I'm Jaystiel he/him | I'm Bi; My blog is nsfw sometimes. I'm shy until I get to know somebody!!! I love Supernatural & all the DC & Marvel Superhero shows so much my favorite actors are Misha Collins, Tyler Hoechlin & Sebastian Stan!!! I'm also a huge Disney Fan as well!!!
𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : Forcing yourself into marriage with Titus Danforth. You enter the wedding night expecting fear, resentment, and survival—not intimacy. Inside of the Danforth estate, Titus reveals a softer but no less obsessive side, treating you with unsettling tenderness while reminding you that you now belong to him completely. | drabble + porn without plot
The door clicks shut behind you, the sound of the lock sliding into place like a final trap springing shut.
Heavy velvet curtains blocked out the moonlight, candles flickering low around the massive bedroom. Everything smelled like old cedar wood and smoke. The scent clung to the walls of the Danforth estate like perfume.
And Titus stood in the center of it like the devil they all whispered he was.
Tall. Broad. Still dressed in most of his wedding clothes, though his jacket had already been discarded somewhere downstairs. The sleeves of his black button-up were rolled to his forearms, exposing pale skin veined faintly blue beneath candlelight. His hair was messy from your constant fighting all evening, and there was a small scratch along his jaw where you’d clawed at him earlier.
He looked proud of it.
“You nearly stabbed my sister with a serving fork,” Titus murmured, amused.
Your back hit the bedroom door when he stepped closer. “She deserved it.”
You glared at him, but Titus only laughed softly under his breath.
Then his hands came up.
Massive palms cradled your face before you could recoil. The sudden gentleness caught you off guard more than the threats had all night.
His crimson eyes searched your face carefully.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs again, his voice a low rasp that vibrates through your skull. His thumb rolls over your lips, parting them slightly. “I can’t wait to turn you.”
You try to pull back, but his grip is iron-steady—vampire strength, you remind yourself. You agreed to this. The wedding band on your finger feels heavier than gold.
“You agreed to this,” he says, leaning in until his breath ghosts across your mouth—cold, with a faint copper scent. “And besides, it’s our wedding night.” His gaze drags down your body, then back up, slow and possessive. “You’re mine now.”
He kisses you. You stiffen for a heartbeat, then let yourself melt. What choice is there? He’s already branded you a Danforth, a devil worshiper, a husband. Might as well get something out of it.
Titus kisses like he hunts: relentless, consuming. His tongue pushes past your lips, tasting you, and you taste him back. He pushes open the door behind you with one hand, guiding you backward through the dimly lit room until your knees hit the edge of the four-poster bed.
Clothes shed fast. Your vest, Your pants. Soon you’re down to your briefs, he in nothing but dark pants that ride low on his hips. The candlelight flickers over his pale skin, tracing the hard lines of his chest, the ridges of his stomach. He climbs over you, hands planted on either side of your head, caging you in.
You look down at his body—smooth, marble-cold, carved like a statue. Your hands run down his chest, feeling the unnatural stillness beneath your palms. No heartbeat. Just the cool, solid flesh of something undead.
Titus kisses you again, then trails his lips down your cheek, your jaw, your neck. He nips at the skin there, just enough to make you gasp, his fangs grazing the pulse point. He pulls back, looking down at you, eyes dark with want.
“You ready?” His voice is soft, almost gentle, but his pupils are blown wide.
You hesitate, then slowly nod, your hand coming up to hold the side of his neck. His skin is like silk over steel.
He smiles, leans in, and presses a soft kiss to your lips. “No, you’re not.”
Before you can respond, he’s back at your throat, mouth open, tongue laving over the spot where your jugular throbs. Your hand tangles in his dark hair, holding him there, urging him on. He groans against your skin, the sound vibrating through you.
He pushes your legs apart, settling between them, and his hand slides down your body, over your stomach, to palm your cock through the damp cotton of your briefs. You arch into his touch, a broken moan escaping your lips.
“That’s it,” he breathes, hooking his fingers into the waistband and pulling them down your thighs. You lift your hips, letting him strip you bare. He looks at you—a long, hungry stare—then leans down and takes you into his mouth.
You cry out, your back bowing off the mattress. His mouth is cool, but his tongue is clever, swirling around the head before taking you deeper. He bobs his head, one hand gripping your hip, the other fondling your balls. You’re barely holding on, your hips thrusting up into the wet heat of his throat.
Titus pulls off with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting his lips to your glistening cock. “I want to feel you come apart on my cock,” he says, shucking his pants. His cock springs free—pale, thick, the head flushed a deep rose. He strokes himself once, then positions the tip at your entrance.
You tense, but he holds your gaze, waiting. “You want this, don’t you?” he asks, though it’s not really a question. “You want to be mine?”
“Yes,” you whisper, because it’s true. You want to survive. You want him.
He pushes in.
The stretch is sharp, burning—you gasp, clawing at his shoulders. He stills, letting you adjust, his brow pressed to yours. “Breathe,” he murmurs.
When you relax, he begins to move. Slow at first, shallow thrusts that drag against your prostate, sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. His hand wraps around your cock, stroking in rhythm with his hips.
“Fuck… Titus…” You’re lost, a mess of sensation.
“That’s it, say my name.” He picks up the pace, driving deeper, harder. The bed creaks beneath you. His skin slaps against yours, wet and rhythmic.
He leans forward, mouth latching onto your throat, and you feel the sharp prick of fangs. A sting, then a rush of pleasure as he drinks, his hips never stopping. His tongue laps at the wound, mixing blood and saliva, and the wound closes—but not before you feel a dizzying weakness, a heady submission.
He pulls back, lips stained crimson. “You taste so fucking good,” he growls, and kisses you. You taste your own blood, coppery and warm, mixing with his cold tongue. He thrusts harder, faster, and you’re trembling on the edge.
“Turn around,” he commands, pulling out. Before you can protest, he grabs your hips and flips you onto your stomach, pulling your ass up. He’s inside you again in one brutal push, your face pressed into the pillows.
“Yes—fuck—YES!” You’re screaming now, not caring who hears.
He grabs a handful of your hair, yanking your head back, his mouth at your ear. “You’re my husband. My property.” He fucks you with punishing strokes, each one hitting that perfect spot inside. His other hand wraps around your throat, not choking, just holding, claiming.
You come untouched, spilling across the sheets, your body convulsing around him. He follows, groaning your name, spilling hot and thick inside you. He collapses onto your back, still sheathed, pressing kissed against your spine.
“I’m going to turn you,” he whispers against your mouth. “And we’ll have forever, you and I.”
You nod, too tired to speak, but the fear is gone. In its place is a dark, thrilling knowing: you are his, and he is yours, bound in blood and bone and a wedding vow sealed in blood.
Plot: Repressing his sexuality led to Nate standing at the altar in front of Cassie, despite spending most nights in his high-school fuck-buddy's bed. But unlike everyone else, you don't entertain Nate's bullshit; you couldn't care less about him figuring himself out
Featuring: Top Nate x Bottom Male Reader
Note: Haven't touched Season 3 of Euphoria guys but wtf is this shit that I've seen on TikTok??
Basically all of S3 plot is irrelevant except Nate & Cassie being together, Nate getting his dads bussiness, and Cassie doing BTEC Only Fans
Warnings: amab m!reader / FDNI ~ MINORS DNI
The sound of skin smacking against skin was one of many sounds bouncing around your bedroom. The smell of musk and expensive men's aftershave was one of many things overwhelming your senses, and the feeling of hands roaming your body - from the small of your back, to your throat, to your ass - was one of many things you were experiencing. Out of all five of your senses, only sight was the least overwhelmed; that being because your eyes were currently tightly shut, so the only thing you could see was black, along with random patches of white spots appearing and then disappearing.
Pornographic moans were being forced out of you; every thrust from behind hit you at the core in the most amazing way, but forced your body forward, pushing out gasps, and groans, and moans, and high-pitched whines. The weight of the man behind you, more on top of you really, kept your chest against the bed, rubbing your nipples raw against your bedding. However, his rough hand on your hip and your natural instinct to push towards the pleasure kept your hips up, just off your bed. The muscular, veiny arm around your neck prevented you from resting your head on the pillow you were tightly scrunching in your fists. Though you had no complaints, not only was it hot as fuck to get fucked whilst you were technically in a headlock, getting to drool all over Nate Jacobs' bicep and forearm was sexy yet felt like payback for him being a douche. Nate's head was resting right next to yours, his massive, muscular body draped over yours as his hips thrusted his huge dick in and out of you.
His breath was hot against your ear; his rough moans, his groans, his rare whines that he cut short the moment he was letting such a noise out, they were the main sounds echoing throughout your head. The background noise of rhythmic, animalistic skin slapping against skin - from either Nate's hand crashing against your cheeks to spank you, or from the sheer force of the man's hips fucking against your plump ass - joined the harmony of sounds within your bedroom. Your own moans and rough breaths, along with the drowned-out, fuckboy music Nate had put on beforehand, were also adding to the sonic ambience of your bedroom. While the shockwaves of pleasure zapping throughout your entire body and stimulating every single nerve ending were the main source of your pleasure, you couldn't deny that the fact Nate Jacobs was fucking the shit out of you also incredibly turned you on. Sure, he's ridiculously attractive in that all-American, quarterback way. But it was mainly the fact that the dickhead who would bully you in high school, then fuck you in the back of his truck, was still so wrapped around your finger. Among the sexy moans and groans Nate would let out, Freudian slips of compliments and desperate statements would also pop up. On a nightly basis, you would hear many things along the lines of "Fuck- you're so beautiful", "A-Ah- Shi- (nameeee)... Fuck yeahhh~", "I need you so bad... please- fuck- I want you....", and your personal favourite "I'm sorry- augh- please just- just be with me... Ngh- please". Fuck yeah, that fed your ego.
Although when it got to this point, when your sight had gone blurry, your body trembling and your voice hoarse, you found you struggled to focus on the pathetic fall from grace of Nate Jacobs. Instead, your focus was on the intense muscle spasms across your body and how your moans would increase in pitch with every one of Nate's thrusts. Your focus was on how Nate's eight-inch, uncut cock had practically moulded your hole to its shape; his thick, mushroom head hitting your prostate and further every. single. time. Literally making you see stars in the form of white dots. Your focus, however little was left of it, was on the way the leaking tip of your dick would rub against your bedding in rhythm with the man's thrusts and send your body into overdrive. You could hear Nate's voice change in tone and volume, his groans becoming even more annoyingly attractive somehow as the rhythm of his thrusts began to become slightly erratic. You knew he was desperately close, and so were you; despite him already making you cum from his fingers and mouth alone during your heated foreplay. Finally, your release hit; your muscles tightening, dopamine and serotonin hitting you like a truck as your moans became pathetically whorish. Your dick almost hurt as it gushed a second load, shooting straight onto your bedding and soaking whatever Nate had put below your hips to help keep you up. Nate, on the other hand, was groaning your name along with unintelligible strings of compliments as he buried his dick as deep as he could inside of you. His muscular hips, his perfect V-line, was pressed up against your plump ass as hard as he could, grinding his dick into you as he shot his thick load inside of you. You know for a fact he was pent up. Not just from the sheer volume of cum and how hard his orgasm had hit him, but also from his constant sob-stories and complaining about Cassie.
............
Your entire body was drenched in sweat and littered with love bites, your neck tattooed with hickeys. The cacophony of sex had quietened down; now, all that could be heard throughout your bedroom was you and Nate catching your breaths out of sync. The real-estate developer had moved off of you, lying beside you, an arm still draped over your waist. These days, he tries to keep the physical contact going; whether that's conscious or subconscious, you don't know.
You weren't facing him. You didn't like facing him right after; you liked to give yourself a moment. Instead, you lie on your bed and look outside your window. The city skyline on a rainy night was one of your favourite views. You'd done well for yourself after high school. In those five years, you'd gotten a degree and landed an internship you'd studied hard for. You make enough to pay for a whole floor to yourself, even though you're still entry-level at your current job. It's not a penthouse, but you have no neighbours; good thing, 'cause they would hate you for how loud you can get with men.
Nate's voice broke you out of your thoughts and admiration of the California night sky.
"Y'know... I'd leave her for you" The man mumbled behind you.
You quietly sigh and turn over to face him.
"Nate... I don't want you to do that" You chuckle.
"Wh- (name), c'mon... please... Y'know I..." Nate's words die on his tongue.
"Know you... what?" You play dumb. You knew exactly what Nate wanted to say. You also knew he could barely bring himself to say something like that.
"Fuck's sake... You know I'm gay, (name). You know I haven't stopped fucking thinking about you for five fucking years-" His fingers tighten around your waist. "I fucking..." Nate's words die on his tongue again.
Every night, Nate shocks you with how much less prying it takes for him to admit that he's gay. But honestly? You don't care.
It shocks you because the quarterback who would publicly slam you into lockers and call you fag would never have admitted he was screwing you and saying 'I want you' on the weekend. It doesn't shock you because you hope that one day, the two of you will walk off into the sunset hand in hand towards a happily ever after. Maybe the insecure gayboy you were in high school truly hoped for that when Nate would cuddle you to sleep and would smooth-talk you, but he's shown you time and time again his selfishness and his own insecurity. You don't care about him anymore; he's just a screw. A really good, mind-shattering screw. But nothing more than that.
"What about Cassie? I remember you saying she was the right girl for you, especially since she was y'know... an actual girl haha" You giggle again, remembering the speech Nate gave you when he broke things off with you to get with Cassie.
"I don't fucking love her- She's tryna get famous by doing borderline porn..! I'll divorce her right now, just give me the signal!" Nate insists.
In all honesty, you didn't care about Cassie in this situation, just like you didn't care about Nate. If that made you a bad person, you, again, didn't really care. Both he and she were far removed from your life at this point, no matter how hard Nate tried to force himself back into your life. Really, you didn't know what to expect when you ran into Nate for the first time after high school. You definitely didn't expect to start fucking again, but you didn't mind it. A consistent, no-strings-attached fuck buddy who was really good at sex? Didn't seem like a bad deal. You really didn't expect Nate to catch feelings for you again, and you absolutely didn't expect him to seriously insist that he'd somehow grown up and was becoming more confident in his sexuality.
"Nate... Baby... You can leave her if you want. That doesn't mean I'll be waiting for you with open arms" You say in a slightly patronising tone.
"But why?!" Nate sat up, forcing you to lie on your elbow to be able to face him. "I fucking... I fucking love you! Why won't you just let me love you?"
It was so weird hearing that from Nate. Only once had he said it in high school, and once since you'd started screwing again.
"Because I don't believe you..? Obviously?" You said it like it was common sense.
The look in Nate's eye did tug at your heartstrings a little. He looked hurt, not understanding why you assumed he was so untrustworthy.
"Nate. You told me time and time again that you'd fuck everyone off and date me no matter what people think, then the next morning act like I was stupid for believing you. Why would I believe you now? Why would you want me now, all of a sudden? 'Cause you find me a better screw than Cassie? Or is it 'cause I'm making more money than your failing business and you need me to send you money like I used to in highschool?" You dished out some low blows, but they had to be said.
"What?- No- I- Ngh fucks sake (name), no! I just... I love you... I don't feel like this towards Cassie; I never really felt like this for Maddy. It's always been you 'n I've just been too much of a bitch to grow up and make you mine!"
"Nate... Just leave it. You're married to Cassie. We've both ended up fine; there's no need to fuck it up. If you wanna keep screwing, then I'm down, but I'm not taking your word on anything" You say as you turn back around, facing your window and closing your eyes to fall asleep.
Nate doesn't quip back at you; he sits with what you said. His arm tightens around you and pulls you into him. As you fall asleep, Nate tries to come to terms with the fact that you find him untrustworthy. One way or another, he needs to make you his. It feels like he's drowning; he's in a shit marriage, married to a woman as a gay man, and his business is slowly losing money. Nate feels like he's drowning, and that you're like a breath of fresh air, giving him a break from life every second he spends with you. Slowly, Nate falls asleep, thoughts of divorcing Cassie, and doing anything to prove himself to you, running through his mind as he dozes off to the feeling of your warmth in his arms.
YO YO YO! The yaoi prohet, the gay gangsta, the male reader maniac has returned!!
That was cringe but highschool english taught me rule of three so i stick by it! Anyways I've officially finished my second year of University! Very fun but a lot of work; I also earned a role on a society (club) commitee so I was just real busy sorry guys. Also got a boyf and broke up with said boyf cause he was not for me lmfao so yeah busy busy!
Idk if I'll be writting often but it's still my only way of expressing creativity so I don't see myself fully stopping anytime soon yk
Anyways hope you enjoyed this fic cause wtaf is Euphoria becoming?
P.s HAPPY PRIDE MONTH!!! You don't owe anyone an explanation of your sexuality, especially if it puts you in danger or bad situations. BUT don't be like Nate Jacobs over here, don't internalise homophobia and try to bury your sexuality, Lots of love - MRM
Scott sank down onto your cock in one slow, greedy motion, taking every inch until his ass was flush against your hips. A low, strained groan slipped from his throat as his tight walls clenched hard around you, hot and slick from the lube he’d barely used.
He planted both hands firmly on your chest, fingers spread wide for balance, and started riding you. Deep, powerful rolls of his hips that dragged your cock in and out of his hole with relentless rhythm. Sweat already glistened on his toned chest and abs as he moved, thighs flexing with every rise and fall.
His thick, heavy cock dragged messily across your stomach with each downward stroke, leaving sticky trails of precum that smeared between your bodies. He was leaking plenty, the head flushed dark and wet, painting your skin every time he ground forward.
Scott’s breathing grew rougher, jaw clenched tight as he fucked himself harder on you. His hole pulsed and squeezed with every thrust, greedy and scorching. He leaned forward slightly, red-tinted eyes locked onto your face, watching you intently while he rode you faster, chasing that perfect angle that made his thighs tremble.
The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room as he took you deeper, hips snapping down with focused intensity. His cock throbbed against your abs, dripping steadily now, his control fraying with every bounce.
He didn’t speak — just kept riding you like he needed it, hands pressing harder into your chest as his pace turned rougher, more desperate.
Archie's phone buzzed against the kitchen counter, the caller ID flashing: Veronica Lodge in bold letters. He hesitated, glancing down at the dark-haired man kneeling between his legs, those knowing eyes already looking up at him with mischief.
"Shit." Archie muttered, but he answered anyway. "Hey, Ronnie."
"Archiekins." Veronica's smooth voice purred through the speaker. "You're taking me to the drive-in this Friday. I already picked out what I'm wearing, and it's absolutely criminal how good I look in it."
Archie's breath hitched—not from Veronica's proposition, but from the sudden wet heat enveloping his cock as Y/N wrapped his lips around him, taking him deep with practiced ease.
"I—uh—" Archie stammered, his free hand gripping the counter's edge until his knuckles turned white. "I can't. Friday. I have... plans."
"Plans?" Veronica's voice sharpened, that Lodge entitlement cutting through the line. "What could possibly be more important than taking me out, Archie Andrews? Who are these *plans* with?"
Y/N pulled back slowly, his tongue swirling around the tip with deliberate, teasing strokes. He was still fully clothed, looking almost respectable from the waist up—if not for the obscene way his mouth was stretched around Archie's shaft, cheeks hollowed, dark eyes glittering with amusement.
"Come on, Archie." Veronica pressed. "Tell me. Who is she? Is it Betty? Cheryl? Some little townie I don't know about?"
Archie squeezed his eyes shut, his jaw working as Y/N hollowed his cheeks and sucked harder, the vibration of his suppressed chuckle sending sparks up Archie's spine. Y/N was enjoying this—enjoying the torture of watching Archie try to maintain composure while his sister interrogated him.
"N-no one you know." Archie managed, his voice cracking embarrassingly.
"Liar." Veronica accused. "You're stuttering. You're hiding something. Who is she, Archie?"
Y/N pulled off with a wet, filthy sound that Archie prayed wasn't audible through the phone. He looked up at the redhead and smiled. A slow, wicked, and utterly devastating. Then he leaned in, dragging his tongue from base to tip in one long, torturous stripe.
"Just..." Archie's head fell back, his hips bucking involuntarily toward that wicked mouth. "Just... someone..."
"Archie, you're being weird." Veronica said, suspicion heavy in her tone. "Are you with someone right now?"
Y/N took him deep again, hollowing his cheeks, working his throat in a way that made Archie's vision blur at the edges. The dark-haired man reached up, wrapping his hand around what he couldn't fit in his mouth, twisting in a rhythm that matched the obscene sounds filling the quiet kitchen.
"Ronnie, I gotta—nngh—I gotta go—"
"Don't you dare hang up on me, Archie Andrews! You tell me who she is this instant or—"
But Archie was already dropping the phone, letting it clatter to the counter as both hands found Y/N's hair, gripping tight. The younger man moaned around him, the vibration pushing Archie dangerously close to the edge.
"You're evil," Archie breathed out, looking down at the satisfied smirk on Y/N's lips. Lips that were currently stretched obscenely around his cock. "Your sister ais going to kill me."
Y/N pulled back just enough to speak, his hand never stopping its slow, torturous strokes. "Then maybe..." He said, voice rough, eyes dancing with laughter. "...You shouldn't keep her waiting on the line."
He dove back down, taking Archie to the root, and the strangled sound that tore from Archie's throat was definitely loud enough for Veronica to hear through the abandoned phone. If she was still listening.
From the counter, Veronica's voice crackled through the speaker, distant and furious: "Archie? ARCHIE!"
But Archie had stopped caring about drive-ins, or Veronica's wrath, or anything except the heat of her brother's mouth and the dangerous, knowing smile that never left Y/N's face—not even when he swallowed.
Richie slumped onto the worn leather couch in the dressing room, letting out an exaggerated sigh that caught the attention of the other guys.
"I don't get it." He complained, running a hand through his hair. "I mean, I know I'm packing, right? But every time a girl gets a look at it, suddenly it's 'how about a hand job instead?' What's up with that? Are they intimidated or something?"
Mike chuckled from across the room. "Maybe they're just overwhelmed, man. Not everyone can handle the full Richie experience."
"Or maybe your reputation precedes you." added Ken with a smirk. "Big Dick Richie - you set some high expectations before you even drop your pants."
Richie rolled his eyes. "Whatever. It's frustrating. A man has needs, you know?"
Later that night after their show, as the guys were winding down, Richie noticed Y/N lingering by the bar. They'd chatted a few times before - Y/N was a regular who always seemed friendly and genuinely interested in their performances, not just ogling them like most patrons.
"What's up, Y/N?" Richie asked, leaning against the bar next to him.
Y/N turned with a smile. "Just enjoying the atmosphere. You guys were amazing tonight."
"Thanks, man." Richie hesitated, then decided to vent. "Actually, can I ask you something? As a guy who's... well-endowed... have you ever had trouble with people being intimidated?"
Y/N's eyes flickered down briefly before meeting Richie's again. "I might have some idea what you're talking about."
Richie nodded. "Right? It's like they see it and panic or something. Haven't gotten proper action in weeks."
Y/N leaned closer, lowering his voice. "You know, not everyone is intimidated, Richie. Some of us are... appreciative."
Richie raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? You saying..."
"I'm saying I'd love to suck you." Y/N said bluntly, making Richie's eyes widen. "And if you're interested, I'd even take you up the ass."
Richie stared, momentarily speechless. He'd never had a guy proposition him so directly before. "You're serious?"
"Completely." Y/N replied with a confident grin. "I know what I like, and I've been admiring you from afar for a while now."
Richie felt a stir of interest he hadn't expected. "Well, damn. I wasn't expecting that tonight."
"Sometimes the best surprises come when you least expect them." Y/N said, placing a hand on Richie's arm. "So, what do you say?"
Richie looked around the room, then back at Y/N. A slow smile spread across his face. "You know what? I think I'm in the mood for a new experience."
Y/N's grin widened. "Excellent. I've got a place nearby if you're ready to skip the hand jobs for something better."
"Lead the way." Richie said, feeling a renewed excitement he hadn't felt in weeks. Maybe he'd been looking in the wrong direction for satisfaction all along.
IK Y/n is a charmed one in ur fics, can you pls do his sisters (Piper Phoebe and Paige, and/or Prue) meeting his boyfriend Stefan Salvatore tyyy
Meet The Halliwells
The doorbell chimed at Halliwell Manor, and Piper rushed to answer it, wiping her hands on a dish towel. Behind her, Phoebe and Paige were gathered in the living room, waiting to meet their brother's new boyfriend.
"Hey!" Y/N stood on the porch, a nervous smile on his face. "Come on in, Stefan."
A tall, handsome man with light brown hair and piercing green eyes stepped forward, but hesitated at the threshold. "I'd love to, but could you... invite me in?"
The sisters exchanged confused glances. Piper's brow furrowed slightly. "Uh, sure. Please come in, Stefan."
As he crossed the threshold, a strange chill seemed to pass through the room, though no one mentioned it.
"Everyone, this is Stefan Salvatore." Y/N announced, his voice filled with pride. "Stefan, these are my sisters—Piper, Phoebe, and Paige."
Paige stepped forward with a smirk. "So you're the one who's managed to keep our brother occupied for weeks. We were starting to think he'd joined a monastery."
Stefan smiled politely. "Not quite. Though your brother has been showing me all around San Francisco."
Piper extended her hand. "It's nice to finally meet you, Stefan. Y/N's been... surprisingly tight-lipped about you."
"I wanted to make sure you all approved before I shared too much." Y/N replied.
Phoebe watched him with narrowed eyes, her empath senses tingling. There was something... off about him. Something dark and heavy beneath his charming exterior.
"So, Stefan." Piper said as they settled in the living room, "Y/N mentioned you're from Virginia originally. What brought you all the way to San Francisco?"
Stefan's smile tightened almost imperceptibly. "I needed a change of scenery. A fresh start."
Paige leaned forward, her sarcastic charm on full display. "Fresh start from what? Did you burn down your ex-girlfriend's house or something?"
Stefan's laugh was hollow. "Nothing so dramatic. Just... complications."
"Do you have any family back in Virginia?" Phoebe asked, watching his reactions carefully.
"A brother." Stefan said shortly. "We're not close."
The atmosphere grew tense as Phoebe's powers kicked in. Suddenly, she was overwhelmed by waves of guilt—deep, crushing guilt that made her gasp aloud.
"Phoebe?" Y/N asked, concerned. "Are you okay?"
She shook her head, trying to clear the emotions that weren't hers. "I'm fine. Just... a headache." But she wasn't fine. Stefan's guilt was suffocating—a darkness so profound it felt ancient. It was tied to death, to blood, to centuries of something unspeakable.
Paige, oblivious to the emotional undercurrent, continued her banter. "Well, as long as you're not secretly married or wanted by the FBI, I guess we can keep you."
Stefan's eyes flickered with something dangerous—red and predatory—for just a moment. "I can assure you, nothing like that."
Phoebe stood abruptly. "I think I need some air." She rushed to the kitchen, her mind reeling from the intensity of Stefan's emotions.
As she leaned against the counter, trying to compose herself, Piper appeared in the doorway.
"Are you alright?" She asked.
"No, not really, Piper. I just felt this overwhelming feeling of guilt coming from Stefan. It was so dark and suffocating. I haven't anything like that since Cole."
Piper knitted her eyebrows together. “So what are you saying exactly? That our brother's new boyfriend is a demon?”
“Well, wouldn't be the first time that someone in this household would fall for the dark charms of demons.” Phoebe said.
“What do you suggest we do? I freeze the room while you come up with a spell to vanquish him?”
“I think it'd be best if we wait to see how this places out. I'd hate to ruin something for Y/N because of my powers are wrong.” Phoebe said, picking up a nearby apple and examining it.
Piper tucked a string of her behind her ear. “And what if you're right and Stefan's really a demon?”
“Then we deal with a hysterical baby brother because we had to vanquish his sexy boyfriend.” Phoebe said.
While this conversation was happening in the kitchen, back in the dining room, Stefan's smiling face morphed into a frown as his vampire senses heard everything that Piper and Phoebe had just talked about.
“Stef? You alright?”
The sound of Y/N's voice pulled him out of his thoughts as he offered the younger male a fake smile. “Yeah, of course. Everything's fine.”
⫘⫘ˎˊ˗ cam comes home from his football star life with a sour mood, and it's up to you to make him feel better.
content warning: explicit smut (MDNI), kinda angry sex, rough and unprotected anal, oral face fucking, spanking, dirty talk, slight choking, slight size kink (cameron is bigger), daddy kink
your heart lost its sanity inside your ribcage when the front door slammed open. the anger vibrated through the ivory walls of the penthouse, shaking the newly hung abstract paintings. you quietly padded to the foyer, the tiles corpse-cold beneath your feet despite wearing socks, unsure what to expect.
"cameron?" you stood behind the pillar, watching your boyfriend slowly drop his gym bag to the floor. his sweat-coated body reeked of that minty musk you never got tired of, glistening his enormous biceps under the honey-tinted lights. "are you okay? did something happened?"
cam's glacier blue eyes lifted to meet yours. pure flames flicking in his usually friendly irises. "just tired of being everyone's fucking trophy to show. useless interviews and teammates." he muttered under his heavy breathing. "c'mon here, pretty boy. i need a hug."
you gave him a timid smile, your own heart calming itself. cameron never took out his anger on sports on you, but his sour moods always made you nervous. he immediately squished your smaller body against his, pressing your face on his sweaty shirt. you could feel the hard slabs of abs beneath while his scent hazed you into melting into his presence.
"i wanna fuck you hard," cameron pressed tiny kisses into your hair. "fuck my frustrations into your ass and mouth. is that okay?"
you nodded, nuzzling your nose in the ridges between his abs. "if it will make you feel better, cam."
clothes became an obstacle as he carried you to the bedroom, his lips never leaving yours. you whimpered when his teeth dug into the soft flesh of your lower lip, letting metal seep into your tongues. "damn," cameron groaned into the kiss. "you're perfectly fuckable tonight."
cam dropped you on your knees on the fuzzy carpet, your own dick standing between your thighs. his girthy cock hung above you like a treat, half hard and veing. precum glistened on the eager broad tip. "open wide, okay sweetheart?" he fisted your hair in his hands.
he pushed past your lips with a guttural groan that thundered into your core. your mouth was immediately filled with his salty thickness, jaw straining wide to accommodate his impressive size. you ran your tongue on the pronounced salt-sharp veins. "fuck, still so tight. your mouth is made for my cock, boy." cameron growled above with darkened eyes.
cameron began moving. short and shallow at first, feeling every crevice in your pallate. then the first brutal push came. full of force that punched out the air from your lungs, burying your nose in his pelvis. then every brutal thrust hit the back of your throat, causing you to sputter and choke around his length.
your fingers dug into his powerful thighs as his grip tightened around your hair. your eyes rolled back from the pure intensity, sending rivulets of tears to the sides of your lids. all you could think about was how you wanted more of him deep inside you. "you like that, baby boy?" cam pulled away abruptly, making you whimper as you gasped for air. "get on all fours on the bed."
your body obeyed immediately, eager to serve him. cameron knelt behind you, his weight sinking the mattress. his cock immediately pressed against your hole, eager to swallow him hole. "look at that, babe. so willing to take me in." his large hand sprawled on your waist, grip turning into steel to keep you in place. "you ready?"
with one small nod, cameron buried himself to the hilt. your knees buckled into full submission while your fingers scrambled for a little support from the maroon silk sheets. "c—cam! fuck—" you moaned helplessly while his head pressed on your prostate easily. he wrapped his arm around your stomach to keep you afloat. "you're big!"
"i know, pretty boy. breathe through it." cameron's hips stuttered, his breathing ragged against your throat. his fingertips tightened his hold on your thighs. "you've taken me a lot before. you can do it."
you nodded and allowed your body to settle around his length. "fuck me, cameron. fuck your frustrations into me." you whispered through little hiccups. feeling a little more devious, you pressed your ass harder onto his hips.
cameron let out a growl made of pure lust, dragging his cock out so agonizingly slow before diving back in with the snap of his hips powerful enough to rock your entire body. a gasp tore from your vocals with every thrust that followed, equal parts pleasure and overwhelmed intensity. "like you're milking me love—" cam gritted into your ear. "so fucking tight."
his rhythm was relentless, perhaps from his experience and the sheer physicality of the sports he played. cameron treated you like an angel but fucked you like the devil, each stroke slamming into your prostate. each explosion of pleasure was even more electrifying than the last. your toes curled and uncurled, his name rolling off your tongue like some kind of prayer.
"i— i think i'm gonna—" you clamped your mouth shut when cam's palm struck your rear. with every jackhummer thrust, he slapped the flesh of your ass, sending even more sparks through your body. "cameron!" you screamed his name.
cam snarled behind you as he pounded and pounded. "love it when you scream my name like that."
your orgasm hit like live wire through your entire system, unleashing yourself in unstoppable hot spurts onto the sheets. at the same time, cameron swore violently, hips slowing as your walls dragged him to the edge. he came in hot pulses buried into the hilt of your insides, coating every space in you in his seed.
cameron crushed you against the mattress, your chests heaving from the exertion. the potent scent of sex and sweat riddled the air in a lovestruck haze. slowly, he began kissing your shoulder blades. "you alright, pretty boy?"
you nodded through the strain in the cords of your neck. "i'm fine." you said, voice cracking from the constant moaning and gasping. "and for the record, i don't see you as some trophy to display, cam. you're already amazing as you."
"i know love." cameron trailed his kisses up to your neck until his lips connected to your earlobe. "that's why i love you."
The soft afternoon light filtered through the blinds of your apartment, casting golden stripes across the hardwood floor. You sat on your plush armchair, sketchbook resting on your lap, pencil poised as you surveyed the scene before you.
"Alright, boys." You said with a playful grin. "Let's get into position."
Three of Gotham's finest heroes stood before you in various states of undress. Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, and Tim Drake—all yours—had agreed to model for your private art collection. And you'd chosen a rather... revealing theme.
Jason, ever the brooding one, adjusted the red jockstrap that barely contained his impressive package. The vibrant color contrasted beautifully against his pale skin and the network of scars that crisscrossed his torso. He crossed his arms, trying to maintain his tough demeanor despite the slight blush creeping up his neck.
"Don't look so grumpy, Jay." You teased, earning a glare from him.
Dick moved with effortless grace, stretching his limbs like the natural performer he was. The blue jockstrap hugged his hips perfectly, emphasizing his athletic build and the toned muscles of his thighs. He caught your eye and winked, already comfortable with the attention.
"You know, I've done less modeling for the cameras at Gotham Gazette." Dick said with a laugh, striking a pose that made his muscles ripple.
Tim, ever the analytical one, stood somewhat awkwardly as he adjusted the green jockstrap. His lean frame carried it well, though he seemed more focused on the physics of how it stayed in place rather than the aesthetics. His face was flushed, but there was determination in his eyes.
"Are you sure this is anatomically correct for drawing reference?" Tim asked, pushing his glasses up his nose.
You laughed, setting down your pencil. "It's perfect, Tim. Now, Jason—relax your shoulders a bit. Dick, maybe something a little less... acrobatic? And Tim, just stand naturally."
They shifted positions, and you began to sketch, capturing the way the different colors complemented each man's unique physique. Jason's rugged strength in red, Dick's fluid grace in blue, and Tim's lean intelligence in green.
As you worked, the atmosphere in the room shifted from playful to something more intimate. The air grew thick with desire as their eyes followed your movements across the page.
"You're staring." Jason noted, his voice lower now.
"Can you blame me?" You replied without looking up from your sketchbook. "I have three masterpieces right in front of me."
Dick chuckled, moving closer to you. "Speaking of masterpieces..." He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your neck as his hand slid down your chest.
Tim hesitated for a moment before joining, his fingers tracing patterns on your back as Jason watched with darkening eyes.
"Art time's over." Jason growled, closing the distance between you.
Your sketchbook fell to the floor as all three of them descended upon you, their hands exploring, their mouths claiming. The colors of their jockstraps blurred together as they removed your clothes, their contrasting styles merging into a single, overwhelming sensation of pleasure.
The afternoon light continued to stream through the window, illuminating the tangle of limbs on the floor—red, blue, and green all intertwined with you at the center of their attention.
Don’t Make Me Say It Again - Austin Keil x Male Reader
Plot: Your demanding alpha boyfriend Austin Keil punishes your attitude by face-fucking you, pinning you down, and brutally fucking you into submission.
Warnings: smut
Word Count: 1.87k
Don’t Make Me Say It Again
You were sprawled on the oversized sectional in the living room of the apartment you shared with Austin Keil, scrolling mindlessly through your phone. The late afternoon light filtered through the tall windows, casting golden stripes across the hardwood floors. You’d had a long day—work emails, traffic, the usual bullshit—and all you wanted was to veg out until dinner. But Austin had other plans.
The front door clicked open, and there he was. Austin filled the doorway like he owned the air itself. Six-foot-three of pure, sculpted muscle, his wavy, sun-kissed brown curls tousled from the gym. A light sheen of sweat still clung to his broad shoulders and the deep cuts of his chest, highlighting the way his pecs flexed with every breath. The silver chain necklace you’d given him for his birthday rested against his collarbone, drawing your eyes down the ridged valleys of his abs. His right arm—inked with a fierce, intricate tattoo that wrapped from shoulder to wrist—flexed as he dropped his gym bag. Dark blue jeans hung low on his narrow hips, the V-lines disappearing temptingly beneath the waistband.
“Baby,” he said, voice low and commanding, locking the door behind him. “I need you to handle a few things for me.”
You glanced up, smirking. “Can it wait? I’m kind of in the middle of—”
Austin’s hazel eyes narrowed. He crossed the room in three strides, towering over you. Up close, he smelled like cedarwood cologne mixed with clean sweat—masculine, intoxicating. “No. It can’t. Put the phone down. I want the laundry folded, the kitchen wiped down, and dinner started. I’ve been grinding all day. I expect my man to take care of the house when I ask.”
You rolled your eyes, a spark of attitude flaring up. You loved when he got like this—demanding, alpha as hell—but today you were tired. “Austin, I just got home too. Chill. I’ll do it in a bit.”
His jaw tightened. That perfect, chiseled jaw with the light stubble you loved feeling between your thighs. He leaned down, one massive hand gripping the back of the couch beside your head, caging you in. “Don’t make me say it twice.”
You huffed, pushing back against his chest—feeling the solid wall of warm muscle under your palm. “Or what? You gonna spank me, big guy?” You grinned, thinking it was playful banter. You tossed your phone aside but made no move to get up.
Austin’s expression darkened, sexy and stern all at once. He straightened to his full height, arms crossing over his chest, biceps bulging. “Get up. Now.”
You stayed seated, raising an eyebrow defiantly. “Make me.”
The air shifted. In one fluid motion, Austin grabbed your wrist and hauled you to your feet like you weighed nothing. His grip was firm, unyielding, but not painful—just enough to remind you who was in charge. He spun you around, pressing your back against his front. You could feel the hard ridges of his abs against your shoulder blades and the growing bulge in his jeans nudging your ass.
“You’ve got attitude tonight,” he growled into your ear, breath hot against your neck. His free hand slid down your side, possessively gripping your hip. “I’ve been patient. But when I tell you to do something, you do it. Understand?”
You swallowed, heart racing. Part of you still thought he was playing—teasing, like always. “Yeah, yeah. Bossy much?”
Austin’s hand cracked across your ass—sharp, stinging through your sweatpants. You yelped, more from surprise than pain. “That’s one,” he said, voice calm but edged with steel. “I’m not playing with you, baby. Strip. Get on your knees.”
You hesitated, pulse thundering. His reflection in the nearby mirror showed every inch of him: the way his curly hair fell over his forehead, the intensity in his eyes, the tattooed forearm flexing as he held you. He was stern, yes—but fuck, he was sexy. That demanding alpha energy made your cock twitch despite yourself.
When you didn’t move fast enough, Austin’s hand fisted in your shirt, yanking it up and over your head in one rough pull. “I said strip.” His fingers hooked into your waistband next, shoving your pants and briefs down in a single motion. Cool air hit your skin as your half-hard cock sprang free. Austin kicked your clothes aside, then pushed you down to your knees right there on the rug.
You looked up at him, mouth dry. He unbuckled his belt slowly, the metallic clink loud in the quiet room. “You think this is a game?” he asked, unzipping his jeans. His thick cock spilled out—already mostly hard, heavy, veined, the head flushed dark. It bobbed in front of your face, inches from your lips. “Open.”
You parted your lips, still half-convinced he’d laugh and pull you up for a kiss any second. But Austin gripped your hair with one hand and fed his cock into your mouth without mercy. The salty, musky taste of him flooded your senses as he pushed deep, hitting the back of your throat.
“Fuck, that’s better,” he groaned, hips rocking forward. “Suck it like you mean it. Make it wet.”
You tried to pull back to breathe, but his grip tightened. “Don’t. You wanted attitude? This is what happens.” He thrust shallowly at first, then deeper, using your mouth with controlled power. His abs clenched with every push, the silver chain swaying against his chest. Saliva dripped down your chin as you gagged around his thickness, eyes watering. He looked down at you the whole time—stern, dominant, but with that hungry heat in his gaze that said he owned you.
After several long minutes, he pulled out with a wet pop, stroking his glistening cock. “Up. Bedroom. Now.”
You scrambled to your feet, legs shaky, cock fully hard and leaking. Austin followed close behind, one hand on the back of your neck, guiding you firmly. In the bedroom, he shoved you face-down onto the king-sized bed. You landed with a grunt, ass up.
“Stay,” he ordered, voice like velvet-wrapped steel. You heard him strip the rest of the way—jeans hitting the floor, then the clink of his watch and bracelet. The mattress dipped as he climbed behind you. His big hands spread your cheeks, and you felt the cool slick of lube he must have grabbed from the nightstand.
You twisted your head to look back at him. “Austin, come on, I was just—”
A sharp smack landed on your ass, harder this second time. “I don’t want to hear it. You had your chance to listen.” His fingers circled your hole, teasing, then two pushed in without warning. You moaned, pushing back instinctively. He scissored them expertly, stretching you, curling to brush your prostate.
“Thought I was playing, huh?” he murmured, adding a third finger. “You forget who’s in charge here?” His free hand reached under you, gripping your cock and stroking it roughly in time with his fingers. Pleasure sparked up your spine, but his grip was too tight, too controlling.
“Austin—fuck—”
He pulled his fingers out, leaving you empty and aching. Then the blunt head of his cock was there, pressing against your hole. “You’re gonna take every inch. And you’re gonna thank me for it.”
He thrust in—slow at first, letting you feel the burn and stretch of his thick length splitting you open. Inch after inch sank deeper until his hips were flush against your ass, his heavy balls pressed against you. The fullness was overwhelming. You gasped into the sheets, fists clenching.
“Shit… you’re so big,” you whimpered.
Austin leaned over you, chest to your back, his muscular arms bracketing your head. His curls tickled your shoulder as he bit down lightly on your neck. “That’s right. And you’re gonna feel me for days.” He started moving—deep, powerful strokes that rocked the bed. Each thrust ground against your prostate, sending jolts of white-hot pleasure through you.
You tried to push up on your elbows, but Austin’s hand pressed between your shoulder blades, pinning you down. “Stay right there. Take it.” His pace quickened, hips snapping harder. The sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, mixed with your moans and his low grunts.
Every detail of him overwhelmed your senses: the heat of his body, the flex of his abs against your lower back, the way his tattooed arm muscles bunched as he held you in place. His chain necklace brushed your skin with every thrust. He was relentless—stern, focused, fucking you like he needed to remind you exactly who you belonged to.
“You gonna listen next time?” he growled, reaching around to stroke your cock again. His fist was slick with your pre-cum, pumping you fast.
“Y-yes—fuck, Austin!”
“Say it.”
“I’ll listen—I swear—”
He slammed in particularly deep, making you cry out. “Louder.”
“I’ll listen! I won’t give you attitude!”
“Good boy.” The praise, delivered in that deep, sexy voice, sent you spiraling. He fucked you harder, hips pistoning, chasing his own pleasure while driving you toward the edge. Your cock throbbed in his hand, balls drawing tight.
“I’m gonna—fuck, I’m close—”
“Come,” he commanded. “Right now. On my cock.”
You shattered. Pleasure crashed over you in waves, your hole clenching around him as you spilled over his fist and onto the sheets. Austin didn’t stop. He fucked you through it, drawing out every pulse until you were oversensitive and whimpering.
Only then did he let go. With a deep groan, he buried himself to the hilt and came, flooding you with hot, thick pulses. His body tensed above you—every muscle standing out in sharp relief, abs contracting, chest heaving. He stayed inside you for a long moment, grinding lazily as he rode out the aftershocks.
Finally, he pulled out carefully and rolled you onto your back. His expression softened just a fraction as he looked down at you—flushed, marked, thoroughly fucked. But the stern edge remained. He cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your swollen lips.
“Next time I tell you to do something,” he said quietly, “you do it the first time. Don’t make me say it twice.”
You nodded, breathless, body still buzzing. “Yes, sir.”
Austin leaned down and kissed you—deep, possessive, but with that underlying tenderness that always followed his dominance. His curls fell forward, tickling your forehead. When he pulled back, his hazel eyes were warm but commanding.
“Now go clean up the mess you made on the sheets. Then handle the laundry and kitchen like I asked. I’ll start dinner.”
You started to protest—still floating in post-orgasm haze—but caught yourself. One look at his raised eyebrow and the way his muscular arms flexed as he crossed them over his bare chest was enough.
“Yes, Austin.”
He smirked, sexy and satisfied. “That’s my good boy.”
You slid off the bed on shaky legs, feeling his cum trickle down your thigh. As you moved to obey, you glanced back at him. Austin stood there in all his glory—shirtless, tattooed, ripped abs glistening faintly, silver chain catching the light. He watched you with that alpha intensity, making sure you followed through.
And fuck, even after all that, you already knew you’d test him again soon. Because being checked by Austin Keil—being owned by him—was the hottest thing in the world.
2.5k words. 2.5k isn't that long, but I'm trying to keep these relatively short, and I'm already struggling lol.
Warning for angst with a happy ending, breeding kink, a touch of irrational jealousy, and possessive behavior.
The day Princess Izumi was born was one of the most joyous days you had seen since the Hundred Year War ended. Though it was a day of great excitement, it was still shrouded in secrecy.
You never had outright asked Zuko who Izumi’s mother was, and you were always too busy as his retainer to do any sleuthing of your own. Rumors had swirled around longer than you could keep up with, always taking each and every one that you heard with a grain of salt.
You had your own guesses and theories, but really, you were just happy to see Zuko happy.
Weeks later, when the palace had finally begun to calm after Izumi’s arrival, Zuko made a familiar move.
You had worried at first when you turned around to find Zuko standing so close, but quickly decided to pay no mind to it. “Am I extinguishing too many candles?” You asked, trying to deflect the concern that you felt still lingered with a tight laugh. You knew how Zuko liked reading official documents before bed, even if it irritated you.
“Zuko?” You had asked after finding him half asleep at the desk in his chambers, “why are you still awake?” You asked, helping him up from his chair.
“I wanted a bedtime story,” he answered tiredly.
“You should have told me!” You replied, trying and failing to keep your anger in check, “instead, you are sitting here putting an ache in your back,” you said, getting an arm around his shoulders.
Zuko lets out a laugh, “a small ache has never held me back before,” he said, letting himself be led to bed.
“You snapped at me when I tried to help you put in your royal headpiece,” you grumbled under your breath as you turned down the cover.
“I said I was sorry!” Zuko replied with a laugh, “besides, you were yanking my hair.”
You looked down at your hands after pulling the covers up after Zuko had gotten in, “I suppose,” you let out a soft sigh, “I could be more careful.”
Zuko pulled one of his hands from under the blanket, “I forgive you,” he said, gripping your hand. You both let out a laugh after you rolled your eyes, “now,” he began, a smile lighting up his face, “I was promised a bedtime story.”
“Zuko?” You questioned as the man stepped closer, “are you feeling–”
Your question was cut short as Zuko manhandled you onto his bed, his legs moving into the space between yours, which hung off the edge.
It had felt like years since Zuko had last kissed you. It wasn’t like you were jealous, you knew Zuko needed an heir, and knew that you couldn’t give him one. But that didn’t stop him from trying.
You had just thought of it as a form of stress relief, but Zuko seemingly had a different idea.
“One isn’t enough,” Zuko breathed after he pulled away from the kiss, warm fingers sneaking under your clothing.
“Zuko,” you breathed, “I can’t,” you whispered, even as you craned your neck as his lips trailed down your skin. You could feel excitement, just as much as you felt apprehension, knowing exactly how long it’s been since you laid with Zuko.
He had been rough the last time, obviously frustrated that it wasn’t… taking. You could feel the stares from other members in the council room when you arrived the next day, trying your best to hide the marks Zuko left with your collar. It made you wonder if you could find a water bender to heal the bruises away.
“I’ll take my time,” Zuko replied, before he stepped away to grab that familiar container. You weren’t jealous, you told yourself as you tried to look into the container to see if there was less in there. To see if Zuko shared what he used on you with Izumi’s mother.
Upon his return, Zuko swooped down into another kiss as he wrestled your clothing off, throwing the garments away like they personally offended him.
“You’ll be with my child,” Zuko declared, “tonight.” He yanked at his robes, your hands, on instinct, moved to help.
“Let me,” you said, “you’ll burn another pair.”
Zuko huffed out a laugh, his golden eyes watched your hands move without thought, “you are excellent with your hands,” he observed softly.
You looked up, eyes locked with Zuko’s golden ones, “that is because I am your retainer, my lord,” you whispered. Your hands hovered between your bodies when Zuko’s robe was out of the way, fingers just shy of his waistband.
You looked away and moved up the bed. A place you’ve cleaned and made up countless times, but have not rested upon in months.
Zuko crawled slowly after you, like a dragon hunting its prey. Only for a moment were you closed off, but then, at the feel of Zuko’s warm fingers on your ankles, your legs were spreading for him.
Two fingers closed around your chin to turn your head up so he could look you in the eye, they then moved to cup your cheek, making it so you couldn’t turn away.
“You think you’re just a royal retainer to me?” He asked, not even giving you a chance to answer as he claimed your mouth in a soft kiss, “you are the most beautiful man I know,” he said against your mouth.
“Zuko,” you said as you turned your head as much as you could out of the next kiss he tried to initiate. You struggled in holding back a shiver when Zuko’s lips trailed across your jaw, “it’s not poss–”
You were interrupted by Zuko’s lips against yours, and when you tried to finish your sentence, Zuko only saw that as an invitation to deepen the kiss.
“Much crazier things have happened,” Zuko said with a laugh as he pulled away and stood up from the bed. Even if you had just tried to talk him out of it, you still missed his warmth. “I took down the Fire Lord and ascended the throne as a teenager,” he said as he removed his crown.
Back in its protective casing, your mind went back to one of the many times he left it on. In fact, nearly all of his clothing had stayed on, but was instead opened enough to get his hard cock out. You had ridden him that day, right there on his throne, Zuko muttering sweet nothings in your ear about how this time it would take.
“Perhaps you are right,” you said once it was over, Zuko cock still softening inside you.
“Perhaps you are right,” you repeated, your cock throbbing at the thought of the smile on Zuko’s face that day and the feel of his hand on your stomach.
It startled you when a flash of orange lit up your vision, the room left much brighter, but once you realized what it was, all you felt was annoyance.
“I just put those out,” you said, hoping Zuko could see your eye roll even with his back turned. You couldn’t help but reach a hand between your legs to wrap your fingers around your cock as you watched Zuko get the rest of his clothing off.
“I needed to see you better,” Zuko replied.
Need. You had to bite your lip to hold back the sound you wanted to let out.
“You must fold those,” you said, after you watched Zuko toss them carelessly. You and everyone else in the palace made sure Zuko’s room was spotless, but that didn’t mean you wanted to let his clothing end up on the floor, even if there was no dust or debris to stain them.
Zuko whipped around in all of his naked glory, his hair a dark veil that swooshed with the movement, “I must?” He questioned as he stepped up to the bed, “I must?” He repeated, grabbing your ankles when close enough.
You yelped when he yanked you down the bed, Zuko’s hands moving to wrap your legs around his waist. “I’m sorry,” you breathed, “that isn’t what I meant.”
“Oh?” Zuko purred, “I think it’s exactly what you meant,” he said before he moved down to press his lips to yours.
“I’m sorry,” you tried once more. You didn’t actually think Zuko was angry, if the hard cock poking you was anything to go off of, but it never hurt to apologize.
“Enough of that,” Zuko commanded, pressing a soft kiss to the side of your mouth, “you challenge me,” he said, making his way down to nip at the skin of your neck, “make me a better man,” he whispered into your ear.
“All I said was to fold your clothes,” you replied, feeling confused.
“Must I repeat myself?” Zuko questioned, his forehead pressed to yours.
You gasped when a wet finger traced the edge of your hole– when had he?
“Been a while,” Zuko said, an edge of sadness to his words, “has anyone?” He trailed off.
“What?” You questioned incredulously, “my lord,” you gasped, “there’s been no one.”
Zuko pulled you into a rough kiss, his tongue moving past your lips as his finger pressed inside, “good,” he whispered, “you’re mine.”
Barely able to adjust to the first, a second joined, “Zuko,” you whined, the name sounding foreign on your lips. You couldn’t remember the last time you said his name, instead choosing to use the common honorifics said around the palace.
Devastation wasn’t the right word. It was only realistic that Zuko would want an heir. You could remember that night easily. Rejection. That was it.
“Am I to stay with you tonight, Lord Zuko?” You had asked.
“No,” Zuko answered, not looking up from the scroll he was reading, “your services, in that regard, are no longer necessary.”
“Ah,” was all you could muster while you felt as if a bucket of cold water from the Northern Water Tribe had been poured on top of you, “very well, Zu– my lord.”
That caused Zuko to look up, but you were already out the door, not wanting to see the look on his face.
What burn you felt from Zuko’s eager fingers was soon overtaken by pleasure. Even after all this time, Zuko was still able to expertly find your prostate. He pulled you into a wet kiss, swallowing your moans as he spread his fingers, preparing you for his leaking cock smearing precum against your thigh.
You pushed at Zuko’s chest, sucking in air through your nose as you tried to breathe, the pleasure overwhelming you.
“Breathe,” Zuko commanded softly, his voice sounded far away, like it was in the back of your mind. “Breathed,” he tried again.
Upon taking a deep breath in, you felt like you were back in your body, a slow, steady hum of pleasure still thrumming through your veins. Lifting your head up felt like it took all the effort in the world, and when you did, all you could see was the lack of space between you and Zuko’s body.
You gave an experimental clench down and groaned when you felt Zuko’s cock deep within you. “Oh,” you mumbled, and ran a hand down your chest, a mess of come and sweat on your fingers when you pulled away.
Your heart rattled in your chest when Zuko reached out and wrapped a hand around your wrist. You gasped when he guided your hand to his mouth, his wet, warm tongue poking past his lips. You felt your cock give a valiant twitch when your fingers were sucked into the wet heat of Zuko’s mouth, the man groaning around the digits.
Letting gravity do the work once he let go, your fingers fell free from Zuko’s lips with a slick noise, his hands finding purchase on your hips, “back with me?” He asked, running his hands soothingly up and down your sides.
“Yeah,” you croaked, “I don’t know what that was,” you said, looking down at your body. You looked back up at Zuko, noticing a glint of concern in his eyes. “It was,” you clenched down on Zuko’s cock, “intense.”
Zuko moaned, his hips twitching forward, even if he had barely anywhere to go. He moved his hands to your thighs, running his fingers across the skin until you relaxed. He lifted one leg to his shoulder, his lips brushing the thin skin of your ankle. Next, the other, and then, Zuko nearly had you bent in half.
Zuko’s knees rested on either side of your body, finding purchase in the covers. He gripped your hips in a tight hold, keeping you in place as he started fucking in and out. In only a few thrusts, your cock was fully hard once more, leaking in the space between your bodies.
You grabbed at Zuko’s broad shoulders, burying your face into the sweaty crook of his neck. It did little to muffle the sounds you let out, but it seemed as if Zuko didn’t mind, his pace doubling. The entire palace was bound to know what you were up to.
Your second release of the night built higher and higher on each thrust, to the point that it only took a few slick pulls of your fingers around your cock to come.
You opened your eyes slowly, not even realizing you had closed them. It took a few seconds to register that Zuko was speaking to you, your brain catching up moments later.
“Do you realize how you look?” He asked, “stuffed full of my cock?” Zuko’s cock throbbed wildly inside, his thrusts becoming sloppy.
He came with a loud moan, ending with one final thrust that left his cock deep. It overwhelmed you, like a dam of emotions bursting after months of building. “Zuko,” you breathed, not even knowing what you were asking for as tears spilled from the corners of your eyes.
“Rest now,” Zuko said, maneuvering your body until he had you in his arms. “We have all night,” he whispered into your ear, his fingers spread across your stomach.
You could tell what Ryland wanted, even when he protested, “we’re barely through the door,” he whispered, like he was afraid of being caught in your own house.
You looked up at Ryland from on your knees, “you were feeling me up on the whole drive home,” you said as you unzipped his fly slowly.
“Feeling you up?” Ryland sputtered, “my hand was on your knee!”
You let out a soft laugh, “that’s not what I felt,” you said as you worked open his belt.
Ryland huffed, “can we at least go to the bed or couch?” he whined. “My knees aren’t what they used to be.”
You let out another laugh, “you say that like you’re as old as the solar system you teach about,” you replied.
“I feel like it! Especially after being on my feet all day,” He grumbled.
“We’ll have to build your stamina,” you said, sending Ryland a wink before you pulled his hard cock out.
You must’ve jinxed it. You had said it as a joke, of course, but it was like Ryland was getting payback when he came.
You didn’t know how long it had been, the only thing you knew was the ropes of cum hitting your face.
You gasped when it started, and quickly closed your eyes to avoid the burn.
“Holy–” Ryland gasps, “I’m so–” he tried speaking once more, but his words were interrupted by a moan.
Ryland was sorry, but you were trying your damndest to not press the heel of your palm to your cock, trapped in your pants.
You felt Ryland leave moments later with a gust of air, and the faint sound of his belt buckle jingling as he moved.
After what felt like minutes of being alone, you’re tempted to just wipe it away with the back of your hand, but you’re stopped upon hearing the sound of a camera shutter.
“Fu–”
“What was that?” You asked.
“Nothing!” Ryland answered, far too quickly to indeed be nothing.
“Did you just–” a warm cloth swiped across your face, interrupting your words, “stop that!” You hissed after another pass. “Did you just take a photo?”
From how red Ryland’s face was, it seemed like he, in fact, did.
“I didn’t know how,” he paused, trying to find the words, seemingly embarrassed, “into that I now know I am,” he whispered.
“Oh,” you responded softly, your cock throbbing in your slacks, “do you knees still hurt?” You asked as you looked him over as he stood there, his pants still open.
“No,” Ryland responded, his brows downturned in confusion.
“Let’s go to bed,” you nodded towards your bedroom.
Ryland gave a slow nod, like his post-orgasm brain was still trying to catch up, “bedroom,” he said, turning in the direction. “Let’s go do that,” he said as he walked away, leaving you in the entryway.
You laughed to yourself as you pushed yourself off the floor, “it’s okay,” you said when Ryland jogged back, “I’ve got it.”
“Sorry,” Ryland said sheepishly, “I can carry you,” he said, almost sounding like a question and not a statement.
You let out another laugh, “no.”
“Over the shoulder?”
“No.”
“Bridal?”
“Let’s go, Ryland.”
Sebastian Stan/Superhero Fan Page @spnfanboy777 - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
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