his ultraviolence

every dilf is my daddy 19 & female

[1nsignia]

18+ mdni, sam winchester

—————————————————————————

i don’t care what anybody says, sam winchester is a freak in bed

i’m talking about putting you in a chokehold, your face suffocating in his biceps and drooling on it mindlessly from the backshots he was giving you, his hips ruthlessly snapping to yours while your back gave him that beautiful arch he loved so much 

his bicep would be covered by your saliva, red bite marks and hickeys bright and evident on his skin. 

“uh huh” sam panted, eyes pinned down on yours and examining your expression— a fucked up, lewd expression squished by his bicep— a sight to behold. “keep that back arched for me, mmm”

i’m talking about gripping your hair whenever you were straddling him, the slight tug making you moan in the hungry, passionate kiss and giving him enough space for his tongue to slide in your mouth 

and because of that, there was no way to hide that beautiful face of yours from him. even when your face was buried in his shoulder as you rode his cock, breathless gasps of “sam! mph- sam”  leaving your lips. it made his hand—that was already buried in your hair— lift your head up by your hair to lock your lips into a messy, open-mouthed kiss

“don’t hide from me” sam murmured in your mouth, his other hand pulling your leg closer to bury his cock more into your cunt. “wanna see your face when you make a mess all over me”  the drag of his length in and out was stretching out your poor, fluttering walls. enough for your hips to slightly jerk back and a small sound leave your lips, only for it to be swallowed by sam and easily hold your hips in place with one hand, the other still buried and gripping onto the locks of your hair 

and i’m talking about his large, large hand around your neck as he has you pinned under him in missionary, hovering on top of you and whispering filthy things in your ear to add onto the wet, slaps of his cock in your needy cunt 

“thaaaats it. youre doing so so good f’me, baby” “god, you look so good like this” your throat would bob in his palm and his thumb would brush under your jaw, a subtle gesture so soft it felt almost out of place from how eager sam was for you, how starved he was a moan left his lips when the veins on his length were brushed perfectly, biting your shoulder to swallow back his sounds as he kept murmuring on your skin without a thought. “fuck, you have no idea how you drive me crazy” 

absolute. freak. 

————————————————————————— main taglist: @sweetpeasosweet @lcvgty-4929 @fratbrochrisgf @wrldbloom @arabellas-barbarella-swimsuit12 @vianawaits @edawgz @hottubnda @onlyfeng @lucky-clover13 @tragicfiend @nyx-of-night @missmontiopath @bloomfaery @booksrcool @jaydennicole @gglouise23 @sicklyhana @klauvy @pocket-fish0 @romancedawn333 @sashadonat @uxavity @batslilwhore @oh-sheetcake @boo-123456 @ydivine @the-star-rover @slutfordpr @advline @arfemiz @freakkay09 @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @hernersworld @starrydustedwinter @inejskywalker @seeker2028 @ksiazkowaxx-blog @kh4dij7 @vanillakirstein @lillie1320 @scissorhvnds @branchesofmagic @devilslittlehelper @starr-jazz @nightwingblvd @yukimaniac @freddiweasly @devorator666 @dadump @ftkats @starl1ghtgr4yson @st4rstuddedreblogs @em12021 @heleneae

@darkxwolfsstuff @imintoomanyfandoms14 @littlelightbearer @th3d1nOr3ad3r @psychopompsblog @wwolfsca @kaiiii1009 @century-eggg @tvhore @chickenchickenpie @fanofthebatfam @sillygayfreak @tskdeion @potatoheartsyou @faepoetry @theall-seeingone (tags are open)

©1nsignia— please do not steal, repost or reuse my work

[achillieus]

˖ ࣪౨ৎ˚₊

Poetry professor Declan O’Hara, who you have a meeting with every Friday at 4pm to discuss your dissertation.

Poetry professor Declan O’Hara, who’s always stern and precise and too sure of himself. And demanding, so demanding. He doesn’t let you breathe sometimes. He sets rigorous standards and pushes you towards them.

Poetry professor Declan O’Hara, tall and charismatic, with broad shoulders and dark striking eyes.

Poetry professor Declan O’Hara who cares about you and your work. You know he does, because you can hear the genuine pride in his voice every time he praises your latest research path, smart girl I knew you wouldn’t let me down.

Poetry professor Declan O’Hara who you see jogging around campus on Sundays, his brown curls sticking to his damp forehead, his polo shirt clinging to his body.

Poetry professor Declan O’Hara and the wedding ring he never takes off even though you’ve heard the rumours – how he hasn’t seen his wife in the last few months and everything.

Poetry professor Declan O’Hara who sometimes finds you in your dreams and has you waking up flushed, alone and achingly waiting for Friday.

[aemondslittlebunny]

more.

[mira-angle]

Not homelander and nate Jacobs get killed in the same week

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

heyyy!! i LOVE your declan ohara fanfics sm omg

i was wondering if you could do a fic where it’s like angst and like declan knows he shouldn’t bc he’s married and the age difference but can’t keep his hands off you🤗🤗🤗

so wrong it’s right.

you’re convinced it’ll end in disaster. and yet here you are, once again.

declan o’hara x female reader

warnings - smut. cursing. implied cheating.

a.n - this is a shorter one, but I just couldn’t resist. always thinking about that man and his moustache. you asked for angst… here’s a ton of it. thanks for this request !! <3

masterlist. inbox.

“Tell me to stop.”

He’s breathing his words into your mouth, tongues tangled together as he speaks.

“This is wrong and you know it. Tell me to stop.”

His voice is all whiny as he begs, fingers digging into your hips as he internally pleads with himself to find some self control.

He’s got you pushed up against the wall out the back of Bar Sinister, hidden from view by the darkness. Both of you know it’s risky - stupid, even - and yet here you are, unable to stop.

“Would it make a difference?” you mumble against his lips. “We said we’d stop weeks ago.”

“We didn’t say we’d stop,” he corrects impatiently. “We said we’d stop meeting like this.”

“In public places.”

“Where anyone could walk out and see us.”

You nod, tangling a hand into his hair like you just can’t resist.

“It turns ya on though, doesn’t it?”

“Hmm?”

You’re gazing at him like he’s the centre of your universe, eyes glazed over and love drunk down to your bones.

“The thrill of it all, the risk, the chase… you love this shit, don’t cha?”

You shake your head so unconvincingly that you both chuckle, knowing the truth deep down.

“You dragged me out here, may I remind you,” you whisper.

“Didn’t even try to stop me though, did ya?”

“You’re so irritating.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, tugging on his hair to help prove your point.

“You love it.”

He dives back into your mouth, tongue running across your teeth as if he knows your anatomy from sheer memory alone.

You’ve hiked a leg up and around his hip to try and pull him closer to you, Declan willingly leaning in. His entire body weight is pressing you into the wall, the rough brick no doubt scratching your back.

He’s pulling your skirt up just enough to nudge your underwear to the side and slide a finger in, both of you groaning at what you feel. Your head drops forward onto his shoulder, inhaling deeply out of habit. He smells like whiskey and smoke and his woody aftershave. He smells like sneaking around and overthinking and worrying about getting caught. He smells like everything you want and more.

Declan crooks his fingers towards him, making your knees buckle as he does it. You’re about to beg him for more, for anything, when a voice comes echoing through the darkness, cutting through your intimate moment.

“Declan? Are you out here?”

The two of you jump apart, trying to make a last ditch attempt to look half decent in the face of debauchery.

“Answer him,” you whisper as low as you can, pulling your skirt down and smoothing out your hair.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he croaks, a little rougher than he would have liked.

“What are you doing standing in the dark like a maniac?” Rupert asks as he appears in front of you, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and tie long abandoned.

“Smoking.”

“We both had the genius idea of trying to sneak off to somewhere quiet for five minutes. Great minds think alike and all that,” you bluff with practised precision.

“Oh, hi darling. I didn’t see you there.”

“Hi Rupert. Everything alright?”

“Just fine. Or at least it will be. Come and find me when you’re finished, Declan. I need to have a quick chat with you - Venturer business.”

“Of course. I’ll be in in a few minutes.”

Rupert mock salutes you both as he leaves, never one to overstay his welcome.

“Well that was fucking close,” the Irishman breathes when his friend is safely out of earshot. “Shit.”

“Yeah. Too fucking close, Declan. I almost just had a heart attack.”

“We’re fine, don’t panic sweetheart. Everything’s fine.”

You feel a sudden wave of what you think is rage wash over you, uninvited and surprising.

“It’s not fine, actually. I’m not doing that again. No fucking chance. Imagine the absolute outrage if he’d walked out five minutes earlier, or if he hadn’t announced himself. It’d be chaos, Declan. The kind of chaos that ruins careers, that ruins livelihoods.”

“I wouldn’t let that happen.”

“You wouldn’t have a choice! Don’t you understand? You can’t control situations like these. They run their own course and you cannot stop them.”

“Where’s this change of tune come from, huh? We were fine two minutes ago!”

“I’m sick of my heart beating out of my chest whenever someone so much as coughs from a hundred metres away! I am so worried about getting caught, about getting us both in trouble, that it’s taken over everything. It’s not worth the stress, Declan. And you know that.”

“Don’t tell me what I know.”

He’s never taken this tone with you before - the to the point, no frills, blunt tone that you usually only hear in business meetings. On one hand, you’re glad he’s taking this conversation seriously. On the other hand, it’s breaking your heart.

He takes several steps towards you, fingers reaching out to tangle themselves with yours. You can’t help but squeeze his hand, old habits dying hard.

“We’ll be more careful,” he whispers. “We’ll put a stop to the stupid stuff.”

“It’s going to end in disaster,” you reply lowly. “You and I both know that this doesn’t have a happy ending.”

“It could.”

“It doesn’t.”

“You’re not usually a pessimist like this,” he mutters.

“It’s realism, not pessimism.”

“Sounds the same to me.”

“I’m trying to make sure we aren’t living in a fantasy world.”

“I’m under no illusions of what this is, sweetheart. Trust me. I am very aware of the fact that I am married, and you are half my age. Don’t you think I know how wrong this is? How much trouble we’d be in if we were found out?”

You dare to meet his eyes, his gaze piercing into your soul. His fingers tighten around yours, as if he’s frightened you’ll disappear in front of his face.

“I’m scared,” you dare to admit, as quietly as you can. “I’m terrified, Declan. I feel like we’re a ticking time bomb, just waiting to ruin everything.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he breathes, cradling your face with those huge, calloused hands. “I will never, ever, let anything bad happen to you. I’ll protect you until my last day on this goddamn planet.”

“I know that,” you almost whimper, voice wobbling with the threat of tears. “Of course I know that.”

“There’s a world where this works, you know. It’ll take time, and a hell of a lot of patience… but we can do it. I know we can.”

“I don’t want to ruin your life over a… fling.”

“A fling?” he flinches, looking at you so seriously that it worries you.

“I just-”

“My darlin’, you are not a fling. You are everything.”

Now you feel guilty for ever doubting him, the feeling washing over you in dark, heavy waves.

“I’m sorry.”

Your bottom lip is trembling, words stuck in your throat. There’s so much you want to say, but you just can’t seem to form the right sentences.

“You have nothing to apologise for, alright? I know you’re trying to be realistic to stop either of us getting hurt. But I am in this. With every single fibre of my being. It’s you, sweetheart. You’re all I want.”

“Promise?”

“With my entire heart, I promise.”

You surge up to kiss him with all the passion you can muster, bodies crashing into each other. Declan wraps his arms around your back, pulling you into him as closely as he possibly can as you tangle your fingers into his hair. You’re not sure where you end and he begins. You don’t want to know.

The two of you could stay like this forever, intertwined and completely oblivious to the outside world. Just you and the love of your life, obstacles be damned.

You break apart for air eventually, breathing each other in as deep as you can. Declan cradles your face once again, looking intently into your eyes.

“We’ll figure this out, yeah? Me and you. Always.”

You nod, gazing up at him like he’s the moon and all of her stars.

“Me and you. Always.”

You’re about to kiss him when you hear a familiar voice echo through the darkness once again.

“Declan? Have you finished your cigarette? We’ve got some urgent Venturer business happening inside that we really need you for.”

The Irishman gives you a look that says, wait for me. This isn’t finished. You give him a look in return that says, I’ll find you. Always.

The two of you are floating on air, carried through your days by the promise of a future together.

It’s a shame neither of you noticed Rupert when he reappeared outside five minutes ago.

[aemondslittlebunny]

MORE

[marinadinamite]

so, uhhh… currently in need of rivals fics, please??? preferably declan x reader…

[surturedberries]

⋆˚꩜｡ when ryland grace calls you "baby"

ryland grace calls you baby around the ship, which is another cultural thing he has to explain to rocky. when grace needs to find you, "baby" has replaced your name, and he never thought much about it. but rocky was curious. "what is baby question?" grace looks over his shoulder at rocky and chuckles as you come over. "it's a nickname," he explains. "it's a sweet way you talk about your, uh..." and he gets shy, avoiding your gaze. "your mate." "baby is common name on earth?" "no, no. i mean, yeah, sort of. when humans are born, they're babies. then they grow up." this baffles rocky and he starts waving his "hands" around in confusion. "but not baby. is grown adult exclamation!" so, ryland walks over and pulls you in close, then starts up the baby voice as you laugh and cringe. "it's just a term of endearment! it means that she's just a little baby, yes, she is." "oh my god, grace, stop!"

ryland grace calls you baby when he gets cuteness aggression from seeing you. you could be doing the most boring thing in the world: checking coordinates, updating travel time and fuel necessities, cleaning, or cooking the weird astronaut packets they gave you. he'll watch you for a moment in complete awe because look at you! you're just a sweetheart doing your little chores! and when you spot him, he holds his arms out and you just roll his eyes. the guy is nothing but a big, mushy mess. "aren't you the cutest little baby in the world?" he pinches your cheeks, and you complain. "grace, i'm trying to work!" but he doesn't stop. "i know, but look at you! how are you just walking around looking so cute? cutest little baby i ever did see—!" and on and on and on he goes. you'll have to find another time for chores.

ryland grace calls you baby in small whispers when you're trying to sleep. rocky and him are talking quietly about something, who knows. you're trying to get some shut-eye. but just as you're about to doze off, you hear, "baby. hey, psst. sorry, didn't mean to wake you. um, how do you explain a merry-go-round?" you let out a quiet sigh and reply. "it's a bunch of... horse statues you sit on. you pretend you're riding them. and they go... around. in a circle." there. you readjust onto your side and close your eyes again, but it's much too soon when you hear, "sorry, baby. do you know their history or anything?" "honey, i don't know. for all i know, it's war propaganda. tryna get kids to wanna charge onto the battlefield." and then it's quiet. you think, great. it's finally over. rocky and grace have fallen back into their own conversation with just the two of them. vague, colorful pictures begin crossing over your eyes and a scene forms behind your eyelids... "baby?" "jesus christ."

ryland grace calls you baby when he has no idea what's going on. if he's alone in the laboratory, doing calculations, and suddenly the lights turn red and an alarm starts blaring throughout the ship, he shrieks like a child and immediately drops everything he's doing. and the first thing he does is call out for you. "baby! baby, what's going on, where are you?" this godforsaken ship, he'll never be an expert on its layout. he'll never be an expert about space in general! it seems that there's always something else he doesn't know about (but that's the life of a scientist). when he does find you, he's more than relieved, but before the two of you start pillaging to find out what the problem is this time, he always hugs you or gives you a quick kiss: an acknowledgement that he's grateful you're here, and that you two will always be safe as long as you have each other.

ryland grace calls you baby after the long days and sleepless nights, when you, him, and rocky finally break through on something. you three have been slaving away for weeks, running the same tests over and over and over again, each time changing something miniscule in your work to salvage what little calculations are correct and to be as thorough as possible. none of you thought that the work you'd have to do up here could be this meticulous. space is a whole different playing field. but after weeks of work, the glass tube turns the right color and suddenly you're a whole lot more awake, waving at rocky and shaking grace on the shoulder to snap both of them out of their dazes. "what? what is it...?" rocky notices first and his musical cheers ring out, waving his "hands." grace then looks over and sees you holding the tube, and he springs out of his chair and tackles you, laughing with absolute glee. "we did it! what'd you change? oh, baby, you're a genius!" you all know you'll do this same song and dance in a month or so, but three brains are better than one. you'll keep trudging onwards for as long as you need to.

notes: guys i finally wrote for project hail mary, they were gonna get me soon enough. aughhhh grace my wife grace my love. haven't stopped thinking about this movie since i saw it. i'd be happy to write more for the gosling verse in general, so we'll see! requests are open so feel free to drop any request, headcanons, or if you just wanna geek out with me

[angel1withacigarette]

Humiliation and bladder control with Soldier boy..

warnings: suggestive content, dead dove do not eat, thigh humping, controlling ben, harsh and mean ben, watersports (bladder control, wetting)

Soldier boy being so controlling; he needs to decide everything for you. You need to ask him permission for everything, including when you use the bathroom

He’s making you drink a shit ton of water all day to test your limits, and when you swear you cannot hold it anymore, he makes you take your pants off and dry hump his thigh about it.

You whine and beg him to let you go, but he’s only guiding your hips faster on his clothed thigh, saying, "Come on, stop being a fucking crybaby, and hold it. You’re not a fucking toddler. Deal with it, doll.”

“Ben—please—" You literally tear up from the painful ache below your abdomen as you rut your hips against the fabric of his clothed thigh.

“Shut up,” he warns you, as his big, rough hands guide your hips back and forth. You let out soft sniffles and sobs as you try to hold back. You try your best not to make a mess of yourself and utterly embarrass yourself.

You clench your hole shut, trying your best to hold on, but that doesn’t last long. Ben is a sadistic piece of shit, and he knew he wasn’t going to let you go. This was always the outcome. You gasp as you lose control and feel urine seeping through the cotton fabric of your panties. Golden liquid soaking on the fabric of his pants. You feel your cheeks burn hot, and you bury your face into his shoulder in utter embarrassment.

Ben’s sadistic ass just laughs. Oh, how he loves humiliating you. “Look at you, pissing yourself like a fucking baby.” His voice is rough and cocky. “You call yourself an adult when you have the bladder of a fucking toddler?” He laughs.

You can’t help but cry in response, after all you have not had something like this happen since you were a child. He just loves to fuck around with you. The trickle finally starts slowing down and eventually comes to a stop.

“Stop with the fucking waterworks. Go clean yourself up. Next time fucking hold it. Or do I need to fucking potty train you? Yeah, I don’t think so.”

You wipe your tears off your face, soft sobbing sounds and sniffles still escaping.

“Aww you gonna keep crying doll? You wanna make sure the whole seven knows of this? Then stop it.”

Ben somehow always wins you over after putting you through shit like this though…

Holy fuck if my irl’s even find my tumblr I can guarantee you I’m gonna kms

[prudejudee]

GooseGang P!Links (Ryan Gosling characters)

RYLAND NOT INCLUDED — FIND HIS SOLO POST HERE

COLT SEAVERS

He definitely eats it from the back

Watching him fuck you + kissing eachother

Thick!reader fucking his brains out

He lives to fuck you into exhaustion

Always makes sex about you <3

He loves when you lay and play with eachother

Crush his face!

(Artwork!) Pegging Colt!

HOLLAND MARCH

Force his legs open and jerk him off

Stare up at him in prone bone and he'll fold

He loves sensory deprivation

Fold him and use him <3

Alt!Gf pegging him for mouthing off

Letting him fuck your throat

Pressing yourself on him while riding

DRIVER (DRIVE 2011)

He's got an obsession with mirrors

He likes you quiet and weak

Softly fucking shy little you in his passenger seat

A biting problem

Neighbor!driver fucking you on your couch <3

Using his face while he squirms

Hand is frequently on your throat

Getting jackhammered in his backseats

LARS LINDSTROM

Grinding and teasing till he tears up <3

Letting him suffocate between your asscheeks

Feeling your cunt for the first time

He's feral and needy after you've been gone for a few days

Fucking himself onto your panties

Gentle needy man caring for you

He really loves touching you

COURTLAND GENTRY

He likes to pick you up to fuck

You take whatever he he gives you

He's got a huuuuge cock

Pulling you to the edge to be closer

You're his pretty little pet humping his boot

Holds your legs open like a pro

[deaniesangel]

California Heat

cliff booth x reader

genre: smut

summary: stuck in traffic in the blazing heat of california. with cliff next to you, cooling down seems near impossible. but you get an idea on how to pass the time and finally - give into the heat.

warnings: nsfw, language, pet names, implied age gap, body worship, finger sucking, oral (male receiving), swallowing

words: 1484

────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆────────

Cliff liked listening to the radio whenever he was driving, mostly music but he would occasionally switch to the news channel. It was the hottest day of the year according to the newscaster. You weren’t surprised. Sitting in your tube top and denim shorts, your skin glistened in the sun. A mix of cocoa butter and sweat.

You tried to follow the newscaster's voice but he was talking so quickly and you were quite distracted. Could anyone blame you? Cliff was looking ravishing. Maybe it was the result of heat radiating through the metal of the cadillac but damn, you felt hot. Even though the windows were rolled down and fresh air streamed inside, it could not be described as anything other than scorching.

You could see a faint layer of sweat on his skin as well. He was wearing his infamous yellow hawaiian shirt, his chest exposed just enough to make your mouth water but not enough to be considered indecent in public. A drop of sweat had collected at his brow, threatening to roll off his temple, slowly, teasingly.

You tried to look out the opened window, to take in the view, concentrate on anything else but Cliff’s hands pulled you back into heat like a vortex. He was driving with one hand on the wheel, his other arm propped on the window sill. His veins popped out deliciously. Just like they do when he fingers you into oblivion. You just wanted to lick up and down his arms and -

“You good, sweetheart?” Shit. Cliff had noticed your staring and uneasy energy, his lips curled up into a slight smirk. “I’m fine, just…a little hot.” You shuffled restlessly in your seat, eventually sticking your arm outside the window in the hopes of catching a cooling breeze.

He chuckled, knowing exactly what type of heat you were experiencing. It wasn’t the first time you had spaced out looking at him while he was driving. Usually that meant you would jump at him the moment you both arrived home and closed the door to his trailer. But this time something felt…different. More desparate.

“How long until we arrive home?” you ask, clenching your thighs together, secretly hoping he notices. “About 20 minutes. If we’re lucky. The way this line moves we might be stuck for a while.” He replies while looking at the long line of cars in front of you. You pause internally and contemplate on what to do. You need him. So bad. Right. Now. What if-

Your breath hitches and you turn your body towards him, staring at him seductively. His head turns to you, displaying a raised brow. The drop of sweat has now finally started its descent down his handsome face. His expression is a mix of confusion and daring you to go on.

“You want me to suck your cock?”

Silence. For a short moment you regret asking but the thought quickly fades as he chuckles, turning his head away from you. Was he blushing? He turned towards you again, this time studying your face. After breathing in and out deeply, he says:

”Knock yourself out, sweetheart.”

Grinning from ear to ear he shifts his hips forward, making himself more comfortable for the upcoming event. You smile and bite your lip enticingly. Your gaze shifts from his beautiful eyes down to his chest. Your hand slowly makes its way underneath his hawaiian shirt, across his pecs, playing a little with his silver blond hair.

His ribcage moves up and down slighlty more intensely than usual. Satisfied your fingers head down his biceps. Ellbow. Forearm. Eventually reaching the steady hand he has on the wheel. He loosens his grip slightly upon your touch and you gently tug on his fingers. He gets the hint and replaces his steering arm with the other, letting you take his hand. You lead it to your mouth slowly but surely.

You take his index finger in your mouth, keeping eye contact with the rugged man sitting next to you. He can’t help but smile at you, excitement for whats to come coursing through his veins.

The air is thick. Humid. Tension high. By now you are sucking on two fingers like an ice lollipop. Holding onto his muscular forearm, you feel every callous in your mouth. A sign of Cliff’s dedication to his craft. Stunt work requires blood sweat and tears, a real commitment physically and mentally. The thought stirs something deep inside you and you decide to spend some extra love on each callous with your tounge.

Cliff keeps his eyes on the road, looking as cool as ever, as your tounge licks down the protruding veins on his forearm.

“I know you think I’m smoking hot, but you said you wanted to suck my dick, not my fingers.”

Your lips part from his skin and you let out a mischievous smile. Your panty is completely soaked already from all the work you have been doing on his muscular upper body.

“Patience. I am just getting started” you said, biting your lip while caressing his thighs. Both your hands move over his jeans, deliberately avoiding the area he wanted touched the most. His already hard thighs were even more tense than usual.

“Sweetheart, I'm too old to get teased like that.” He bucks his hips upwards exhaling slowly, a bit of impatience escaping his chill facade. You try to hide a succesful smile and move your hands towards his belt. One trained motion and the buckle was open.

It was hard to say who was more excited: you or him.

His cock springs free once you pull it out of his boxers. Veiny, girthy, perfect. A little drop of white had already collected at his reddened tip from the teasingly long wait.

Keeping your eyes locked onto his, you dive down and with one lick of your tongue the white drop disappears in your mounth. You can hear the squeaking sound of leather as Cliff tightens his grip on the wheel.

You take him into your mouth, bobbing up and down, taking him deeper inch by inch. With every bob you can feel his body relax and melt into the seat of the car. If he didn't have to keep his eyes on the road he would have closed them to revel in the sensation.

Spit drips down his shaft, making wet sounds with the guiding motions of your hands. The sounds were competing with the newscaster on the radio.

One hand still on the wheel, Cliff's other hand reaches down to support your head. He looks down endearingly at you. A look you don't see, too busy sucking his cock like it was your last day on earth.

You change your rhythm now and then, alternating between slow and fast. Sucking, licking, kissing. Using your lips to their fullest capabilities.

Honestly, you have no idea how long you've been down there, neither does Cliff. All you can think about is making him feel good and enjoying every bit of the process.

You have to moan when you take him as deep as you possibly can. The vibrations making your eyes turn to the back of your head.

“Shit.” Cliff says.

“I won't last much longer, sweetheart”.

You just hum in response, his shaft never leaving your mouth. You start twisting your hands, rotating them into opposite directions.

Cliff grunts, his body tensing up. His hips thrust upwards, making you moan in return. You continue your rhythm despite his slowly collapsing facade. He starts pushing your head down, firmly but not forcefully. And you anticipate what is coming next.

With an strained grunt and a tight grip on your hair, he spills into your mouth. You still your movements, looking at his face, with his mouth slightly open.

Once his raggard breathing has calmed down and you swallowed all of him, you find your lips locked onto his. Who initiated the kiss is hard to determine.

His tounge makes a distinct swipe in your mouth, with the mission to taste himself and make sure that everything has been swallowed.

Parting your lips, you lean back and pull your knees to your chest. A triumphant smile on your face.

“And? You cooled down a little?” Cliff asks visibly more relaxed than before. His hair slightly tousled. You loved this. The effect you have on him.

You shake your head. “Not even a little bit.”

He has to laugh at that and switches the radio to another channel. Music fills the car and you look out the window, daydreaming about the things he will do to cool you down once you arrive home.

A/N: This was my first ever fic and I am a little nervous putting it out there, so please be kind :) Thanks for reading. I hope you have a lovely day, angels ♡

[milleniumpire]

how would ben feel about spitting? like i think there's something really gross and possessive about it that he would prob love. but i think he would also love the idea that he's fucked you up so bad that you don't see it any different to a kiss? will fully tell you to 'say ah' in public and spit in your mouth. and like everyone is HORRIFIED and you don't understand why

Honestly was bored in the first half of this ask but holy shit did it take a turn. Ben... training you to see spitting as the same thing as a kiss... yes please. This is actually genius the idea of him telling you to open up in public is fucking foul and I am so here for it.

Thinking about Ben saying 'say ah' in that deep ass voice of his is also doing things to me. He'd grip your jaw with his thumb and forefinger, the rest draping down to rest on your throat. You'd open for him immediately, obviously, looking up at him with wide, expectant eyes. You're absolutely enamored, but to everyone else who can see you they think something absolutely foul is going on, and honestly they'd be right. The only thing they'd be wrong about is that you don't like it; you love that shit. The look of pride in his eyes after you take him makes you willing to do anything just so he looks at you in that same way again. You always hold your tongue out for an extra second so he can admire how he looks on you, before closing your mouth and fucking savoring the flavor and feeling before proudly swallowing it and showing Ben the proof. 'Daddy's girl, huh?' he says, treating you to that low drawl of his while he praises you. You nod, still feeling a little dazed from the way he yanked you out of the real world and into the space where all you have to do is listen and he treats you to the opportunity to feel small.

[whispersoflost]

taste of heaven .ೃ࿔* e.w.

pairing. ed warren x female!reader

summary. you felt pretty lost when your father died. so you seeked comfort in one of the most important persons in his life.

warnings. explicit sexual content, 18+ mdni, age gap because fathers best friend, mentions of parent loss, mentions of cheating, unprotected sex, fingering, dirty talk, slight orgasm denial, table sex, ed is also a warning for himself ig

word count. 2.1K

vanilla speaks. thank you patrick, for blessing us by portraying ed warren. there will be no one else like you, ever. this is for all the ed/patrick girls out there. <3 images not mine!! divider credit: @uzmacchiato

You didn't notice how your hands were shaking when you pulled up in front of the old house.

It was only when you reached for the door to get out of the car that you noticed, and sank back into your seat.

What the hell were you doing here? Thinking it was a good idea to seek out the only person who had any connection to your father.

You haven’t seen Ed in more than ten years since you lived your own life now.

The last time was shortly after your mother died, when he and his family came to the funeral. And then again a few weeks ago at your father's funeral where he had taken you in his arms after he had expressed his condolences to you.

He had given you so much comfort, was the only person in your father's life who had really meant anything to him—apart from you.

And now you were here to find that very person—that very feeling—again.

The cold autumn air blew in your face as you finally got out of the car. Even if you had changed your mind, it was already far too late to turn back.

You stopped in front of the red door of the house and closed your eyes. One last deep breath, then you pressed the doorbell.

It took a few seconds for the door to open and for you to find yourself face to face with Ed. He looked at you in surprise for a moment before he managed to open his mouth. “Y/N?”

“Hi,” you greeted him with a smile and shoved your hands in the pockets of the long skirt that you were wearing.

“What are you doing here? Come in,” he said warmly and stepped to the side to let you inside the house. Almost instantly, you were surrounded by a familiar scent that reminded you of incense with a slight note of cinnamon.

“Sorry for not calling ahead. But I was in town and thought I'd drop by,” you said with a smile and turned to him as he closed the door behind you.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Lorraine and Judy are in town, I think they said something about grocery shopping.” A pause. “Why don’t you sit down, I can make us coffee?” You felt Ed’s hand on your back as he guided you further into the house.

“That sounds lovely, thank you,” you answered, suppressing the shiver his touch sent down your spine.

You and your father had been close—there had been nothing you couldn’t tell him. Well, unless one thing: you had always been in love with Ed Warren. He was the hero of your childhood—from all the stories your father told you about.

And it didn’t matter that he was more than twenty years older than you.

“How are you holding up?” His question snapped you out of your thoughts and you cleared your throat softly while you sat down on one of the chairs in the kitchen.

“I’m fine. Most of the time. But then there are also times when I’m not… I guess that’s part of processing the grief,” you answered him, surprised about your honesty.

Ed, who was just pouring the coffee, turned around to look at you. “You’re very strong, you know that?” he asked before setting the pot back on the counter and taking the two cups in his hands.

“Not everyone can handle the death of a family member as well as you do. As you did twice.” He stopped in front of you and handed you the cup.

When you took it, your fingers brushed against his and your breath hitched at the tingling sensation that the touch sent through your body.

“Sometimes I wish I was a little less stronger,” you murmured more to yourself but—of course—Ed had heard it.

He reached over the table slowly to take your hand, and brushed his thumb over the back of it. There were no words needed, you knew what he wanted to say.

That you didn’t have to be strong when he was around.

And when he was crouching down in front of you, looking into your eyes with such softness, you couldn’t help yourself.

You fell into his arms, feeling them around your body as he pressed you close against him—little sobs escaping your lips. His hand rubbed in soft circles up and down your back, comforting you as much as he could.

After a few minutes—or longer, you didn’t know—you pulled away from him again, only a little so you could look into his eyes.

You were so close to him you could feel his breath on your skin, drying away the wet strands the tears left behind.

That was when he raised his hands, cupping your face and brushing the tears away from your cheeks with his thumbs. “You’re not alone, sweetheart,” he whispered with such intensity in his eyes that it made your heart flutter in your chest.

You closed your eyes halfway, leaning a little closer so your lips were almost touching his—but unlike you expected, he didn’t pull away. He just continued brushing over your cheek, further down until he reached your lips.

“We… shouldn’t…” you whispered when he grazed your lips with his finger—his touch so tender that you leaned your head longingly into it.

Then he closed the remaining distance and kissed you gently. His lips moved against yours in a perfect way that made you melt against him with a sigh.

He took the opportunity to push his tongue into your mouth, brushing it over your own, eliciting a soft moan from you and—he pulled away.

“You have no idea… how bad I wanted to do this since the last time I saw you,” he muttered, his voice hoarse.

“Ed…” you began but he silenced you with another kiss, stopping the next words to come out of your mouth. “Shhh. Don’t say anything. Just…” Another kiss. “…let it happen.”

With that you wrapped your arms around his neck as your lips met again and he got back to his feet. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you up and turning around so he was the one who was sitting and you stood right before him.

He leaned forward, taking the hem of your skirt between his fingers and pulled it up so you could straddle his lap.

His hands settled on your hips, sliding down to grip your ass, pushing you closer against his body, and you gasped as he pressed his hips up to meet yours—letting you feel how badly he wanted you.

“Oh god, Ed,” you breathed against his mouth and that was all he needed. His grip on you tightened and he stood up, placing you onto the table—positioning himself between your legs.

You felt his hand grazing the inside of your thigh, moving dangerously close to where to wanted him most. And when he finally touched you—one of his fingers gliding through slick heat—you let your head fall back into your neck as you gasped for air.

“You’re so wet” Ed’s lips were on your neck, his hot breath making you shiver and you arched against him. “So wet for me,” he added and let his finger dip between your folds a second time before slowly pushing it inside.

Your fingers found his biceps, trying desperately to find hold on them as he moved the digit inside your pussy and made you moan his name.

His lips were on your neck, sucking at the thin skin right above your pulse point while adding another finger to the first.

You felt your insides clenching when he curled them, hitting your sweet spot. “Fuck, Ed,” you gasped and felt him smile against your skin.

“That’s the plan, sweetheart.” His voice was only a low growl, that rumbled through your body and your hips jerked instinctively up to meet his fingers.

The other hand, that was placed on your hip, found your clit and he rubbed his thumb over it in slow circles.

But that was all you needed.

“I’m gonna…” you started as you felt your orgasm building. But before you could fall over that edge of pure bliss, he withdrew his hands from you, making you whine in disagreement.

“You won’t cum,” Ed said, trying to keep his voice steady while he started to work his pants down. “Not as long as I wasn’t in you.”

You couldn’t protest—even if you wanted to—because he was already pushing your knees further apart. He lined his cock up with your entrance, lips finding yours as he pushed your back onto the table with the weight of his body.

Then, with one rough push of his hips, he buried himself inside your pussy with a sound that almost sounded like a groan while a breathless scream was pressed out of your lungs.

“Fuck…” he hissed against your lips, sucking your bottom lip hungrily into his mouth. “You’re so damn tight.”

You could do nothing more than whimper, the feeling of him stretching your inner walls making you completely senseless beneath him. “Please…”

That was all you could get out of your mouth. And another whimper when he started to move slowly.

“Please, what, sweetheart. Use your words,” he nearly purred, voice dripping with lust and he continued to move so slow, it made your head spin.

“Please, fuck me,” you tried again and that was all he wanted to hear. “Good girl,” he praised and began to move faster.

His hands took yours, pulling them up over your head, and holding them in place on your wrists while he was pounding into you.

The sound of the table, screeching over the tiles, was muted by the moans he elicited from you and you hoped desperately that Lorraine and Judy weren’t coming home by now.

But Ed’s lips crashing against yours made you forget these thoughts and you let out another moan. “Fuck, you’re taking me so well, sweetheart,” he growled into your mouth, the sound of it almost enough to make you cum.

He pushed himself up, gripping your hips with such bruising force that you hissed in pain. But it turned into a desperate whine, when his finger touched your clit again, circling it with such precision that you couldn’t hold back longer.

“Ed, I’m gonna… I’m gonna…” you tossed your head to the side as the orgasm hit you with such force that you saw white stars behind your closed eyes, your hips moving mindlessly against his.

“Fuck, sweetheart… yeah, cum for me. Looking so pretty when you fall apart only for me…” Ed talked you through it before pushing inside you one last time, and released his hot seed in you with a groan that came from deep down his chest.

Breathing heavily, he sank down on your body, completely exhausted, holding you against him for a few moments longer while you came down from your highs.

If that was what heaven felt like, you’d never get enough of its taste.

None of you said a word when he pulled out of you and put his pants back on. Still nothing when he reached out his hands for you, pulling you up but before you could look at him—you woke up from your dream.

You found yourself alone in your bed, trying to control your breathing as the dream was still in your mind, making you press your thighs together.

Your visit at the Warren’s house yesterday was not such a good idea after all—even if it felt good to be around them.

With a heavy sigh you sank back against the pillows and stared at the ceiling.

Some time later you managed to get out of bed and stood in the kitchen of your dad’s house, sipping coffee—completely lost in your thoughts. That dream would definitely not leave your mind so fast.

Only when the sudden sound of your doorbell sounded, you were snapped out of your fantasies. “Coming!” you yelled, making your way to the front door.

You opened the door—maybe with a little too much force—and forgot to breathe for a moment when you saw who your early visitor was.

“Hey,” Ed smiled softly at you. “I was in the neighborhood, thought I’d drop by. I hope you’re not busy?”

And when you let him in, inviting him for a cup of coffee, it felt like you got a little taste of heaven after all.

[arimari81-70]

How it feels logging onto Tumblr to read fics after joining a new fandom

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Fulfilling inheritance and duty

Maekar Targaryen x daughter!reader

warning: +18, smut, p in v (mating press), afab!reader, targcest, age gap, yearning, slow burn, body worship, teasing, biting, slight degradation, hurt/comfort, fluff, implied obsession/posessive, alcohol abuse, no use of Y/n

Summary: Her brother Daeron was more of a drunken fool than a prince, but with the command of the crown that even her father could not oppose, she would marry him. Nothing could stand in the way of pure dragon blood; she had to fulfil her duty. It slowly dawned on the princess that her nightmare might never end, but in her grief she was embraced by the caring fire of a man who would give her everything she asked for – her father Maekar.

Word count: 7825

valyrian: ñuha prūmia=my heart, ñuha zaldrīzes=my dragon,

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The blood of the dragon had existed since old Valyria, a family that was small and almost insignificant at the time, whose most famous member, Aegon the Conqueror, became the first king. 

The blood of the Conqueror flowed in his heirs, each generation descended from the Conqueror and his two sisters, originating from the three dragons, the symbol of House Targaryen.

So it was in the year of the conquest, and now, more than two hundred years later, the blood of the dragon flowed in the family of King Daeron II, the blood of dragonriders, conquerors and rulers.

White-haired, violet-eyed beauties, called gods by some and tyrants by others, yet just as mortal as all their subjects.

The crown was under a lucky star, all four sons of the king long married, good matches, true love blossoming in some that went far beyond duty.

Baelor, Aerys, Rhaegal and Maekar all seemed to have a future...a future that would bring numerous children.

Numerous princes and a few princesses, the joy of the kingdom grew with each child, seeing the innocent newborns slowly become children and, after years, adults brought hope to the kingdom.

Princes who, in righteousness and forgiveness, were equal to their fathers and grandfather, at least so it seemed to Valarr and Matarys, the heirs of the heir, the perfect knightly image.

Skilled with the sword and a favourite at every tournament, respectful even to the peasantry when the crown made a procession, Baelor's heir Valarr seemed perfect in every way.

But the fourth head of the dragon, Maekar's own blood, seemed to lack these very qualities.

His firstborn son, Daeron, showed promise in his early childhood, but soon after became nothing but a disappointment to his father.

The blond boy shunned sword and horse training whenever he could, gave up as soon as possible, and at tournaments he seemed even less popular than the hedge knights, as no one could expect any entertainment from him.

His brother Aerion was equally incapable of providing entertainment, and his reputation for madness and cruelty was known throughout the realm.

With Aegon still too young to fight and Aemon safely practising in the citadel, that left the three daughters of the fourth son.

Daella and Rhae, two lovely girls a few years older than Aegon, young princesses whose joy lay in games, cats and occasional mischief with their brother, were the image of innocence for the crown.

It was their older sister, born only a few months after Aerion, who seemed to combine the best of her parents' features.

The joy of the kingdom was conveyed to the little girl when knights threw flowers at the young princess to gain favour with the crown – but what does a child understand of such things?

For her, the flowers were the most beautiful thing, red roses, yellow tulips, pink violets; the more she got, the happier she seemed.

“Here, Father, look!” she proudly showed her father the 'gifts' at the time, not understanding why his gaze was so displeased, why he rejected the flowers, why he didn't seem to share her joy, “These bloody knights are not worthy of you” was all he replied.

Words she didn't understand at the time, but understood all the more today.

Frivolous hope and disappointment breed jealousy thought the princess, her gaze from her room falling on the courtyard, the large square not big enough for a tournament like in the past, but today big enough to watch the practice fight between Valarr and Aerion.

Both equally skilled, equally strong, but there was more vigour in her cousin's movements.

He truly took after his father and would never fight with such arrogance and cruelty as her brother did. Aerion was the reason she hardly ever attended tournaments and fights anymore.

Every time she was there, he killed the horse and its rider, leaving behind a bloody, loud and ugly scene.

It was even worse when he asked for her blessing, something he didn't need at all, but in order to fulfil her own duty and for the sake of her father's approving gaze, she granted her brother this.

After she had given Aerion flowers or her handkerchief, forced a smile, praised him for his courage and returned to her seat, Maekar's hand rested on hers.

Warm and rough, larger than hers, he held her for a moment, their eyes met and her sorrow seemed less in his presence.

He truly seemed to be the protector she had always heard about in the old bedtime stories she told her siblings, she read books with fantastic magical adventures to Aegon, Daella and Rhae.

Her voice was soft and calm, lulling the children to sleep while her own thoughts were lost in the words. “If only it were that easy” she murmured, looking at the embroidered cloth in her fingers, red velvety fabric with her initials in golden thread that she was supposed to embroider herself.

It was a request from her grandfather, who had asked her to make two.

She enjoyed spending time with him, quiet conversations, memories of another time, but she could see that his health was failing.

It was the least she could do to fulfil his request as quickly as possible, even if the reason remained unknown to her.

She passed the needles through the fabric one last time and tied a knot before cutting the remaining gold thread with a heavy heart.

She looked at her work, a small smile of satisfaction on her lips, Grandfather will be pleased she thought to herself, and was just about to look out of the window again when there was a knock and one of her maids entered.

“My princess, the king would like you to come to the council chamber” she announced, delivering a message to which her questions received no answers.

Questions of why and what for were ignored as she sent the maid away and made her way alone to the familiar room, still clutching the two cloths in her hands as she wandered through the corridors.

The timing was unusual, as the afternoon was not yet over, the sun was shining like liquid gold and the castle was illuminating the night for as long as possible.

The two royal guards opened the large door for her as she entered the relatively large room and found her grandfather at the end of the table, not alone.

“Grandfather, uncle Baelor and dear father, what is all this about?” she asked, slightly puzzled, when she saw Baelor and Maekar sitting in the chairs near the head of the table.

Normally, both of them would have been busy with other matters, but it was the silence, the fact that something was in the room, that disturbed her.

The golden crown on Daeron's head glinted in the golden sunlight as the eldest gestured for her to sit down. “Forgive the confusion, but it had to be discreet...as you know, you are a princess of the realm with your own duties” Daeron began, gesturing slightly with his hand as if to help her better understand his words.

“I am well aware of that, Grandfather, and I do fulfil my duties” she replied with a nod from Baelor, who could only agree.

Every task and duty assigned to her with each passing name day, she did well, very well indeed... making up for her brothers’ mistakes.

“My brother is especially grateful for that, but what Father wants to say is that you must now turn your attention to other duties” Baelor continued, his fingers intertwined, but she did not miss the nervous playing with his ring.

She knew her uncle well enough to recognise when he was carefully considering what to say and do. “Other duties? I can hardly take my brothers' place in the tournament” she laughed weakly, her amusement waning as her own spirits sank.

A look to her father for help told her that Maekar did not find this amusing at all, the white-haired man was even quieter than usual, a harsh sigh escaping his lips.

“It may come as a shock and seem unprepared, but you will marry Daeron before the Ashford Tournament” he said what no one else wanted to say. 

Silence filled the room, the words hanging between the four of them, words she wished she had misheard, a bitter, tasteless joke as she looked back and forth between the three men in disbelief.

No one laughed, none of the three objected, “No! I-I know my duty as a princess…as a woman, but I beg you grandfather, not Daeron” she rose from her seat, the cloth still clenched tightly in her fingers as she slowly approached the king.

Still not completely losing faith in help, her pained gaze met with rejection, “Daeron is a good match” the king began, trying to appease her by placing his hand on hers, but she pulled away.

Her gaze fell on the cloths, which she contemptuously threw to the floor. “You had me make them for him! He is drunk almost every hour of the day, he is an embarrassment. Shall I hold my dress over him and spare you the taste of his failure?” her disbelief turning to anger.

Daeron, even though he was her brother and she loved him like all her siblings, was far from having any qualities as a knight or a prince.

Aegon surpassed him in horsemanship, and even Aemon was better with a swordm “Uncle, please, what about Matarys?” she asked desperately, clinging to his arm.

The heir to the throne who always had an answer for everything, the perfect son with two perfect sons, “Matarys is still too young” was more lie than truth; his second son, though somewhat younger than Valarr, would have been just as suitable as a marriage partner.

Aerys had no children with his wife, and Rhaegal's twins were already married. It slowly dawned on her, and a dry laugh escaped her.

“The eldest princess, keeping the dragon’s blood pure, but then giving my sisters away to some lord? Father, please, is there no other way?” she now turned to Maekar, who had remained silent the whole time.

Rarely did he seem to be in such conflict, so torn, as when his gaze met hers as she approached him.

Her hand reached for his, seeking support, seeking help and protection from her beloved father, before whom she fell to her knees, “What should I do? Aegon is still too young, and don't think I'll let Aerion make you his wife” his words harsh but sincere.

Maekar was right, Aegon still needed years before he was a man, Aemon was gone, Matarys had to remain as a replacement heir, and the blood of the dragon had to be continued nonetheless.

With Aerion, however, she would be broken by his cruelty; the entire realm knew what the prince was capable of.

Maekar's hand held hers firmly, brought it to his lips and placed a gentle kiss on it.

Her father was one of the king's sons, but even he was ultimately powerless against the word of the crown, “Forgive me, daughter, but it has been decided” he robbed her of her last spark of hope as she freed herself from him, her eyes veiled in tears.

His hand held hers, brushing her cheek in an attempt to comfort her, but at that moment, the princess seemed to prefer to be by herself.

Holding back her tears as best she could, she avoided the gaze of the three as she shamefully picked up the two handkerchiefs again.

She knew she would truly need them, a bitter truth as her fingers held the soft fabric.

Composing herself as much as she could in the face of the decision, she curtsied, “If it is the king's command...I will do my duty” she said before hurrying out of the room and closing the doors, tears running down her cheeks.

That night, the princess remained alone in her chambers, eating dinner by herself. The cherry tart for dessert was a feeble attempt to cheer her up, but nothing could lift her spirits in the face of what was to come.

Prince Daeron, her brother, who was already nicknamed 'the Drunken' had few qualities that spoke in his favour, either as a prince or as a husband.

His love was for drinking, and she was familiar with his dreams, having heard him talk about them countless times. She had cared for him and felt pity for him – but no love.

She loved him as a brother, yes, but it was not the love that the twins Aelor and Aelora had for each other.

No, it would be duty that stood between them, duty to be a good couple, dragonblood that should be passed on to an heir.

~~~~~~~~~~

A wedding was announced shortly afterwards, the whole empire was informed and everything seemed to be in a state of excitement, as a wedding always meant great festivities, especially when it came from the crown.

The preparations had been underway for weeks, everything had to be decorated and designed in accordance with tradition and symbolism, adorned and refined, and everything was made ready in the capital.

They came from near and far, the castle courtyard filled with lords and ladies from the highest houses to attend the upcoming celebration, a celebration that everyone except the soon-to-be married couple was looking forward to.

The arranged meetings, as if they did not know each other, were rather embarrassing for the siblings. Dressed in fine clothes, the first event was an outing to the garden, where she was to hold lightly onto Daeron's arm.

The blond man was supposed to impress his soon-to-be wife with his knowledge of flora and fauna, “You've never been particularly good with memories, don't worry, I can entertain us” she said, quickly reassuring Daeron, whose thoughts still seemed slightly clouded by the night.

The black fabric suited him, showing off his hair to good effect, but in his eyes she saw the confusion about it all.

“You’ve always been better at remembering things, dear sister” he replied, and both of them at least smiled as they sat down on a bench and immediately pulled away from each other.

Sitting side by side, exchanging only a few silent sentences, it became more than clear to her that this would not be a simple marriage, let alone a fulfilment of duty.

Daeron, although nice and always trying hard, repeatedly failed to show up for arranged meetings, only to be found drunk in a pub, an embarrassment so close to the wedding that even her jokes at her own expense were not found funny by the distinguished guests.

The horse ride, during which he was supposed to give her flowers and impress her with his bow and arrow, turned into a disaster when she had been waiting in the courtyard for several minutes.

The closest guests wanted to congratulate the soon-to-be couple and were all still waiting for the prince, “Father, please tell me he’s coming” she whispered to Maekar, who was becoming more tense with every breath.

He pressed her hand gently, once again feeling warmth and protection, wishing he could hold her longer as the courtyard door opened and the applause died down somewhat.

Daeron was finally there, but the buttons of his shirt were not properly fastened, and he held a broken arrow in his hand, “There she is, my princess!” he announced, taking her hand, his kiss almost missed as she supported him.

She did her best to quickly button his shirt properly and play the happy princess in front of her handsome prince, but Maekar was quicker, grabbing his son and pushing him towards the horse.

“Pull yourself together!” the father snapped at his son, full of anger, as the lady did her best to assure him that everything was fine.

Daeron could barely stay in the saddle, however, and the trip to the forest just outside the city came to an abrupt halt so that he could vomit, and the two simply waited an hour before turning back.

He apologised and pressed a single daisy into her hand, “My prince is trying his best” her words offering as much hope as she could muster as she presented the single flower back at the castle – no one seemed quite sure how to respond.

When she returned to her chamber that evening, she found a bouquet of fresh blue winter roses in a dark glass vase.

The pretty blue blossoms were slightly open, exuding a sweet scent as she saw the small piece of paper with the words May your beauty be honoured written in fine dark ink.

Running her fingers gently over the blossoms, the princess was well aware that night that the flowers symbolised forbidden love, among other things.

Almost all of their meetings were unsuccessful, and the only time the young couple looked picturesque was once again in the garden.

She sat on the bench with Daeron's head resting on her lap, dozing lightly as he listened to her stories, the only thing that seemed to calm his troubled mind.

A picture that finally reassured the guests, even though everyone knew that the blond man only had to drink too much to ruin the wedding.

A wedding that neither of them could postpone, a summery, actually pretty day that brightened everything.

Daeron was dressed by servants and apparently still spoke with his grandfather, while she herself was dressed by her maids.

Normally, her mother would have been present, another woman to comfort her, but with Dyanna's death a few years ago, she did not have that experience, a painful fate as she looked at herself in the mirror.

The dark dress with reddish accents, dragons and flames decorated with pearls and gold, a dress almost too much even for a princess, “You look like a queen now” she suddenly heard her father’s voice as he stood in the doorway.

With a wave of his hand, the other women left the room, closing the door behind them, “It could have been simpler” she replied as he came over to her and stood behind her.

She looked at him in the mirror, saw how he examined every single piece of fabric, one of the many gifts she would wear today.

Since receiving the news, her father had seemingly worked relentlessly to have things made for her, “Not for such a beauty. You outshine everyone today” Maekar’s hand slowly slid down her arm.

A shiver ran down her spine as he ran his hand over her skin, the dress not yet closed, his gaze captivating, careful and graceful as he looked at her.

She didn't dare speak, not wanting to interrupt the moment as he moved down and slowly began to close the dress, the fabric gradually fitting more tightly around her body.

The fact that he took on the intimate role of her actual mother, her closest person, the one for whom she would do anything and vice versa.

The moment was still suspended when he fastened the last button and turned her towards him, looking up at his gaze, which contained something other than affection.

“I have one last gift for you, I will always be there for you” Maekar said and reached into his pocket, bringing out a golden ring in his hand as a sigh of delight escaped her.

The finest Valyrian silver plated with gold, rose-like shapes engraved on the outer edge and the words ñuha prūmia engraved on the inside. She read the Valyrian words and felt the warmth on her cheeks.

Under any circumstances, it would be unnatural, even questionable, for Maekar to be so close to her, dressing her before the wedding and showering her with gifts, something that people in other roles should have done.

Today, Daeron was getting married, not Maekar, a thought that somehow made her feel sad inside.

“My heart” her father replied, gently taking her hand and placing the golden ring on her ring finger, then he suddenly moved a little closer to her, and she closed her eyes to feel his kiss on her cheek.

A little longer than it could have been affectionate, his hands held hers, and the blame fell on him as much as it did on her.

She had wished he would kiss her properly as he led her out of her chamber towards the Great Sept for the wedding.

The large dome-shaped building was festively decorated, and the common people were already standing on the steps cheering when the bride's dark carriage arrived. Inside, only she and her father were sitting next to each other, and she had not let go of his hand.

A hint of fear, defiance and injustice, as this was not what she had dreamed of, “I-I’m scared” she spoke the truth as the carriage came to a slight jolting halt in front of the steps.

Maekar's hands were rough and warm as he gently stroked her cheek. The princess thought he wanted to say something but held back.

Maekar held her as long as circumstances allowed, fatherly and protective, and she did not want to let go until she felt the kiss on her head.

Neither of them wanted to get out, but it was not up to them to decide.

The bells were already ringing and the crowd was waiting. Maekar got out first, holding her hand as he did so, and the cheering of the crowd grew louder.

Fulfilling her duty, she waved to them and said thank you as her father did not let go of her.

After a moment, they both walked up the stairs to the entrance of the Sept, the large doors opened as all those present rose to their feet.

With each step, her unease grew, each step bringing her closer to reality, and if it weren't for her beloved father, she would surely have run out again.

Maekar held her hand gently, stroking her fingers lightly, trying to comfort her as they walked down the aisle and paused for the last few steps to the altar.

There was dissatisfaction on his face, but his gaze was soft as his hands pressed hers affectionately.

The prince was not allowed to show such feelings in the face of the wedding, but when Maekar looked at Daeron, she thought she saw a flash of jealousy as the father left his children alone at the altar and joined his brother Baelor.

The old septon spoke the words of the Seven, words of loyalty, honour, duty and redemption, as her hands were held by Daeron, warm but not so rough, not completely enclosing hers as Maekar's had been.

His blond hair was tamed, his appearance handsome, but there was also unease in his face, an unease that even her best false gentle smile could not change.

Everyone present seemed to see the pain of the two as, with the end of the septon's words, the now-married couple kissed and turned to face those present.

~~~~~~~~~~

The wedding of the sad princesses and the drunken prince – a title that could have been the subject of a bitter song.

A day that should have been marked by love and joy was instead a sombre occasion.

Although the reception after the wedding was filled with numerous guests, delicious food and music, the bride and groom were still depressed.

Daeron led his wife by the hand into the large throne room, where there was enough space for everyone, and the applause was loud as the new couple was welcomed.

Before the dancing began, the best food was served, freshly prepared soups, meat from the finest animals, and fruit baked into tempting towers of cake.

It was a wedding that surpassed any in the kingdom... but for every thank you she expressed, for every attempt to engage with Daeron, he drank another cup

“Was it a dream? Or can you not even try anymore, husband?” she whispered to him, trying to fathom what was upsetting him even more.

Her hand wanted to rest on his, but he pulled away, “I dreamed of disappointment, a child with white hair and deceit” he replied, his breath sweet from the wine, his blond hair already falling lightly across his face.

Words of dreams that plagued him, words that made no sense to her as she sipped her cup. Most of them were too busy eating to notice, but her family, the ones closest to her, saw everything.

The cheerful music slowed as King Daeron raised a hand, “It is time for the newlyweds’ first dance” he announced, looking at his grandchildren.

Applause rang out as she set down her goblet, her dress brushing lightly against the floor, and rose, her heart beating faster than anyone else's as they looked at her and Daeron.

The prince seemed in no hurry; on the contrary, her husband slowly and relishfully emptied his goblet, and a glance at her father told her that Maekar was about to lose patience with his son.

Forcing himself to smile gently, Daeron finally took her hand, “Let’s dance” he mumbled, already slurring his words slightly as the wine continued to take effect, and the couple stepped onto the large floor.

A dragon dance, as had been danced by numerous ancestors before them, the music began and the two started.

Arms outstretched around each other, touching gently, but while their movements flowed smoothly into each other, it was Daeron who kept losing his way with every turn.

He drifted away from her due to his slightly impaired perception, and her attempts to follow him seemed rather embarrassing.

The two followed the steps differently, one faster, the other much too slow, and when they were supposed to bow after the turn, he stumbled forward and fell to the floor.

The music stopped and no one seemed to dare say anything, “Daeron, wait—let me help you” she said hurriedly, trying to pull her brother up, “No, let me...I’ll only make it worse” he replied, and she felt sorry for him as she slowly got him back on his feet.

Just as she was about to take his hand to dance a simple dance, wood scraped across the floor, eyes fixed on the royal row.

Prince Maekar had stood up, the wood of his chair scraping harshly on the stone as he circled the table and walked over to his children.

He would not curse, he would not shout on such a day, not in front of all the guests, but his grip on Daeron's shoulder was painful, “Sit down and sober up” he said, suppressing his anger as he pushed the blond boy back towards the chair.

Instead, the older man gently took her hand and placed his other on her hip, “We shouldn’t, the guests, my husband” she whispered looking up at him.

He was threatening to cross a line that would only make the wedding even more of a laughing stock, but as long as the king did nothing, nothing would happen.

But Maekar seemed unwilling to listen, glancing at the musicians who continued to play, “Let me be your husband for this dance” he replied to her as he began to lead her across the floor.

The two harmonised together, following the beat, holding each other gently, letting him lead her. It was like a dream. It didn't matter that no one spoke, that everyone looked at them in disbelief.

Whenever she looked at her grandfather or her husband, Maekar drew her gaze back to him with words of praise.

Every forward and backward, sideways and turning movement was perfect, and when he lifted her up for a moment, it was the first time that day that she felt love.

The two ended the dance with their arms outstretched, back to back, holding hands, a pose intended only for the married couple as the music faded and she gave Maekar her first real smile as he led her back to her seat.

If it hadn't been for the king announcing that everyone else could now dance, the hall would still have been shrouded in silence.

Her gaze left her father's as she looked at her husband, Daeron, who seemed to have fallen asleep leaning back in his chair, and he too seemed relieved for the first time – he seemed to have no dreams.

The celebrations continued late into the night, and after Daeron had been woken up, the couple was led to his bedchamber.

No sooner had the door closed than she tried to pull him towards her, perhaps hoping that a kiss would lead to more and save them from their wedding night.

He pushed her away, saying, “Too drunk for that” whether it was an excuse or not, he did not seem to feel any obligation.

“Daeron, we must...or they will force us and watch” she attempted to negotiate with him, to make him understand what would happen if no pregnancy was announced in the coming suns and moons.

It was only thanks to the kindness of their mutual grandfather that no one was present.

The blond man just gave her a somewhat indifferent look, “It will work itself out, my dear wife” the word foreign on his tongue as he simply lay down in bed and seemed to consider everything settled.

And she looked at the hot coals in the fireplace, down at the simple undergarment she wore, naked underneath, and then to the window where she could see the darkness before her gaze fell on her husband.

That night, it was her silent tears, dreams of white dragons and a wish that Maekar would dance with her forever that lulled her to sleep.

A night that should have been marked by lust and love remained unfulfilled; she woke up before him, put on her dress and went to her own room.

She had her maids dress her in something new and prepared her for the day, “A pleasant night” she murmured, lost in thought. If the servants all thought she had slept with her husband, the whispering in the corridors would not begin immediately.

Even at breakfast with the rest of her family, the mood was still heavy from yesterday, “Did my brother do his duty?” Aerion asked openly across the table.

Ignoring Maekar’s gaze, which looked as if he was about to lose his temper again so early in the morning.

The princess was glad that her younger siblings were not yet present, “I am not your wife, brother. It is a matter for me and my husband” she replied, averting her gaze as she looked at the eggs and bacon.

But the smirk had not escaped her, “Let’s see what Daeron has to say about that” he said under his breath, looking at the blond man, who was quite calm, even by his standards.

Looking up from a goblet of diluted wine so as not to be drunk again, he looked at her first.

There was something in his gaze that she couldn't read, “Don't worry, brother, you'll soon be an uncle” Daeron said and continued eating his breakfast.

A glance at Maekar, however, revealed that he didn't believe the lie; he knew full well that they hadn't consummated the night.

He did not seem to notice this and did not comment further on the fact that she and Daeron would soon have to sleep with each other.

There was no particular urgency behind it, as there would be for a royal couple, but as prince and princess, offspring were expected soon.

It wasn't that they didn't try, Daeron had drunk himself brave whenever they did.

The prince understood her thoughts, thoughts she could never express, thoughts that helped her endure it, otherwise she would have lain stiff and tense on the furs.

For every kiss Daeron gave her, no matter how short or long, she hoped it was someone else.

Each of his touches on her body was shy and brief, thinking she was someone else, not his sister, to help him at least get hard.

With the sweet wine on his lips, her own hands stroking her body, she knew that Daeron, in his state, would not understand the moaned name that came from her lips when she had to take care of her own pleasure.

They had slept together a handful of times in the early night, enough time to drink before and after, enough time to find sleep alone.

In the months that passed, none of their efforts seemed to bear fruit.

Neither with the potions of the Masters nor with attempts from ancient writings that demanded blood sacrifices as in ancient Valyria, the latter, if anything, taking away their desire.

With each passing day, the murmurs in the corridors and hallways grew louder.

Daeron and she swore they had done it, and even that one time when Baelor and the king were present in the first moments, the thin curtain barely enough and Daeron almost too drunk, no child sprang from this embarrassing, undignified encounter.

“The gods will be merciful... just keep trying” Baelor’s advice was kindly mean, but with each attempt, the bond between the siblings seemed to break down even more.

“The fucking gods are against this marriage” was her father’s comment, full of aversion and anger when she felt his jealousy again.

Little did she know that just one full moon later, as she prepared for another night, something would await her.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was later than usual when she stood in front of the mirror wearing only her thin nightgown.

Normally, Daeron would let her know when he was ready, a simple knock from a silent servant who disappeared into the shadows, and the princess would go to her husband.

However, the hours passed and soon it was the dead of night, relief and guilt rising within her.

Not sleeping with him is a blessing, but then there will be no heir she thought to herself and looked down at herself, for months and months there had been no sign of a child.

The whispers now spoke of her and Daeron's infertility, her broken heart being the reason and his drunkenness.

Whether this was true or not, the fact was that there was still no heir, and so when she heard the knock, she would go out again.

However, when she opened the door, she found herself face to face with Maekar, “Father, what are you doing here?” She immediately felt much too undressed, as if he could see into her mind and see all the sinful thoughts she had had during the night.

Without a word, she let him into the room and he closed the door, “Is it true that your heart loves someone other than your husband?” the question came calmly, but insisting on an answer, as she noticed that his coat had already been taken off.

It was a question to which he didn’t really need an answer, “The whole kingdom can see that I don’t truly love him...there is someone else” she replied, lowering her gaze to the fire in the warming fireplace, unable to bear to look him in the eye.

Maekar's footsteps seemed far too loud as he came over to her, his warmth and closeness felt as he stood behind her, a closeness she had longed for.

Maekar's hands gently moved from her shoulders, slowly and carefully, giving her the opportunity to pull away at any moment, and rested on her hips.

“Whose heart belongs to you?” he asked the question to which they both already knew the answer.

Her heart beat wildly in her chest, excitement flooded her, warmth rose as she turned to face him.

Her hands gently and carefully placed themselves on his chest, “My heart longs for you” she finally uttered the sinful truth for which the seven would punish them both.

Words that confirmed it, that finally gave him what he had wanted for so long but was not allowed to have.

Their eyes met, confirmation, understanding, as his rough hand held her cheek when he finally kissed her.

The kiss she had dreamed of, the love and closeness of the one she truly loved.

A kiss of desire as Maekars pressed her to him, a hunger as if he never wanted to let her go now that he had the princess, “If it weren’t for the bloody seven, I would have sought you out sooner” he confessed.

She understood that he was also in distress, aware that Valyrian traditions were highly controversial and that such an intimate union would result in punishment if it ever came to light.

It was a truth that had caused fear, but they were dragons, the royal family, and they could do whatever they wanted – they were closer to the gods than to humans.

She placed her hands on his cheeks, the scars on his cheeks never ugly to her, only making him more handsome.

“ñuha zaldrīzes” she praised him, his beauty which he did not seem to see, eliciting a grateful response from him as he pulled her into another kiss.

His rough hands were so much larger and stronger, exuding maturity and protection as he gradually untied the lacing of her nightgown.

Thoughts and deeds, words and messages, it became clear to her that everything that had happened to her, that every touch from him was always reciprocated.

The princess's hands slipped the shirt from his body as the nightgown clung to her body, “gevives” Maekar spoke as she placed his hand on her upper body.

A shiver ran through both of them as the warmth of his hand and rough fingers ran over her upper body while he looked at every inch of her skin with his eyes.

Her own eyes looked at him, her fingers running over the white chest hair of his muscular chest, a true prince, a defender of the kingdom and her heart.

In a skilful movement that elicited a smile from her, he gently lifted her up to carry her towards the bed, “Even the conqueror would not be worthy of your beauty” he flattered her, words meant only for her as he gently laid her down on the furs.

Her ears and cheeks flushed as she slid back slightly, waiting for him, making herself available to him as Maekar removed his trousers.

A surprised gasp escaped her when she saw his semi-erect cock, the base of which was covered in white hair, as he moved towards her on the bed.

“The anvil is more handsome than his son” she allowed herself to say, and Maekar’s puzzled expression turned into a smile as his lips found hers again.

Her hands held his cheeks lightly as he supported himself with one hand and moved the other to her breasts.

Experienced touches and caresses, something she had never known from Daeron.

Now, lying on the soft furs, feeling Maekar, knowing that he was there for her, a pleasant wave of arousal washed over her.

Her aroused expression was examined by the older man with a knowing look, “How often have you dreamed of being touched like this? Not by him, but by me” his voice opened her eyes and she felt ashamed as she avoided his gaze again.

But a hand on her jaw, gentle yet firm, made her look at her father again.

He stopped massaging her breasts, stopped pressing her sensitive nipples lightly, and the sweet excitement threatened to disappear.

Knowing that he punished Aerion and Daeron and would punish her too by waiting until all the heat had disappeared and they had to start all over again.

He teased her until his princess told him the truth, “Every time...every time we slept together” she stammered, and Maekar immediately touched her again.

The kiss and touch praise enough, “Then let me make your dreams come true” he replied maliciously, his lips pressing against her breast and biting it lightly.

Her body trembled with pleasure and pain, the realisation of what was possible with maturity.

His words contained the shameless truth that only fuelled her desire more when she was confronted with the truth.

Both looked into the mirror of truth, full of sin, the sin of ancient Valyria, dragon blood flowing within them, burning with desire for one another.

“Such beauty wasted on a drunkard” he said as he ran his fingers along her stomach, the tip of his nose almost tickling her as he looked at her, exploring her further, taking his time.

Her legs spread slightly, a feeling of rightness, “Shameful, spreading your legs like that, are you a whore?” the question brought her out of her foggy thoughts, a moan escaped her lips as his fingers traced her soft thighs.

She shook her head, no, she was a princess, but the thought, the thought transformed into images of lust and desire.

His hand caressed her cheek before she kissed the inside of it, pressing herself against his movement.

Her body shuddered again when she felt his fingers on her clitoris, his thumb running over the bundle of nerves as two thick fingers penetrated her.

Her hands sought support in the furs, lust took over as moans escaped her lips, “Love, please” she begged, the obscene sound as his fingers moved in and out of her.

The feeling of movement as he prepared her captivated her. Maekar looked as if he could see her wetness between his fingers in the light of the fire.

A whimper escaped her as he licked his fingers with relish before giving his cock a few strokes, positioning himself as she spread her legs a little further.

Maekar was captivating above her, the fire lighting him from behind, the shadow he cast over her as she noticed the scars on his skin.

Her fingers ran over the healed wounds as she gave him another kiss, a silent exchange as he held her hand when he finally thrust into her.

For a moment, breathless, she got used to his size and width, hearing him groan as they held each other for a moment.

Getting used to the feeling, Maekar leaned down towards her as her moans were muffled by his kisses.

His rough hand held onto the headboard with one hand and her hip with the other, his fingers pressing pleasantly hard against her skin.

“You take me so fucking well” he praised her, the tip of his nose brushing hers as he caressed her upper body again.

Kisses and licks marked her heated skin as he sucked on her neck, a sudden greed within him as they both finally had what they had wanted for so long.

A mark ran across her skin after another, her own fingers scratching his muscular back, muscles tense as the crackling of the wood and the licking of the flames were accompanied by the lustful sounds of the two.

The more they gave themselves to each other, marking what they were finally meant to be, the more they seemed to be drawn to each other.

Desire grew in both of them, the more she took him inside her, the light sweat on both their skin.

Her pleas grew louder and Maekar also approached his climax.

She was all the more confused when he withdrew from her, a shameful whimper when she no longer felt him, “What...what is it?” her question was confused, as lust and arousal were the only things between them at that moment.

Maekar’s hand rested on her stomach, “Gonna breed you, fill you up, give you the heir you deserve” he clarified, his voice thick with lust, sending a shiver down her spine.

The tip of his cock dripped precum as she gasped when Maekars pressed her legs closer and closer to her.

A position she had read about in the ancient Valyrian scriptures, a new position as he penetrated her again, deeper and further than before.

Her head buried in the pillows, her hands clutching the pillows and furs as shameless moans came from her when, after a few thrusts, one of his hands ran over her nerve bundle.

His warm body pressed so close to hers, her cunt taking him so well, “I'm the only one you need, who truly loves you” his breathless words, sweet nothings whispered to her, more obscene and shameless than the hiccuped moan that escaped her as lust overwhelmed the princess.

With her body trembling as she clung to Maekar, both climaxed with a grunt from the prince.

The feeling as he poured himself into her did not leave her as both lay there for a moment, breathing heavily, lingering.

Their exhausted but devoted gazes met, “I love you’’ she gasped as he withdrew from her after a few minutes, grabbing a blanket and laying it over her.

Maekar held her rough hand as he pulled her closer, “I love you too” he replied, pressing a gentle kiss on her temple as the fire in the fireplace slowly died down.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was something that perhaps should never have happened, something that perhaps should never have been, but no gods would separate the dragons, not after they had proven to each other how much they were meant for one another.

It was a relationship under the guise of a loving father and his good daughter...but for any valyrian views of the old gods, it was pure dragon love.

Blood had found blood in the truth of love as the pitch-black nights were filled with further encounters between the two.

And so it came to pass that, even before the next full moon, Prince Daeron joyfully announced that his sister was finally pregnant.

“The gods have finally been merciful to you, Baelor” he said as he congratulated his niece and nephew, giving them a warm embrace, and the others were also delighted that a child was finally on the way.

Daeron's hand on her back, a knowing look in his eyes, something questioning, but the fact that they had both fulfilled their duty reassured her, “I told you I dreamed of a baby” he said, words that made everyone smile.

Maekar came to congratulate his children, placing his hand on her still flat stomach for a moment, “You will have a worthy heir, my dear” he said, knowing full well that the child in her womb was his.

A child who was born nine months later, and bells rang everywhere when the crown had another dragon – another prince with snow-white hair.

It seemed as if the prince took after his grandfather Maekar; the gods could truly be mysterious.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

masterlist

info: Thank you @dreamfyrie for waking me up with the targcest, freaky ideas otherwise I would have never done this. Plus, there will be a similar version with Aerion instead of Daeron and different smut - I listened to Salvatore by Lana Del Rey while writing this and it explains a lot ;)

@just-some-random-blogger

[just-some-random-blogger]

😛😛😛😛😛😛😛😛😛😛 CRAZY HOW IVE BEEN THINKING OF WRITING A BAELOR FIC LIKE THIS THEN CHECKED MY MENTIONS TO FIND THIS ABSOLUTE TREATTT 😛😛😛😛😛😛

“The eldest princess, keeping the dragon’s blood pure, but then giving my sisters away to some lord? Father, please, is there no other way?” she now turned to Maekar, who had remained silent the whole time.

💔💔💔💔💔 I feel bad for herrrrrr

Her hand wanted to rest on his, but he pulled away, “I dreamed of disappointment, a child with white hair and deceit” he replied, his breath sweet from the wine, his blond hair already falling lightly across his face.

And I oop 😬😬😬

But Maekar seemed unwilling to listen, glancing at the musicians who continued to play, “Let me be your husband for this dance” he replied to her as he began to lead her across the floor.

HES SO FUCKING MESSY FOR THAT NGLLL

Daeron and she swore they had done it, and even that one time when Baelor and the king were present in the first moments, the thin curtain barely enough and Daeron almost too drunk, no child sprang from this embarrassing, undignified encounter.

YALL ARE SOME KINKY ASS FREAKS WATCHING THEM FUCK TO MAKE SURE THEY DOIN IT RIGHT NGL JSJSJSJSKKWKSKW

The kiss and touch praise enough, “Then let me make your dreams come true” he replied maliciously, his lips pressing against her breast and biting it lightly.

Her legs spread slightly, a feeling of rightness, “Shameful, spreading your legs like that, are you a whore?” the question brought her out of her foggy thoughts, a moan escaped her lips as his fingers traced her soft thighs.

AHHHHHHH. also it's literally so not strange that her baby would look like Maekar regardless of incest LOL AHAHHAHAHAH THIS ATTEEE YUMMMMM Im so happy you thought to tag me 💓💓💓

[lanaloveydove]

like oh um… haha

[princessimotep]

When the maladaptive daydreaming goes too far ✨️✨️✨️

[dollfacefantasy]

SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL ♡

pairing: homelander x fem!reader

summary: homelander has taken an interest in you, vought's new intern. no matter how you look at it, as a good or bad thing, it ends the same way: him getting what he wants.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, dubcon, p in v, oral (m receiving), body worship, sir kink, obsessive behavior, manipulation/coercion, age gap (reader in early 20s)

wc: 7.7k (oops lol)

a/n: hehe. never thought i would write for this man but it was pretty fun :) comm for my sweet beloved @gor3-hound love you so very much mwah mwah <33

At the junction of the V-shaped table, Homelander sat. With his back to the skyline and his gloved hands folded in front of him, he held the posture of a statue. Ashley had been rambling on and on and fucking on for the past five minutes about shit he couldn't care less about. Her nasally voice bounced off the tile floors and painted ceiling, ricocheting around him like a rogue bullet. Only his impregnable skin didn't protect him from the discomfort of this situation.

It was moments like these that really made him regret killing Stillwell.

That woman knew how to handle things. As manipulative as she could be, at least she wasn't absolutely insufferable. How could Stan let Ashley replace her? She was a poor excuse of just about everything. Absolutely spineless, unintelligent, reactionary, and opportunistic. He really couldn't picture any person on this Earth genuinely liking her.

However in the midst of his mental complaints, he realized that the annoying sound of her speaking was directed at him. All the other stares in the room were zeroed in on him too. A-Train observed in cautious silence. Noir's goggles reflected Homelander's own image right back at him. Maeve judged with a sideways glance. And Starlight prepared for the worst.

He tore his own bright blue eyes from the door opposite the table and refocused them on Ashley. They scanned over her thinning ginger locks down to her gaudy outfit - a piss poor attempt at imitating power.

"What?" he asked, his voice cutting through the air with a force similar to one of Maeve's swords.

Ashley blinked in return. Fear swirled in her wide eyes. She tried to maintain that empowered appearance she so desperately wished was real, but he could see the innate urge to cower bubbling within her.

"Was that lineup for the funeral ok with you, Homelander? A-Train and Noir open, Starlight sings, and then you close?" she repeated.

Now it was his turn to blink. Like he could actually give a shit about the order of segments for Translucent's funeral. He swallowed hard. While she projected a mirage of power, he had to do the same with level-headedness.

"That's fine, Ashley. Have those two go first, and Starlight can follow up with Amazing Grace or whatever shitty hymns they teach in that hick town she's from, and then I can finish us out," he responded.

He could see how her knuckles were going white around the edge of her clipboard. She gripped it for comfort, as if that could save her from his potential wrath. It only irritated him more. If he wanted her dead, he would turn her to ashes where she stood. How hard she braced herself in advance wouldn't matter in the slightest. But people could be so foolish in moments of terror.

"Well speaking of that," she said before clearing her throat, an attempt at a natural transition, "We were trying to decide what song she would sing. Maybe one of our originals? Or do you think it would be more tasteful to go with something from an outside source?"

Gritting his teeth, he buried the urge to unleash the bright beams of red from his sockets. His hands slid off one another and pressed down onto the cool table.

"Do you really need me to decide what song is going to send Translucent to the grave?" he replied, "I don't care what you play, and no one else attending will either. They'll be focused on working up some tears for the useless dipshit they never had the displeasure of knowing. Instead of trying to gain their approval, we should be working on finding the next member of the Seven who can replace him. There's no use dwelling on the past. We need to be preparing for the future."

He paused to let his words permeate the room, giving everyone a chance to absorb the sentiment and adapt accordingly. With his pupils still trained on Ashley, he planned on continuing his tirade, but his train of thought came to an abrupt halt.

Soft pitter-patters of footsteps clacked down the hall outside this room. They sounded in a delicate rhythm, only audible to him. As they grew louder, he caught the scent of the source too. Airy and light. A stark contrast to the brash perfume Ashley doused herself in.

The doors at the front of the room slid apart to reveal you.

You stood there for a moment. The realization that you'd interrupted something was visible in your eyes. The small spheres cast down as you wobbled in like a fawn that sensed wolves watching from nearby.

Ashley turned to face you, a glower already set on her features. The resentment she held for everyone else in this building awoke from its usual dormant slumber because there was finally someone weaker she could take it out on.

Once you reached her, your hand rose and gave her a thin stack of papers. 

"I'm sorry for interrupting. It's a memo from 82. They made it sound urgent," you explained, everything about your temperament meek and timid.

After a brief pause to let you marinate in the few moments before your inevitable humiliation, she snatched the papers from you. Her eyes roamed over the page with disinterest. Even if the information conveyed by the small black letters was important, he doubted she would give it any reaction. She wanted to lash out, and she was going to, whether it was justified or not.

"They couldn't have emailed me this?" she snapped, as if that was something you could control.

"I don't know. I'm sorry. I'll check next time," you offered.

"You better or you'll run out of next times," she threatened, "Incompetence like this won't fly here. You're in the big leagues now, so act like it. Think before you do something instead of taking commands like a lap dog."

"I'm sorry," you replied, ducking your head again.

"Don't be sorry, just do better," she commanded.

"I will," you agreed.

"Good. Just get out of here now. Go pick up my lunch," she told you.

His lips curled into a scowl as he watched the scene play out. It was pathetic - not you, but Ashley. He hated seeing the fucking smirk on her face as you walked away. She had nothing to be smug about. She was nothing more than a feral coyote going after the scraps the other predators didn't take.

To make matters worse, when she returned her attention to the group at the table, she saw the look on his face. She saw the disdain, but instead of striking regret into her, it only deepened her sense of self-satisfaction.

She thought the look was for you. That he was disgusted with your mistake. Annoyed with your intrusion.

He couldn't have that. Not when that assumption was the farthest thing from the truth. Honestly, he didn't know if he was even capable of feeling such ire towards you. Not his precious little fawn.

Rising from his seat, his glare remained on Ashley. She did show a little fear then.

"You know, I don't have all day, Ashley. I'll open Translucent's funeral, Starlight will follow up with a song, and that will be it. A-Train and Noir can have the day off, because let's be honest, nobody will give shit either way," he mocked.

"But, sir-" she said, clearly confused by his sudden impending departure.

"I have more important things to deal with. If you need anything else, I'm sure one of the others can help you," he dismissed.

With that, he stepped back from the table and began heading to the doors. He hoped if he was fast enough he could still catch you. Even in a building as sleek and modern as this one, the elevators could be quite slow.

Walking out into the hall, his head swiveled in the direction you would have gone. For once, his own portrait didn't catch his eye. He didn't even think about stopping by Stillwell's office to reminisce. Instead, he just headed down towards the elevator. His red boots thudded across smooth tile in rapid succession, covering the path you'd just taken.

Finally, after a few feet, he spotted you. Bottom lip pulled between your teeth. Eyes glossy with embarrassment. Tip of your polished shoe tapping against the ground. You startled when his voice boomed across the space, calling out your name. So cute.

You looked at him with fear in your eyes, but disgust didn't fester in the pit of his stomach like it did when others gave him that anxious stare. Another feeling bloomed inside him, one he couldn't really place. It was just that the nervous gleam over your pupils didn't make him hate himself and all the circumstances of his life that put him in his position.

Instead, your wide eyes and pouty lips made him feel strong. You made him feel like a hero. A real one, not the artificial caricature that Vought projected to the world. With you nearby, he felt like the kind of guy who deserved the American flag blowing off his back with a pretty girl cradled in his arms and a dead enemy at his feet. When you gazed up at him, he could only imagine that the pride rushing through his chest and confidence pooling between his hips was the feeling his creators intended for him.

"Did you need something from me, sir?" you asked, reminding him that he actually had to provide a reason to talk to you. Just wanting to stare at you like a psychopath would not suffice unfortunately.

"Oh no," he waved off, "The meeting just finished up. I was heading out too. I saw you, and I realized I haven't really taken the time to get to know you yet, which is unfortunate because I usually like to be familiar with the newer people we have working with us."

A complete lie. Before you, he didn't remember ever giving any of the interns a second glance. They were true nuisances. They were Ashleys.

"Oh... well I'm around whenever you wanna talk. Ashley keeps me busy, but I'm sure I could make an exception for you," you replied.

"You absolutely can make an exception for me," he chuckled, "If Ashley gives you any trouble, just let me know, and I'll make sure she remembers who's really in charge around here."

It wasn't until he heard your heart rate increase that he realized those words probably came off as threatening. Well, they were threatening, but you weren't supposed to see him that way.

"I'm kidding," he forced out with a laugh, "Just joking around like I do... I just don't want you to worry about getting in some kind of trouble for me sniffing around you."

You huffed out an awkward laugh of your own and nodded.  "I'll be sure to make some time for you in the future then and let Ashley know it was at your direction."

"Great," he said with probably too much enthusiasm. 

His jaw clenched into one of his usual tight smiles. He averted his eyes from you and looked towards the numbers on the elevator. Fuck, it was reaching the bottom. He didn't want to let you go, but it wasn't like he could just stroll down the street with you to go get Ashley's lunch. His mind scrambled to come up with a solution.

But like your earlier intrusion into the meeting, your gentle voice cuts through the hurricane forming in his head.

"Are you alright, sir?" you ask, anxious concern written all over your features.

He refocused on you and nodded. His arm extended out behind you, his palm landing against the elevator wall. As he leaned in, he could smell your adrenaline spiking. He could hear the shift of your shoe against the ground. If only he possessed a sixth sense for the mind, so he could know what little thoughts about him were flitting through your head.

"I'm fine. You don't need to worry about me," he answered. He smiled down at you, observing the slight nod you gave him in return.

"Of course not. It probably seems silly coming from me," you said.

His brows raised in amusement. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.

He saw the flash of regret in your eyes. The one people always gave him when he asked a question in that tone. The one that came from the panic of realizing they may have said something that offended Homelander.

You suppressed it pretty well though and brought out a smile that gave the impression that you hoped he was messing with you instead.

"Well you know... because you're you," you said and tilted your head in an innocent way that made his chest ache.

He chuckled that charming, prepackaged laugh that had been trained into him. "Even I can appreciate someone taking an interest in checking on me," he replied.

It was maddening, how bad he wanted you. He wasn't even sure when this craving had sprouted inside him. He had been so preoccupied with his affinity for Stillwell that his fixation with you struck him like a glass window in front of a flying bird. But no matter the timeframe in which it blossomed, it had taken root by now and wasn't going to go away on its own.

When he looked at you like this - staring up at him with earnest fascination - his mind drifted to darker places all on its own. He couldn't stop it if he wanted to (and really, he didn't want to). It's just how was he not supposed to be aware of the fact that it would be all too easy to take you back to his room? How could he not think about what it would feel like to have your fragile body beneath his own in private? How could he not wonder what you'd sound like crying out in a sinful mix of pleasure and pain?

Hell, how was he supposed to pretend like he couldn't just bend you over and fuck you dumb right here in the middle of this elevator if he wanted to? No one would be able to stop him. There wouldn't be a thing they could do other than watch. They could stare in horror as he used you like he deserved, as he pounded into your warm, soft, dripping hole like he needed...

Unfortunately, painting that picture in his head had his blood rushing South. He felt the subtle simmer of desire in his pelvis, and he knew in no time his length would be filling out. This suit gave him no way of hiding it either. Clearly, whoever made it hadn't anticipated the Homelander popping a boner on the job.

But luckily for him, the elevator chimed with its arrival at the bottom floor. He straightened out as you looked ahead in preparation of your departure. But before you could go, he grabbed your arm. His touch was tender, holding the same force he'd use when cradling a baby at a photo-op.

"Maybe later tonight you'd like to take me up on one of those talks? After you're done for the day, you could stop by my place. The sooner the better, right?" he asked.

Your eyes widened ever so slightly, but you still nodded. "Um... sure thing. I'll head up once I've finished all my work. It should be around six if that's ok?" you offered.

"Yeah, that works for me. I'll be waiting," he said in an attempt to be playful.

You smiled once more and then headed out of the elevator. His fingertips dragged down your arm to your wrist as you walked away before you finally slipped from his grasp. He could hear your heart pounding faster than your footsteps as you headed towards the exit of the building.

At six o'clock sharp, a knock sounded through his penthouse. And it only took him a few seconds to swing the door open and greet you.

"There she is," he beamed with exaggerated politeness.

You smiled modestly in return, shrugging and smoothing out a crease in your blouse. "I couldn't let the leader of the seven down," you joked.

He scoffed but opened the door wider, beckoning you into his place. You took the invitation and crossed the threshold. Your eyes glanced around the place, taking note of all the things in the apartment that housed the most powerful man on Earth.

The American flag taking up an entire wall almost stopped you in your tracks. It would've been funny if it was someone else, but because it belonged to him, it stood there like a warning. You tried not to show how daunting you found it. Average people could be touchy about that famous piece of cloth. You didn't want to find out if the strongest supe felt the same through means of offending him. 

In place of letting that bother you, you shifted your attention over to all the historical pictures hanging on the walls and the sleek surfaces and drawers filled with things you couldn't begin to imagine. Your eyes casted over the statues accenting the space as well. It was all so very polished. It looked like what you'd expect the Homelander entry in an Ikea catalog to be.

"So what do you think?" he asked. He knew his words came off as stiff. Probably a little stilted sounding. He just couldn't help it. For the first time, he couldn't get a read on how you felt through physical signs alone. And right now, he really really wanted you to like him.

"It's... impressive," you answered.

But he could hear the hesitation in your voice. In each word, there was the same wavering quality to it that you get when Ashley grilled you in front of an audience. It wasn't the precious reverence that he saw in the elevator. The nervous kind of admiration you held for someone above your standing. This was just plain anxiety, and that served no purpose to him. 

Despite your trepidation however, you walked forward to the window at the back of the place. You looked out over the city in awe.

"I would love to live somewhere high up like this," you said.

He came up from behind to stand next to you in front of the glass panes. His eyes landed on your face. You stared out the window, wonder twinkling in your eyes. Your voice sounded almost breathless. It was adorable.

"No fear of heights?" he asked.

"Not when it comes to being inside. Maybe I'd be nervous if we were on a balcony or something," you replied.

"Oh come on. You'd have nothing to worry about if you were with me. I'd never let you fall," he said, dropping his voice a few octaves.

You made that cute little face again when those words hit your ears. Your eyes widened before they fell to look at your shoes. So modest, the way you shied away. He wondered if you were always so timid or if it was only when a god amongst men like himself flirted with you.

He chuckled and reached out, tilting your chin back up to look at him. "You don't need to be nervous," he soothed, "There's no safer place to be than with the Homelander, right?"

You nodded right along. His words left no room for objection.

"Good girl," he smirked and dragged a gloved thumb over your cheek. He pulled his hand back and stepped in the direction of the brown leather sectional that sat in the middle of the room.

"Come over here and sit down. We can talk," he directed.

Following him to the large couch, you took your seat near the corner. You assumed he'd sit at the other end or at least towards the middle of the perpendicular cushions, but no. He sat down in the corner with you. His body was at most a foot away.

He continued to smile at you though he didn't speak. It felt odd, sitting there in silence across from him. He wasn't doing anything overtly threatening, yet you still felt at his mercy.

"So, do you like it here so far? Do you feel like you're fitting into the Vought family?" he asked with a bit of an edge to that second word.

You nodded again. A relieved breath seeped from your lungs as the tense void in conversation came to an end. "Yeah, it's nice here. I feel like I'm learning a lot."

He chuckled and leaned back against the stiff backing of the sofa. His muscular arm draped along the top. Though it wasn't his intention to draw your focus there, he caught the way your eyes dragged over his bicep.

"That's good," he said, "It can be a lot when you're new. I wouldn't want you feeling overwhelmed."

"That's nice of you. I appreciate it, but I'm used to a busy schedule," you replied.

"You're freshly graduated, aren't you?" he checked.

"Yeah," you said, your lips quirking upwards at his guess.

"I thought so. You have that cute, wide-eyed, optimistic thing going for you."

A small laugh leaves your lips. "I know. Ashley said I'll grow out of it by the end of this quarter."

His face dropped, and he almost abandoned the prince charming act he was attempting to pull off for you. The mere mention of Ashley was enough to irk him, but the thought that she was trying to change you? Not only change you but jade you. To strip away the soft and sweet qualities that hooked him on you in the first place. It was criminal. He couldn't hide his disdain.

"You shouldn't listen to her," he said. He wasn't angry, but his cadence held intensity. "Ashley's problem is Ashley. To be honest, I don't even know why they gave her an intern. It's not like she'd be good at teaching anything when she still doesn't understand most things about our business herself."

Your fingers dug into the edge of your seat. It wouldn't have been significant in a normal conversation, but when speaking with a man who could hear a pin drop forty stories down, he noticed.

"You're still nervous," he observed.

In an instant, your hands flew to your lap, like you knew what gave your anxiety away. You fidgeted with the hem of your skirt and shrugged.

"A little," you admitted.

"Are you scared of me?" he asked.

You shook your head without even thinking about the question.

"No, it's not that. I swear," you reassured, "It's just that this is a big deal for me. I'm really honored you want to get to know me, and I just want to make a good impression."

"You don't need to worry about that. I wouldn't have invited you here if I didn't have a good impression of you," he said.

You sighed slightly, letting out a bit of tension, but he could still smell that boosted cortisol running through your blood.

"Come here," he ordered, his voice soft but undeniably firm.

"What?" you asked.

A puff of amused air blew from his nostrils. "Come here," he repeated, "Sit closer."

As if you needed the guidance, he patted the space directly beside his hip. He could see the uncertainty in your eyes even after the gesture. The lack of understanding toward his reasoning persisted. Regardless of your skepticism however, you scooted in his direction and ended up where he wanted you.

"That's better," he said.

With careful fingers, he slipped the glove off his right hand. Your eyes locked on it in subtle awe. You'd seen this man on billboards and commercials for years. His face dominated newscasts. His voice broadcast over the radio on a weekly basis. Still, you had never seen such a human part of him. Five fingers and a palm reaching for your own.

They clasped around your hand. His skin was smooth. The gloves preserved them from any marks of experience.

"Did Ashley warn you about me?" he asked, drawing your eyes back to his own.

Your heart thundered, but you couldn't lie. Never had Vought bragged about Homelander being a human lie detector, but in this moment, you felt like that was the case.

"Yes," you responded.

He clicked his tongue in disapproval. "You didn't believe her, did you?" he asked.

You could tell he already knew the answer. He just wanted to hear it.

"Yes," you whispered again.

"What did she tell you?"

It was hard to remember that conversation you'd had a few weeks ago with Ashley. Feeling like you were two seconds away from having lasers beamed through your skull made minute details fuzzy and distant, but you manage to choke a few out anyways.

"She said that you have a very specific vision for the Seven, and that you'll do anything to make your dreams reality. She was just saying you're ambitious. That you care about the greater good," you summarized.

"I have a feeling you're saying it a lot nicer than she did," he teased. He could feel the fear rolling off of you in waves, and in a moment, he would rectify that. But for right now, he didn't mind letting his precious little fawn tremble in terror for a few moments more.

"Yeah, she can be kind of blunt," you said with a shaky laugh.

"That's one word for it," he said.

"She's not gonna get in trouble because of what I said, is she?" you asked.

He couldn't help laughing at that. The sound came out low and throaty. You were just so fucking pure. Worried about protecting someone who wouldn't hesitate for a second to sell you out if it meant she could climb up another rung on the corporate ladder.

His exposed thumb rubbed back and forth over your knuckles. "No. Of course not. We're just talking," he said.

He leaned in closer to you, positioning his mouth in close proximity to your ear. His free hand came up to cup your jaw.

"I appreciate your honesty though. Ashley probably couldn't tell you this, but I appreciate a loyal girl like you," he murmured.

On both your hand and through his glove in contact with your chin, he could feel your skin heat up.

"Oh... thank you, sir," you said.

He chuckled. His fingers squished into the flesh of your cheeks, making your lips puff out as though they were seeking a kiss.

"So polite, but I like that. We need more people here who understand their place," he said.

At this point, the gravity of your circumstances began to settle on you. Your fear had worn off a bit, and you realized what a compromising position he had you in. With one tight squeeze, he could crush every bone in your face.

Out of instinct, you tried pulling back a little. You didn't make it obvious, only attempting to gain a few inches of space.

That was a few inches too many though. He tightened his grip and kept you where he wanted you.

"Ah ah," he tutted, "How many times do I have to tell you that you don't need to be scared? I'm not going to hurt you."

You dropped the resistance right then and there. It wasn't worth pursuing. If he didn't want you getting away, you weren't getting away.

He took a few more seconds to study your face, taking in every minutiae of your expressions. Then, his hands dropped to your waist, and he pulled you into his lap. His thighs were firm against your ass, both rigid in how he carried himself and defined from the pure muscle that made them up.

His hands smoothed up and down your sides, coasting over each crease in your blouse. He massaged your soft tissue with gentle squeezes from the beginning of your bra down to the swell of your hips.

"God, you're beautiful," he muttered, "You fit here like you were made for me."

You vibrated in his grasp. He could feel the way you quivered with the urge to pull away.

"Thank you, s-sir," you stammered, "I really appreciate it but-"

"But nothing," he cut you off.

"But I don't think we should be... doing this," you tried to continue anyway.

"Why not?" he asked. Though his tone made it obvious that no matter what reason you provided, it wouldn't change his mind.

"Because you're like my boss, y'know? And I worked really hard to get my spot here, and I don't want people thinking I slept my way to where I am," you explained, "You're really nice, and I admire you a lot, but it wouldn't be right."

He didn't respond immediately. He paused and let your words hang in the air for a few moments.

"You know," he finally spoke, "I don't think you understand how things work around here. It doesn't matter what anyone else in this building thinks. Only me."

You blinked at him, unsure of how to respond to such an assertion. It didn't matter though. He continued without your input.

"What I do with you, how I feel about you - no one else will know about it unless you tell them. But even if you do and even if they care, there isn't a thing they'll do about it. There's not a thing they can do about it," he continued.

"I still don't think it's a good idea," you maintained.

"Good thing this isn't for you to think about then," he mocked, "You're a fast learner. You'll figure it out soon enough. I am God in this tower. And a god doesn't listen to his subjects. He guides them. He knows best."

One of his hands slid up your tummy and over your chest onto your throat. He cupped your jaw and swiped his thumb back and forth across your bottom lip.

"What did Ashley tell you about me?" he asked.

"That no one gets in your way."

"Good. And she was right. No one gets in my way. Nothing stops me from getting what I want. And I've wanted you for too fucking long not to try you out."

That set of fingers on your chin pulled your face towards his and brought you into a kiss. You froze against his lips. It felt as though all of time stopped. This high up, you couldn't hear the sounds of the city outside the penthouse. No one existed in this moment but you and him.

Unlike you, he melted into the exchange. He sighed against your skin and pulled you flush against his toned body. After a second to let you come to terms with what was happening, he kissed you again. His lips sucked on yours gently, attempting to coax you into returning the affection.

The most he got is you puckering them up ever so slightly.

He pulled away with frustration in his eyes and grabbed your face, jerking you a little to look at him.

"Don't act like you don't want this. I know you do," he said, "You're scared, but you don't need to be. Relax and let yourself enjoy this. It's not everyday that the most powerful man on earth wants to fuck you."

Your eyes blew up like little saucers, but before you could really process the directness of what he'd said, he was kissing you again. This time it wasn't as nerve wracking. You softened up a little and kissed back.

You didn't put much effort into it. Your lips responded like this was a juvenile first date. But he didn't let up. He didn't let you give him anything less than your best. His hands roamed across your body. They groped and fondled your breasts and then migrated South to feel up your ass through your pencil skirt.

Your muscles started to loosen up after a minute or so. You told yourself this wasn't so bad. He was being gentle so far, and for someone with his abilities, you wanted it to stay that way. You brought your hand up to his face and cupped his cheek. With that as leverage, you deepened the kiss.

He groaned as soon as you started to give in. His hands fell to your hips and tugged you so that you were straddling him. He smacked your ass, the sound echoing around his apartment. You could tell he held back. A real spank from Homelander could shatter your hip, but this one barely even stung. Maybe he did like you.

His fingers came up and with a sharp tug, he popped the front of your top loose. The column of buttons sprung free. The strips of cloth fell away to each of your sides, exposing a sliver of your skin. He furthered it by pulling off the garment entirely. His eyes trailed along your bare shoulders to your collar bone before finally landing on your breasts. He gave them a firm squeeze, kneading them through the barrier of your bra.

Meanwhile you rolled your hips down on his lap. Immediately, you felt his bulge that had risen to attention between your thighs. You did it again and then again. Each time you ground yourself against him with more pressure.

He grunted, and his eyes fluttered. His hands returned to your waist and gripped you hard, guiding your movements. He seemed transfixed for a few moments, as if he couldn't decide his next move.

After a few seconds though, he got his momentum back. He yanked you off his lap and flipped over so that you were seated on the couch again.

He rose to his feet before you. There your eyes scanned over his body from his tousled blond hair and his kiss-swollen red lips to his sculpted abdomen and his swelling erection. You reached out to touch him, but he stopped your hand mid-air.

Once your arm was limp on the couch again, he removed his other glove. He dropped it to the floor before bringing his right boot to the spot on the sofa next to you. He unzipped the red shoe and then discarded it like he had with the other item. The other boot followed the same routine.

"I don't let just anyone see me like this," he told you as his fingers began to undo his collar, "You should feel lucky."

Lucky wasn't the word you would use to describe your feelings in this situation. Maybe special. Or distinct. Individual. Either way, you continued to watch. Your eyes glided over his figure as he pulled away the tight blue costume that seemed like a second-skin for how much he wore it.

His defined chest came into view. Your reluctance hadn't vanished all together just yet, but at this point, it was fading fast. Pale hair dusted the muscular expanse and trailed down his stomach to the waistband of the bottoms. The waistband he soon hooked his fingers over and peeled down.

He dropped the scaled navy fabric to the ground before kicking it away, leaving himself in just a small pair of boxers. His hand came down and rubbed the swollen tent at the front while his eyes lingered on you.

"Do you want to touch?" he asked.

You nodded. It wasn't a hard decision. This was still a bad idea. You hadn't changed your mind on that. But at this point, what else was there to do? Defying Homelander wasn't an option for anyone on this planet ever. You were no different.

"Ask," he commanded.

"Please can I touch you?" you said.

"Please what?"

"Please, sir. Can I touch you?"

"Good girl," he praised before nodding, "Go for it."

You reached out, this time successfully. Your palm landed flat on his stomach. You held it there for a moment, just feeling his skin. In a way, it was unreal. To feel that someone propped up on the world's pedestal was flesh and blood like you.

Rubbing up and down, you continued getting a feel for his body. He smirked at your wonder before guiding you up by the elbow.

"Stand up and do it right," he said.

"Sorry."

The word came from your mouth automatically. You brought your other hand up to his chest and felt the muscles in his chest. Everything was so built. You expected that, but it was still odd to feel beneath your fingertips. He felt like a living ken doll. You almost didn't believe if he dropped his boxers there would be a real cock there.

Your hands traced up to his shoulders with precision. They explored down his biceps and forearms. And then finally, you brought your lips into his chest. He sighed and tilted his head back, relishing the feeling.

You kissed all over, swirling your tongue and tracing shapes onto his skin. It was almost entrancing, to be so focused on someone like this. You barely noticed as he turned the two of you and sat himself down on the couch, lowering you to your knees.

You worked your mouth down his abs, licking and kissing the twitching muscles. Your fingernails scraped up his sides and then down onto his thighs. When your lips reached the waistband of his boxers, your eyes glanced up at him.

"Can I take them off, sir?" you asked.

He smirked at the title. Only one word of correction and he'd trained that phrase into you.

"Yes," he answered. It was a simple answer. All that was required for someone so naturally obedient.

You took it in stride, tucking your fingers over the elastic and tearing them down. His hard cock popped up and slapped against his pelvis. You couldn't have been happier about your earlier ken doll theory being proven wrong. The sight of his dick was enough to make you drool. It was better than any work of art out there.

It rested against his body at the perfect length, the perfect girth. The tip flushed beautiful red and pearly white beads of precum smeared at the top. Your fingers wrapped around it and gave it a few strokes, testing the waters.

His hand came down and petted your head. He watched as you studied the appendage, as you experimented with your own touch. It was so fucking cute he thought he might cum right then and there. Fuck, he thought you were sweet every moment he had eyes on you, but right now, you were darling. You were doing as he said. Accepting your place at the feet of a superior being.

"Put it in your mouth," he said from above, "I want you to taste it."

There was no hesitation on your end this time around.

"Yes sir," you responded before leaning forward and wrapping your lips around his cock.

He groaned and let his chest hollow out with a harsh exhale. Your mouth was so warm and wet, nice and snug around his length. He rocked his hips up, pushing it further into your throat. He expected a small gag or sputter, but instead you moaned. You shut your eyes and flattened your tongue against his shaft before beginning to bob your head.

"Fuck," he hissed. His legs tensed up, and he pressed down on your head. That did get a tiny gag out of you. You gripped his hips to stabilize yourself though and stayed in place. Your nose nestled against the darker curls of hair that sat at the base of his cock.

Spit leaked from your mouth and dribbled onto his skin below. He took a few moments to just enjoy the feeling of his dick down your throat. The sight of his sweet, innocent girl choking on his cock. Then he let you pull off and catch your breath. 

You took a few deep puffs, letting the spots clear from your vision before you dove back in for more. Your hand stroked the lower part of him your mouth didn't cover in its shallow sucks while your other set of fingers caressed his balls tenderly.

He'd never experienced devotion. As much as it pained him to ever acknowledge, his sexual experiences had been lackluster up until now. There were the times with Maeve, but they always left something to be desired for him. Then there was the time with Stillwell that ended before it really started. In either case, no one had ever put all of themselves into pleasuring him like you were doing right now. It drove him wild. He could feel his sac tightening up, and he knew he had to get you off.

Planting one hand on each side of your head, he tugged you back. You looked up at him with glossy, cock-drunk eyes and saliva-coated lips. He swiped some of the mess away before addressing you.

"You're doing so good for me, but I think you're ready for more, don't you?"

"Yes, sir," you agreed.

"My perfect pet," he crooned and pulled you up onto the couch.

He laid you flat on your back and ripped your skirt and panties off in one go. His eyes drank in the sight of your nude lower half, but he didn't spend much time savoring it. He spread you out, slotting himself against your center.

With a few rocks of his hips, he dragged his length through your wetness. He let the sticky fluid coat his shaft, and then he sunk in. His tip bullied its way into your entrance and the rest of him followed. You whined at the stretch. Your walls clamped around him, eager to accept the intrusion.

"Atta girl," he grunted as he worked himself all the way in.

His hips connected with your ass, but he still bucked them, trying to get more. You yelped at the force. He was already buried inside you. Anymore and his tip would be nudging the entrance to your womb.

Fortunately for you, he pulled his hips back, giving you a short break from feeling so full. It was short lived though. Seconds later he snapped back in. That began the quick rhythm he set into. It was desperate and needy, emotions he'd tried to hide until this point.

You whimpered as your body bobbed with the momentum. His thrusts bounced you back and forth. The sounds of his body smacking against yours filled the room. His fingers dug into your waist hard enough to bruise. You didn't complain about the minor pain though because you could tell he was holding back in every other regard. If a few marks on your side kept you from being pulverized by a super cock, then that was a burden you were willing to carry.

Above you, he starts to pant. His breaths leave him raggedly huffing, sucking down what oxygen he can get in the midst of rutting into you. He tilts his head down at you and gazes at your blissed out face with lidded eyes.

"I could have anyone. Any person on this Earth would be mine if I wanted them to be. But the only one I want is you. Doesn't that feel good?" he breathed.

"Yes!" you cried out. Your back arched up off the couch. "Feels so fucking good, sir."

He leaned into you more, squishing your body into the surface below. Your thighs pressed against your tummy as he bent you.

"Yeah, it does," he grunted, "It's all there is. It's all you need to think about. How you're all mine."

"Mhm," you whined with a lazy nod. You were getting closer to cumming and responding to his words was taking a lower priority in your mind.

"And to think you tried to deny yourself of it," he mocked. He clenched his jaw and slammed into you harder.

You shrieked and clutched his shoulders. In the back of your mind, you hoped his penthouse was sound proofed or at least enough distance from the nearest one. Otherwise you wouldn't have to tell anyone about this incident for it to spread throughout the tower.

"I knew better, didn't I? I knew this is what you needed," he said.

Again, you nodded. You felt the heat in your belly reaching the boiling point.

"Say it," he huffed.

You tried to force it out, but your own hiccuped sob of pleasure cut you off. He didn't give you a break though. He stared down at you with expectation, so you continued.

"You know best- uh, fuck- you know best, sir," you whined.

"Good fucking girl," he growled on top of you.

He was already close from the blowjob you'd given him. Only a few strokes more, and he was ready to explode. He swiveled his hips, angling them upwards to pound into that special spot that would make you see stars and stripes.

You mewled when you came. Your body trembled harder than it did when you were scared. Arousal gushed out of you and coated his skin. He huffed and buried his face in your neck before letting go.

Everything faded into the background as you laid underneath him in the haze that came after the absolute high of pleasure. Now you could feel his heartbeat too. The organ thundered against his chest over and over as he came down.

Minutes later he pulled back. His knuckles caressed down your jawline before he climbed off of you entirely. He sat back on the couch and let out a deep breath. You weren't sure whether you were supposed to pick up your stuff and leave or follow along with him and stay close to his side. There was no real indication of what he wanted in this moment, but he turned to smile at you and huffed out a laugh.

"I think I'll keep you with me more often now. Really show you the ropes of fitting in around here."

You sat up and nodded awkwardly. He leaned toward you, cupping your cheek.

"I'll be a much better teacher than Ashley ever was," he said. His arm snaked around you and pulled you to his chest again. "No more errands or coffee runs. I'll show you things you need. Things that you'll enjoy."

He ran his fingers over your face and kissed your temple. The touches were tender against your skin. They would have been romantic if your mind wasn't racing with what this all meant in terms of your job and the grand scheme of your future.

Looking at him though, he wasn't worried at all. He smiled down at you before whispering once more.

"My sweet little pet. All mine now."

[thesassypadawan]

So Uncivilized (Master Obi-Wan x FemPadawanReader)

Summary: After a long mission all Obi wants is a good rest. Too bad that will have to wait. You ‘accidently’ left something of yours in his sleep couch…and got your poor master all hot and bothered. Oppsies!

Warnings: 18+ (minors dni), because all the lovely smut. Panties, masturbation, some good time riding, and Obi’s big, fat cock. Padawan reader is of age.

Notes: A little something for @fluentlyspeakingtreason! It was truly a pleasure to write this! As soon as I read your ask, I knew exactly what do! I had a lot of fun with it, cannot not emphasize that enough!  Hope you like it! 💙

Sighing heavily, Obi-Wan plopped down on his sleep couch. It had been a long mission and, what felt like, an even longer debriefing with the council. All he had craved from the moment he set foot back on Coruscant was a good rest and, finally, he was able to do so.

Having stripped down to nothing, he pulled back the covers and was met by the very ‘interesting’ surprise of…your panties.

True, a master shouldn’t know what their padawan wears beneath those robes. However you had, on more than one occasion, forgotten them in the fresher after you were done. Leaving Obi flushed in the face, head full of ‘thoughts’, and, well, painfully hard.

Despite all of that, he never dared act on these ‘thoughts’. Always pretending he didn’t see them and, to his great dismay, letting them remain behind. Because of the whole jedi code, you being his padawan, and what not.

That is until today though…

Not sure whether it was the lack of sleep, temptation getting the best of him, or maybe both. Either way, Obi-Wan found himself taking the small, lacey pair into his hands. Bringing them to his face and…

He groaned as he inhaled your heavenly scent. Mouth watering as he lapped at the tacky spot of your arousal that you so kindly gifted to him. “Maker, you’re a sweet one.”

Once they were licked clean, he wrapped them around his hard cock. Eyes closing as he began to pump himself. Imagining how your face would contort in ecstasy, while he pounded into you. How you would clench around him, head thrown back as you begged for…

“I’ve been looking for those!”

Obi’s eyes snapped open in surprise. He had been so caught up in his fantasy that he didn’t even hear the door sliding open. “Little one, I… Well, you see… Why are you naked?”

Rolling your eyes at him, you giggled softly. “Obviously because I couldn’t find my panties. Come on, master, I thought you were smarter than that.”

“I-I-I…” Was all he could manage to stutter out. He was flustered beyond belief. Face on fire from embarrassment. Cock twitching at the fact that you caught him in such a deprave act.

“Anyway,” you purred, snatching your lingerie off him. “Thanks for keeping them warm for me.”

Winking playfully, you kissed his oozing tip and turned to leave. But were stopped when…

“And where do you think you’re going?” Obi-Wan growled, an iron grip on your wrist.

He watched as a mischievous grin crossed your face. “I was going to put some clothes on. You know since I found my panties.”

“Oh no, you don’t.” Grasping your hips firmly, he pulled you down on top of him. Crashing his lips against yours in a searing kiss. Forcing your knees on either side of his thighs.

“You’ve misbehaved, padawan of mine.” He reached between your bodies. Taking hold of himself and placing his fat head at your already soaked entrance. “And you’re not leaving here until you’ve been thoroughly punished.”

“Is that so?” You cooed, grinding your hips into him nice and slow. “Prove it then.”

He merely smirked and with a subtle persuasion of the force, Obi had you slowly sinking down on his impressive length. Stretching out your pussy as he made you take girthy inch after girthy inch. Until he bottomed out.

“Master,” you happily mewled, rubbing the slight bulge in your stomach. “So big, master.”

“Darling,” he scolded, large hand grazing over your little bump. “This is punishment, not enjoyment. Do you understand?”

He felt you squirm under his touch. “Yes, master,” you whimpered, giving a slight nod as you bit your lip.

“Excellent.” His arms wrapped tightly around your waist. “Now be my good girl and take everything I give you.”

Snapping his hips, Obi-Wan slammed up into you. Making your cry out in pleasure, already desperately clamping down on him.

“So tight.” Using his hands, he moved you up and down. “So wet.” Bucking wildly, hitting that perfect spot deep inside of you. “And so naughty.”

He was bouncing you on his cock by this point. Hips thrusting at a ruthless pace as he lifted you effortlessly. Bullying and bruising your cervix over and over.

“M-Master,” you whined, your walls fluttering around him. “I’m so c-close…”

“Already?” Obi grunted, his hips beginning to falter. “All right, dear one, you may… cum.”

Tugging you down hard on his cock, he somehow buried himself even deeper. Groaning as you clenched him wonderfully, while he stuffed your pussy deliciously full of his hot cum.

“Well then,” he chuckled, noticing the satisfied smile you wore. “You certainly looked pleased with yourself.”

“You bet ya,” you giggled, pressing a fiery kiss to his lips. “Think I’ll have to misplace my panties more often.”

“So uncivilized,” Obi-Wan growled, emphasizing his point with a good, hard thrust.

Tag List: @cacti5539