sounded strained. 

your brother caught on to you immediately. “speak the truth, brother. what is on your mind?” 

you turned to face him fully, observing his youthful face. just a few years ago, he was a round-faced brat who followed around the craven cunt you called uncle, ser ormund, around the halls of the hightower; filling his cup, clumsily helping him dress, fetching him his books and letters. you hated the sight of it. and now, as he was growing nicely into his features, he would surely become the subject of admiration for the various ladies in the realm. you place a gentle hand on his cheek, your eyes falling to his reddish hair, and your smile dissipates.

“it's nothing for you to worry over, sweet boy, i assure you.” you tell him. 

from behind him, you could see your other uncle approaching. ser gwayne was your mother's only brother, and perhaps the only honorable man in a realm of fiends. that did not mean you liked him any more than your other hightower kin. he approaches with a quickness in his stride. you offer a small smile to your brother before you try to escape in a hurry.

“my prince, where are you off to, pray tell?” he calls after you.

“my apologies, uncle. i feel quite unwell today, and wish to be left at peace for a speedy recovery.” you managed a strained smile before walking away, never turning back.

“fuck,” you cussed sharply when your blade draws blood from your fingertip.

after you had retired to your bedroom, you hoped no one would come to disturb your peace until supper came knocking on your door. but just as you were cleaning your blade, a knock echoed. you groaned, tossing the white cloth aside as you laid your sword unto your bedside, a string of curses leaving your breath. 

“ser gwayne hightower, my prince.” announced the knight from outside your chamber.

“what could he possibly want?” you scowled, your voice coming out louder and more aggressive than usual.

“i wish to speak with you, my prince.” it was his voice, your uncle's, that carried through this time. 

“fuck, why?” you cursed softly under your breath, massaging your forehead with your fingers as you contemplated on letting him in or denying him completely. you thought about turning him away now, and it seemed like such a tempting decision, but sooner or later, he would come to bother you again. 

“very well,” your sigh came out deeper than you intended just as the doors to your room swung open. ser gwayne waltzed in, seemingly amused at the exasperated expression on your face.

“daeron is quite worried about you,” he began. “shut out your hightower kin if you must, but be kind to him.”

“is this a lecture?” you stand, annoyed.

“it is not, my prince,” he tried to say. “i merely wish to convey that—”

“consider your message, conveyed, uncle.” you try to push past him, making for the door.

but his hand shoots out and grasps your wrist. his grip was iron, and your entire body froze in place. you glanced down at the hand on you, and your eyes trailed upwards, shooting a dangerous glare at the man before you. but ser gwayne did not seem fearful, in fact, it was the opposite; he almost appeared to be amused. you tried to pull your wrist back, a weak attempt at first, a warning, but he would not ease his hold. 

“what is it that troubles you, my prince?” gwayne carefully asks. “if you will not speak to me, i will have daeron return here every day to converse with you.”

“are you truly so deaf that you must send my favorite brother on such a useless errand?” you sneered. “i'm as blissfully delighted as i possibly can be.”

the fake, overexaggerated smile on your lips did little to sway him. the man exhaled sharply, grip still tight on you as he dragged you to your desk, forcing you to sit. your glare remained poisonous on your overbearing uncle.

“speak, boy.” 

you raised a brow in confusion. no one had ever referred to you as such. you wondered now, what his plan was. you remained firm on your self-inflicted oath to never speak your innermost thoughts to your hightower kin as you thought them undeserving, rather, they would have your tongue for whatever it was on your thoughts every day.

“it is nothing.” you replied sharply.

“i do not believe your words one bit.” ser gwayne raised his brows. “years have passed since you first arrived, and all you ever did was brood and scowl at the people who have been nothing but welcoming to you. have we not been accommodating enough, my prince?”

upon hearing his words, you were stunned, not because you felt touched by his words, but because of the sheer stupidity of it. you snorted. then a moment later, and the sound of loud laughter escaped your lips. the first time you've laughed since you came to oldtown some ten or so years ago. gwayne's expression was a mixture of dumbfounded and awe-struck at the first laugh you had ever produced in front of him.

you stood before your uncle, your laughter having finally subsided. a smile graced your lips, and not the strained kind of smile you always wore for the hightower's, but a genuine smile that unnerved even ser gwayne. you stepped closer to him, approaching every time he tried to escape with a step back. 

“accomodating, you say? and yet, i know what it is you people speak about me behind closed doors,” you spat, stepping closer as your hands remained interlocked behind you. 

“that the only redeemable part of myself is my mother's blood, that i am tainted and impure because of my valyrian blood… and yet, i believe it is the opposite...” when you spoke, gwayne thought you mad.

you circled your uncle's figure, noting the slight tremor in his hands, the nervous movement of his throat, his eyes darting around to follow your every movement. he felt completely and utterly exposed, like prey that has accepted death at the jaws of a predator.

“it is this… hightower blood that has tainted me, uncle,” you say, a shudder in your voice. “do you know what it feels like, uncle? to feel.. repulsed by the very blood that runs through your veins?”

you stopped in front of him, standing perfectly still. you were a head shorter than him, yet here you stood, with a menacing presence looming tall over your honorable uncle. it is your hands this time that grasp at him, his clothes, smoothing over his tunic with an almost loving graze of your fingers on him. your hands make for his nape, a gentle touch to the skin beneath his hair while your eyes remain predatory and venomous. you could feel the tremble in his breath, the sweat that ran down his skin the closer you got, and the painful thrum of his heart against his chest.

you smiled sweetly before parting from him. “you know now what is on my mind, uncle. would that be all?”

for the next few days, your run-ins with your uncle have been brief, yet… exciting. he was always proper with you, even though he always seemed to be the subject of your fluctuating moods. some moments he would find you difficult and angry, some other times, he would find you poisonous and sweet, in a sickening way. 

you pass by each other in quiet hallways at times, your fingers wandering a little too close to his, and he would give you a hard look before continuing on his journey elsewhere. it was amusing to no end, this game of cat and mouse with your uncle as you sought to tease him with every touch, every whisper, every thing about you. you would sooner have him wrapped around your finger.

“it seems your mood has improved lately, brother.” daeron remarks one day.

“really? i think i called one of the server boys a cunt the other day.” you remark casually, earning a chuckle from your brother.

you were by his side, watching the courtyard below from the balcony as the knights squabbled to gain the upper hand in their sword fights. a goblet of wine was on your hand, the other, resting casually on the balcony edge. down there, was your uncle, ormund, seemingly a beast of pride and ego right now after having won a few spars. but you were well aware that those knights had purposefully lost; had they actually won, they would have been whipped by your uncle behind closed doors before day's end.

“has gwayne finally broken through your walls?” daeron asks.

“you little rat,” you laugh, turning to him. “did you have him speak to me?” 

“well, i—”

“drinking so early in the noon is unbecoming of a prince.” your lighthearted smile faded from your lips.

you turned your head, the sight before you was of your uncle gwayne's this time. he had his hands behind him as he glanced in your direction, as if expecting a reply. you smirked, tossing your head to the side, your eyes scanning his figure.

“i find my stomach is far more agreeable when i have a few sips in the daylight than before bed.” you reply, twirling the bronze goblet in your hand. gwayne offers a small, polite smile that seemed strained.

“come, prince daeron. lord ormund wishes to see the limits of your training.” gwayne refers to your brother. ushering him away from you now.

daeron gives you a smile before obediently joining his uncle. but as they were about to leave, you called after them, 

“ser gwayne, i believe my brother knows his way without you.” you mentioned, your face conveying a message to your uncle to let your brother go ahead.

“i could at least escort him down,” ser gwayne chuckled, and you eyed the light sweat running down the sides of his face.

“oh, worry not, uncle, he has others to.. accommodate him.” you pressed, your eyes narrow and commanding.

yet gwayne held your gaze.

daeron looked between you, quite unsure of who to follow, until you motioned for your brother to take his leave. your goblet was running on empty as well, so you passed it on to a servant and shooed them away, leaving you alone with your uncle. gwayne, it seems, took a deep breath before facing you fully.

“join me, uncle?” your words were asked in a way that seemed like a request, but to gwayne's ears, they were orders; orders he could not bring himself to resist.

he joined your side by the balcony edge, looking over to watch daeron come up to ormund. they prepared for sparring, using true blades. you chuckled softly. gwayne stole a glance in your direction; wondering what you were up to this time, wondering when you would strike at him again.

“i hear my mother will be visiting soon, with aegon and helaena.” you spoke first. your words seemed to surprise ser gwayne, and he could feel his tense shoulders loosen for a moment. “are you looking forward to seeing her, uncle?”

“it has been quite a while since we last saw each other. i hope her visit will be… uneventful.” he eyes your reaction, and all you do is laugh.

“fret not, uncle, i will be on my best behavior.” you assure him, your voice containing a slight hint of mischief.

“fuck!” you both turn your gaze downwards, to where ormund's sword clattered to the floor, and daeron stood before him, his hold on his blade trembling slightly. 

“i should… go and fetch the prince.” gwayne hastily excuses himself from you.

you did not utter a reply as he walked away in a hurry. your eyes continue to follow him, still, and you smirked. 

your mother's visit was not something you particularly looked forward to. she would most likely scold you plentily for not returning any of her letters, unlike your little brother. yet you came down from your chambers anyway, to greet her and your siblings. 

you eyed your twin brother. he looked far worse than the last time you saw him. his eyes seemed downturned and sluggish, and you dared to venture that his height was not nearly enough to reach even daeron's shoulder. you gazed down at him, it seemed he was ruining the valyrian beauty he had been blessed with. his eyes met yours in a hateful stare, yet you met his with an amused one.

“brother,” you acknowledged him. “you seem shorter than the last time we met.” 

“and yet you seem more whorish than i remember.” he hissed in response to your insulting words.

“enough, aegon.” your mother steps between you immediately.

she looked up at you, looking exhausted and worn, yet happy for some reason, perhaps it is because she has finally laid her eyes upon you again. as she took in your image from head to toe, she wondered how beautiful aegon would look had he better looked after himself.

“my son,” she reaches for your hands, and you allow her to hold them. “you're beautiful…”

her hands cradle your face, taking in your unsullied valyrian features, well-groomed with not the sluggishness of your elder brother's vices. you can tell her pride has inflated with meeting you, the perfect image of your father's beauty before he had fallen into illness. you smile softly and lean into her touch. 

she has helaena come close, and you offer your good sister a small smile as she gives you her hand. her hand is smaller in yours as you take it to your lips to plant a soft kiss on her knuckles. 

the whole event was a beautiful reunion, especially after daeron had come in. he was much more eager than you to see your family. while you had some time with them during your youth to be raised among them, daeron did not; he was sent away earlier than you, and had only a few fond memories of them during their visits. 

it was touching, indeed, to see them again.

and it was more touching for you to have your brother so desperate for your attention again after spending years apart. 

when he visited your room late into the eve, you were sure you would erupt in a frenzy of arguments and debates as your tempers clashed over wine, as you always had during your youth, and yet, he came to you in your bed, smelling of the fragrant wine you were sure he was drunk on. he practically jumped into your embrace.

“did you miss me, elder brother?” you teased, your hand softly stroking his weeping length.

“fuck no,” he hissed, and a faux pout formed on your lips. your hand stopped moving, eliciting a whine from him.

“try again?” you suggested, your lips dangerously close to his ear.

“y-yes—fuuck, yes…!” he held onto your shoulders, his toes curling into the sheets as he panted heavily, leaning closer to your chest as whined softly.

you chuckled, your hand moving faster as you kissed your brother's temple. his cock wept at the tip, staining your pale fingers the faster you moved. another laugh escapes your throat at the sight of your brother being at your complete and utter mercy. what a truly beautiful sight, and you thought you'd never be blessed to see it again. aegon's hands clawed at your emerald tunic, as if trying to tear the expensive fabric to get under your skin.

you tutted, your hand stopping entirely. “naughty boy, if you wish for something, use your words.” you scold gently.

“act like an animal, and i shall treat you like one.” you warn him, tightening your hold on his cock as if you meant to break it.

“want you…” he whined against the skin of your chest before his lips climbed up to your neck to place pleading kisses along your skin. his hands were rough and clumsy, with not the slightest hint of grace that befitted a prince at all. yet the pathetic sight amused you to no end, and you felt gracious enough to let your elder brother do as he wished. 

his hands slipped under your tunic, massaging the soft skin underneath. your one hand resumed to move to pleasure his cock, and your other came up to his head, bringing him closer to your exposed neck as you allowed your brother to remove your tunic completely, exposing you to his eyes. he kissed along your jawline, trying to reign in his voice, while you held little to no shame in yours. 

his hips rolled his cock deeper into your grip, thrusting into your hands like it was the real thing; and your body moved along with him as if on instinct. a sharp gasp escapes your lips when he reaches your hardened nipples, kissing and biting the hardened nub, sucking on it as if trying to coerce milk out of them like a babe would. 

“aegon, wait—” you giggled, the sensation slightly ticklish. 

aegon cussed, tossing his body over yours, completely drunk on the taste of your skin on his tongue. 

“a-ahh… f-fuck, aegon… keep going..” you managed to breathe out, locking your ankles behind his waist to invite him closer to you.

aegon's palms trapped your head between them as he mindlessly humps his hips against you, grinding his pathetically weeping cock against your own. you cradle his head in your hands, urging him closer to your face, lips inching closer and closer with every breath.

yet he never brought his lips to yours. his hand guides his cock into your hole, and that was it.

you sighed, seeing your brother in your bed, fast asleep and snoring like an old fool. he came once and fell asleep on top of you without bothering to let you finish. you shook your head, growling curses under your breath as you threw on a loose, oversized tunic over your naked body. your cock was still painfully hard between your thighs, and part of you wished to touch it, but you knew it could never satisfy your hunger.

“selfish, drunken… cunt fucker.” you made haste for the false wall by the right of your bed, pushing it with little resistance.

grabbing a candle, you closed the entrance behind you and wandered deeper down the hidden hallway. it led all throughout the hightower, and you always used it to escape the scoldings of the maesters. now, you were using it to find some form of escape for the painfully hard issue between your legs.

but just as you were about to continue down the path, you saw a very thin sliver of light just beyond you that should not be there. most likely, it was from some other room in the hightower, but you did not know where it emanated from. carefully, you placed the candle down and hoped to slip past, until you heard soft, muffled moans of a single person. a man.

you dared to take a peek.

“fuck… not enough… not enough…” 

you saw your uncle gwayne, sitting on a plush lounge chair, hand on his cock with his head thrown back in painful desperation. your eyes grew wide at the sight, and you were unable to tear your eyes away. your own cock twitched in yearning, and you felt like you could barely hold in your desire to devour your uncle right then and there, to taint his pure honor with your so-called tainted soul.

so you gave in to your desires. the hinges creaked, and your uncle snapped out of his mind-numbing state, eyes shooting towards your direction.

“my prince!” he exclaimed, hastily pulling up his breeches. “what… what are you doing here?”

he tried to brush his hair back and fix up his appearance, but it did not change the fact that you had already witnessed his dirty actions.

“searching, uncle.” you answer mindlessly. “searching for you.”

“did you need something?” he quickly asks, straightening his back and feigning properness as an attempt to cover up the dirty act he had just been doing. 

you approached him slowly, not caring at all to close the false door behind you. you lightly tugged at the strings of your tunic, exposing your smooth chest for his eyes, yet he tried to look elsewhere, focusing his attention on anything else but you.  but his eyes gravitated back to you every single time; your lithe legs, your pale chest, your lust-filled expression, until his eyes landed on your weeping cock, hidden lightly from his sight by the loose fabric of your tunic that looked strangely familiar.

gwayne gulped and tried to escape, but you quickly pinned him down the plush cushion with one hand as you straddled his hips. his hands gripped the armrests so tightly, he was sure to have left scratches on the fabric. he was trying very hard now, to not hold you, to not indulge you. but you were making it very hard on him.

your hand gripped your cock, holding it in place as your face leaned closer to your uncle. your lips were so dangerously close, he could strongly smell the faint hint of wine on your breath. finally, he seemed to gain some control over his senses. he held your shoulders, and pulled you away from him. the wine… you had yet to have your fill that day, and he was well aware of your habit of day-drinking. you never had a cup before midnight, out of respect for your body and rest. 

“was prince aegon with you just now, my prince?” he asks.

you sighed, your shoulders sagging. “yes.” you admitted lowly.

he shook his head and rubbed his forehead. “i am well aware of your family's… queer practices… but, prince aegon is—”

you place both hands on each side of his face, silencing him. “i know what he is.”

you neared your face to his again, a soft whimper leaving your throat as you kissed his jaw, daring him to meet your lust with his. but ser gwayne was sober and rational, and he knew wrong from right in accordance with his faith’s practices and teachings. he was a man of virtue above all else, so he tried to refuse you,  his nephew.

yet you were making it harder and harder for him to resist with each kiss on his skin. your hands slip past the opening of his tunic, tugging them wider for your eyes to feast upon. gwayne could do very little to defy your intense hunger and his own desires.

“my prince,” gwayne struggles to say.

“uncle,” you reply immediately, teeth grazing his skin to mark him as yours.

gwayne finally grabs hold of your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. a moment passes you both, and you continue to hold his gaze with your own despite the desperation between your legs. his grip on you is tight, forcing you to still completely. his mouth is so close to yours, his breath hot against your lips, yet you were held back by him.

it seemed he was still locked in an internal battle with himself.

you pulled away first, your eyes remaining on him. as you stood, you removed the last remaining thing that shielded you from his eyes, pulling the cotton tunic over your head. you waltzed back, landing on his bed as if to sway your uncle to you. it was as if your uncle had been hypnotized by you; jaw slack and eyes drawn to your elegant figure. 

you laid on his soft bed, back against the plush pillows, and you spread your legs, exposing your hardened cock and hole, leaking with remnants of your brother's release. you bit your lip, your fingers wrapping around your cock, while your free hand reached your entrance. your fingers prodded around the ring, fishing out the sticky cum that leaked forth.

gwayne's eyes burned into your skin, lust visible in his eyes the more you toyed with your most intimate parts. finally, he made his way to you, crawling over you as if he wished to wrap you in all of him. 

“temptress,” he exhaled, his cock brushing against yours. “what have you done to me…”

his hand wrapped around yours, gripping your fingers around your cock as he guided you to move slowly. his lips were dangerously close to yours, threatening to close the gap between you, but pulling away every time you tried to come near. you whined, trying to push him away this time, though it was a weak, half-hearted attempt.

“enough games, uncle,” your eyes met his. “if you should fuck me, then do it properly.” 

you wrapped your arm around his shoulder, bringing him back down to your level. your lips met his ear, “or are you perhaps… unversed in this… practice?”

gwayne's free hand slithered up your throat, massaging the soft skin underneath. he tilted your chin upwards, your body arching off beautifully from the bed as his fingers gripped your throat. a choked gasp escaped your lips, your eyes fluttering shut from the iron grip he had on you.

but he quickly realized his actions a moment later, and he released you.

“my prince, i apologize—i… i didn't know what i was…” gwayne trailed off, his gaze turning downwards to your cock, where it had released a load of sticky white. his throat bobbed at the sight. 

“uncle…” you gasped, breathless, vulnerable, as if you were innocent.

gwayne was flabbergasted and could not move at all. he realized you must've cum from how he gripped your throat so tight, but thought it unusual and strange. he hardly noticed how you moved beneath him, flipping him over in a single instant. he was the one underneath this time, gazing up at the sight of you, out of breath and… perfect.

“push me away if you hate this, uncle,” you told him, grinding your hardened cock against his growing erection. “you and i know you have the strength for it.”

“my patience has been exhausted, extremely.” 

you straddled his waist, your hands hastily tearing away at his clothes ‘till he was left with nothing, and he did nothing to refuse you. you licked your lips, smiling softly as your hands ran all over his chest, fingers mapping out the old scars and birth marks that surely would tell stories of their own someday. but right now, you were far more occupied with his cock, long and heavy and oh-so hot, it practically throbbed, screamed, to be touched.

your thoughts had been overtaken by a carnal desire to devour, you turned to face his cock, yours just hovering near his face as it wept, begging for release. you tasted his first, licking up a strip with your tongue against the sides, marveling at the musky taste of your uncle. you kissed along the length, before your lips found the tip, your tongue practically torturing the slit, coaxing a release out of him.

gwayne moaned sharply, hands on your hips. he eyed your puckered hole, wondering what it would feel like. his arms slipped between your thighs, anchoring him to you as he pulled your figure closer to his face. his tongue kissed your entrance, before his tongue shot deep inside. 

a pathetic whine escapes you, your focus on his cock lost. 

“my prince,” his voice reaches your ears, despite being muffled by his lips against you.

“uncle,” your moan comes as if to reply to him. 

he holds you against his face, as if forcing you to sit on him as he ate away at your insides like a man starved. your eyes fall back on his cock, throbbing with need. your hands grasp the base as your mouth prepares to devour him whole. what length you couldn't stuff down your throat, you made up for with your hands. his cock was lengthy and veiny in all the most pleasurable places, scratching the insides of your mouth in the most delicious ways possible. yet the moment it hit the back of your throat, you felt the need to gag, and so you couldn't fully accommodate him any further.

any sounds that tried to leave your lips came out only in choked gasps and gags, rumbling around his cock that forced him into a deeper pleasure.

ser gwayne felt his mind go numb. the taste of you on his tongue was heavenly, like nothing he'd ever had before. and the sensation of you struggling and trying your hardest to take in his entire length sent him spiraling upwards, urging him to keep going, to keep eating away at you until he had your taste permanently on him forever.

your head moved, slowly, up and down his cock, up and down again, breathing slowly when your head raised, and choking when you lowered it. the pain was fleeting, the taste of him would forever remain in your memories. your hands kept busy with his heavy balls, practically ready to burst at any moment. the more you wished to taste him, the faster you went, and the closer he got to his release.

you could tell he was getting close, with the way he pulled away from you for a moment, moaning softly as he clung to your body. the sounds coming from him drove you to keep going, until finally, you lowered your head deep until your nose met the patch of auburn at the base of his cock and he released down your throat in loads.

“gghhckk—!” you choked, trying to swallow him as much as you could, but to no avail. you had released him from your mouth, taking in a desperate breath. 

“fuck…! my prince!” gwayne reached for you.

he sat up, arms wrapping around your torso to bring you to him, but your body felt like it weighed pounds heavier than normal and you went slack against his chest. your head was spinning, a mixture of drool and cum dripping from the corners of your mouth. gwayne wished to wipe it away using his hands, yet, as his hands neared your lips, your tongue lapped up his thin fingers, as if encouraging them to enter your mouth.

gwayne gasped as you took his digits into your mouth, and he was surprised at how little he resisted your actions. your half-lidded eyes met him in a desperate stare, your hips rolling your ass against his cock. he felt his cock stand erect once more.

“uncle… need—m..moreee…” you panted, tongue hanging from your mouth, begging for gwayne to come to you.

gwayne felt all rationality leave his body. he could no longer resist you; his body yearned for you so much it hurt his cock terribly so. his hand gripped your jaw, and you moaned sharply at the touch. his lips hovered dangerously close to yours, again, painfully so that his desperation came in short, hot breaths against your lips. his other hand found his cock. it was lathered up in your saliva and remnants of his own release, all he did was smear it evenly around his length before guiding his tip into your entrance.

finally, he broke through. you managed to part from his lips for a moment, and a whimper escaped your throat as you tossed your head back, your head falling over his shoulder. he hadn't thought of silencing you, your voice in all actuality, created a lovely melody in his ears that only encouraged him to drive his cock deeper into you, pushing past your gummy walls as every vein in his cock planted kisses all over your insides.

“uncle… uncle…! haaahhh—!” 

“gwayne, my prince.” he corrects you, sinking lower in his pillows with you.

you bit your lip, your bodies now laid against each other as he held your hips, moving you up and down his cock like a toy to be used only by him. right now, it was all you wanted. your desires, answered by his lust. your tainted blood, staining his honor and purity. 

your body moved along with his, though it was weak as your uncle had full control over your body. 

“gwayne…” you whispered, a breath against his lips that made him grunt softly.

“gwayne….” a whine from the back of your throat, met an unholy groan from him.

“more… use me, more… h-haahh…” 

he finally closed that god-forsaken gap between your lips. a kiss that you had been chasing all this time, finally granted to you by your uncle. his one hand climbed your throat again, clamping down hard and taking away the air from your lungs. your eyes rolled to the back of your head, and you couldn't do anything but lay there, at his complete mercy. 

and gwayne relished in the feeling of control; of having you, his familial headache since your arrival, finally docile and obedient. he could feel the way you clamped down his cock, desperate to keep him inside you as he drew closer to his second release of the night. he grunted, teeth grazing your skin as if searching where to place his mark.

he tightened his hold on your neck, and he felt you tighten around him like a vice. he moaned sharply before biting into your neck as he buried his cock deep inside you until he finally came undone. his release surged powerfully inside you, bursting past the ring of your ass as your cock squirted weakly in turn.

finally, he released his hold on your neck, and you sucked in a desperate breath. gwayne panted heavily, lips kissing the spot he marked in your shoulder, which would forever remain unseen by anyone other than you and him.

you took slow and deep breaths, your body and lust finally satisfied. your head turned slightly towards your uncle, and you met him in a gentle, stained kiss. 

~ shokoy ☆

[shok-oy]

minors dni [smut].

season 2. gwayne hightower x male! knight, reader. masterlist

notes. smut, oral, religious ecstasy. two knights, straight smashin itt.

words. 3.0k

✒️ ... sword-swallower

being a knight was easy enough if you had the name and the means. being honorable was another matter altogether. from a young age, you knew your tastes were different from the rest of your peers; if chicken was served, you would prefer the beef, if it were potatoes, you would request for beans. your parents couldn't catch you then, not until they noticed how you were with your boy cousins. it was normal, your father says. it was sinful, your mother claimed.

yet as the man of the house, his word was law, and your mother's voice drew out a long time ago. 

in an attempt to save face for your house, you set out to join the city watch, hoping that with time away from everything you knew, your tastes would change. that was the plan anyway. but the city of king's landing was very different from the remote lands you called home. there were all sorts of people in the streets; everyday, you saw a new face. everyday, you learned something new about what it meant to be human. 

during your off days, you would frequent the street of silk with some of your brothers-in-arms, merrily making your way to one of the many pleasure houses in the district. the first time you experienced what it meant to be held—to be embraced, you could never go back. it was a guilty pleasure of yours that only very few in the city watch knew of. only a few were open-minded to the prospect of one of their brothers being a sword swallower; most would probably have you stuffed with a real sword instead.

so on the night before you were set to depart king's landing to follow your lord commander into a death march, you threw yourself into the embrace of your favorite boy and swore you would die with no regrets.

as skilled as you were with a sword, you still knew not, why your lord commanded, a vicious knight himself, would select you to accompany him on the journey. surely he was already made aware of what you are, rumors spread easily in the city after all. but right at this moment, you cared very little for why he chose you, and cared only to follow the handsome dornishman who could cut you open with his longsword if he wished. 

or perhaps, your concern at the moment, was the handsome, fire-haired man by his side. ser gwayne hightower, was his name, brother to the dowager queen, and quite the good-looking fellow. he was noble and honorable as well, a man of faith. the more untouchable they were, the more you desired them, it seems. the forbidden fruit, told in the stories of old.

so you chose to watch him from afar, content with being close enough to greet him every morning during his walks around the green encampment. your admiration was all there was to it.

“good morrow, ser.” he greets you one afternoon.

“ser gwayne, good morrow to you as well.” you smile brightly, turning away from your sword for a moment.

you thought he would walk away after that, as he always did, but he lingered in your space, watching you sharpen your sword. slowly, you turned your head towards him.

“is there something i might assist you with, ser?” you curiously asked.

“nothing yet,” ser gwayne answers before he quickly shuffled away, as if slightly flustered by the interaction.

you hadn't known yet then, what that man had in store for you. 

the night was deep and quiet, most of the soldiers had gone to rest, while a select few watched the night, making their rounds to ensure the safety of their comrades. you were not one for the night's guard, but you liked to stay up later than most. you sat by the fire, cleaning your sword absent-mindedly, as you had repeatedly done the past few days despite the lack of blood or grime upon it. 

thoughts about the war occupied your thoughts, keeping you from sleep. all you could do was watch the flickering flame as your hands repeated the action of rubbing a white cloth on the steel of your blade. but to your surprise, someone had joined you on your lonely firepit. you turned, then nearly jumped from your seat upon seeing your superior, ser gwayne himself.

“ser gwayne, oh bless my soul, i thought…” you looked at his face, his handsome, smirking face, and suddenly you forgot your words. “nevermind.”

“‘tis a quiet night, ser, perfect for rest.” he started. “why are you not abed?”

“mind's all crowded, ser,” you answered with a chuckle. “it does not let me rest easily.”

ser gwayne hummed in response, his eyes observing the flickering flames. the orange glow of the fire hit all the perfect angles of his face, accentuating all his already naturally striking features. you hadn't realized you were staring until he turned towards you.

“would you like to join me on a walk, ser?” he asks. “the woods are scarcely patrolled by our men.”

“very well, ser,” you reply, standing to sheathe your sword.

he walked on ahead, pace slow until you caught up to him. the flickering flames of the encampment started to drift away the farther you walked from the camp. you walked by the highborn knight's right, keeping vigilant of the shadows at the corner of your eyes. surely ser gwayne was the same? even though he seemed like he was on a leisurely walk instead of a midnight patrol. you couldn't help but admire him anyways. an act you found yourself committed to these past few days. has he noticed? you think, heart beginning to thrum wildly against your ribs.

“when i was in king's landing,” he began speaking, stopping once he arrived at a forest clearing, where the moon shone brightly upon a natural rock formation. “i'd heard whispers of a knight in the city watch with… peculiar tastes.”

you felt all the shame in your body rush to your head. words of disdain spoken to you by your mother, becoming recurring thoughts. yet, ser gwayne approached you slowly.

“but a valiant man, they say he was. treated people kindly, with respect that befitted any human being.” ser gwayne stopped in front of you, your bodies so close to one another, you could feel his warmth against the chilly night air, yet so far he was, at the same time.

“sounds to me, ser, that he was a fine knight.” you try to say, eyes held against gwayne's piercing, sapphire gaze. 

“a fine knight indeed,” he agreed. 

the man before you was an honorable man, the most honorable man you've ever met, and you've met plenty of men before in your life. he was taller than you up close, with a lean figure, and broad shoulders. a pretty face, with even prettier eyes. his scent was intoxicating as you inhaled the air around him. he was so close to you now.

“now, my little knight,” he whispers, face nearing yours. “would you care to show me… how much of a valiant knight you are?”

one moment, your body was yearning for his warmth, the next, his warm hand held your cheeks in place. kind, and gentle were his hands, and you couldn't help but melt into him. he neared his face to yours, enough that your noses brushed, your eyes wide and unsure; but then he closed his eyes, his hold on your face was steady and sure, but he had yet to draw his lips to yours, perhaps waiting for you to come to him.

and come to him, you did. you filled the gap between you, your chests close enough that you could feel him like a second heartbeat. your lips molded together in a slow kiss, a delicate dance. all of a sudden, your entire body was aflame with his body close to yours.

he had you against a tree in a mere moment, lips never straying from yours as he chased after your taste. his hands held you steady, and you had half a mind to cling to him, to wrap your arms around him and hold him close ‘till you fused together. but your body betrayed your thoughts; your hands reached for his breeches, undoing his pants in mere moments and letting it fall to the forest floor. his cock hung heavy between his legs, and he finally parted from you when your lungs called for air.

you grasped his half-hard cock with both hands, marveling at the sheer length of it alone. you chuckled softly, “what a pretty little thing, this is.” you compliment against his lips as you both fall into a heated kiss once more. 

your hands were rough, but your touch was gentle yet firm. his cock was lengthy and veiny in all the right places, you required two hands just to completely get a hold of it. as you stroked him in your hands, he groaned against you, throwing his head back to the sky as he resisted the urge to thrust against your hold. you smirked, bearing witness to the way this man unraveled before you. sweat made his skin glow against the moonlight, his hair falling past his ears, exposing his neck. his throat rumbled with every gasp and moan, and you could not bring yourself to resist your desires.

you bit onto the soft flesh of his throat, and a surprised sound escaped him. you chuckled lowly and licked the spot your teeth had pierced. his hands held your hips, keeping you close to him as you continued to stroke his full length at terribly slow pace, teasing him to no end. 

“fuck, can't your hands move any faster?” he cussed softly.

“i don't believe i want to.” you hummed in amusement. 

he gave you a stern look through his lashes, his head hung low as he tried, so hard, to hold in his desperation. ‘what a pretty face,’ you thought, planting a kiss on his cheek.

your hands stopped entirely, and gwayne released a soft whine. you dropped to your knees, eyes on him the whole time. his dick hung precariously along the length of your face as you tasted him, your tongue working him all over. finally, you held his cock and kissed the tip of his length. the softness of your lips could never hold a candle to your mouth. when you took his cock into his mouth in earnest, gwayne released the most pathetic moan you'd ever heard. 

you continued to take him down your hot throat, until your nose hit the patch of auburn connecting his cock to his hips. rolling your eyes to the back of your head, all thoughts escaped you but the taste of gwayne on your tongue. you moaned softly, your dick straining against your own breeches, but you couldn't care less.

gwayne's cock was too good to set aside for your own pleasure. 

the knight gazed down upon you, tears trickling the corners of your eyes while your mouth struggled to accommodate gwayne for long. his fingers brushed your hair out of your face. he licked his lips; a fire had been lit deep inside his belly. he held your head in place, his fingers locking into the threads of your hair as he began to move his hips. slow, it was, at first. he didn't quite know what to make of the choked sounds from your throat, but you made no move to pull away. your hands had grasped his thighs and clung to them in desperation, and gwayne knew you wanted this as much as he did. 

“i see now… why they called you a sword-swallower,” gwayne chuckled. “look at you, choking on my cock so delightfully.”

his cock was so painfully close to cumming the faster he moved his hips, and all you could do was stay there, at the mercy of his grip. and if it were up to you, there was no other place you would rather be. 

finally, he pulled your face close to his hips, keeping you in place as his movements stilled. his cock throbbed painfully against the cavern of your mouth, and he spurted his release down your throat in loads. you tried your hardest to swallow as best as you could as you gazed up at him, mouth still stuffed with cock, you nearly choked. 

gwayne smirked as he looked down upon you; finally, he released his hold on you and withdrew. you gasped for air, leaning against him as you breathed heavily. 

“well done, ser.” said the knight, giving your cheek a gentle pat.

since then, your desire for the fire haired man only grew by the day. you gazed at him from afar during the noon, while at night, you retreated to woods to deal with your own. it was a shameful, sinful, desire. but in your heart and mind, you had wanted him so badly, it pained you terribly. 

during mandatory sparring sessions, your sword could finally be put to use. it was a regular steel blade, unlike the valyrian-steel ones wielded by men like daemon targaryen, or your king, aegon the elder, its steel was of no significance. but in your hands, it was among the deadliest weapons in the realm, and you wielded it against ser gwayne. 

after clashing your blades in a fierce dance, you had finally brought the man to his knees, your sword tip pointed to his throat as he smirked in your direction. “that's a good lad,” he told you then.

“that's a good boy,” he told you now, as you straddled his hips, looking down upon him as you did earlier that day. “keep going,”

out in the wilds, far from camp, you met underneath the moonlight again. ser gwayne's back was laid upon a makeshift bedding made of your clothes and his, it was a far cry from the comfort of a luxurious feathered bed in one of the whore houses at the street of silk back in king's landing. 

fitting his entire length inside you was a struggle you never thought you'd encounter. the more you sunk your hips down his length, the more your legs trembled, struggling to keep you from falling. ser gwayne's hands were kept at the meat of your firm hips, guiding you lower.

“is it painful, little knight?” ser gwayne teased.

“it is,” you whimpered softly, and you heard him release a low chuckle. 

“say you want my help, then.” he suggests.

you tumbled forward, your nose against the crook of his neck as you panted heavily. your words were stuck in your throat, all that came out were pathetic cries and whimpers, different from the pleasured sounds you'd normally make. 

“then help me, ser,” you begged against his ear, kissing along his neck. “help me,”

he kissed the temple of your forehead and smiled kindly at you as he held you tight in his arms. “that's good,” he praises softly. “good work.”

he took your lips in his and turned you over ‘till you were on your back. his cock moved slightly inside you, and you held back a moan. gwayne kisses you again, heated tongue on yours as he sought to invade your body with all of his. his cock pushed deeper past the ring of your ass, and you held your breath, muscles taut in unease. 

“relax—dear gods, you're so tight.” he bit his bottom lip as he finally sheathed the rest of himself in you.

he pulled back, holding your thighs apart to fully view the image of you unraveling before him.  for a moment, you tighten around him, and a soft moan escapes his lips. your weeping cock twitched, as if to call his attention, yet he ignored it in favor of the iron-grip of your ass on his cock.

“beautiful,” he praises. 

his hands fully gripped your hips as he withdrew his own, watching how you tried, so hard, to pull him back in the embrace of your warm, wet walls. he moved, and you swore to the heavens above it was the most painful thing you'd experienced, close to the time when you were stabbed by a sword sometime during your youth. 

but as he picked up the pace, the pain subsided, melting away into pure ecstacy. your chin tilted to the skies, the faster he moved. 

“f-fuck… little knight—” he sucked in a breath through his teeth as he rolled his hips, pressing his cock deeper in you.

“ser… ser, i beg of you…” your hands scrambled to grasp his body, but he was a bit far out of your reach. 

every breath, every word on your tongue, could not make it past your lips as he pistons his hips deeper, desperately. the tip of his cock made contact with that one, pleasurable spot inside you that can never seem to be reached by anyone else. and now, here he was, effortlessly kissing the deepest parts of you with his cock.

you turned to the heavens and your tears had begun to fall freely. you were far from a pious man, religion at the very back of your mind, but right at this very moment, the tighter the strings inside you went, the more you started to believe in the goodness of a being beyond the skies. you truly counted yourself blessed. if the god's beyond your mortal imaginations were not real, perhaps the one before you could be.

yet all that filled ser gwayne's head was pleasure; deplorable, vile ecstasy that numbed his mind like milk of the poppy. finally, he buried himself deep inside you and came undone. your poor, untouched cock, made a poor attempt to cum, only leaking pearly drops of your impending release.

gwayne finally bent his head to yours, to plant a sweet kiss on your lips that you immediately swallowed with earnest. his hand seized your cock and began to stroke quickly, hurrying for you to reach your peak. you moaned sharply, and it would have echoed had gwayne not silenced you with another kiss.

finally, you came undone. the remnants of your pleasure staining the knight's lithe fingers. he offered you a knowing smile, and despite your own exhaustion, you were ready for him to do it all over again.

~ shokoy ☆

[izbnart]

Batman animation 👍🌟

[shok-oy]

season 4. glenn rhee x male reader. masterlist notes. slight mentions of homophobia.

✒️ ... grave

glenn was an optimist, while y/n was a pessimist, always thinking about what could go wrong, such as when and where he would die, and how would it happen. glenn didn't mind, but sometimes, it affected the morale of the people around him.

y/n was out in the field, hard at work doing something. tending to the field and crops was rick's job, so people wondered what the enigmatic y/n was doing. he wasn't the best when it came to communicating his thoughts and feelings; he tried, but sometimes it ended in a misunderstanding. so y/n distanced himself from people as best as he could.

glenn stepped out into the field. he was taking a break after a long day of doing his tasks. it was nearly sundown, so even rick and carl were wrapping up their fieldwork. glenn approached y/n, something he finds himself doing quite often.

he finds y/n with a shovel in his hands, scooping up dirt in the ground and working tirelessly.

"hey, uh, y/n, what're you.... doing?" glenn asks, taking a peek at what y/n was doing.

"diggin' a grave." y/n answered simply.

"why?" glenn raises his brows.

"so when i die, you could just bury me here." y/n shrugged before resuming his task.

"you think you're gonna die here?" glenn crouched beside y/n.

"well—yeah... i mean, it's as good a place as any." y/n sighed, thrusting his shovel in the soil and letting it stand.

he takes a deep breath before leaning slightly toward the shovel.

"why are you here?" y/n asked in disbelief.

people mostly ignored him. he'd been with the prison group for a while now; they found him close to death at the side of the road one day and nursed him back to health. then, after asking him three questions, he was allowed to join the group. he was only trusted and respected by his peers because he helped them, but none of them ever really tried to get to know him. only glenn.

"can't i come out here?" glenn asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"you should head inside with the others." y/n tells him before he picks up the shovel once more. "looks like it'll rain soon."

"nah, i think i'll wait for you." glenn said.

"er... sure.. whatever makes you happy i guess."

~

by the time y/n had had enough of his digging, he went back inside for dinner, only to realize that everyone else had already eaten without him and retired to their respective rooms. glenn accompanied him to the end though, just like he said he would.

now, the two were sharing a quiet meal together outside. glenn was supposed to lock up anyways, and y/n had the first watch. y/n munched on some leftover vegetables, the group probably left it behind for them.

"so... you think you're gonna die here?" glenn suddenly said. "interesting..."

"how is it interesting?" y/n asked, raising a brow.

"like... do you think this place could be a permanent home? for us?" glenn asks, turning to look at y/n.

"yeah. i mean... it's not any better than my dorm back in college, this place was a prison, but so was that god-awful place." y/n sneered, thinking back to the days he spent living in a tiny college dorm before the dead started rising.

"well," y/n crossed his arms over his head and laid down on the concrete, using his arms as a cushion. "the only difference, is that i get an entire room to myself, and i don't gotta pay rent!"

"a permanent home..." glenn sighed wistfully.

"what are you daydreamin' about?" y/n asks.

"home." glenn answered simply.

y/n was silent, as if he didn't know what to answer. he then released a pleasant sigh before he inhaled the crisp, night air.

"lay down, would you?" y/n suggests, though his tone is teasing.

glenn shook his head and laughed before he situated himself to y/n's side, lying down on his back. the two men stared up at the night sky, the clouds giving them a brief view of the twinkling stars. thunder seemed to rumble in the distance, but the two didn't seem to care too much.

"how do you feel?" glenn asks, keeping his eyes. up.

"full." y/n laughed, patting his stomach. "just wish there was some rice though."

"you're a rice guy? didn't expect that." glenn chuckled.

"eh, one of my former roommates introduced me, it tasted pretty- shit!" y/n cussed loudly when droplets of rain suddenly began falling from the sky.

gray clouds gathered above their heads as they quickly scrambled to their feet before rushing inside. the rain poured heavily in mere moments, but thankfully, they had already managed to return indoors. now, both men were slightly damp as they leaned on the metal doorframe leading into the cells.

glenn laughed as he shook his head, droplets of rain falling from his hair. y/n groaned as he was splashed with water.

"glenn!" y/n laughed.

they were awfully close to each other, nearly huddled together for warmth. their shoulders were touching for mere moments when y/n suddenly takes off his wet t-shirt.

"w-what are you doing?" glenn asked, trying to hide the nervousness in his voice.

"takin' my shirt off." y/n answered simply. "y'know, 'cause it's wet and i don't want to get sick?"

"right, right, right..." glenn muttered.

"you're not gonna take it off?" y/n raised a brow.

"huh- no- i-i-i mean-" glenn yelped when y/n grabbed him by the hips all of a sudden, a playful smirk on his lips.

"medicine's hard to come by nowadays, dont'cha know?" y/n teased. "just take it off! we're both dudes!"

glenn yelped as y/n helped him off his shirt. glenn sighed as he brushed his hair back with a hand, then he noticed y/n had gone quiet all of a sudden. he looks at his friend, raising a brow at his strange behavior.

"something wrong?" glenn asked. "are you feelin' all right?"

"no, no, i'm fine..." y/n assured. "just didn't think you'd be hidin' all that underneath..."

y/n was referring to the lightly toned muscles of glenn's body. his wet skin glistened gently against the soft glow of the orange lanterns. glenn's hair was dripping wet as he kept brushing it back, away from his eyes. they were both real quiet, y/n's eyes were unable to leave the sight of glenn's body, while glenn was silently contemplating things in his head while he stared at y/n's face.

y/n's curiously handsome face. he never thought he'd ever like guys, sure, there were times he thought that some guys were hotter than most, but he always brushed them off as admiration. y/n on the other hand, always knew he liked guys. the others at the prison probably felt it, so they stayed away. but glenn was different. he wasn't stocky and a bully, nor was he lanky and nerdy. he was the perfect combination of both.

their bodies, wet from the rain, radiated so much warmth that they instinctively stepped closer to one another. y/n's lips were only an inch apart from glenn's, he could feel his heat. without a second thought, y/n's hands cupped glenn's face and pulled him close as glenn wrapped his arms around y/n's waist, closing the distance between them. their bodies were pressed against one another, skin to skin. they could feel each other's hearts, beating as one as their lips molded together.

when they pulled away, they were breathless, the sound of rain falling into deaf ears in the background as they held each other close in a warm embrace.

"this place ain't a bad place to die." y/n muttered softly and glenn chuckled before planting a kiss on y/n's cheek.

~ shokoy ☆

[nvmig]

If this bitch

And this bitch

Die in s3 IM GONNA MURDER EVERYONE

[shok-oy]

and I oop-

[blutopaz15]

the best thing about this season, smooches and sweetness and all other angst aside

[shok-oy]

damn it

[danroiie-deactivated20241222]

Jayce Talis x male!reader. NSFW. MDNI.

content; soft!needy!dom!Jayce. sub!reader. grinding against clothes. fucking on a desk. light masturbation (received). rough but soft grinding. maybe a little bit of “friends” to lovers(?. he is a ‘please’ boy.

A/N; I need more of him x m!reader. 👹 #needthat. Well, what I was coming to. English is not my first language so I apologize in advance for any grammatical error, I do what I can 😪🫶🏻. Feel confident to correct me (as long as it is with respect, of course)

By the way, this was planned to be longer, but in the end I didn't like it and I cut that part leaving only the action. You can imagine what you want about what happened before.

The second punch of the day hit his right cheek. This time, you felt the regret forming in your chest as you watched him complain of the pain. But despite that, his hand was still firmly clinging to you, with no intention of letting you go. You took his wrist, trying to separate his hand from your forearm, but the only thing you got was a war of struggle through the room.

The fight ended only when you were cornered between your desk and Jayce. Most of the things that were on the nearby desks ended up on the floor. You don't know how long you two had been like this, but the sweat had already accumulated on your forehead because of the physical effort, just like on Jayce's.

He was close enough to you that you could feel his breath hitting your chin. You both stared at each other, trying to regulate your breaths. You hadn't noticed how much he had changed until he was very close. His hair was longer than usual, as was his facial hair. You were surprised that you were able to recognize him just moments ago.

For his part, you were almost the same since the last time he saw you. Of course, the only difference was the small dark circles under your eyes, but other than that everything remained the same. You kept looking at him with those eyes even though your expression or words wanted to make him believe otherwise. Your hair was not in that tidy hairstyle you used to wear; it was untidy and small strands stuck to your forehead because of the sweat. That only made you look so much better.

His gaze unconsciously turned to your ajar mouth.

He had really missed you, more than he should have.

You felt one of his hands slide from your jaw to the back of your neck, where it stood still and firm. You swallowed hard as you continued to look at him carefully, avoiding losing any other movement. You watched him exhale in a very peculiar way as he met your eyes again. He approached uncertainly, stopping millimeters from you. You could swear that his nose brushed against yours.

And what had only happened in your deepest dreams was fulfilled.

His lips crashed with yours in a fierce and needy way that barely gave you time to react. The hand that was on the back of your neck had now tangled between your hair.

You clung to the collar of his shirt to bring him closer to you. He let out a gasp among kisses as he carefully got you on top of the desk, positioned himself between your thighs. His kisses moved away from your lips only to continue their journey across your cheek, whispering repeatedly how much he had missed you as he passed by your ear. His path then moved down to your neck where he left sloppy kisses.

After a short time, you began to feel a small erection growing in the middle of your legs. You felt your face burn with embarrassment and you tried to close them, only to remind that Jayce was between them. The small pressure on his hips made him stop at his work with your neck to look down confused by the sudden movement. He let out a low and small laugh as he raised his head again to look at you, smiling sweetly before planting a small kiss on one of your reddened cheeks. "Don't hide it from me" he whispered to you with that same low tone in your ear, his hands slowly went down to the buckle of your belt.

His forehead rested on yours as he closed his eyes. You did the same as you felt one of his hands slip inside your trousers. The two of you let out a gasp in unison when he finally managed to touch you over the fabric of your underwear; you clung to one of his arms at the same time as your other hand clung to the wood of your desk.

His touch began slowly and softly, as if he was afraid of hurting you. Then, he started to go a little faster when he made sure you were wet enough.

"You look so pretty like that" he managed to say with difficulty.

"Shut up"

A contagious giggle escaped from his lips and you couldn't help laughing too.

You moan in reply when you feel his hand move away from you, but that didn't last long. His hands rested on the lower part of your thighs, raising them slightly upwards, which caused you to almost have to lie down on the desk. You looked at him confused for a few moments until you felt his own erection colliding with yours.

You heard him let out a hoarse moan before he leaned down to find you. You got up as best you could with your elbows. Your gaze traveled to your crotch, where you could better appreciate his erection against yours.

You couldn't help but moan when you saw that.

You felt Jayce's arms rest on both sides of you and the soft touch of his forehead against yours. You looked up to meet his eyes again; he watched you for a short time before leaning over to kiss you.

You could feel how he began to grind against you faster and faster, so much so that your desk began to move, throwing some of the papers that you had previously scattered on top to the floor. You felt your legs falter, but Jayce's hands made sure not to let them fall by clinging tightly to your thighs.

After a while, both of you let go of each other's mouths, with a small thread of saliva connecting your lips.

“Ah fuck-” You whimper, almost out of breath “I’m gonna-”

“Don't look away, keep looking at me, please”

Your underwear was soaked with the fluids of both. Your elbows hurt from the effort to support your weight, and not to mention your legs. Them were only still up thanks to Jayce. Your back began to arch from time to time, and you knew that soon you would cum.

Your breathing was a mess. You no longer knew if what came out of your mouth were moans, if you were just hyperventilating, or even a mixture of two.

For god's sake, it was just a grind, why was it making you so fucking bad?

“Jayce, I can’t… I… I need it, I need it so bad”

“Ssh It’s okay, I'm right here” he whispered to you in gasps “Why don't you lie down completely, hmm?”

Your back leaned completely against the desk. His hands grabbed your arms and brought them straight to his neck, where he quickly intertwined them before returning his hands to your thighs.

“Just let me make you feel good”

His face was hidden in the hollow of your neck as he continued to grind against you desperately. You clung to the fabric of his shirt, biting his shoulder and muffling the sound of your whimpering. You could only hear the sound of your desk hitting the wall of the room and Jayce's sometimes hoarse moans.

After a moment you heard him curse as he moved away from your neck, looking for your gaze.

“I need you to cum with me, baby, can you do it, please?”

You nodded quickly; you didn't make an effort to say anything because you knew it would be in vain since only incessant whining came out of your mouth. You looked at him, and you could swear that you had come right at that moment; the way he looked at you pleadingly and needy made you question which of the two looked more pathetic now. It was a miracle that you could contain yourself. You clung to his back tighter when you felt your pelvis contract as well as your legs. You would do it; you were close.

On your way to hide your face in the hollow of his neck one of his hands stopped you, holding you by the nape.

“Look at me when you cum, baby, don't hide your face, yeah?” you didn't tell him anything, but it wasn't necessary. The way your eyes looked at him told him everything.

For a moment, you genuinely believed that the desk would break under you. Jayce's hips began to move against you in a disastrous way, with an irregular but fast and strong rhythm. One of his knees rose to lean on the corner of the desk, and you felt one of his arms take you by your lower back. You could see the sweat on his forehead.

Your vision clouded as you felt the heat forming inside you; your orgasm approaching with each stroke. And, as if he knew, the grip on your thigh tightened harder, just like the one on your back.

“oh yes!, please, please, please, please”

Your body reacted to his words, and that's when you felt the barrier of all your control break. You felt your orgasm hit you with a wave of pure pleasure all over your body. You cried out, your voice broke with lust and need as you felt your legs tremble just like your back arched. Feeling your body pressing against you, Jayce's own climax rose to the foreground with the intense sensations pushing him to the limit.

“Fuck!” he groaned, his eyes rolling back with hips jerking erratically.

His body fell on yours, avoiding crushing you, of course. Your foreheads joined together while trying to regulate your breaths; both let out a small chuckle as you looked into each other's eyes. As the last pulses of his orgasm faded, Jayce tenderly wiped the tears and saliva from your face, which you hadn't even realized you had. He looked at you with sweetness and softness, still holding your face.

"You have a lot to explain" a smile drawn on your lips.

"You have no idea"

[shok-oy]

he want that cookie so bad

[shok-oy]

season 4. carl grimes x male reader. masterlist

✒️ ... illness

y/n and carl were huddled together, a comic book resting carl's lap as they read the book together. they were in the prison, somewhere a bit farther away from the main cell blocks, secluded and secure, where no one could bother them.

suddenly, carl gasped.

"no way! they can't just kill him like that! he's the main character, that doesn't look like an ending fit for a superhero!" carl complained loudly.

"maybe he'll live or maybe he is dead. honestly, we might never know." y/n laughed.

carl groaned, closing the comic book out of frustration.

"unless...." y/n smirks, and carl turns to him. "ta-daa!"

y/n reveals a comic book from behind him, and it was the next volume of the comic they were just reading. carl gasped and grabbed it from y/n's hands.

"no way! how did you- how?!" carl laughed, inspecting the comic book.

"i got it while i was on a run with daryl." y/n smirks proudly, but his expression quickly fades away as he notices the disheartened look on carl's face.

"carl?" y/n asks, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. "what's wrong?"

"it's just- my dad won't let me go out on runs, he won't even let me hold a gun." carl sighed. "i feel useless."

"he just cares about you, is all." y/n tries to say, attempting to uplift his friend's spirits

"i know, it just sucks i have to stay here while you get to go out on runs with daryl and the rest." carl confessed.

"if it makes you feel better, i'd rather stay in here and read comic books with you than go out there and sit in uncomfortable silence with daryl." y/n joked, his hands slipping on the comic book on carl's hands.

he gives the boy a smile and opens the book so they could both read together.

~

"okay, gross, can we get back to the action scenes?" carl grimaced when he opens the book to a page where the main character had kissed their love interest.

"what? a little embarrassed over a kiss scene are we?" y/n teased, keeping his hand on the page so carl wouldn't flip it.

"n-no!" carl quickly denied.

"then... why are you so red? have you never seen people kiss before?" y/n asks.

"i have..." carl whispered lowly, his cheeks reddening by the second.

"have you ever... kissed someone before?" y/n asked.

"..." carl was silent.

for a few moments, y/n tried to move close to him, slowly so as to not spook him. but when his hands laid upon carl's own, the boy suddenly shifted, flipping the comic book close with a loud shut. carl quickly stands before speed-walking away from his friend, leaving the comic on the floor. y/n felt as if all the color in his world had washed away, had he just been rejected?

he felt a twinge of pain on his chest, then a squeeze... then, it was as if his heart had stopped beating. he leaned back on the wall behind him and squeezed his eyes shut, thinking, trying to form words in his mind, but nothing. there it was, the end of a two-year friendship with the only boy his age who could possibly know what he was going through.

y/n rubbed his nape, trying to calm down. he shut his eyes, forcing back the tears on his eyes as he tried to relax, to stop thinking about what had just happened. would carl tell his father? if he did, what would rick do? would the man kick him out for his... preferences? would he think he is filthy for... trying to corrupt his son?

y/n stands up, picking up the comic book carl had left behind.

he trudged back into the prison with a heavy heart. he clutched the book close to his chest, avoiding people. he thinks their eyes are on him, he feels their disgust. had carl already told everyone? or did he just tell one person and it somehow reached all over the prison?

he reached his room — his cell — and he tossed the comic book over the top bunk along with the other comic books he collected from his runs with daryl. he kicks off his shoes and lays on his bed, hearing the creaking noise it made had him cringe, or maybe it was the scent that had him make that expression, whatever it was, he was upset and frustrated.

he hears the shuffling of cloth as the curtains that hung over the entrance of his room had been drawn back. daryl stood there, looking down on the boy. he didn't speak for a few minutes, only chewing through his dinner.

"what happened?" daryl spoke gruffly.

y/n doesn't reply. he lie motionless in bed.

"why don't you come on and eat." that wasn't a question, daryl was ordering him.

"don't wanna." y/n replied.

daryl entered the cell, drawing the curtains to cover the room before he sits on y/n's bed, the mattress dipping under his weight.

"then what'd you want?" daryl asks this time.

"i want the ground to eat me up." y/n groaned into his pillow.

daryl scoffed, munching on a piece of bread. he took one large bite before nudging y/n with his knuckles. the boy doesn't move, but he releases a frustrated grunt. daryl nudged him even harder this time, and he kept nudging y/n until he practically hit the wall. y/n slapped daryl's hand away and the older man grunted. he didn't have to do much, with just one arm he held down a struggling y/n.

"you dick!" y/n hissed.

"uh-huh." daryl chuckled.

y/n groaned and finally gave up. daryl was the person who found him and brought him back to the prison. he was exhausted and dehydrated and trapped in a rooftop with walkers crawling below him. daryl managed to lead the walkers away with a noisy, stolen car before he managed to save the poor boy. ever since then, daryl was sort of y/n's guardian, daryl took it upon himself to watch over the boy and care for him, he was y/n's big brother, so of course he would worry if he hadn't come down to eat, or if something seemed to be bothering y/n.

"so?" daryl asked as he removed his arm on y/n. "what is it?"

"you can't help me this time, daryl." y/n chuckled sadly.

"what? you got problems with your boy?" daryl asked.

y/n's eyes widened. how did daryl know? his expression made daryl chuckle. of course he knew; apart from carl, who else had y/n spent so much time with? y/n threw an arm over his eyes and groaned loudly, making daryl chuckle.

"can't cage yourself in here forever. come on, get out and eat." daryl stands, playfully clasping y/n's arm. "that boy ain't your life."

y/n finally caved; he stood up and dragged himself behind daryl as the man took another chunk out of the bread he was eating. he forced the leftover bread in y/n's mouth and the teen groaned in displeasure before his hand reaches up to hold the bread in place. daryl walks a few steps ahead of y/n, who was obviously purposely slowing down his steps. daryl rolled his eyes; he really couldn't take the slow steps of y/n any longer. he swung an arm over the boy's shoulders and practically dragged him outside, to the eating area.

a lot of people were outside having dinner. the people from woodbury and from rick's original group sat together, scattered in different tables. y/n caught sight of carl sitting beside his father, the seat to his other side was empty and y/n had half a mind to go sit beside him. but daryl dragged him over to sit beside carol on another table. she was sitting with the parents, chatting about some original recipe of hers. when he was sat, daryl walks off towards the grills to pick up some food.

"ah, y/n, how are you?" carol asks the boy, a sweet smile on her lips.

"i am.... fine." y/n spoke slowly, as if he was unsure of his own answer.

but he was the complete opposite of fine. his reason? the boy sitting a few tables away from him. but carol had always been sweet to him. he was close to her thanks to daryl, and when no one was looking, carol would sneakily give y/n a chocolate bar or two. y/n liked her, so he tried to give her a polite response in front of her woodbury friends. carol felt like something was up, but she didn't pry further as she had turned back to chatting with her friends.

y/n felt a nudge on his shoulder and he looks up to see daryl moving in to sit beside him. y/n immediately scooches to make space for him. the gruff man sets down a plate of cooked venison in front of y/n and motions for him to have his fill. y/n smiles and mumbles a soft thanks to the man before he begins to eat.

~

carl can't help the way his eyes naturally gravitate towards y/n. he was seated between carol and daryl, eating his meal in peace as he listens to the chatter around his table. he felt this... strange, squeezing sensation on his heart every time he steals a glance from y/n.

he probably shouldn't have walked away from y/n earlier... he barely remembers what he was thinking at that moment, or perhaps he wasn't thinking at all. he felt the way his heart sped up when y/n came closer to him, he felt the way his face warmed up when y/n huddled close to him so he could read.

he could feel, but he couldn't think.

then he hears a cough from one of the kids and suddenly he's back in reality.

after dinner was over, he headed back to his room. he bids his father goodnight and kisses judith as she sleeps soundly in her crib. as he was heading back to his room, he finds y/n hanging around the perch on the second floor, where daryl's room was. he coughed a few times, and daryl comes into view, carrying a bottle of water and some meds.

"hey, don't cough it at me, boy." daryl grunted.

y/n chuckled weakly before coughing again, a bit louder this time. daryl quickly supports him with his body before gently setting him down to sit. carl trudged back to his room, he ducked his head and made sure his steps were quiet so the two wouldn't notice him.

~

the next morning, carl heard screams, he heard gunshots, and his father's panicked voice mixing with everyone else's fearful screams.

but when the dust settled and everyone had gone quiet, carl noticed the bodies of walkers, people from woodbury whom he shared a roof with for the past few months. it was some sort of virus or disease, according to the doctor. patrick was found dead, a walker with no bites or scratches on him, but he was bleeding on his nose, eyes, and mouth; a truly horrific sight.

he remembers seeing how horrified y/n looked when he saw the deceased body of the boy. he runs away, holding back the urge to throw up. carl hadn't seen him for the rest of the day.

the council decided to quarantine those who they deemed "infected." first it was karen and david, but they were soon found dead, burned with their bodies nothing but black ash on the floor outside.

more people began to contract symptoms, and soon enough, an entire cell block was nearly half-full with people coughing and wheezing.

y/n would soon join them.

"you can't- daryl, please, i can help!" y/n cried, his hand holding onto daryl's arms as the man led him to cell block a, where they quarantined all the sick people. "let me go on that run with you, just please, please don't put me in there, i'm begging you."

carl was listening from afar, watching from behind a wall. y/n was holding back tears. he'd been fearful of his life ever since he saw patrick's deceased body. daryl placed a hand on his cheek, giving a him a look of assurance.

"just get in there. sasha'll take care of you." he said, gently pushing y/n towards the door.

"i'm gonna die in there!" y/n whisper-yelled. "i'm gonna die knowing i didn't do anything to stop it or- or help!"

"stop. you're sick." just as daryl said that, y/n broke out into a coughing fit. he quickly coughed into his arm. "you're gonna be fine. i'm gonna make sure of it."

daryl hated to see his little brother in pain. he would do anything to ease his pain.

"carl! c'mere."

carl's shoulders stiffened and he attempted to run away, but he heard daryl call him again, louder this time. he inhaled sharply, he wouldn't hear the end of it from daryl if he didn't listen now. he slowly walked out of his hiding spot. y/n quickly let go of daryl and took a few steps back. no, he thinks to himself. he didn't want carl to seem him in such a pathetic state. not again. in a split second, before daryl even knew what was happening, y/n had slipped past him to get into the door leading into cell block a.

he looks at daryl's frustrated glare through the large, glass window. he shook his head, refusing to look at carl. he runs off, probably to find a cell to trap himself in.

"just- i dunno what you two are fighting about, but that boy is gonna die the more he thinks about dying." daryl tells carl.

carl stays quiet.

"look after 'im for me. won't 'ya?" daryl walks away, leaving carl to himself.

~

carl didn't know how to "look after" someone who wouldn't even look at him. he would visit the glass window to cell block a every hour, hand on his gun in case anything happened, but every time he came up to the glass window, no one would come up. he would see a few silhouettes moving in the background, but he couldn't see y/n.

was he pissed at him? they haven't had a chance to talk after what happened and everything was just moving so fast.

was he hurt? he probably was. he walked away from him when he was trying to get closer to him. was he? or was he just trying to catch a closer look at the comic?

what if this was really it? what if daryl and the others come too late and cell block a just turns into a cell block of patrick's? what if y/n ended up like patrick and... died?

carl shook his head; he doesn't know anything and he certainly doesn't know what will happen if he keeps on thinking negative thoughts.

he stands in front of the glass window, eyes glued to the shadows moving around on the other side of the glass. he pressed his lips into a thin line. he shook his head and turned on his heel.

"what the hell am i doing..." he muttered.

but just before he could even take one step, he hears tapping coming from the glass. he turned around; to his surprise,

y/n was there.

he looked pale, a little out of breath, but otherwise alright. carl quickly moves closer to the window, and so does y/n. they were so close, carl felt as if he could hug him. but the glass blocked him. he smiled half-heartedly, worried that maybe he was acting too excited, y/n would find him weird, but the corners of y/n's lips twitched upwards for the slightest moment before he broke out into another coughing fit. carl accidentally slams his hand into the glass out of concern for his friend.

he didn't know it yet, but his heart squeezed with pain at the sight of y/n in so much pain.

when y/n's coughing fit died down a little, he raises his head and looks at carl straight in the eyes. there; it was if they were communicating.

i'm sorry. carl would say.

don't be. y/n would respond.

please don't die. carl wanted to tell him.

i won't.

blood trickled down y/n's nose as he smiled. hershel quickly appears from behind y/n. he pats the boy on the back before helping him back in. carl watched them with worried eyes before they disappeared inside the cell block. carl sighed. he was beyond the glass window, there was nothing he could do now but leave it up to hershel.

~

something happened. the fence gave in, crumbling under waves of walkers. carl and his father managed to gun them all down, burning through half of their cache of bullets in one night. still, they managed. maggie had rushed back into cell block a after hearing multiple gunshots. she initially tried to stay with rick so she could help - they were severely outnumbered - but rick ordered her to go into cell block a and only two more gunshots followed after.

the gunshots worried carl, one might have been a warning shot, but two - then later two more - multiple shots might have meant the situation was worse then they thought. neither maggie nor hershel would fire their guns unless they were truly in danger. then he thinks back to y/n. was he alright? was he hurt? what if one of those shots hit him?

then, a van came into view.

~

carl could finally enter the quarantined cell block after everyone was given their meds. he walked in slowly, observing multiple puddles of blood on the floor and some dead bodies of both regular people and walkers. his heart raced; was y/n one of them?

but after he thoroughly searched through the entire first floor and he didn't find any sign of his friend, he felt hope slightly bloom in his chest.

he came up to the second floor. glenn was resting on one of the cell blocks, with maggie cleaning up the blood on his face. she looks at him, smiling a little. carl returns it with a half-hearted smile of his own.

"y/n?" carl asks her quietly.

"cell at the end, shouldn't miss him." maggie replied.

carl gives her a grateful nod before leaving her be. he follows her directions; he approached the last cell at the end of the catwalk. to his surprise, daryl emerged from the cell. the gruff man gives him a grunt.

"gonna go get 'im some water." was all daryl said before he trudged away, an empty glass cup on his hand.

carl took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself. what was he gonna say again? he remembers practicing apologies, reasons, and whatnot in his mind during his trip to cell block a, but now, everything was gone. carl wanted to leave, perhaps he could speak to him again at a later date.

or maybe he won't. can't. couldn't. wouldn't.

the boy sighed deeply. fine. he was gonna do this now. he removes his sheriff's hat, holding it with one hand as he slowly makes his way towards the cell.

inside was relatively clean. the bunk bed looked creaky and old, and he saw y/n lying there. the boy was resting on his side, blanket over his shoulder. his eyes were closed and he was taking slow and steady breaths. carl kneels on the bedside, and y/n, as if sensing carl's presence, opens his eyes. he blinks a couple times, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

carl smiled awkwardly. "hey." he starts.

"hey." y/n muttered, eyes subconsciously wandering elsewhere in carl's body as if to check for wounds or any signs of harm.

"uhm, how are you?" carl asked.

"fine." y/n sniffles, trying to hide his bloody nose.

"your nose..." carl reluctantly points out.

"oh... yeah. i came pretty close, but hershel svaed me." y/n chuckled weakly.

carl smiles, a genuine smile this time. then he let's out a soft snort. carl wears a gentle expression on his face as he closely observes y/n's face. he plays with y/n's hair with one hand, twirling strands of h/c hair in between his fingers. y/n smiles sadly.

"carl?" y/n calls his name softly.

"yeah?"

"could we... talk about.. what happened?" y/n asks.

there it was. carl knew this was bound to happen sooner or later. he just wished he could've enjoyed the peace he had with y/n a few seconds ago, a little longer. he sighed, his movements had stilled and y/n's face clearly reflected his sadness.

"do i disgust you? or was it what i did?" y/n asked.

"no." carl denied.

i'm fifteen and i've never thought about liking boys before in my life until you came. carl thought about saying it.

"then what is it?" y/n asked again, eyes glued on carl's face as the boy couldn't look him directly in the eye.

"do you... like boys?" ah, what a naive question.

"what does it matter if i like boys or girls?" an even more naive answer.

carl didn't quite know what to think. didn't know what to answer either. what he does know is that he cares for y/n, but in what way? as a brother? as a friend? or... as something more? he was conflicted and it was reflecting in the way he was avoiding eye contact with y/n and the way he was fidgeting with y/n's hair.

y/n could feel this. he sighed, placing one hand on top of carl's, stopping him from playing with his hair any further. he gives him an empathetic smile as carl bit his lip, unsure of what to answer or say.

"nevermind." y/n sighed. "it was stupid of me to ask."

he shifted, well, tried. he tried to shift his position so he'd be facing the wall instead, but carl stops him, hand on y/n's waist to stop him from turning around.

"wait." carl called.

y/n stopped moving, his eyes meeting carl's. he was about to ask him to leave, to return when he settled whatever it was he needed to settle, but then, carl leans in close, his movement, a bit careful as if he was waiting for y/n to push him away or move back, but y/n doesn't, he let's carl capture his lips in an awkward, but pleasant kiss. well — it was kind of awkward, neither boys have ever kissed someone before, let alone another boy, but...it's was pleasant.

a warm spark blossomed when their lips met. they stayed in that kiss for a while, and they separated for air, y/n was tugging on carl's collar, as if asking for another kiss.

"fuck." carl cussed slightly.

"what? did you have an epiphany or something?" y/n asked quietly.

"i don't know if i like boys." carl moved so he was now sitting on the bed, hovering over y/n's upper torso. "but i think i like you."

he leans down again and their lips meet in between. carl was practically smiling into his partner's lips as he deepened their kiss. y/n looped one arm around car's neck, as if trying to bring him closer.

"hah... you think?" y/n mutters against the kiss and he hears a chuckle from carl.

"i worry for you. you're the only person i want near me.... you're the only... person i want to grow old with." carl sighed, leaning in for another kiss. he cups his hand on y/n's cheek. "you're the only one..."

"starved, are we?"

the two boys quickly moved away from each other at the sound of another man's gruff voice. carl nearly hit his on the bottom of the upper bunk. daryl was standing on the entrance to the cell, leaning on the wall, carrying a glass of water in one hand and some meds on the other. carl chuckled weakly.

"daryl! uhh..." carl scratched the back of his nape.

"out. gotta give him his meds." daryl scoffed, lightly shooing away the sheriff's son.

carl scrambled to his feet, picking up his father's hat along the way. he gives y/n one, final batch before scampering away from daryl's gaze. when he left, daryl shook his head. he walks over to y/n, who was covering the bottom half of his face as he watched daryl move about in his small cell.

"doctor said to drink this thrice a day, once when you wake up, once after lunch, and once before you go to bed." daryl hands y/n a pill and the boy accepts it as he sits up. receiving the cup of water in another hand.

"so?" daryl raised a brow as y/n gulped down the pill.

"what?" y/n laughed. "we made up."

"nah, looks like you two made out." daryl snorted.

"shut up."

~ shokoy ☆

[electraslight]

used to be one of the rotten ones and i liked you for that

[meancatboy]

Penetration is a gender-neutral act. Topping is gender-neutral. Bottoming is gender-neutral. You are not more or less of a man or a woman depending on how you fuck. You are not “fake trans” for having sex a certain way. You are not any less masculine for bottoming or any less feminine for topping.

[playfully--sadistic]

Additionally, acting like being penetrated is an act of submission is deeply rooted in misogynistic, cisheteronormative ideas of sexual intercourse, as in "penetration is something that is done to women for the sexual gratification of the man, nothing more, therefore it is inherently degrading and feminine".

A cishet man getting pegged by his cishet girlfriend is not gay, he's not less of a man or submissive by default. A cishet man getting pegged by his cishet girlfriend can be sexually dominant and simply likes to be fucked in his ass - these two can co-exist. Yet, in the eyes of cishet society, a man that likes to have his ass played with, must enjoy it because it's "degrading" , not because it simply feels good.

That's why I so heavily preach about the difference between sub/dom/switch and bottom/top/vers. Penetration can be used to increase the feeling and severity of a power dynamic, but it doesn't create one. These two things are entirely separate from eachother, unless connected willingly.

[meancatboy]

you should reblog this version instead, actually

[shok-oy]

twd characters x male reader. headcanons. masterlist

✒️ ... prompt : their love language? pt. 2 [ the militia + the saviors edition ]

paul rovia (jesus)

- quality time

jesus knows you have your own place and your own role to play as a member of alexandria/hilltop; always helping out the people by rebuilding society, one seed at a time, one brick at a time while everyone else looked to overthrow the saviors from their seat of high power. it was one of the many things he adored about you, you were always looking past tomorrow, thinking of building a better future. but despite how busy you were, you always managed to make time for him, always organizing a date with him so you two could spend some quality time together to unwind and just be in each other's comforting presence, dreaming about the future you two would have.

ezekiel sutton

- words of affirmation & physical touch

ezekiel knows he was just being theatrical; naming himself king, walking around with a tiger at his beck and call, and calling his home a kingdom as if they lived in fantasy land and not in real life, where life and death mattered greatly. he often doubted himself on whether or not he was still doing the right thing, if he was still worth of leading the people of the kingdom, but you were his most loyal follower from the very moment he saved you and welcomed you into the kingdom. hearing reassuring words from you, and feeling the warmth of your skin on his as you hold his hand or hold him in your arms. he likes being the little spoon, especially on days where something bad went wrong, a soldier losing their life, or a plan not working out.

benjamin sutton

- words of affirmation

benjamin had a lot to live up to. he was ezekiel's successor, so a lot was riding on his shoulders. the fact that he was ezekiel's successor meant that he had to be stronger and wiser than ezekiel ever was. that's what he believed at least, which led to his growing anxiety that bothered him everytime he accompanied ezekiel outdoors. he could barely even hold a weapon, a gun, a bow, a spear; nothing ever worked out for him. but there was a silver lining; you. you were always there for him, encouraging him and telling him exactly the words he needed to hear. you were his strength, your words keep him hopeful, making him look forward to a better tomorrow.

negan smith

- physical touch

negan is a cold-hearted man, is what people like to believe; he has a bat named lucille, and his nuts are made of steel. but to you, he was gentle. his touches were possessive, but careful. but if you touched him, he would absolutely melt. he likes it when your hands are on him, massaging his forehead, rubbing imaginary circles on his chest, or holding his hands just to kiss his bruised knuckles after he gets into a fight with a disobedient group. having your skin on his just gives him a sense of normalcy in a crazy world where the dead ate the living.

dwight

- quality time

dwight likes working on his miniatures on the rare occasion he gets a break. him, alone with his miniatures helps him relax, but sometimes, you're there with him. dwight's the listening type, so you could just yap all about how your day went and dwight would be giving you that half-smile as he carved the details on his miniatures while listening to what you were saying.

simon

- physical touch & quality time

simon is negan's right hand man, which means, all the work negan doesn't bother doing, he dumps it all into simon, making him a very busy man. but you knew negan, and you always had your way with him whether he liked it or not and you'd demand negan to get his shit together and do his work so you and simon could spend some time together. you getting angry at negan was probably the hottest you've ever been in his eyes. fortunately, negan, while being very lenient towards you, was also very supportive of your relationship. after he gives simon the day off, you and simon are all over each other, making up for lost time.

~ shokoy ☆

[shok-oy]

minors dni [smut]. season 4. daryl dixon x male reader. masterlist

✒️ ... watchtower

a prison wasn't exactly what one would consider a home, but in a world where the dead eat the living, it was its own paradise. y/n was one of the people rick grimes brought into the prison from woodbury, he was one of the governor's soldiers, but he had adamantly refused to take part in the slaughter that the governor was planning, so he stayed behind in woodbury to protect those who were unable to fight. y/n became one of the prison's council members. rick and his peers thought it would be good for the people of woodbury to have a representative speak up for them in the council.

he was doing good work, but daryl, who was naturally distrustful of new people and wary around big crowds, didn't seem to like y/n all that much. he never cared enough to answer y/n properly, always grunting and huffing, he wouldn't face him, and when they were on a council meeting, he would catch daryl side-eyeing him from his seat.

finally, he had enough. he wanted what's best for him and the people of woodbury he hoped the two groups would adapt to each other better, but daryl seems to have other plans.

"daryl, do you not like having us around?" y/n asks daryl as they were together on watch one cold evening. "me and the people from woodbury, i mean."

"s'all right." daryl grunted, rolling his shoulder. "more people builds civilization."

the way daryl grunted as he rolls his shoulder in discomfort made y/n think; was his shoulder in pain? woodbury had a decent doctor, and he was brought to the prison as well. daryl could go to him if he needed help.

"is your shoulder alright?" y/n asks.

"m'fine." daryl huffed, making y/n chuckle.

"sure you are." y/n shook his head. "if you don't wanna see the doc, its fine, but sooner or later, you're gonna have to fix that up."

daryl doesn't say anything and y/n thinks he was too proud to admit he needed help. y/n chuckled.

"hey, uh... i used to be a licensed physiotherapist, so i could help you out if you want?" y/n offers kindly, trying to benice to the gruff man.

the bowman looks him up and down through his oily hair. he doesn't find a trace of malice in y/n's eyes when he briefly caught sight of him. he grunted, turning around and facing away from y/n. he sighed, thinking daryl had rejected his kind offer, but daryl looks at him over his shoulder.

"what're you waitin' around for?" daryl motions to his shoulder.

y/n was surprised, but incredibly pleased. he smiles before putting his trained fingers on daryl's shoulder; he immediately feels his hard muscles, and he could practically feel the tension in his own muscles. he began to press lightly, being gentle with his touches. daryl grunted a little as y/n massaged his aching shoulder. after a few circular motions on his shoulders using his fingers, daryl could sense y/n taking a deep breath.

in one single motion, y/n popped bck daryl's shoulder into place. surprised, daryl whipped around and grabbed y/n's wrist, not noticing how he was using his previously sore shoulder, which wasn't sore anymore, surprisingly. y/n stared at him, waiting in anticipation of what daryl was about to do.

"where'd you learn to do that?" daryl grunts.

"like i said; i was a licensed physiotherapist." y/n answers quietly.

to his surprise, daryl leans over him, their foreheads practically touching as daryl stares him down as if he were asserting his dominance. y/n felt small under daryl's gaze; he slowly got on his knees, maintaining eye contact with daryl, fearing that if he looked away right now, daryl would be gone. daryl watches him closely, but he doesn't make a move away or anything. y/n palms the growing tent in between the man's pants, and he subconsciously licks his lips.

"i could also... help you with other problems?" y/n offers with a smirk. daryl doesn't move or say anything, leading y/n to believe daryl was letting him have his way.

he slowly unzips the man's pants; daryl cocks his head to the side, still keeping his eyes trained on y/n. he pulls down daryl's pants and underwear, freeing the man's half-hard cock. it gently pressed aginst his lips, as if it was trying to invite itself inside. y/n smirks, wrapping his hand around it, he moves his hand up and down, feeling the thick and bulging veins on the sides of daryl's cock.

daryl doesn't say anything. y/n's eyes flutter shut and he opens his mouth, immediately engulfing daryl's cock with his plump lips until his nose was buried deep in daryl's pubes.

daryl's musty scent invades his notrils, and as daryl's cock prodded the back of his throat, he could barely breathe. his eyes rolled to the back of his head, and daryl's fingers run through y/n's hair as he sucks in a breath. he withdraws his hips as his fingers tighten their grip on y/n's h/c hair. y/n squeezes his eyes shut, bracing himself as daryl thrusts his hips forward, pushing his cock in y/n's mouth. he was careful not to let his teeth graze the man's cock. his tongue dragged all over daryl's dick, lathering him up with saliva before daryl withdraws his cock again before thrusting in.

daryl bit his lip as he builds a steady pace. his hips continued moving as y/n could do nothing but accept him. as daryl mercilessly abuses his mouth, his hands undid his own zipper and he brought out his rock-hard cock, leaking pre-cum at the tip. a moan struggles to escape him as he pumps his hand up and down his cock, smearing precum all over his hands and himself.

tears threatened to escape y/n's eyes. his throat felt like it was being violated with every thrust of daryl's hips. his now, rock-hard cock could reach the very back of y/n's throat with ease.

"fffucck...." daryl groaned lowly. he looks down, seeing the utterly fucked out look on y/n's face. he smirks as he sees the man beneath him, pleasuring himself. with one hand on his cock, viciously pumping up and down, trying to match daryl's pace so they could cum together, while his other hand was thrusting three fingers into his hole, and he imagined it was daryl's cock instead, messing up his insides.

"damn," daryl smirked, his pace growing quicker as he could feel his release incoming. "you like that, huh? like bein' used like a fuckin' doll cuz 'its what you are."

y/n barely registers the words daryl said, he could only nod his head as best as he could as his mouth continued to pour choked and strangled moans.

" fuck!" daryl cusses, feeling his release being built up to the edge. "yer gonna take it all, huh... won't'cha, dollface?" daryl continues his merciless pace, ignoring how pretty tears fell from y/n's eyes as he could practically feel the air being punched out of him.

daryl groaned, tugging on y/n's hair and burying himself deep into his throat. his cock spurted out strings of cum down his throat before he thrusts in and out again, riding out his high. y/n's hand released his hold hold on his cock as it continuously spurted out strings of hot cum, spilling onto the floor.

when daryl was finally spent, he finally removed his cock from y/n's mouth. with one hand, he holds his jaw, tilting it upwards so he could look up at him. he gulped down what was left of his cum on his mouth before opening wide, showing daryl that he had swallowed it all.

"heh," daryl chuckled. "good boy."

~ shokoy ☆

[shok-oy]

twd characters x male reader. headcanons. masterlist

✒️ ... prompt : their love language/s pt. 1 [ alexandria editon ]

rick grimes

- acts of service & physical touch

the man is always exhausted after a day's worth of putting out fires around the community, solving everyone's problems little by little, and slowly shaping the people of alexandria into a strong community. all he wants to do after a long day is rest, usually on the couch. that's where you come in; help him out of his boots, give him a nice pillow to rest his head on, he'll lay on your lap later and let you feed him. sometimes he'll talk; complain about how his day went, sometimes he'll just be quiet, enjoying your presence. if you run your fingers through his hair or massage his chest, watch as he just melts away, he becomes absolute putty in your hands.

carl grimes

- quality time

ever since the group arrived in alexandria, carl was sort of... left to his own devices. you and him both. while his father encouraged everyone to explore, meet the members of alexandria, you and carl would often sneak out past the wall and venture into the forest where you two would stay until the sun begins to set, reading comics from cover to cover, twice. carl often enjoys the silence, choosing to simply bask in your presence, but he wouldn't mind if you yapped his ear off. he just likes spending time with you, knowing that you were safe and happy and the two of you could just be happy together.

glenn rhee

- gift giving & words of affirmation

glenn knows what you like; even if you had only mentioned it once a long time ago, glenn would remember it for years to come. everytime he'd go out on a run, he always made sure to bring back something for you; a trinket, an accessory, anything that reminded him of you. "i thought you'd like it." is what glenn would always say. he was always right. glenn is an optimist through and through,but there are times when he'd think negative thoughts, wondering what could go wrong, pondering on people who could get hurt, and whatnot, but he always bounces back easily as soon as you talk to him. you're the person he trusts most in the world, and if you tell him things will be alright, that he's the strongest man you know, he'll believe you.

daryl dixon

- quality time

daryl isn't very expressive or clingy, but of all things, he enjoys the time he spends alone with you. just knowing that you're by his side, you have his back and he has yours, is enough for him. he enjoys a quiet stroll through the forest or a ride on his motorbike with no particular destination in mind, just you and him on his bike on the open road is enough to fulfill him.

abraham ford

- physical touch

abraham can easily go off the rails, lashing out on everyone around him when he's pissed off, but one touch from you, and he's like a tamed dog. a good slap to the face from you easily snaps him out it (if someone else would do this, he'd get even more pissed off). he likes holding you in his arms, and he absolutely adores it when you're just drawing invisible patterns on his skin with your fingertips. he likes having you close, always having an arm around your shoulders or your waist, and he would absolutely adore it if you lean your head on his chest or on his shoulder; it makes him feel powerful, and needed.

ron anderson

- quality time & words of affirmation

ron hasn't had it easy. his father was an asshole to him, his brother, and his mother, but he couldn't do anything about it. what was a kid like him supposed to do against his father? thankfully, your untimely arrival on alexandria brought him a sense of comfort. he doesn't like staying at his house, it wasn't a home, but for him, you were his home. hearing reassuring words from you was enough to keep him going, but he kept his father's abuses from you for as long as he could. but when you found out, you gave him a piece of your mind, and when you tried to do the same to his father, ron stopped you. he feared his father would take him from you, so he would endure... just for you.

heath

- acts of service

heath likes to do things for you, he always tries goes above and beyond. the apocalypse may have limited how he showed his love and adoration for you, but trust me, heath would find a way. but heath always seems to malfunction when you're the one doing things for him. volunteering to drive, or to stay up for night watch, or carrying his heavy bag... sometimes, heath would pretend to struggle when carrying his things just so you would come over and help him. he would always enjoy the sight of you walking away with a heavy bag on your back while carrying two heavy boxes of supplies without so much as breaking a sweat.

aaron

- physical touch

aaron likes to stay close to you at all times. when out looking for survivors to bring back to alexandria, there was always danger lurking around in every corner. aaron would never admit it, but whenever he's scared, he likes to hold your hand. he says he does it so you two don't get separated... but then again, that is his biggest fear; getting separated from you forever. he's big on kisses too; and he absolutely loves it when you hold his face with your hands and plant kisses all over his face, especially after you shave his beard for him.

~ shokoy ☆

[shok-oy]

minors dni [smut]. paul rovia (jesus) x male reader. masterlist

✒️ ... scavenging

jesus was out scavenging, accompanied by his boyfriend, y/n. they found each other right from the start, and they've been together ever since. but only recently, did their relationship develop romantically. for them, they were more at home in the outdoors than they were back at the hilltop. their surroundings were mostly quiet, but they'd rather choose the snarls of a walker than the hushed whispers of the other survivors at hilltop.

a day of scavenging had gone by, and the two hadn't found anything or anyone worth bringing back to the hilltop, so they decided to stay at an abandoned store that was boarded up and relatively safe. the inside of the store was messed up, and everything that had any semblance of worth to their survival had already been taken.

nighttime; they'd try again in the morning.

but as they huddled close to each other for warmth, they pressed their lips together, then their bodies, hands wandering each other, as if they've been possessed. jesus was the first to pull away, and as y/n tried to chase after him, jesus stops him with a gentle smile before quickly removing his coat, then his shirt underneath. y/n smirked, proceeding to do the same. he tossed his sweater somewhere; he'll find it later, while his hips continued to grind into his partner's. he then works on unbuckling jesus' pants, his hands fished out his hard cock and he smirks, leaning into his partner for another kiss.

"fuck, you're so hard already." y/n groaned. he bit his lip, keeping his eyes trained on jesus'. the more he stared at that man's eyes, the more magnetic they seemed to him; they were filled with a desire, a certain passion that could seemingly, be satisfied only by y/n.

the bearded man moans breathlessly as y/n pumps his closed hand against his weeping cock. his hands find their way onto y/n's ass cheeks, and he grunted as he felt the fabric of his pants.

"want them off..." jesus tries to say in between kisses.

so y/n, with help from jesus' expert fingers, manages to remove his pants and underwear, leaving him naked before the eyes of his boyfriend. jesus marvels at his partner's body; he was built perfectly, albeit, he was a little malnourished as food has gotten a bit hard to come by recently, but he was perfect in his eyes. jesus sucks on his partner's smooth skin, but places gentle kisses on top of his scars. y/n moans, his hands getting tangled in jesus hair. when the man bites down hard on his collarbone, y/n subconsciously tugs hard on his partner's hair, eliciting a moan from him.

"fuck, fuck... paul... need you now.." y/n was the only one allowed to call him that, and hearing his name roll off perfectly from the man's tongue, he couldn't help but moan.

his dick was already leaking precum as he rubbed it against y/n's awaiting hole. y/n links his arms around behind jesus neck as he slowly guides his hips downward, his hole easily devouring his partner's cock with one, smooth movement. he moans loudly, forgetting about the possibility of being heard for just a moment. jesus quickly shuts his mouth with a kiss, devouring every filthy sound coming from y/n's mouth with his own. y/n grinds his hips, feeling nothing but pleasure and anticipation.

jesus has a reassuring grip on his hips. "are you okay?" he asks his partner before placing a kiss on his forehead.

y/n groaned, nodding his head eagerly. he raises his hips, determined, but when he had lowered his hips again, he couldn't help the filthy, choked moan that came out of his lips.

"oh fuck- nghh... paul... 's good, hahhh.." y/n, drunk on pleasure, raised his hips again before slamming them down, grinding against jesus' pelvis. he moans loudly, gradually building a satisfying pace for both of them. jesus' hands remained tight on his waist as he guides y/n's movements. he watches as y/n's dick, leaked precum, flopping around with his movements, watches as y/n raises his hips and slams it back down, watches intently as the sweat glistened off his partner's perfect body, the moonlight from the window, casting an ethereal glow over him.

"you're so beautiful... y/n." jesus moans, hands massaging y/n's waist.

"fuck- paul, fuck me harder...!" y/n groaned, demanding his partner.

jesus tightens his grip on his partner's waist before pushing him to lay on his back, gaining full control over his movements. his hips thrusted hard and deep, the tip of his cock reaching places his fingers could never.

"harder...! god, please, fuck me harder!" y/n sobs, gripping jesus' bicep so hard, his nails had drawn crimson crescents over the man's skin.

encouraged by his partner's words, jesus thrusted in and out, faster, harder, at an unrelenting pace, all semblance of gentleness or consideration for his partner was now thrown out the window as he chased after his pleasure.

"paul- hahhh ... w-wait-!!" y/n tried to grab his partner's attention.

"come on babe, this is what you wanted." jesus smirks, leaning down. "don't start pushing me away now."

he presses his body close to his partner's and kisses him deeply, his tongue pushing past y/n's teeth. he quickly opened his mouth, allowing his partner to invade his insides. a deep moan tries to escape his throat, but with every harsh jerk of jesus' hips, and his lips on y/n's there was no way he was using his voice anytime soon. y/n squeezed his eyes shut, fingernails clawing at jesus' back as he continued thrusting his hips forward at an unrelenting pace.

"c-cumming... paul.. fuck-!" y/n bit his partner's lip, accidentally drawing blood.

but he was far too fucked out to even care. jesus could feel his climax approaching; his hips finally stalled as he buried himself balls-deep into y/n's asshole, unloading heaps of cum into y/n's hole while his partner came all over his abdomen. jesus took a deep breath, resting his forehead against y/n's as they both breathed in and out to catch their breath. y/n's lips broke out into a smile, and as if it was contagious, jesus smiled as well, the two men laughing heartily as they laid beside each other. jesus stared at his partner's faceas the man calms down.

"what? something on my face?" y/n laughs.

"nothing." jesus places a kiss on his partner's lips. "you're breathtaking."

~ shokoy ☆

[shok-oy]

november. 05, 2024

male-aligned blog, where i dump all of my writing stuff that i write when i'm bored. (idk how to start this sorry)

will write for the walking dead male characters, and i'm still thinking if i should open requests or not. anyways, that's all, hope whoever finds this blog gets to enjoy it as much as i would.

~ shokoy ☆