Digital de-aging is bad not just because it always looks creepy as fuck no matter how much money they pour into it, but because it deprives me of getting to see the fucking black magic of a) the casting director somehow finding someone who looks unnervingly like the original actor despite not being related at all and b) the actors completely convincing me that they are, in fact, the same person at different times in their life.
SUMMARY: Blame the Unbirthday revelry, the spiked punch, the swirl of sweets and music. Blame your own daring, if you must—
But you can’t blame fate when you find yourself tangled in the sheets of the one you secretly longed for all along.
CHARACTERS: Trey Clover / Leona Kingscholar / Jade Leech / Jamil Viper / Idia Shroud / Silver x F!Yuu (Reader) 50% chance to a have a few new characters at the end
TAGS: Spicy, a bit of smut, sugar coating fluff, sloppy and a bit of crack, drunk sex.
WARNING: porn with plot, nudity, unprotected sex (always wrap it up!!), oral fixation, oral sex (reciving and giving), fingering, mild gagging, mild dirty talk, pet names, lost of virginity.
COMMENTS: All characters are +18 Part two here - Part three here
Divider @enchanthings
Unbirthday parties at NRC always follow the rules—the oh-so-“questionable” rules of Heartslabyul—but for some reason, whether it’s the music or the sheer number of another dorms guests, the tension released after finals, or maybe just the chaos of other dorms sharing food, sweets, and drinks right in Riddle’s territory, this party doesn’t even feel… unusual anymore.
Maybe it’s also the fact that Ace is way too quiet in the corner, hunched over himself, trying (and failing) to hide a rather large vial in his hand. You know that when Ace has that mischievous smile and not a shred of remorse in sight, nothing good can come out of the redhead; and this occasion won’t be an exception. Especially not after you saw him pour that very vial into the punch bowl.
“Trappola tradition,” you hear him say. It seems his older brother has passed down the baton for the worst prank.
Whatever Ace poured in there, the air gets sweeter, tinged with a rainbow of colors, with that feeling you get when you finally come of age and know exactly what you want and desire, and that hint of something not entirely legal for a school campus.
Someone, probably Floyd, starts chanting, “Chug! Chug! Chug!” and Epel’s already on his second drink, trying to prove he can handle alcohol better than anyone. Grim, meanwhile, is busy fishing out slices of floating fruit, muttering about the injustice of being banned from the dessert table.
Riddle tries to keep his composure, doing his best not to think about the countless rules being broken in his own lounge, but the blush on his cheeks and the way he wobbles from side to side give him away—he’s not immune to the spirit of the party… and maybe he’s already had a taste of the punch.
You try to take it easy, but it’s hard when everyone keeps handing you drinks, plates of fruit, little candies with mysterious fillings. The world feels slow and slippery, like honey running through your veins, and suddenly you’re part of a tightly packed crowd in the lounge, shoulders pressed together, glasses raised, clinking them to the beat of a song nobody quite remembers the words to.
You catch Ruggie stuffing three types of chocolate into his pockets—not before slipping a couple into your hands, though. “Eat up! Or you’ll regret it tomorrow.” Kalim drags you onto the dance floor, his laughter easy, his hands never still, bracelets jingling as he spins you through the crowd.
The drinks get sweeter, the candies and fruits stronger. You lose track of how much you’ve had after the third glass. Laughter floats in the air, yours mixing with theirs.
You remember Vil’s perfume enveloping you as his knuckles brush along your cheek, making you shiver. “Having fun, darling?”
You just nod before walking to the other side of the room to separate Ace and Deuce—apparently both are on the verge of causing nuclear disaster in the middle of the lounge over who can fit more marshmallows in their mouth. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Leona sprawling even lazier than usual across the sofa, and Malleus… well, laughing and making the air tremble a little.
Everything that came after you remember in lazy waves: laughter blooming warm in your chest, the tickle of someone’s breath on your ear; someone tucking a wildflower behind your ear—was it a white or red rose? It doesn’t matter, 'cause seconds later someone else snatches it away with their teeth and a grin that’s barely even trying to be subtle.
The music pounds in your ears until, at some point, everything settles and you’re wrapped in silence. You remember flashes in that quiet: lips tasting of chocolate pressed to yours, teeth biting your throat, hands brushing your skin under your clothes, laughter melting into moans.
Your hands are everywhere, entwined with someone else’s, tangled in soft strands of hair, clutching a shirt as you fumble with the buttons, at a belt, at the bedsheets, everything is heat, color, and taste. The world tilts and spins and you let go, trusting in the madness of it all, in the hands gripping your waist, in the mouth claiming you, in that lovely sensation of being wanted, claimed, and utterly ruined all at once and in every possible way.
When you finally wake up, the light is all wrong and comes in without asking permission, your thighs feel heavy and there’s that pleasant tingle between them, something itches at your neck, and you’ve got hair in your face.
Your head hurts—no, scratch that, your head is pounding and trying to open your eyes is a very bad idea right now. You take a deep breath and the pain’s still there, hammering away, demanding you face the day.
╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌
Trey
When you slowly turn your head, you find Trey sleeping on his stomach, one lazy arm under the pillow, hair a mess but annoyingly attractive. You assume his glasses are on his nightstand, the sheets dangerously low over his hips.
His hips… bare.
His chest is bare too.
You look down at your own body and—bingo—you’re naked too.
And these aren’t your sheets, this isn’t your pillow, and obviously, this isn’t your dorm bed.
Holy… fuck.
You try to remember, even with the pounding headache, half mortified, half… half what, exactly? Surprised? Embarrassed? Or just utterly satisfied to have such a god lying next to you?
Flashes hit you without warning: the warmth of Trey’s hand guiding you away from the crowd, his soft laughter by your ear, both of you laughing at some joke only the two of you found funny, stumbling together until you crashed into bed.
The taste of icing and the sweetness of strawberries on Trey’s lips when he kissed you fiercely; did he feed you with his fingers, or did you steal the flavor right from his mouth?
His hands roaming every inch of you, his palms warm; his tongue scandalous, licking you slow and deep, teasing your clit, sliding between your wet folds, holding your hips so you couldn’t escape.
Him straightening up, wiping his mouth with his thumb, looking you right in the eyes.
You felt the tip of his cock pressing against your wet pussy, sliding in slowly, panting against your lips, deep strokes, but completely sensual.
“You like how I fill you up, right? You’re so wet, so beautiful,” he’d murmured against your ear, holding one of your legs up over his shoulder to push even deeper.
The way he held both your legs over his shoulders, folding you in half, thrusting over and over, deep, hitting your sweet spot, probably making you scream.
Trey’s name on your lips when he made you cum, slipping two fingers inside you to stretch you even more while his cock was still buried deep.
The moment he held you after it was all over, the fingers of one hand tangled in your hair and the other lazily drawing circles on your back.
Trey shifts, stretching and opening one eye, still half-asleep. He gives you a small, crooked smile when he sees you—serene… and breath taking.
“Good morning.”
Goddamn, even his voice is too sexy...add that rough, low tone and you’re already wet again.
“Did you sleep well? Headache?”
Is it that obvious?
“Uh… yeah, yeah, a little.”
Trey sits up and the sheets slide dangerously lower, lower, on his hips. You try not to look… but fail.
Obviously you fail, who are we kidding? The view of this man’s torso alone is enough to make you start drooling. Those strong arms from all that kneading, the abs, the broad shoulders, and…
Marks?
He has marks on his neck?
Some are obviously hickeys… others look like the start of scratches that trail down his back.
You bite your lip, desperate to look at his back, to see the scratches you obviously left, and see how strong his muscles are there.
“Did we…?” It’s a dumb question—you obviously had sex—but you need to hear it from him.
“Yup… several times, actually.”
The heat that rushes to your cheeks is uncontrollable, almost the same shade of red as his bed curtains.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
“Are you regretting it?”
Please, this man can’t be any sweeter or he’d cause diabetes.
Trey kisses your temple when he realizes there’s not even a hint of regret, or fear, or doubt.
Then, he gets up and starts looking for something to wear before going to get breakfast.
OH MY GOD THAT BODY!!!
And the scratch marks from your nails down his back, and his ass… and his cock, half-hard.
Trey notices you’re basically devouring him with your eyes… “Do you want breakfast, or do you want me to jog your memory with another round?”
He winks at you before pulling on his glasses, boxers and uniform pants and leaving the room to get you something to eat and something for your hangover.
Ah… you could die peacefully in that bed.
Leona
It’s the heat that you notice first—something heavy and solid pressing against you from behind, half-sprawled over your side, as if you were a possession. His possession
Your nose fills with a musky, warm, spiced scent, with hints of something… wild. It’s accompanied by the soft, steady sound of breathing.
You try to open your eyes, but the light only makes things worse, so you’re forced to rely on your other instincts and sensations.
You feel something wrapping around your leg, something soft, moving, tickling you lightly with part of its fur.
Wait… fur?
Is he holding you with a tail?
A TAIL?!
You force one eye open and the first thing you see, in all its glorious splendor, is Leona’s bare chest pressed against your back, one arm wrapped around your stomach.
You follow the line of that arm and realize you’re naked too…
You lift the sheets. Yep. Very naked.
Your skin tingles and your hips ache, your thighs feel like jelly, clear evidence that the bed wasn’t used just for sleeping.
You try to move, but Leona’s arm is like an iron bar, stopping you from even sitting up, his fingers tightening possessively on your hip. A shiver runs down your spine when you feel his tail slide upward, his ears twitch.
“Going somewhere, little mouse?” His voice is deep and rough right by your ear.
You turn your head and meet the lion’s wide green eyes, far too awake for this early in the morning. He gives you a half-smile, one fang showing, dangerously smug and a little arrogant… well, very arrogant.
That look is unmistakably that of a predator about to pounce on its prey.
You pull the sheets up to cover yourself a bit more, as if there were any way to hide a nakedness that had clearly already been explored hours ago for… quite a while.
“What happened last night?” Your mind is racing and your heart feels like it’s about to leap out of your chest.
Leona growls softly, though he doesn’t seem to care in the slightest that you’re covering your “modesty.”
“After how loud you were all night, I figured you’d remember at least something.”
Your face goes nuclear red. You clutch the sheet tighter, but it’s useless. You’re in his bed, in his territory.
“Did we… sleep together?”
“Sleep?” You hear a low, amused scoff from his chest. “Oh, we did more than sleep… want me to remind you?”
He doesn’t need to. Your body does it for him.
Not only do you feel the dampness between your thighs, but there are bite marks along them, already starting to bruise, traitors that reveal just how intimate last night was.
You can feel a few on your neck and collarbone too; they don’t hurt, but you know they’re going to be bright red well into the morning.
Your own memories begin to surface: your hands in his hair as you both devoured each other’s mouths in the hallway, his low, rough voice murmuring when he finally pulled back, “Do you want me to take you to my bed, or do you want me to wreck you right here in the hallway?”
His lips moving from your shoulder down to your breasts, massaging one with his large palm while he trapped your nipple between his lips, licking it and making you arch your back.
“Say my name, again. Do it again” every time you moaned with each thrust. Your face buried in the pillow while he took you from behind, relentless and unhurried, panting heavily over you.
His hands roaming your entire body, strong, confident, taking what he wanted without asking; his teeth grazing your neck. Was it just one bite he left, or several?
His name on your lips every time he made you cum, even when he was nowhere near finishing himself. Pride mixing with hunger as he felt you clench those soft walls around his cock.
The boldness in your voice when you begged for more and more. “Please, harder… harder, Leona” How could he possibly say no?
You remember being on top of him, legs spread wide as you rode him desperately, thighs shaking; him leaning back, hands behind his head, enjoying his private show.
His strong hands on your ass, “helping” you move faster, impaling you with every thrust.
Leona coming inside you, holding you tight against him. “That’s it, little mouse, fill yourself up with me”
“You were wild—I barely managed to get your clothes off,” Leona pulls you out of your thoughts as he props himself up on one arm without a hint of shame, his body fully on display.
“Not that I’m complaining. You were pretty insistent when you rode me and asked for a second round. And a third.”
You let out a small squeak and cover your face with both hands. “Please, stop.”
Leona straightens and takes your hands in his, pinning them above your head against the pillow; he flips you onto your back with ridiculous ease, looming over you with a feral grin. You’re caged, completely at his mercy.
And gods, his body lit by the morning sunlight is far too delicious.
“You look incredibly tempting.” His gaze roams over your face and body, barely covered by the sheets.
He gives your shoulder a small bite and laughs when you let out a little yelp. “Want another round? Or breakfast so you don’t pass out on top of me?”
You glare at him, cheeks burning; you want to strangle him. Or kiss him. Possibly both.
“Breakfast… then we’ll see.”
He pecks your lips softly. “Good girl.” And then he gets out of bed without the slightest bit of modesty, tail swaying, letting you admire the scratch marks trailing down his back.
Jade
Why does the silence feel like you’ve been swallowed by the sea?
And why does it smell like seawater? And sea salt?
The room is so dim that the few rays of light filtering through the curtains make strange patterns on the bed.
And it’s a kind of dimness you haven’t seen in Ramshackle for a long time… which means, this is not your room.
Everything hurts; your throat is raw, your lips are swollen, your body heavy, like something squeezed you until there was nothing left.
You try to move but there’s a hand on your belly, a thumb lazily drawing small circles on your bare skin.
Bare skin…
BARE SKIN?!?!
You sit up—and it’s a very bad idea. The hangover slams into your head and you bring your hand up to your temple.
“Ah… looks like you’ve got a hangover, and considering how eager you were last night…”
You turn your head to find Jade’s smile—small and polite, but absolutely terrifying.
“Does my pearl need something to make her morning… more productive?”
“Jade…” your voice comes out hoarse and rough, and you cough, trying to clear the discomfort.
“Ah, I warned you I might wear you out. Seems I was right, hm?”
The memories hit you so hard they make your headache worse:
Jade pulling you away from the party, an astute glint in his eyes and his voice serene yet venomous, coaxing you into the comfort of his room—his bed.
His hands stripping away every piece of clothing until you stood naked before him, his fingers mapping your sensitive skin, anticipating every tremor, seeking out what made you sigh, moan, or arch.
Your boldness as you made him sit and you knelt in front of him, your lips around his cock, trying to take him deeper and deeper. His praises made your pussy wet and made you want to do better, his hands in your hair guiding you, helping you choke on him.
Your eyes brimming with tears when you looked up and saw him smiling, pleased, fingers caressing your cheek before plunging you into a fast, unkind rhythm, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat.
Your own mouth screaming in pleasure as he took you from behind, you on all fours on the bed, ass up, completely at the mercy of his hands and hips.
“Come on, little pearl, cum for me” the authority in his voice, impossible to resist, every word a praise tangled with a command.
Your climax hitting so hard it left you sprawled on the bed; Jade grabbing your head so you couldn’t move, your screams muffled by the pillow as he found a better angle to fuck you, making you cum again.
The taste of his cum when he made you take him back into your mouth and spill inside.
You swallow, trying to speak, but all that comes out is a shaky, ruined, “holy shit”
He runs his thumb over your hip bone, where the bruise from his grip is already fading… only to grab you there again, just as hard as you barely remember.
“Overwhelmed, maybe? Though I must say… you were so hungry for me you nearly made me mistake you for a predator.”
Jade sits up and the sheets slide even lower on his hips. He’s so tall it feels like he could cover you completely. He admires the bites and marks he left all over your chest, shoulders, and neck.
You’re his own personal canvas, and the fact that there are still places left unmarked… it’s intoxicating to him.
He pushes you back, slipping between your legs again, hands running along your sides before gripping your thighs and positioning them around his hips.
“Dare to tell me you regret it, little one.” When you shake your head, terrified but just as aroused, he adjusts your legs around his hips, letting you feel how half-hard and hungry for you he still is.
“Excellent,” he kisses the tip of your nose before rolling his hips, brushing against your clit. “So, do you want another round or some tea for that poor throat?”
You shiver, completely lost to his movements and the pleasure slowly building inside you.
“I won’t let you surface just yet, my pearl”
Jamil
For a few blissful seconds you think you’re safe in your own bed, within the walls of Ramshackle… until the scent of countless spices fills the air. Clove, cinnamon, something deep and intoxicating, spicy.
Yeah… you’re not in Ramshackle.
Is it wise to open your eyes with the sunlight filtering in through the window? Unfortunately, you’ll have to.
Eyes open and a hammering headache, you recognize the décor: elegant, gold details, Arabic architecture… Looks like you ended up in Scarabia.
Okay, one problem solved; now… who’s breathing against your neck, slow and steady?
You turn just enough to see the mess of dark tousled hair belonging to Jamil, splayed across the sheets and pillow. He’s on his stomach, facing you, eyes closed but with a small smile on his lips; his arm stretched out across your hips, giving you slow, gentle caresses.
You blink—once, twice, three times.
One more, just to give your brain a chance to process that his torso is bare and the sheets are dangerously low.
You freeze, memories hitting you in dizzying flashes through your hangover: his eyes shining in the half-light, pinning you with his gaze from across the lounge, like he was drawing you to him with nothing but his eyes.
Your body pressed to his while he whispered something in your ear that had nothing to do with the party, but still made your cheeks flush… more than they already were from the punch.
His hands, so careful with everything he handles, guiding you into a different kind of dance—one that didn’t need music or an audience; your laughter mixing with his before finding your lips, his mouth hungry.
The taste of spicy spices, and a hint of mint, with every kiss and stroke of his tongue across your skin, intoxicating and making you shiver.
Jamil kneeling at the edge of the bed, grabbing your feet and pulling you toward the edge so he could run his tongue along your soaked folds and slip it inside. Sucking on your clit until you were shaking.
The cry of his name when he made you cum with his fingers inside, curved and massaging your most sensitive spot.
His voice in your ear, soft but commanding, ordering, “Look at me, habibti” every word coaxing you closer to the edge. Sharp images of your wrists pinned above your head by his hands, of how he made you arch for him, Jamil’s long hair falling over your face as he watched you from above, his pupils blown wide and a bead of sweat trailing down his neck.
Your legs shaking, the pressure of his hand on your throat while he pounded into you again and again, his hips driving hard, his abs rubbing against your belly; his movements calculated, slow when you were desperate, brutal when you begged.
You let out a whimper, and that’s when Jamil opens his eyes. He blinks, then his gaze sharpens, lazy and sly.
“Morning”
Your mouth is dry, cheeks blazing. “Oh my Sevens… what happened last night?”
Jamil kisses your shoulder, moving up to your collarbone, your neck, up to your jaw before giving you a little bite.
“You don’t remember anything?”
“Fr-fragments.”
You feel his hand sliding down your thigh… and realize you’re also naked under the sheets.
Okay, yep, we fucked… got it.
“You were bold. Even eager.”
His hand slides up, up, reaching the wetness between your legs. Your skin lights up and a jolt runs down your spine.
“I regret not doing this sooner,” is all he says before claiming your lips again, his fingers slipping inside.
You moan into his mouth, biting his lower lip, heart stumbling—but all you care about is melting in Jamil’s arms.
“Let me take care of you, habibti,” he murmurs, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “I’ll make you forget about your hangover”
And when Jamil pulls you back under the sheets, you’re pretty sure you don’t want to remember anything but this.
Idia
The silence in the room is so intense it feels like you can hear your own breathing and heartbeat.
The first thing you notice is that the bed feels… off—not the pseudo-comfort you remember from your bed in Ramshackle.
Second, your head is about to explode; third, you’re naked and there’s a chill in the air, as if warmth doesn’t exist, making every hair on your body stand on end.
You crack one eye open, grateful that the blue light is diffuse and not too harsh, though it still hurts to look at.
Blue light… you turn your head and see a glowing skull. On the other side, way too many monitors crammed onto a single desk, one of those screens has thirty code windows open.
You bolt upright when you realize you’re not just in Idia’s room… you’re completely naked in Idia’s room.
There’s a groan beside you, the creak of bedsheets, and movement.
You turn around; a chaos of blue hair, pale bare shoulders, and a pair of yellow glowing eyes blinking at you from behind a curtain of messy hair.
Idia stares at you, mouth open, emitting a high-pitched, static-like whine; the ends of his blue hair turning pink, then pure red from embarrassment.
There’s a sound like a computer blue-screening right before Idia lets out a strangled squeak, scrambling backwards to put distance between you...then promptly falls off the bed with a loud crash.
“HOLY SHIT, IDIA!! ARE YOU ALRIGHT?”
“N-NO!! I’M NOT OKAY!! Wh-what did we do last night? Ohgodoh godohgodohgod—”
Idia grabs a pillow, but no matter how hard he tries, he’s bigger and taller than it.
He’s about to combust
“I died last night and on my way to the dorm something hit my head and I died again, and got isekai’d to some forbidden erotic world…”
You reach over and pinch his arm hard to bring him back to reality. “Ow!”
“This is real, Idia! We actually had sex!”
Heat rushes up your neck as flashes of last night come back: your hands on his, surprisingly warm, pulling him close to you in the middle of the party. Shy smiles, nervous giggles.
Idia’s inexperienced lips on your neck, his hands awkwardly squeezing your hips until you taught him how to hold you right.
His monotone voice now a whisper, full of need and want, “Are you sure? I-I’ve never—” and yours, suddenly bold, telling him you want him now.
The blue fire of his hair lighting up the darkness of his room and the naked skin of you both; the nervous way he looked at you and touched you, learning with every move of your hands over his on your hips, your breasts.
His eyes going wide as you guided his fingers to your clit and whispered in his ear how wet you were for him; his long, slender fingers working magic between your folds, barely realizing what he was doing.
Idia stammering as he tried to put on the condom backwards and failed—twice—begging you for help between gasps and awkward laughter. “Why is this so complicated? This… never happens in doujins…”
The exact moment he entered you for the first time, his breath hitching, a sharp, surprised moan as he felt himself inside you—slick and completely ready for him to go deeper, harder; to be entirely his.
Him finishing ‘embarrassingly’ fast (according to him). But all it did was make you want another round, and another, and another.
His lips traveling down your neck and, in a moment of sheer daring and lust, squeezing your breasts together to suck and bite your nipples at the same time, making you arch your back to give him more and more.
The way he moaned your name when you rode him for the first time, desperate not to finish too soon again, but absolutely mesmerized by the sight of your body so free and needy for him.
You taking complete control, hands on his chest, grinding your hips to rub your clit against his pelvis and clench your soft walls around his cock.
Idia groans with embarrassment, interrupting your lascivious memories.
“I-it’s not like… I mean, I’m not complaining or anything, it’s just… this is… max difficulty! Like, y-you’re like a goddess… most beautiful OP character… y-yeah and I—”
“And you’re Idia… was it at least good for you?”
His voice turns to static and he locks eyes with you in a rare burst of confidence.
“Good?! It was… it was overlord level. Uh. You were… really… really—”
Another memory hits: Idia clutching the sheets with every roll of your hips, moaning in time with you. His hands grabbing your hips, squeezing your thighs and holding on to you like his life depended on it.
After a while, still avoiding your gaze, Idia returns to the bed, hiding behind the pillow again. It’s almost cute...
No, it’s very cute. And funny.
You take the pillow away and let him curl up beside you again. For now, both of you log out of reality outside his room and let Idia melt under your touch.
Game over for virginity, am I right?
Silver
You wake up with the weight of an arm draped across your waist and the warmth of a body pressed against your back. The bed is way too comfortable, and your body… way too happy, though aching and with a hangover that could flatten you in the sun.
Little memories float to the surface: lights, very loud music, punch spiked with alcohol, a whirlwind of colors… and something silver blurring your vision.
Silver’s hair between your fingers as you kissed, his eyes—clear and bright—locked on yours in the middle of the chaos, giving you a look that told you both to take this moment somewhere else.
The feel of soft, sweet sheets on your bare skin stops your thoughts in their tracks, making you open your eyes and turn your head to the side.
Girl… you’ve got Silver, completely naked, behind you. His strong, well-trained arm pinning you against his chest.
Ahhhh… his chest; bare, rising and falling in a steady rhythm. He’s beautiful in that fairytale way that only storybooks promise.
How can someone, even while asleep, look so utterly tempting?
Why is there a tingling between your legs? And why can’t you feel them? Or rather… why do they feel so wet?
Your heart skips several beats. Holy. Shit.
I slept with Silver. I slept with Silver.
You can’t stop staring at the perfect physique of the man beside you, so muscular, drinking in the view, flashes of the night before returning in blinding white bursts:
Your laughter muffled against his shoulder in the middle of the makeshift dance floor, his voice low but steady whispering sweet things—and something that made your pussy throb, needy and expectant. The warmth of his hand on your waist as he led you to a deserted hallway to devour your mouth right there.
The taste of his lips, sweet and a little shy at first, but no less hungry and full of desire, his tongue sliding into your mouth and both hands gripping your thighs to lift you up and pin you to the wall.
His fingers playing with every button and fold of your clothes, peeling you out of each layer until you were completely exposed for him; the pressure as they slipped inside you and a moan escaped your lips.
His warm, solid body over you, until he sat you on his lap; face to face, your breasts pressed to his chest, your nipples rubbing against his skin as you bounced with each thrust of his hips, his arms holding you tight against him.
Gentle, noble kisses on your cheeks, your shoulders, even your knuckles; kissing you softly, slowly, savoring you and making you feel wanted and loved.
His cock sliding in and out of your dripping pussy with ease, not too fast, not too slow, wanting to set a pace that could last all night.
But your moans and pleas for him to go faster—“More, Silver, please, more”—made it a little difficult.
“I’ll give you everything, beautiful, just hold on tight”
And you did; to his shoulders, his arms, even to the sheets themselves when the pace sped up, laying you down on the bed, your legs thrown over his shoulders, the new angle making you cum again and again and again, so easily it was almost ridiculous.
You feel the tingling intensify down low and you shift.
Silver stirs and blinks awake. A few seconds of confusion before he notices your face, your bare shoulders, the way you’re clutching the sheet… adorable.
“Good morning beautiful”
And he says it with the most natural, gentle tone in the world.
“Are you alright?” he squeezes your waist and pulls you a little closer.
Boom, straight to the heart.
For a moment, he hesitates, thinking maybe… maybe, there’s regret in your eyes, maybe even shame.
Finding none, he gives you a soft kiss on the forehead and settles you against his chest; he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.
“You look so beautiful in the morning, I want to wake up like this every day”
A soft kiss on your cheek, then another on your nose, then one more on your neck.
And, to finish, one slow, sweet kiss on your lips—savoring the promise of more in the future.
“If you want me to stop, just tell me.”
Anticipation shivers under your skin.
“Don’t stop”
╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌
Ace … and ... Deuce
You wake up with the worst hangover of your life—moving is a lost cause and opening your eyes isn’t even an option. You feel like you might throw up at any second and then just go back to sleep.
There’s a pounding behind your eyes, the kind that makes you swear you’ll never drink punch again… never drink punch that’s been tampered with by Ace; hell, you’ll never go to another party again.
You roll over and two things hit you: first, you’re naked, like, obscenely naked; second, someone is snoring rudely right in your ear.
A sharp flash stabs through your skull. You remember being squished from all sides while dancing, multiple hands on your waist, and two pairs of lips on your neck.
Turning left, you see Ace waking up. Looks like the hangover is killing him too. He grabs his head as he sits up, elbow propped on the mattress, lets out a heavy sigh and tries to open his eyes—and they lock with yours.
God knows how, but this bastardly redhead manages to give you the cockiest, most infuriating grin that makes you want to punch him right in the face.
“Good morning, sleeping beauty”
“Call me that again and I’ll shove your uniform shoe up your ass, Ace.”
Ace just grins wider and lets out a little laugh… followed by a pained groan as he closes his eyes, keeping the pain under control.
You smack his arm to wipe that smile off his face...and realize he’s just as naked as you.
“Ace… what the hell did you do?”
You blush, covering yourself with the sheets as much as you can, actually, even more. All that’s left is to cover your face and you’d be a mummy.
“Aww, don’t make that face, you’re the one who climbed on top of me after the punch.”
“You’re the one who spiked it!!”
“Didn’t hear you complaining when you were begging us for more—”
You smack him on the head with a pillow; your shrieks and his, plus the loud thump of the pillow, echo through the whole room.
“What the fuck… why are you two so noisy?”
Deuce’s voice sounds from behind you, raspy and just as hungover as you two.
You look at him… he looks at you… his eyes travel down to his own equally naked body… Confusion turns to horror, horror into high-pitched groans.
“What happened? What did we do? Why are we naked?!”
Between the throbbing headache and Deuce’s panicking, you try to remember a little more of this… wild rebellious night.
You remember being with the dynamic duo on the dance floor, Ace whispering dirty promises in your ear, Deuce pulling you closer to him. Then both of them trapping you between them.
Their taste—Ace like candy and mischief, Deuce like cinnamon and adrenaline.
The three of you running through Ramshackle’s halls, stumbling, sometimes collapsing in a tangle of laughs, hands, and feet.
The bed—Sevens, the bed. Sheets scattered everywhere; Ace’s mouth on your neck, Deuce’s trembling hands pulling off your clothes, both fighting over who would take off the last piece.
Spoiler: both of them did it with confident hands before lunging for your lips, your breasts, your legs.
Kisses mixed with laughter, limbs tangled, the chemistry between these two as they made you cume; sloppy at first, then more assured.
The pressure of one sliding between your legs, spreading you open and burying himself deep; the other opening your lips to take him in your mouth. Both working as a team, building a rhythm, admiring how your body adapted to being fucked from both ends.
“Look how we’re breaking you, baby. You’re so wet… I could drown in here,” Ace groaning, rough and loud, grabbing your hair and pushing you down on Deuce’s pelvis with every thrust.
“That’s it, pretty, just like that, don’t stop, swallow it all,” Deuce murmuring as his cock slides down your throat, robbing you of breath for a few delicious seconds.
The way they took turns—one in your pussy, the other in your mouth… but you also remember a sharper pressure at your ass.
The moment when they both wanted to be in your wet pussy together; when one pulled out, the other pushed in, stretching you until you screamed their names, rubbing together inside your softest, most sensitive spot.
The moment you didn’t just cum with both their cocks inside, but, thanks to the pressure and the delicious way they filled you...you squirted, soaking the bed, your belly, and probably Ace’s too.
You moaned, screamed, writhed; the boys turned on by seeing you so free, so full of them, Ace twisting your already-sensitive nipples, Deuce running his tongue over your dripping pussy.
Dizzy flashes of being held in the air, legs around Deuce hips, hands and arms held by Ace, your arms wrapped around his waist too. Each of them fucking you from a different end, watching your tits bounce with every thrust; a mess of spit, sweat, tears, and their cum leaking from both your holes.
The three of you collapsed in bed, panting; Deuce’s arm wrapped around your waist, Ace curled around your chest, fondling your extra-sensitive tit in a playful way—until he switched to gentle caresses. Both seeking your warmth and your touch.
Your breath catches with all the memories. The heat rises not just to your cheeks, but a lot, lot lower.
“I’m never drinking your punch ever again,” Deuce growls, holding his head.
“Don’t you wanna know how good we are at sharing this pretty princess?”
Deuce tosses a pillow at him, but with no force, Ace catches it with one hand, laughing.
The redhead just gets cockier, trapping you in his arms, your back pressed to his chest. You feel his lips leaving little kisses on your nape and cheeks.
Deuce, still hungover and dying of embarrassment, scoots in front of you, wrapping you up with one strong… very strong… arm.
Both of them attack you with twice as many kisses.
Your head may be pounding, but at least you’re laughing in the arms of these two idiots.
Hi hi! For the kink prompt list, can I get aphrodisiac or overstimulation with Hríd? I know there’s not much to work with when it comes to his personality, but I’m so attached to him regardless!!! Afab she/her femme reader pls <3
Continuing to revisit requests from AGES ago in no particular order, but boy howdy does this seem like just what the doctor ordered. And I've got a pretty good idea of what kind of angle I wanna take with this. Though heads up, there is just a very tiny dash of breeding kink in here as well , so cw for that.
Hrid (FEH) x AFAB Reader
Kink prompt list #44 - aphrodisiac, #7 - overstimulation
NSFW 18+
Nifl produces a very particular wine. An aphrodisiac, and a powerful one, which is only used in quite particular circumstances. On the night of the King's marriage ceremony, he and his bride are to be taken to the royal suite. With witnesses posted just outside the door, both the King and newly wed Queen take this wine, each sharing one half of the same cup. With this act, they submit themselves to the irresistible intoxication of its affects, and spend the night entangled in passion. This way, consummation of the royal union is assured, and an heir is nearly certain to be conceived.
Hrid had asked you countless times in the days leading up to your wedding night whether you were certain you wished to uphold this particular tradition. Each time, you had sincerely reassured him. In truth, the prospect made you burn with anticipation.
You'd been gifted a lavishly ornate set of bridal lingerie for the occasion. The delicate lace and sewn-in gems shimmer like fresh snow, the sheer stockings hugging your legs up to your thighs in a way that clearly draws Hrid's eye. Hrid- your husband, your king -approaches you where you recline on the bed in only his trousers, and a silver chalice in hand. He silently runs his free hand up your thigh, watching the way your soft flesh yields at his touch, and you admire him in return. It's rare that you get to see his body bare, given his country's climate. He's a vision of rigorous, well-trained muscle and a collection of scars, each one a reminder of his commitment to put his own body on the line for his people.
You push yourself up towards him, and he cradles your chin in his hand and brings the chalice to your lips. As the sweet but earthy flavor of the drink passes your lips and fills your mouth, you ready yourself for what may come.
"Only half, love, remember," he says gently as he takes the cup from you.
"I remember," you say with a smile, "Your turn."
He gives you a heavy look that nearly causes you to shiver, before tipping the chalice at his lips and finishing every drop. The moment he sets the cup on the bedside table, you run your hands up his chest, weaving your fingers together behind his neck and pulling him into a slow, deep kiss. He inhales through his nose, brows furrowed, as he returns the kiss and lets you guide him down onto the bed with you. He lies at your side, but turned so he's partly on top of you, kissing you deeply against the plush pillows as a strong hand slowly travels from your hip, up along the side of your body towards your chest.
"You look... radiant," he whispers against your lips, and you smile, then return to him and kiss him more hungrily than before. Gods, it feels like tasting him for the first time, feeling him in a completely new way. Already, you can feel an unusual warmth inside of you, a restless need that's only growing. Hrid's breath begins to come a little harder, and now, his hand caresses along the swell of your breast as he says in a low and graveled tone,
"Swear to me... that if I push you too far, you'll tell me," his lips brush yours as he shakily inhales, "Do that, and no matter how I burn for you, or how this drink affects me, I will stop myself."
There's a note of desperation in his voice, like he's trying to convince both you and himself. You cradle his face in your hands, brushing back his fair hair as you say,
"Hrid, I want this. I want everything you can give me. I want to be your Queen."
The way he kisses you is all the response you need. He leans into you, pressing you against the pillow as his tongue thrusts past your lips. At some point in the entangled frenzy, he pulls away from you just long enough to tug the last of his clothes off, then return to your lips like he can't bear to be apart from them. Your body arches up toward him, and he eases an arm under your waist to pull you against him. You feel his free hand trailing down your body, his touch strong but tender, until his fingers slide between your thighs. Even above the silken lingerie, you know he can feel how wet you are. The wine and his passion are rapidly sweeping you into a frenzy, your skin warm, your lower muscles clenching as they long for him to fulfill you. Hrid is clearly in a similar state; his cock is massive and rock hard, rutting against your thigh, hot and already dewed with precum. All the while, he firmly strokes his two middle fingers between your lower lips, the gesture pressing against your soaked panties and applying a tantalizing pressure to your clit. Gods, this wine is dangerously potent.
You part from his lips for a moment, panting already, and look at him with utter desperation. In the brief moment of tension, you notice his breath as heavy as yours, his pulse pounding like yours, and you seem to realize in the same instant that neither of you have the patience to draw this out. You don't have to say a word, Hrid can see the way your eyes beg for him.
Hrid kneels over you, his eyes like pale blue flame and his touch urgent. His strong hands pull down your panties until they're bunched at your knees, but rather than bother to remove them entirely, he lifts your legs until they rest on his sturdy shoulder. He leans forward, bending your legs back a bit, and moves a hand to spread your lower lips open for him. The moment you feel the flared crown of his cock hot against your lower lips, you whimper, biting your lip and squirming restlessly on the bed beneath him.
"Hrid... please..." you breathe out, and you see the way he pauses to steady himself at your words.
"I know, my love," he says, his voice a low and husky whisper. He turns to place a kiss on your stocking-clad leg, before beginning to drive the length of his cock into your tight cunt.
"Oh-!!" your body tenses. Your breathing and his both pick up, bodies hyper-sensitive to the sensation of your warmth clinging around him. He feels bigger than usual, thicker, harder. It's a mercy that you're so exceedingly wet for him, or he'd struggle to fit inside of you at all. With your slick welcoming him in, he's buried in you to the root before long, and you can feel his full, heavy balls pressed to your ass.
You gaze up at him with hazy eyes. His muscles are all tensed, his skin flushed, and through the daze, you see something almost manic in his eyes.
"By all the gods..." he gasps out, already beginning to grind in and out of you, his eyes falling half-lidded as the stimulation around his cock overwhelms him, "Y/N, I... forgive me, I can't..."
His words trail off as his pace begins to intensify. You whimper his name helplessly as he bucks into you, his movement hard, deep, and decisive. With each powerful thrust, you feel every inch of his manhood, his shaft pulsing against your tender inner walls, the head stroking you until it hits your deepest point. You've never seen Hrid like this; your gentle, tender lover is fucking you mindlessly, savagely, like he can't think of anything but the intoxicating feeling of your gushing wet pussy taking him in. Your lips hang parted as you gasp and moan aloud for him, not caring a bit for the witnesses stationed outside of the suite. It's their duty to confirm that the King has taken his wife, after all, and they will certainly have no doubts tonight.
Hrid can't form the words to tell you he's about to cum, but you can tell. You can tell by the stuttering pace of his thrusts, the way his cock swells and twitches inside of you, the way those ice blue eyes grow distant and unfocused. Fuck, you're very nearly there yourself. Your body is so impossibly sensitive, you hardly need all of the usual foreplay. The pleasure of him inside of you, the friction and pressure of him filling you, seems to radiate through your nerves until you're trembling on the bed. His arm tightens around your legs, holding them to his scarred and muscled frame, as he groans your name in a deep rumble you've hardly ever heard from him, and pushes his cock into you to the base.
As his cock lurches with each potent wave of cum he pours into you, your own climax bursts from your center in a tingling rush. Your cunt spasms and squeezes around the girth of his shaft, and Hrid groans and nuzzles his face against your legs as he rides out his climax. A few mindless thrusts of his hips coax out the last of your mutual orgasm. Once satisfied, he pulls his length from you with a groan. As his muscles relax and he gently leads your legs back down onto the bed, you begin to feel the usual lull of post-coital exhaustion. It doesn't last. When you blink your eyes clearer and look up at your husband, your eyes meet in the moment you each realize your bodies are still burning. You bite at your lower lip, moaning out his name.
"Hrid... more..." you whine, as need begins to build within you all over. His cum is already dripping from your well-fucked pussy, yet all you can think of is taking him once again.
Without a word, Hrid turns you over onto your stomach, his touch strong, yet just restrained enough not to hurt you. He mounts you from behind, and you can feel the heat of his body surrounding you. This time, when he aligns his cock at your entrance, your body welcomes him in. Your cum and his allow him to drive back into you with his hands gripping at your hips, until your ass is flush to his body. With the aphrodisiac roaring in your veins, the sensation is an unspeakable relief. You need to be filled. You need Hrid.
He groans, and takes a moment to grope a hand-full of your ass, before releasing it and leaning down over you. Immediately, he begins to fuck into you with all of his strength, his powerful body pressed to your back and his cock driving into you from behind. Your hands clench around the sheets until your knuckles go white, and your eyes roll back a bit as the pleasure once more winds tight in your belly.
As Hrid supports himself with one elbow resting on the mattress beside you, his other hand slides around your stomach to cradle you to him. You wonder, with an odd thrill in your core, whether he's envisioning you carrying his heir. His breath hot at the crook of your neck, he speaks between desperate groans,
"My dearest..." his voice is so earnest it twists your heart in your chest. How is it possible he can still speak to you with so much adoration, even while fucking you so deep you can't formulate a single thought? You can only reply in encouraging moans, and he kisses the side of your neck.
✩ If it weren't for Anna and Sharena's goading, Alfonse might not have found it in himself to ask you to dance with him. There were many heroes who werer vying to dance with you, so finding an opening to be able to proposition you was no simple task. The question became even more daunting when he finally had your full attention. When you stared at him expectantly it was as though there was no other noise, just his thoughts and his beating heart. He eventually manages to find the courage. "Would you like to dance with me?" The relief when you do accept makes his heart soar to new heights.
✩ Lif doesn't find joy in balls these days. In fact if it wasn't for you, he doubts he'd even be in attendance of this one. He's just out of sight, in the back end of the ballroom, but even so, he's able to keep you in his gaze. You are as radiant in your formal attire as the version of you that now only exists in his memory. Not to mention the bashful expression as you attempt to fend off the numerous dancing requests. "I'm willing to bet if you asked they'd say yes." Thrasir's comment is unnecessary, and makes him scoff. But when you make your way over to him, seeking sanctuary from the hustle and bustle of the evening, he deeply considers those words.
"We should dance!" He's surprised when you take the intiative instead, holding out a hand to him. A hand that he takes without much further thought.
✩ Chrom has two left feet and a chronic fear of stepping on your toes so much that you never want to see him again. But he also knows that he'll never get over the fact that he spent an entire evening mulling over whether to ask you to dance. Especially if someone else swoops in and ends up dancing with you in his stead. And with how you look in your formal wear, the odds of someone else doing just that are very high. It's why he ends up in front of you slightly flushed and completely nervous. "I'm not the greatest dancer, but if I don't ask you to dance with me I'll regret it for the rest of my life." He's over the moon when you accept his offer, only for dread to settle back in when he realises that he has to not get distracted by how amazing you look or else he'll end up stepping on your toes.
✩ It's good to see you relaxing for once. It's also good that Cherche gets to be right there with you. If she was being honest, extravagant events such as these aren't her expertise, but she enjoys them nonetheless. She'd had a few offers for people to dance with her, but she had turned them down. You'd noticed and eventually had asked why she kept turning people down. "It's because I'm waiting to dance with one person. But they still haven't asked to dance with me." She doesn't need to say who she's waiting for, as her continous stare at your form is the answer. She's pleased when you do ask her to dance, eagerly leading you to the dancefloor.
✩ Sylvain is in his element , you think, as you watch him glide about from one dance partner to another. There seems to be line of people waiting for him to take their hand, and you'll have to admit you could understand why. He is quite charming and looks rather dashing in his attire. You watch him finish up his next dance, expecting him to take a pick from the corwd around him, only to be surprised when he waves them off and starts walking towards your direction. "Don't tell me no one has asked someone as stunning as yourself to dance yet?" You tell him you don't dance, trying to sneak off elsewhere, he takes your hand before you get a chance. "Nope no running away, you deserve to be showed off and I'm doing just that."
Saw this frame on a different reblog by @thatssroughbuddy but why does it look like Iroh is using his phone to take a photo of his nephew at a landmark
In my ideal world this is what would have happened on Mount Olympus (I probably spent more time working on this than I should have ;.;)
In reference to this:
dededos
pixelskylines
germansingergirl
gummygunk
vaporwave
annaxmalina
