Thinking about Lucifer that asked you to make him a cup of coffee and when you enter into his office, he would pulled your thighs and slides your pantie to the side. He sat you down on his length and asked you to c*ckwarm him until he finished his works. If you're being a good girl, he will fuck you until you will cum so hard. If you're being a bad girl (by moving a lot), he will edges you and won't let you cum.
Thinking about Mammon who will put a vibrator inside your wet hole every dinner time so that he could see your flustered face. If he is being nice, he will keeps the vibrations constant. But if he is not, he will make sure the vibrations go high just to see if you can hold your moans and cum during dinner. After dinner, he will drag you to his room balcony, take out the vibrator and fuck you outside until he dumps a lot of cum in your womb while enjoying the night view.
Thinking about Leviathan that will fingers you when you're sleeping next to him because of his kink. He will rubs your clit and your folds with his pretty long fingers. If he is in too much heat, he will spread open your legs and lick your wet hole until you didn't realize you're squirting because of his tongue.
Thinking about Satan who would watch you're touching yourself while he is touching himself. He is so into voyeurism and when he is about to cum, he will cum inside you. If his brothers annoy him on a certain day, make sure you are ready because he deep throat you with his c*ck until he is satisfied. Don't worry, he has your safe word.
Thinking about Asmodeus that will help you to scrub your body during shower time until his naughty fingers slipped inside your hole. He will finger it with his fingers and he pushed you to the shower wall and fuck you mercilessly. He even loves to make love to you in the bathtub because it helps him to release all the stress he is facing. He would grope your breasts and leaves a lot of sweet hickeys on them.
Thinking about Beelzebub that will put small chocolates on your naked body and eat them one by one until it reached your sweet hole. He will licks it and make sure you're getting the sweetest session. He also would love to fuck you in the kitchen at night while both of you are searching for snacks. He also loves to see you swallow his cum and he loves to devour your sweet little cunt.
Thinking about Belphie who will make you hump his thigh and cum on his thighs. If he is not satisfied, he will ask you to ride the dildo infront of the mirror until your cunt becomes puffy. He also loves to see you dominate him by riding but if you're way too slow, he will pull down your waist and he will push his waist up just to hear the slapping sound.
Thinking about Diavolo who is into your breasts that he will suck them every night. He is so into 69 position because both of you can taste eachother well. Sometimes he would love to invite Lucifer to have a threesome with you and both of them will insert their cocks into both of your holes.
Thinking about Barbatos gives you a lust tea during your personal tea party session with him and lust started to take over your body. You were wearing Leviathan's shirt and a mini skirt that made his c*ck hardened so much. He would bent you down and shove himself into you, thrusting in and out roughly without mercy. All he could think about is you full with his cum and dumbfuck by him.
Thinking about Solomon who requested for your nudes every single time. He even comes to your room and try new magic that he learns by making it sensual. He also loves to spank your ass with his wand and makes sure you know that he is your dom. He even buys you a lot of lingeries so that you wear them everytime he meets you personally. He loves your cunt so much that he always wanted you to sit on his face. He would love to die under you.
✧ | summary: Betrothed to prince Aerion, you have no taste for young princelings. With prince Maekar so nearby, you have one or two ideas in your mind to have your way... In the end, instead of a wife, Aerion ends up with a new mother. (based on THIS request!)
✧ | pairing: maekar 'the anvil' targaryen x lannister!reader.
✧ | tags: 18+, mdni, p in v sex, inappropriate relationship, age gap (reader is 19ish!!), oral sex, does this really count as cheating?? degradation, free use if you squint, headlock, freaky freaky use of “goodfather” (aka father-in-law), it is heavily implied reader is not a maiden and is a oldman lover…
✧ | note: hey... i know this took weeks to finish but i am very proud of it!! i know cyvasse wasn't a thing in westeros until 299ac but our reader knows how to play it... again, thank you to the lovely @faeryemperor for beta reading :-)
The trip to Summerhall was hell. Closest thing to hell you’ve ever experienced.
Casterly Rock was far enough that the whole trip was green trees, and playing with your puppy and asking your brother how much longer it would be.
“You’ll be meeting prince Aerion just to see if you fancy him,” your father had said, but you knew it was only an excuse to arrange a betrothal between you and him, whether you like it or not. You had heard your father talk about a wedding already, along with your brothers, which both Tybolt and Gerold agreed.
Your father was travelling later: first he would stop at King’s Landing, and then, conveniently come along with Prince Baelor after a week. You sometimes wondered if they thought you a lackwit, because the obviousness was something they had in abundance.
“If I marry Aerion, would we live in our own castle?” you ask, playing with the edge of the curtain from the wheelhouse. You could see Summerhall at the distance from here, you’d be there in less than half an hour.
“Prince Aerion” he corrects you, and then he answers “You’ll live at Summerhall, most likely”
“But Summerhall is Prince Maekar’s castle” You say to him. “I mean my own castle”
“Well, you’ll live there”
“And when Aerion’s father dies, Summerhall would go to him, right?”
“To prince Daeron” he reprimands you again “Address them properly or I shall make you.”
“Then I’ll marry prince Daeron,” you state, not caring about their plans for you. “He is unmarried as well, isn’t he?”
“You’ll marry prince Aerion.”
“I do not care about father’s plans for me. Or yours. Whose idea was it?”
“Gerold’s” Tybolt murmurs, looking through the window.
“Of course it was” you grumble. "I'm not a brooding mare for his political games, I'll have him know that."
Your scalp itches slightly, the hairstyle that the handmaiden had done was a bit too tight, and it seemed more like a towering braid more than a youthful style. You had ornate jewelry in your hair, and the necklace your brother made you wear was heavy, no doubt to make you more impressive.
“He had a good idea.” Tybolt says, “Prince Aerion is close to your age, it is a good match.”
“Prince Daeron is my age” You correct him. “Why don’t I marry him instead? Perhaps he’ll be the heir…”
“Because the offer was prince Aerion. Take it or marry an old lord.”
If old lords wouldn’t be so cruel, you’d marry one. You gave your first real kiss to one of your father’s friends, who was just widowed by his wife. Well, your first kiss was with a stable boy, and it was more than one, but it didn’t count, it was mere practice.
You remember playing coy, and then ending up sitting on his lap and kissing him. You were not a fool, you knew he could not bed you, but you didn’t care. You felt his lazy cock under your gown, and feigned innocence.
Arriving at Summerhall’s court was less appalling than you thought. Watching the windows on the Great Hall, painted with such precision and dedication, that the light coming from there, colours your feet and the end of your pretty red gown. It was quite modern, certainly not as old as your own home, but it was beautiful. You could certainly imagine yourself living here.
“I really like this castle,” you murmur to Tybolt.
“Do not mess this up, then, and you’ll live here with your husband the prince”
You squint up at him. “I won’t mess it up.”
As you walk in the long hall, you note lots of portraits hanging for anyone to see. The first one is of the Good King, next to his sister, Princess Daenerys. She had been married to the queen’s younger brother, shipped off to Dorne, away from rebellions and enjoying her water gardens. And the pale woman, wearing a hennin and pale colours, next to Daeron and sitting next to Daenerys is the late Queen Naerys.
The next portraits were no different, of King Daeron and Queen Myriah, the next one of the royal couple and his dragonlings. Then, prince Maekar with his brothers, Baelor Breakspear, Aerys, Rhaegel… and then him. He seemed too prideful and perhaps he was; you are yet to know him in some minutes. He looked handsome, strong and tall. You wonder if Aerion is anything like him, so you could have a feast with your eyes in your bedding, just as you are now with this portrait.
Soon, the intimate tone of Summerhall hangs onto you; it was no mystery that court was rarely held here, why no grand feasts or tourneys, this was a family home. Full of intimate portraits of the royal family, of Prince Maekar and his family, portraits of his wife and their children, all six of them.
“That’s Aerion” Tybolt points to the frowny kid next to his father. He was not as tall as the brownish haired one, yet he resembled his father very little. At least in his Targaryen features, because his face was practically a copy of the late Dyanna Dayne.
“He’s like his mother,” you whisper to Tybolt. “In anything but hair.”
“Well, hope and pray to the Mother that your babes look anything like you. He’s got more Dornish blood in him than Targaryen”
“Do you think we could buy a dress like the Queen’s?” You then ask him, as you point to Queen Myriah’s young portrait.
Tybolt slaps your hand and scolds you from your insolence, ashamed of you. “You insolent child, behave for once in your life and realise this isn’t about you.”
You look at the portrait of prince Maekar’s family, wandering from Prince Maekar to Aerion. You’re wrong brother, you think, this is all about me.
Prince Maekar greets your brother first, and you watch curiously at his tall form and stoic face. Your father spoke lots about prince Baelor, about the Good King, but never about the last offspring of king Daeron and his beloved Queen. You imagine all Targaryens to be handsome, and Maekar is a good looking man.
He looks somewhat stern, like a parent who never stops disciplining their kids. Perhaps he is, but you don’t know of such a thing yet. At the same time, he looks like he is one second from rolling his eyes and walking away.
“And this is my baby sister” Your brother presents you, and you look at him with your best charming smile. You had to stop yourself from biting your lip as you looked at his father, unimpressed.
“Aerion, boy, come at once.”
And there’s Aerion. He was not ugly, he was rather handsome. He dressed richly, all velvets and he looked his very best. He had rather silver gold hair, and you thought that perhaps your babies would have blonde hair.
“My sweet lady,” Aerion said, bowing to press a kiss on your hand, and you did a courtesy to him, with a most empty smile. “You are as beautiful as your portrait.”
“Thank you, my prince.”
“My father was right, he got me the most beautiful bride.”
“Did you not choose me yourself?” you ask, your tone sounding naive but you tried to get information from him.
“No, my father did. I asked him to choose the best beauty, and I would wed her.”
You look at prince Maekar with a bashful smile, because he was the one to choose you to be his son’s bride, and Aerion asked for the most beautiful. He’d marry a rock if his father deem it the most gorgeous, yet it was Maekar who thought you the best beauty.
“I’m glad I was the one chosen, then.”
You had high hopes for the match. The rumours of the prince being quite monstrous had not fallen on deaf ears, not on your part. But any boy like that was only one neglected of affections, and even if Aerion had a big loving family, he did not have a mother anymore. Perhaps it was a matter of spoiling him, making sure to complete his whims and assure him of loving yet empty words.
Aerion was very charming, when his father was present. He helped you get upstairs, holding your hand in a chivalrous way, helping you sit and even making a toast on your union.
“A toast for my bride to be,” he had said. “For the union of our houses.”
Your eyes were on prince Maekar, who seemed pleased by his son’s chivalry. His eyes were on yours, and you know when a man desires a woman. You were not an imbecile, as your brothers liked to tell you. You just knew how to play your cards.
“That's sweet of you, my prince,” you had said when he was seated back again by your side.
“Ah. yes,” he had said, as he picked up his wine.
“I hope we can have a pleasant marriage…” you start saying, full of bullshit but it was more like a diplomatic phrase.
Not that Aerion was ugly. He was handsome and fashionable, perhaps a bit too much. Still, when you marry him and become the wife of a prince, surely you can have more elaborate outfits. And he’ll be… like an accessory for you.
Prince Maekar drank by his son’s side, scolding Daeron from drinking the wine too quickly. Then, you felt motivated to say.
“I thank you, your highness,” you say, only to address him. Your tone was different, though, more interested in him, trying your best at playing subtle and seductive. “For welcoming my brother and I into your home. It is very beautiful.”
Maekar raised one eyebrow, as Aerion simply ignored the conversation. It isn’t like Maekar’s face was rid of the scowl, but at least he seems more interested in you than his son.
“It will be your home too” he says simply, as the servants place food on his plate before anyone else, “after you marry Aerion.”
You smile, and nod. “Thank you. I look forward to it.”
“Along with my daughters, Summerhall will be full of beauties once again.”
Aerion rolled his eyes, as he snapped his fingers to ask a servant to serve his plate after his father’s. It was a bit disappointing, that by comparison, he will be your husband, the one who would come into your rooms every night, get between your legs and fill you up with his seed.
The next few days, you spend time with his siblings, explore Summerhall, long halls and chambers, getting in every corner of it and later getting scolded by Tybolt for being improper, and you’d always end up in the gardens.
As you were bent over, trying to see the small bird nest under a shrub, where you could hear the loud chirps of the babies, you heard a small cough behind you.
As you moved back, you saw your soon-to-be Goodfather standing behind you, with crossed arms. Your cheeks get red, as you look at him with a shy glance, for meddling in his garden.
“My prince!” You say, standing up almost with a jump. “I… I was just- Apologies” you say, bowing slightly. “I was seeing a bird nest”
Maekar had seen the small lady around, wearing rich red with gold details and exploring his house as if it was an old relic that a Maester has fun with.
“Don’t bow,” he grumbles, his hands on his side rather awkwardly. “Come, walk with me.”
You walk along with him, as you try to appear more womanly. More mature, as if you did not care he asked that.
He pretends he does not notice.
“I have been meaning to speak with you,” he starts simply, walking ahead and you try to keep up with him.
“Oh, that’s sweet of you-” you say with a girlish smile, so he did think of you and wanted to speak with you!
“About Aerion.”
“Ah.”
The disappointed tone does not go unnoticed by him. He ignores it, and he keeps going: “I hoped that Daeron would marry first, but my brother set the match. It was I that chose you, but my brother’s idea.”
You try to think why he’s exactly telling you this. Why do you care that he wanted Daeron to marry first? But you nod, listening to him as if he was telling you something interesting.
“Aerion is still a boy,” his tone is plain, yet thoughtful. “He's a little younger than you. And I agreed with my brother that perhaps being wed would bring some… fucking sense to him, and more maturity, as the head of your household”
Yeah, he would absolutely be the head of the household…you think, rolling your eyes. Men and their foolishness.
“Absolutely, my prince,” you say, nodding along to his words. “I’ll do my very best to obey his decisions for our household.”
“I am to be your good-father. We’ll be family,” he says simply. “You can tell me the truth.”
“It is the truth.”
He didn’t buy a single fucking word.
“You seem like a nice lady. I see your wit, and I hope Aerion can appreciate it.”
“Thank you, my prince,” you say to him, softly. “May I call you father once I wed Aerion?”
The question surprises him, but he seems a bit unimpressed at the same time. “However you fancy.”
“And what does he fancy?” You ask, trying not to end the conversation with the lovely prince. Perhaps he is a grumpy old man, who curses for each word he says, but how lovely your good-father is.
“Well, he does like dragons. He likes sparring,” he starts listing things off. “He used to like fishing before his mother passed.”
“A shame I’m no Tully” you say with a soft tone, giggling.
“... Heh. Right” Perhaps it does not amuse him that much, but he seems pleased with you. “You’re quite the beauty, he will fancy you,” he explains, “he is a simple creature, as we all men are.”
At the compliment, you smile. And then – “Would he like Cyvasse?”
“What the fuck is Cyvasse?”
There you were, sitting with Aerion in the great Hall as you explained Cyvasse to him, to Maekar, and to Aegon. The three of them listened to your explanation, and then Aerion smiled at you.
“Oh, there is a Dragon?”
“Yes!” You say smiling to him. “This one” You say, extending your hand to pick his piece and giving it to him.
You look at prince Maekar, as if trying to prove how you were a great bride for his son, and how you will tame him, be gentle with him and loving, as a mother would be.
Yet when you were alone, sitting in one of the private court chambers, being chaperoned by Daeron, who was drunk in his seat and half dead, which did not really count as chaperoning, you tried to actually play cyvasse with Aerion, he showed his true nature.
He was a brat. And if you knew one thing, is that only one of you two could be a brat.
“You have to move something else than the dragon,” you grit your teeth at him, moving the Elephant. “My prince.”
“Shut up,” he murmurs, shushing you for the fifth time.
“I taught you all the pieces, do you need me to repeat? The Dragon is the easy choice…”
“I remember, I’m not a lackwit.”
“There are many other pieces to defend the King-”
“My grandsire is a dragon himself. You won’t tell a prince of the realm how to defend a Dragon King.”
You made a face, trying to ignore the ick growing inside your gut. He was so ridiculous, you soon realised, speaking of such nonsense that had nothing to do with him. Since when cyvasse is about King Daeron?
“That literally makes no sense,” you say to him. “Do you always speak such nonsense?”
“Shut. Up”
You are set to kill his fucking dragons every single time. You move the catapult to make sure he does anything else.
“You whore,” he murmurs as you have him surrounded by a catapult and a trebuchet.
“What did you call me?” You say, not allowing yourself to be insulted. “Learn how to play.”
“You are a fucking whore, do you know what I’ll do to you for killing my dragon?”
“Aerion Bratflame is what they should call you, you corrupt son of a bitch!”
Your brothers always scolded you for being a brat. They loved you, and no doubt they spoiled you. But even they had a line for patience for your antics. For speaking up, for demanding things and thinking yourself superior. You have received more scoldings and slaps in the wrists than most, but you always received double the gowns and gold accessories, plus with affections and praises, so it doesn’t really count.
And they will be really mad now, for ruining the political bond they tried so hard to gain. But with good reason, you think. If you are to get hit for fighting with your betrothed, let the reason be worth it.
You pull his hair as if he was a girl, you used to do so with one of your ladies-in-waiting when she spoke against your back, making her repeat herself if she dared to repeat ill words. And when she did, you pulled her hair hard enough as you scolded her.
Aerion is too caught off guard as you do so, and his long golden locks made it easier to pull off his scalp. Bet no knight did so in battle, pulling him by his silky soft hair, and as you slap him harshly, he catches you by the throat.
You do not recall if it is Aegon the one that finds you and alerts Maekar, or if Daeron woke up from his drunk slumber. You only remember having two guards, one holding him as he still held the end of your gown, ripping a chunk off. You are kicking like a mad kid, cursing at him for calling you a whore.
“You’re the fucking whore, you fucking empty headed silver cunt!” you scream off as the guard picks you up and walks away, and when you see Aerion being dragged away, you end up with one last word. “...Brat!”
Aerion had ripped your braids off their place and you remember kicking his ribs like a rabid cat. You had ripped his earring from his ear, destroying it, as he had left bruises on your throat and in your breasts, ripping your dress like a feral beast would. There were some scratches too, but they wouldn't last until the next morning.
“Are you stupid?” Your brother scolds you as the very kind maester tries to apply a cream on your breasts “Oh, I believe you are a lackwit now, truly, how dare you strike a prince?”
“He called me a whore,” you say to him, not backing down.
“You ripped his earlobe, do you know that?” Tybolt says, exasperated. He was never this upset, unknowing what to truly do at this. “It is lucky prince Maekar hasn’t had your hands cut off for slapping a royal prince.”
“He’ll be fine,” you murmured, as the maester’s hands were steady. It stings a little.
“We tried so hard to find you a fine match. No Lannister has married the royal house. Martells, Velaryons, Arryns, Dondarrions even. Blackwoods and Brackens have been mistresses, even a fucking Lyseni before us.”
You sigh, and you look at your hands. “Prince Aerion is a beast”
“That I know,” Tybolt says as he sighs. “Yet sometimes that is not what matters.”
“Are you seeing my breasts?! The beast scratched me! Over cyvasse!”
“I hate to give reason to Father, but if he had mauled you it is irrelevant here,” Tybolt says, having enough of your attitude. “Don’t you ever learn? Do you think everything is truly about you?”
You remain quiet, your head hanging low like a scolded puppy. You had messed it up, after promising that you wouldn’t, but in your opinion, Aerion was not worth the trouble.
“You’ll apologise to the prince, you hear?” He says, his tone stern. “Or I’ll marry you to the first commoner I find, and then we’ll see if you are so proud about it. I mean it. We have spoiled you far too long, and I can’t deal with you any more. What am I to do with you?”
The threat frightens you. You know he means it, and even if it is a decision at the moment, he could. And a nobody could be your husband because you struck Aerion.
So, you go to the prince to apologise.
Prince Maekar was on his study, and you meekly knocked on the door. He was seated by the window, his face formed in a scowl as he looked at the large gardens of Summerhall. Strange was to think that this was once a fortified castle, which now was more like a home for all dragonlings.
Your maid had undone your braids, brushed your hair gently and massaged your hair after prince Aerion had roughly pulled it. You had a sleeveless dress, the red material embroidered with deep yellow details, and it was one of the dresses you had planned for a garden tea with the prince.
He turns just to see who was intruding; it was that lady again. He sighs, a hand pressing against his forehead as he just seems tired, aging by each second that passes.
“I’m sorry for intruding” you start gently. “My brother has asked me to apologise to you”
What a lie but you don’t have to say that. Not your fault that Tybolt didn’t specify which prince you needed to apologise. You choose Maekar out of your whims, because if you don’t want the son, there is always the father…
“I do apologise, my prince. I am terribly sorry” you say, and you are not truly sorry. You are sorry that the consequences have come, but Aerion deserved it. He deserved a whooping in his royal arse, in your opinion.
“The maester had to stitch Aerion’s ear.” He says, his feet against the edge of the window, as he pushed himself into the chair. “He is a lot to handle now.”
You remain quiet. “I apologise… for that.” More sincere now, part of you was glad that he got his earlobe ripped in half, but you didn’t want to harm the prince. You weren’t cruel like him, wanting to truly harm him.
“Lots of apologies” he murmurs, bitterly. “My son says you attacked him for that fucking cyvasse game of yours”
“It wasn’t…!” You start to defend yourself loudly ,yet you bite your tongue. “It wasn’t like that” you say more quietly, a feel of shame to act like a child in front of him, all stern and scolding to you, even if you were not his daughter. What the fuck, it was making you wet.
“Is that so?” He retorts with little interest.
“I reminded him that there were more pieces other than the dragon,” you say, telling the truth. “That he had to protect his King too, and he spoke of… the Good King, and… about a Dragon prince, and when I took his dragon…”
Maekar loudly sighs at that, as if he knew what shit Aerion had pulled for that. He needed not to hear more. “You should have known how to handle him.”
“Well, you are right, he is a lot to handle” You say to him, anger at bay. Why was everyone mad at you about hitting a mad prince? He had it coming.
“He’s still my son” He reminds you sternly. “You may be all fucking pretty and a lady, but he is still my boy and the blood of the dragon”
“Well, your boy is corrupt and… and… and he hit me as well ”
He squints his eyes,in a grimace showing displeasure. He disapproves, you know, and he scrunches his nose. “You are just like him” He rolls his eyes. “To the doom of you both, you are already betrothed. You and I could save us some screaming from our eldest brothers, knowing this match is still on even if you murder my son. So I tell you once again, endure it”
It is as if everyone asks the impossible of you. You had not wed him yet, and he is atrocious already, not hesitating on hitting you as no prince should lay a finger on a lady. You wonder if he gets it from his great-grandsire, late King Aegon the Unworthy. That raw cruelness had not passed to the King, or the heir nor prince Maekar, but to the second son of his last grandchild.
Would your children get the madness too? Become a rake or a cruel man just because of their Targaryen blood?
“You expect me to endure this?” You ask, pulling your cleavage lower, as prince Maekar’s eyebrow shot up in quiet, subtle disbelief. Not surprised at the wounds, but at your boldness. “This is what he did to me, telling me that he will parade me naked on Summerhall so everyone could see the whore I am.”
Maekar sighs, one finger in the bridge of his nose. He doesn't answer at first, as if thinking his next words.
“Cover yourself” he mumbles. If you weren’t so attentive, you think he was dismissing you, but he was not. You could see his gaze on your breasts
“You cannot let him destroy me” you keep on pushing. “What of… what of our bedding? He’ll scratch me and hit me, bruise me all over… and I am a maiden, what if he does something too harshly so he bruises my womb and then we can’t have offspring?”
“That won’t happen” Maekar rolls his eyes, ladies and their imagination “Aerion knows how to treat and please a woman.”
“Does he, truly?”
“You’re exasperating,” he says in a scolding tone. “Of course he does. He is a prince of the realm, and I have taught him properly how to. I taught him myself.”
The thought of Maekar, your future good father, knows how to please a woman. If he had six children, you don’t doubt it. He doesn’t strike you as the type of man to force his bride, as other lordlings do. And with all the memories of his late wife, her paintings, still the decorations that would belong in starfall, you don’t doubt that his Lady Dyanna loved him. And how he pleased her.
“I beg of you” you say then, getting on your knees. “Do not let him have my maidenhead.”
What’s left of it, anyways. Not that you had ever been with another man, but your fingers did a good job. You could kiss all the men you wanted, but you knew that if you didn’t have your maidenhead, you won’t be as worth it.
“Please” you say “Make sure I am ready for him… You tell me to endure it, but I am not sure how to do so. So… Teach me.”
Prince Maekar was a widower. He had loved fiercely his late Lady, yet he was still a man, carnal and lustful. He had always been driven by lust, and it had its fruits, since he had six children. Even more if Dyanna hadn’t taken moon tea.
He has no wish to remarry yet… you are a happy, dirty little secret.
And you are no stupid girl. When he doesn’t pull you away, when he doesn’t speak of throwing you into the streets for debauchery, you move between his legs to nuzzle the bulge on his breeches. He was not fully hard yet, you knew that perhaps with age it took slightly longer.
Undoing his breeches has your mouth watering, and looking up you could see his surprised (yet, as always, unimpressed) look.
“Please?”
“What, do you want me to defilling your fucking throat as well?”
You bashfully nod, and he knows now that you are full of shit. Your weak moments are used to your advantage, taking him by his sympathy and old man feelings.
“Won’t Aerion…?”
“I don’t want to imagine” He groans, as his left hand comes to cradle the back of your head. “Go on.”
That little encouragement is enough for you to keep going. Your fingers work to undo the laces of his breeches, moving a bit too eagerly. Maekar isn’t pleased, at least that’s what you can see from his facial expressions, perhaps he thinks of you as indecorous, as damned goods. But he is not stopping you, not at all.
And that’s enough for you. It is a silent agreement, that perhaps he dares not to name. Yet it is a yes. And so, you go on.
Maekar’s dick is perhaps different from what you expected, or what you imagined as you eyed him from the other end of the table, eating alongside the beast of your betrothed. It was of a considerable size, yet much paler than you thought. It feels hard in your hand, the tip was red as you pressed a soft kiss there.
Watching the prince close his eyes and sigh, that same disappointed sigh you had heard so many times in your short stay in Summerhall. It was hot, in a way, knowing his sounds remained the same.
“Do not tease, girl” he says, slightly bitter, with no patience.
You suck his cock at your own rhythm, not so much to tease him, but so you can enjoy it too. It was slow, trying to get adjusted to the taste of him, of a very much real cock in your mouth. Maekar looks down at you, the sight alone could be enough for him to blow his load right then and there. Yet he is not a greenboy, and watching you little by little swallow more of his cock was more erotic than having you enthusiastically trying to gag yourself on it.
Strangely, you knew what you were doing. Perhaps too much. And he wasn’t a fool like Aerion would be, he notices that as his hand slightly guides you to take more and more of him, little by little.
“You’re good at this” he grunts, taking your pretty Lannister hair in his hands, all loose and without any overly complicated braids. “You just love fucking cock, hm?”
He feels your throat trying to accommodate his cock, the feeling of him in your mouth had you closing your eyes in delight at the feeling, as you felt a twitch of excitement in between your legs. You nod to his words, because having his cock in your mouth was the best thing that has happened to you since arriving at Summerhall.
You pull back as he makes you, mostly to let you breathe once again since you refused to stop. “Yes…” you murmur, looking up at him.
You were shameless, as you moved your mouth lower to show some of your love to his stones. It takes him by surprise feeling your mouth leaving open mouthed kisses upon his balls, filthy and wet as he lets out a moan.
“Fuckin’ hells…” he groans, watching you enthusiastically lick his balls.
A shiver runs over his spine, weakening his legs as his muscles relax over your ministrations. He had no idea how you knew that, and more so, how he was so surprised (and aroused) at the feeling of your wicked tongue on his stones.
He watches you, eyes closed in delight as you appear to have the best feast in all seven kingdoms. He would love to grab your hair, and simply fuck your pretty face, using your mouth as he pleases.
Yet he knew he was not going to last long, feeling his balls tightening up at your wicked attention. He was not so young anymore, and sure, he had energy, but years also took a toll on his body. Especially the late stress he had been feeling since becoming a widower.
“That’s enough” he says, pulling you away.
You seem disappointed, a bit dumbfounded at first as your lips form in a pout. “But…”
“Enough”
“But I want to make you finish”
“You’re a maiden” he reminds you, a bit stern in his tone.
“Yes” you say, yet he can’t tell if it is true or false. “But… but please, I want your cock so bad…” you whine “It is so tasty, let me have it again.”
“You’re…”
“Please”
Maekar is a weak, weak man.
He pulls you in his arms, not even bothering to kiss you as he simply hides his face in your chest. Gods, he adores a good pair of breasts, no matter how they were, he always found himself obsessed and latching onto them as if he was still a babe.
He is careful not to kiss too harshly, since you had scratches that his own son had made, yet he was still a man possessed by the lust, as he pulled the cleavage lower and lower, until he felt the fabric giving in.
“Such a needy slut with this pretty sweet body of yours” his tone is heated, as he turns you around to his will, not weightening anything to him. You suppose that the Anvil would not be anything but Strong.
You barely notice how he walks with you, practically dragging you and pushing you until you are against his desk.
“You’re trouble, I knew from the moment I saw you” Maekar says, his hands gripping against your waist as he accommodates to his whims. “I knew Aerion won’t know how to deal with you, only giving you a bloody lip each time” he positions you so your torso is against the wood. “He’s only a boy, but you need a firmer hand, don’t you?”
You understand what he means, Aerion wouldn’t know, but I would. That’s what he wants to say, yet he never verbalizes it. He doesn’t need to, because you know it.
“I do” your voice is almost breathless as you answer him. “I always have”
“You are a slut, hm?” He murmurs, yet his tone is not reproachive, it is almost fond. “You want to fuck your bethrothed’s father?”
You nod softly, feeling his hands moving under the skirts of your simple dress. Thank the Gods you were using one of those simple empire gowns, because if not, he would be fighting with layers and layers of clothing.
“Yes” you murmur, not feeling an ounce of shame. Not one, because you knew that he wanted it too.
“Can’t hear you.”
“Yes, my prince” you repeat a bit louder, rolling your eyes like when Gerold scolded you.
It should be humiliating, being a lady of your station being used by a prince of the realm like this. You knew that the royal family had enough of mistresses and bastards for a lifetime alone, so being under prince Maekar as he moves your skirts out of the way – it was pure desire.
You thought what would happen then. You’d love to be his wife, but how messy would it be. Would he even want that? Probably not. Perhaps you’ll marry Aerion, and perhaps he’ll send you both away after this. Perhaps he won’t.
“You feel that?” His cock is heavy against you from behind, as he places his hands on your hips to move you closer against his crotch.
“Yeah”
“You’re going to feel it all inside you” his tone was sultry, caressing the skin of your hips.
Your mind was absolutely blank, trying to ground yourself as you realised; you made it. You were actually going to fuck your betrothed’s father.
“So wet, darling…” Maekar murmurs more to himself, but you still hear it.
The feeling of his sticky head against your slit made you whimper softly, trying to have a hold of anything on his desk just to anchor yourself and not fall on your face. You feel him leaning closer his chest against your back, just to whisper something in your ear.
“You’ll remember this cock each time another man fucks you” his voice is raspy, yet somewhat soft as he pulls back to accommodate himself and push his dick inside you.
He feeds his cock little by little, groaning loudly at the feeling of your warm cunt. His hands grip your hips as you moan loudly at the welcomed intrusion.
“Fuck” you whimper loudly, feeling the girthy length make room inside you. You felt full, the feeling on your lower tummy overwhelming all of your other senses.
“You’re full of me” He groans, leaning back slightly to watch his cock nestled inside your cunt. “So full, aren’t you?”
“Yes, yesyesyes.”
It was obvious that prince Maekar was experienced, as he starts rocking his hips as his lust grows inside, the little restraint he had slipping away with each thrust. His hands grip your flesh hard enough that you wouldn’t be surprised that it would end up bruised. And you didn’t care.
You would have thought that Maekar would be absolutely silent while having intercouse, but surprisingly, he let out loud groans of delight or some grunts as he pounded you from behind. He is an avid lover in bed, that’s sure.
“Fuckin’ hell…” He groans, his balls slapping against your flesh as he moves you closer to his groin.
His thrusts were quick and hammering, pounding deep in you in a way you had never thought possible. It was intense, no doubt, having a girthy cock like his inside your cunt.
“Full of your goodfather,” he repeats, as if the mere thought simply made everything better. That fact turned you on, and to your surprise, also turned him on.
“Harder, harder” you beg of him, trying to maintain yourself stable under his harsh thrusts, and you wish for him to go on and on until you couldn’t breathe from the pleasure.
The obscene squelch that each of his thrusts made was only working to make you moan louder. His balls glistened, coating from your juices as he pumped on your cunt harder as requested. His cock was no different, and that thought made you moan out loud.
You feel one of his arms wrap around your neck, just to hold you still as he leans to speak to you. “Tight little cunt…” he manages to say in between thrusts. “Look at how you take it, made for this,” he grunts.
You had your mind blank, only feeling the pounding on your cervix as you would wish to ask him to fill you full of his seed. Yet you know that he won’t, because having a bastard would be his ruin… and yours. Still, that thought was enough to make you moan loudly before coming undone in his cock.
“Fuck, fuck, yes!” You moan, feeling drool fall from your mouth. This man was fucking you into patheticness and you did not care.
Maekar groans as he feels your pussy tightening around his cock, still thrusting and overstimulating you. He was all over you, his arm tightening around your neck, not enough to choke, but to help you feel his control over you. His hand gripped your shoulder, as the sounds he makes fall right into your ear serving to fuel the fire inside you. His chest was against your back, and you could even smell his aroma, feel his beard against your skin, the hairs around the base of his cock against your cunny… He was everywhere and you love it.
He takes no longer time to finish, yet against what you predicted, he does give you the pleasure of finishing inside you, burying himself balls deep. The pumps of his cock inside you as he cums makes you bite your lower lip, as he moans rather loudly for his stance. He leaves your insides full and sticky, perhaps too much, but again, he might not have had a proper release in years.
As the last ropes of cum came from his cock, he sighs back, as if the weight of it all came down to him. Yet he does not speak more about it, and you also don’t.
You wondered how to make prince Maekar come back to you. You decided, the very same night he fucked you, that you wanted him as your husband. Not Aerion, not Daeron. You wanted to have his babies, and perhaps if you married Aerion, they could pass as his. But you didn’t want his bastard, you wanted his legitimate babies, you wanted your offspring to call him father. You wanted to bounce on his dick every morning and get pounded from behind every night.
How… was the question that remained in your mind, even when the next morning, when you came to apologise from your unrestrained behaviour from the day before, as maidens were supposed to be pure until marriage, Prince Maekar took no mind in your words. As you were trying to get him to engage, to say something to your words so you could say “well, since you defiled me, you have to wed me” he simply took you in his bed, with no complaint from you.
And so you were wedded to him when his valet and maids found him eating your cunt.
Yet now, after your father and prince Baelor had arrived, the change of news had you smiling widely and being very welcoming to them both, as if you were already the Lady of Summerhall. You'll have to ask prince Baelor if you could be adressed as Princess (even if you had no grounds for that...)
As the announcement was made, Maekar had all of his Maekarlings lined up to welcome you as their future step-mother.
“I hope that we can set our differences aside” You say in a slightly mocking tone to Aerion, as you kiss both of his cheeks in a motherly way. You may never replace their mother, that much was true, yet you still hoped to care for all six of them... and maybe adding one or two children of your own to the family. “And perhaps even play cyvasse again.”
✧ | summary: Betrothed to prince Aerion, you have no taste for young princelings. With prince Maekar so nearby, you have one or two ideas in your mind to have your way... In the end, instead of a wife, Aerion ends up with a new mother. (based on THIS request!)
✧ | pairing: maekar 'the anvil' targaryen x lannister!reader.
✧ | tags: 18+, mdni, p in v sex, inappropriate relationship, age gap (reader is 19ish!!), oral sex, does this really count as cheating?? degradation, free use if you squint, headlock, freaky freaky use of “goodfather” (aka father-in-law), it is heavily implied reader is not a maiden and is a oldman lover…
✧ | note: hey... i know this took weeks to finish but i am very proud of it!! i know cyvasse wasn't a thing in westeros until 299ac but our reader knows how to play it... again, thank you to the lovely @faeryemperor for beta reading :-)
The trip to Summerhall was hell. Closest thing to hell you’ve ever experienced.
Casterly Rock was far enough that the whole trip was green trees, and playing with your puppy and asking your brother how much longer it would be.
“You’ll be meeting prince Aerion just to see if you fancy him,” your father had said, but you knew it was only an excuse to arrange a betrothal between you and him, whether you like it or not. You had heard your father talk about a wedding already, along with your brothers, which both Tybolt and Gerold agreed.
Your father was travelling later: first he would stop at King’s Landing, and then, conveniently come along with Prince Baelor after a week. You sometimes wondered if they thought you a lackwit, because the obviousness was something they had in abundance.
“If I marry Aerion, would we live in our own castle?” you ask, playing with the edge of the curtain from the wheelhouse. You could see Summerhall at the distance from here, you’d be there in less than half an hour.
“Prince Aerion” he corrects you, and then he answers “You’ll live at Summerhall, most likely”
“But Summerhall is Prince Maekar’s castle” You say to him. “I mean my own castle”
“Well, you’ll live there”
“And when Aerion’s father dies, Summerhall would go to him, right?”
“To prince Daeron” he reprimands you again “Address them properly or I shall make you.”
“Then I’ll marry prince Daeron,” you state, not caring about their plans for you. “He is unmarried as well, isn’t he?”
“You’ll marry prince Aerion.”
“I do not care about father’s plans for me. Or yours. Whose idea was it?”
“Gerold’s” Tybolt murmurs, looking through the window.
“Of course it was” you grumble. "I'm not a brooding mare for his political games, I'll have him know that."
Your scalp itches slightly, the hairstyle that the handmaiden had done was a bit too tight, and it seemed more like a towering braid more than a youthful style. You had ornate jewelry in your hair, and the necklace your brother made you wear was heavy, no doubt to make you more impressive.
“He had a good idea.” Tybolt says, “Prince Aerion is close to your age, it is a good match.”
“Prince Daeron is my age” You correct him. “Why don’t I marry him instead? Perhaps he’ll be the heir…”
“Because the offer was prince Aerion. Take it or marry an old lord.”
If old lords wouldn’t be so cruel, you’d marry one. You gave your first real kiss to one of your father’s friends, who was just widowed by his wife. Well, your first kiss was with a stable boy, and it was more than one, but it didn’t count, it was mere practice.
You remember playing coy, and then ending up sitting on his lap and kissing him. You were not a fool, you knew he could not bed you, but you didn’t care. You felt his lazy cock under your gown, and feigned innocence.
Arriving at Summerhall’s court was less appalling than you thought. Watching the windows on the Great Hall, painted with such precision and dedication, that the light coming from there, colours your feet and the end of your pretty red gown. It was quite modern, certainly not as old as your own home, but it was beautiful. You could certainly imagine yourself living here.
“I really like this castle,” you murmur to Tybolt.
“Do not mess this up, then, and you’ll live here with your husband the prince”
You squint up at him. “I won’t mess it up.”
As you walk in the long hall, you note lots of portraits hanging for anyone to see. The first one is of the Good King, next to his sister, Princess Daenerys. She had been married to the queen’s younger brother, shipped off to Dorne, away from rebellions and enjoying her water gardens. And the pale woman, wearing a hennin and pale colours, next to Daeron and sitting next to Daenerys is the late Queen Naerys.
The next portraits were no different, of King Daeron and Queen Myriah, the next one of the royal couple and his dragonlings. Then, prince Maekar with his brothers, Baelor Breakspear, Aerys, Rhaegel… and then him. He seemed too prideful and perhaps he was; you are yet to know him in some minutes. He looked handsome, strong and tall. You wonder if Aerion is anything like him, so you could have a feast with your eyes in your bedding, just as you are now with this portrait.
Soon, the intimate tone of Summerhall hangs onto you; it was no mystery that court was rarely held here, why no grand feasts or tourneys, this was a family home. Full of intimate portraits of the royal family, of Prince Maekar and his family, portraits of his wife and their children, all six of them.
“That’s Aerion” Tybolt points to the frowny kid next to his father. He was not as tall as the brownish haired one, yet he resembled his father very little. At least in his Targaryen features, because his face was practically a copy of the late Dyanna Dayne.
“He’s like his mother,” you whisper to Tybolt. “In anything but hair.”
“Well, hope and pray to the Mother that your babes look anything like you. He’s got more Dornish blood in him than Targaryen”
“Do you think we could buy a dress like the Queen’s?” You then ask him, as you point to Queen Myriah’s young portrait.
Tybolt slaps your hand and scolds you from your insolence, ashamed of you. “You insolent child, behave for once in your life and realise this isn’t about you.”
You look at the portrait of prince Maekar’s family, wandering from Prince Maekar to Aerion. You’re wrong brother, you think, this is all about me.
Prince Maekar greets your brother first, and you watch curiously at his tall form and stoic face. Your father spoke lots about prince Baelor, about the Good King, but never about the last offspring of king Daeron and his beloved Queen. You imagine all Targaryens to be handsome, and Maekar is a good looking man.
He looks somewhat stern, like a parent who never stops disciplining their kids. Perhaps he is, but you don’t know of such a thing yet. At the same time, he looks like he is one second from rolling his eyes and walking away.
“And this is my baby sister” Your brother presents you, and you look at him with your best charming smile. You had to stop yourself from biting your lip as you looked at his father, unimpressed.
“Aerion, boy, come at once.”
And there’s Aerion. He was not ugly, he was rather handsome. He dressed richly, all velvets and he looked his very best. He had rather silver gold hair, and you thought that perhaps your babies would have blonde hair.
“My sweet lady,” Aerion said, bowing to press a kiss on your hand, and you did a courtesy to him, with a most empty smile. “You are as beautiful as your portrait.”
“Thank you, my prince.”
“My father was right, he got me the most beautiful bride.”
“Did you not choose me yourself?” you ask, your tone sounding naive but you tried to get information from him.
“No, my father did. I asked him to choose the best beauty, and I would wed her.”
You look at prince Maekar with a bashful smile, because he was the one to choose you to be his son’s bride, and Aerion asked for the most beautiful. He’d marry a rock if his father deem it the most gorgeous, yet it was Maekar who thought you the best beauty.
“I’m glad I was the one chosen, then.”
You had high hopes for the match. The rumours of the prince being quite monstrous had not fallen on deaf ears, not on your part. But any boy like that was only one neglected of affections, and even if Aerion had a big loving family, he did not have a mother anymore. Perhaps it was a matter of spoiling him, making sure to complete his whims and assure him of loving yet empty words.
Aerion was very charming, when his father was present. He helped you get upstairs, holding your hand in a chivalrous way, helping you sit and even making a toast on your union.
“A toast for my bride to be,” he had said. “For the union of our houses.”
Your eyes were on prince Maekar, who seemed pleased by his son’s chivalry. His eyes were on yours, and you know when a man desires a woman. You were not an imbecile, as your brothers liked to tell you. You just knew how to play your cards.
“That's sweet of you, my prince,” you had said when he was seated back again by your side.
“Ah. yes,” he had said, as he picked up his wine.
“I hope we can have a pleasant marriage…” you start saying, full of bullshit but it was more like a diplomatic phrase.
Not that Aerion was ugly. He was handsome and fashionable, perhaps a bit too much. Still, when you marry him and become the wife of a prince, surely you can have more elaborate outfits. And he’ll be… like an accessory for you.
Prince Maekar drank by his son’s side, scolding Daeron from drinking the wine too quickly. Then, you felt motivated to say.
“I thank you, your highness,” you say, only to address him. Your tone was different, though, more interested in him, trying your best at playing subtle and seductive. “For welcoming my brother and I into your home. It is very beautiful.”
Maekar raised one eyebrow, as Aerion simply ignored the conversation. It isn’t like Maekar’s face was rid of the scowl, but at least he seems more interested in you than his son.
“It will be your home too” he says simply, as the servants place food on his plate before anyone else, “after you marry Aerion.”
You smile, and nod. “Thank you. I look forward to it.”
“Along with my daughters, Summerhall will be full of beauties once again.”
Aerion rolled his eyes, as he snapped his fingers to ask a servant to serve his plate after his father’s. It was a bit disappointing, that by comparison, he will be your husband, the one who would come into your rooms every night, get between your legs and fill you up with his seed.
The next few days, you spend time with his siblings, explore Summerhall, long halls and chambers, getting in every corner of it and later getting scolded by Tybolt for being improper, and you’d always end up in the gardens.
As you were bent over, trying to see the small bird nest under a shrub, where you could hear the loud chirps of the babies, you heard a small cough behind you.
As you moved back, you saw your soon-to-be Goodfather standing behind you, with crossed arms. Your cheeks get red, as you look at him with a shy glance, for meddling in his garden.
“My prince!” You say, standing up almost with a jump. “I… I was just- Apologies” you say, bowing slightly. “I was seeing a bird nest”
Maekar had seen the small lady around, wearing rich red with gold details and exploring his house as if it was an old relic that a Maester has fun with.
“Don’t bow,” he grumbles, his hands on his side rather awkwardly. “Come, walk with me.”
You walk along with him, as you try to appear more womanly. More mature, as if you did not care he asked that.
He pretends he does not notice.
“I have been meaning to speak with you,” he starts simply, walking ahead and you try to keep up with him.
“Oh, that’s sweet of you-” you say with a girlish smile, so he did think of you and wanted to speak with you!
“About Aerion.”
“Ah.”
The disappointed tone does not go unnoticed by him. He ignores it, and he keeps going: “I hoped that Daeron would marry first, but my brother set the match. It was I that chose you, but my brother’s idea.”
You try to think why he’s exactly telling you this. Why do you care that he wanted Daeron to marry first? But you nod, listening to him as if he was telling you something interesting.
“Aerion is still a boy,” his tone is plain, yet thoughtful. “He's a little younger than you. And I agreed with my brother that perhaps being wed would bring some… fucking sense to him, and more maturity, as the head of your household”
Yeah, he would absolutely be the head of the household…you think, rolling your eyes. Men and their foolishness.
“Absolutely, my prince,” you say, nodding along to his words. “I’ll do my very best to obey his decisions for our household.”
“I am to be your good-father. We’ll be family,” he says simply. “You can tell me the truth.”
“It is the truth.”
He didn’t buy a single fucking word.
“You seem like a nice lady. I see your wit, and I hope Aerion can appreciate it.”
“Thank you, my prince,” you say to him, softly. “May I call you father once I wed Aerion?”
The question surprises him, but he seems a bit unimpressed at the same time. “However you fancy.”
“And what does he fancy?” You ask, trying not to end the conversation with the lovely prince. Perhaps he is a grumpy old man, who curses for each word he says, but how lovely your good-father is.
“Well, he does like dragons. He likes sparring,” he starts listing things off. “He used to like fishing before his mother passed.”
“A shame I’m no Tully” you say with a soft tone, giggling.
“... Heh. Right” Perhaps it does not amuse him that much, but he seems pleased with you. “You’re quite the beauty, he will fancy you,” he explains, “he is a simple creature, as we all men are.”
At the compliment, you smile. And then – “Would he like Cyvasse?”
“What the fuck is Cyvasse?”
There you were, sitting with Aerion in the great Hall as you explained Cyvasse to him, to Maekar, and to Aegon. The three of them listened to your explanation, and then Aerion smiled at you.
“Oh, there is a Dragon?”
“Yes!” You say smiling to him. “This one” You say, extending your hand to pick his piece and giving it to him.
You look at prince Maekar, as if trying to prove how you were a great bride for his son, and how you will tame him, be gentle with him and loving, as a mother would be.
Yet when you were alone, sitting in one of the private court chambers, being chaperoned by Daeron, who was drunk in his seat and half dead, which did not really count as chaperoning, you tried to actually play cyvasse with Aerion, he showed his true nature.
He was a brat. And if you knew one thing, is that only one of you two could be a brat.
“You have to move something else than the dragon,” you grit your teeth at him, moving the Elephant. “My prince.”
“Shut up,” he murmurs, shushing you for the fifth time.
“I taught you all the pieces, do you need me to repeat? The Dragon is the easy choice…”
“I remember, I’m not a lackwit.”
“There are many other pieces to defend the King-”
“My grandsire is a dragon himself. You won’t tell a prince of the realm how to defend a Dragon King.”
You made a face, trying to ignore the ick growing inside your gut. He was so ridiculous, you soon realised, speaking of such nonsense that had nothing to do with him. Since when cyvasse is about King Daeron?
“That literally makes no sense,” you say to him. “Do you always speak such nonsense?”
“Shut. Up”
You are set to kill his fucking dragons every single time. You move the catapult to make sure he does anything else.
“You whore,” he murmurs as you have him surrounded by a catapult and a trebuchet.
“What did you call me?” You say, not allowing yourself to be insulted. “Learn how to play.”
“You are a fucking whore, do you know what I’ll do to you for killing my dragon?”
“Aerion Bratflame is what they should call you, you corrupt son of a bitch!”
Your brothers always scolded you for being a brat. They loved you, and no doubt they spoiled you. But even they had a line for patience for your antics. For speaking up, for demanding things and thinking yourself superior. You have received more scoldings and slaps in the wrists than most, but you always received double the gowns and gold accessories, plus with affections and praises, so it doesn’t really count.
And they will be really mad now, for ruining the political bond they tried so hard to gain. But with good reason, you think. If you are to get hit for fighting with your betrothed, let the reason be worth it.
You pull his hair as if he was a girl, you used to do so with one of your ladies-in-waiting when she spoke against your back, making her repeat herself if she dared to repeat ill words. And when she did, you pulled her hair hard enough as you scolded her.
Aerion is too caught off guard as you do so, and his long golden locks made it easier to pull off his scalp. Bet no knight did so in battle, pulling him by his silky soft hair, and as you slap him harshly, he catches you by the throat.
You do not recall if it is Aegon the one that finds you and alerts Maekar, or if Daeron woke up from his drunk slumber. You only remember having two guards, one holding him as he still held the end of your gown, ripping a chunk off. You are kicking like a mad kid, cursing at him for calling you a whore.
“You’re the fucking whore, you fucking empty headed silver cunt!” you scream off as the guard picks you up and walks away, and when you see Aerion being dragged away, you end up with one last word. “...Brat!”
Aerion had ripped your braids off their place and you remember kicking his ribs like a rabid cat. You had ripped his earring from his ear, destroying it, as he had left bruises on your throat and in your breasts, ripping your dress like a feral beast would. There were some scratches too, but they wouldn't last until the next morning.
“Are you stupid?” Your brother scolds you as the very kind maester tries to apply a cream on your breasts “Oh, I believe you are a lackwit now, truly, how dare you strike a prince?”
“He called me a whore,” you say to him, not backing down.
“You ripped his earlobe, do you know that?” Tybolt says, exasperated. He was never this upset, unknowing what to truly do at this. “It is lucky prince Maekar hasn’t had your hands cut off for slapping a royal prince.”
“He’ll be fine,” you murmured, as the maester’s hands were steady. It stings a little.
“We tried so hard to find you a fine match. No Lannister has married the royal house. Martells, Velaryons, Arryns, Dondarrions even. Blackwoods and Brackens have been mistresses, even a fucking Lyseni before us.”
You sigh, and you look at your hands. “Prince Aerion is a beast”
“That I know,” Tybolt says as he sighs. “Yet sometimes that is not what matters.”
“Are you seeing my breasts?! The beast scratched me! Over cyvasse!”
“I hate to give reason to Father, but if he had mauled you it is irrelevant here,” Tybolt says, having enough of your attitude. “Don’t you ever learn? Do you think everything is truly about you?”
You remain quiet, your head hanging low like a scolded puppy. You had messed it up, after promising that you wouldn’t, but in your opinion, Aerion was not worth the trouble.
“You’ll apologise to the prince, you hear?” He says, his tone stern. “Or I’ll marry you to the first commoner I find, and then we’ll see if you are so proud about it. I mean it. We have spoiled you far too long, and I can’t deal with you any more. What am I to do with you?”
The threat frightens you. You know he means it, and even if it is a decision at the moment, he could. And a nobody could be your husband because you struck Aerion.
So, you go to the prince to apologise.
Prince Maekar was on his study, and you meekly knocked on the door. He was seated by the window, his face formed in a scowl as he looked at the large gardens of Summerhall. Strange was to think that this was once a fortified castle, which now was more like a home for all dragonlings.
Your maid had undone your braids, brushed your hair gently and massaged your hair after prince Aerion had roughly pulled it. You had a sleeveless dress, the red material embroidered with deep yellow details, and it was one of the dresses you had planned for a garden tea with the prince.
He turns just to see who was intruding; it was that lady again. He sighs, a hand pressing against his forehead as he just seems tired, aging by each second that passes.
“I’m sorry for intruding” you start gently. “My brother has asked me to apologise to you”
What a lie but you don’t have to say that. Not your fault that Tybolt didn’t specify which prince you needed to apologise. You choose Maekar out of your whims, because if you don’t want the son, there is always the father…
“I do apologise, my prince. I am terribly sorry” you say, and you are not truly sorry. You are sorry that the consequences have come, but Aerion deserved it. He deserved a whooping in his royal arse, in your opinion.
“The maester had to stitch Aerion’s ear.” He says, his feet against the edge of the window, as he pushed himself into the chair. “He is a lot to handle now.”
You remain quiet. “I apologise… for that.” More sincere now, part of you was glad that he got his earlobe ripped in half, but you didn’t want to harm the prince. You weren’t cruel like him, wanting to truly harm him.
“Lots of apologies” he murmurs, bitterly. “My son says you attacked him for that fucking cyvasse game of yours”
“It wasn’t…!” You start to defend yourself loudly ,yet you bite your tongue. “It wasn’t like that” you say more quietly, a feel of shame to act like a child in front of him, all stern and scolding to you, even if you were not his daughter. What the fuck, it was making you wet.
“Is that so?” He retorts with little interest.
“I reminded him that there were more pieces other than the dragon,” you say, telling the truth. “That he had to protect his King too, and he spoke of… the Good King, and… about a Dragon prince, and when I took his dragon…”
Maekar loudly sighs at that, as if he knew what shit Aerion had pulled for that. He needed not to hear more. “You should have known how to handle him.”
“Well, you are right, he is a lot to handle” You say to him, anger at bay. Why was everyone mad at you about hitting a mad prince? He had it coming.
“He’s still my son” He reminds you sternly. “You may be all fucking pretty and a lady, but he is still my boy and the blood of the dragon”
“Well, your boy is corrupt and… and… and he hit me as well ”
He squints his eyes,in a grimace showing displeasure. He disapproves, you know, and he scrunches his nose. “You are just like him” He rolls his eyes. “To the doom of you both, you are already betrothed. You and I could save us some screaming from our eldest brothers, knowing this match is still on even if you murder my son. So I tell you once again, endure it”
It is as if everyone asks the impossible of you. You had not wed him yet, and he is atrocious already, not hesitating on hitting you as no prince should lay a finger on a lady. You wonder if he gets it from his great-grandsire, late King Aegon the Unworthy. That raw cruelness had not passed to the King, or the heir nor prince Maekar, but to the second son of his last grandchild.
Would your children get the madness too? Become a rake or a cruel man just because of their Targaryen blood?
“You expect me to endure this?” You ask, pulling your cleavage lower, as prince Maekar’s eyebrow shot up in quiet, subtle disbelief. Not surprised at the wounds, but at your boldness. “This is what he did to me, telling me that he will parade me naked on Summerhall so everyone could see the whore I am.”
Maekar sighs, one finger in the bridge of his nose. He doesn't answer at first, as if thinking his next words.
“Cover yourself” he mumbles. If you weren’t so attentive, you think he was dismissing you, but he was not. You could see his gaze on your breasts
“You cannot let him destroy me” you keep on pushing. “What of… what of our bedding? He’ll scratch me and hit me, bruise me all over… and I am a maiden, what if he does something too harshly so he bruises my womb and then we can’t have offspring?”
“That won’t happen” Maekar rolls his eyes, ladies and their imagination “Aerion knows how to treat and please a woman.”
“Does he, truly?”
“You’re exasperating,” he says in a scolding tone. “Of course he does. He is a prince of the realm, and I have taught him properly how to. I taught him myself.”
The thought of Maekar, your future good father, knows how to please a woman. If he had six children, you don’t doubt it. He doesn’t strike you as the type of man to force his bride, as other lordlings do. And with all the memories of his late wife, her paintings, still the decorations that would belong in starfall, you don’t doubt that his Lady Dyanna loved him. And how he pleased her.
“I beg of you” you say then, getting on your knees. “Do not let him have my maidenhead.”
What’s left of it, anyways. Not that you had ever been with another man, but your fingers did a good job. You could kiss all the men you wanted, but you knew that if you didn’t have your maidenhead, you won’t be as worth it.
“Please” you say “Make sure I am ready for him… You tell me to endure it, but I am not sure how to do so. So… Teach me.”
Prince Maekar was a widower. He had loved fiercely his late Lady, yet he was still a man, carnal and lustful. He had always been driven by lust, and it had its fruits, since he had six children. Even more if Dyanna hadn’t taken moon tea.
He has no wish to remarry yet… you are a happy, dirty little secret.
And you are no stupid girl. When he doesn’t pull you away, when he doesn’t speak of throwing you into the streets for debauchery, you move between his legs to nuzzle the bulge on his breeches. He was not fully hard yet, you knew that perhaps with age it took slightly longer.
Undoing his breeches has your mouth watering, and looking up you could see his surprised (yet, as always, unimpressed) look.
“Please?”
“What, do you want me to defilling your fucking throat as well?”
You bashfully nod, and he knows now that you are full of shit. Your weak moments are used to your advantage, taking him by his sympathy and old man feelings.
“Won’t Aerion…?”
“I don’t want to imagine” He groans, as his left hand comes to cradle the back of your head. “Go on.”
That little encouragement is enough for you to keep going. Your fingers work to undo the laces of his breeches, moving a bit too eagerly. Maekar isn’t pleased, at least that’s what you can see from his facial expressions, perhaps he thinks of you as indecorous, as damned goods. But he is not stopping you, not at all.
And that’s enough for you. It is a silent agreement, that perhaps he dares not to name. Yet it is a yes. And so, you go on.
Maekar’s dick is perhaps different from what you expected, or what you imagined as you eyed him from the other end of the table, eating alongside the beast of your betrothed. It was of a considerable size, yet much paler than you thought. It feels hard in your hand, the tip was red as you pressed a soft kiss there.
Watching the prince close his eyes and sigh, that same disappointed sigh you had heard so many times in your short stay in Summerhall. It was hot, in a way, knowing his sounds remained the same.
“Do not tease, girl” he says, slightly bitter, with no patience.
You suck his cock at your own rhythm, not so much to tease him, but so you can enjoy it too. It was slow, trying to get adjusted to the taste of him, of a very much real cock in your mouth. Maekar looks down at you, the sight alone could be enough for him to blow his load right then and there. Yet he is not a greenboy, and watching you little by little swallow more of his cock was more erotic than having you enthusiastically trying to gag yourself on it.
Strangely, you knew what you were doing. Perhaps too much. And he wasn’t a fool like Aerion would be, he notices that as his hand slightly guides you to take more and more of him, little by little.
“You’re good at this” he grunts, taking your pretty Lannister hair in his hands, all loose and without any overly complicated braids. “You just love fucking cock, hm?”
He feels your throat trying to accommodate his cock, the feeling of him in your mouth had you closing your eyes in delight at the feeling, as you felt a twitch of excitement in between your legs. You nod to his words, because having his cock in your mouth was the best thing that has happened to you since arriving at Summerhall.
You pull back as he makes you, mostly to let you breathe once again since you refused to stop. “Yes…” you murmur, looking up at him.
You were shameless, as you moved your mouth lower to show some of your love to his stones. It takes him by surprise feeling your mouth leaving open mouthed kisses upon his balls, filthy and wet as he lets out a moan.
“Fuckin’ hells…” he groans, watching you enthusiastically lick his balls.
A shiver runs over his spine, weakening his legs as his muscles relax over your ministrations. He had no idea how you knew that, and more so, how he was so surprised (and aroused) at the feeling of your wicked tongue on his stones.
He watches you, eyes closed in delight as you appear to have the best feast in all seven kingdoms. He would love to grab your hair, and simply fuck your pretty face, using your mouth as he pleases.
Yet he knew he was not going to last long, feeling his balls tightening up at your wicked attention. He was not so young anymore, and sure, he had energy, but years also took a toll on his body. Especially the late stress he had been feeling since becoming a widower.
“That’s enough” he says, pulling you away.
You seem disappointed, a bit dumbfounded at first as your lips form in a pout. “But…”
“Enough”
“But I want to make you finish”
“You’re a maiden” he reminds you, a bit stern in his tone.
“Yes” you say, yet he can’t tell if it is true or false. “But… but please, I want your cock so bad…” you whine “It is so tasty, let me have it again.”
“You’re…”
“Please”
Maekar is a weak, weak man.
He pulls you in his arms, not even bothering to kiss you as he simply hides his face in your chest. Gods, he adores a good pair of breasts, no matter how they were, he always found himself obsessed and latching onto them as if he was still a babe.
He is careful not to kiss too harshly, since you had scratches that his own son had made, yet he was still a man possessed by the lust, as he pulled the cleavage lower and lower, until he felt the fabric giving in.
“Such a needy slut with this pretty sweet body of yours” his tone is heated, as he turns you around to his will, not weightening anything to him. You suppose that the Anvil would not be anything but Strong.
You barely notice how he walks with you, practically dragging you and pushing you until you are against his desk.
“You’re trouble, I knew from the moment I saw you” Maekar says, his hands gripping against your waist as he accommodates to his whims. “I knew Aerion won’t know how to deal with you, only giving you a bloody lip each time” he positions you so your torso is against the wood. “He’s only a boy, but you need a firmer hand, don’t you?”
You understand what he means, Aerion wouldn’t know, but I would. That’s what he wants to say, yet he never verbalizes it. He doesn’t need to, because you know it.
“I do” your voice is almost breathless as you answer him. “I always have”
“You are a slut, hm?” He murmurs, yet his tone is not reproachive, it is almost fond. “You want to fuck your bethrothed’s father?”
You nod softly, feeling his hands moving under the skirts of your simple dress. Thank the Gods you were using one of those simple empire gowns, because if not, he would be fighting with layers and layers of clothing.
“Yes” you murmur, not feeling an ounce of shame. Not one, because you knew that he wanted it too.
“Can’t hear you.”
“Yes, my prince” you repeat a bit louder, rolling your eyes like when Gerold scolded you.
It should be humiliating, being a lady of your station being used by a prince of the realm like this. You knew that the royal family had enough of mistresses and bastards for a lifetime alone, so being under prince Maekar as he moves your skirts out of the way – it was pure desire.
You thought what would happen then. You’d love to be his wife, but how messy would it be. Would he even want that? Probably not. Perhaps you’ll marry Aerion, and perhaps he’ll send you both away after this. Perhaps he won’t.
“You feel that?” His cock is heavy against you from behind, as he places his hands on your hips to move you closer against his crotch.
“Yeah”
“You’re going to feel it all inside you” his tone was sultry, caressing the skin of your hips.
Your mind was absolutely blank, trying to ground yourself as you realised; you made it. You were actually going to fuck your betrothed’s father.
“So wet, darling…” Maekar murmurs more to himself, but you still hear it.
The feeling of his sticky head against your slit made you whimper softly, trying to have a hold of anything on his desk just to anchor yourself and not fall on your face. You feel him leaning closer his chest against your back, just to whisper something in your ear.
“You’ll remember this cock each time another man fucks you” his voice is raspy, yet somewhat soft as he pulls back to accommodate himself and push his dick inside you.
He feeds his cock little by little, groaning loudly at the feeling of your warm cunt. His hands grip your hips as you moan loudly at the welcomed intrusion.
“Fuck” you whimper loudly, feeling the girthy length make room inside you. You felt full, the feeling on your lower tummy overwhelming all of your other senses.
“You’re full of me” He groans, leaning back slightly to watch his cock nestled inside your cunt. “So full, aren’t you?”
“Yes, yesyesyes.”
It was obvious that prince Maekar was experienced, as he starts rocking his hips as his lust grows inside, the little restraint he had slipping away with each thrust. His hands grip your flesh hard enough that you wouldn’t be surprised that it would end up bruised. And you didn’t care.
You would have thought that Maekar would be absolutely silent while having intercouse, but surprisingly, he let out loud groans of delight or some grunts as he pounded you from behind. He is an avid lover in bed, that’s sure.
“Fuckin’ hell…” He groans, his balls slapping against your flesh as he moves you closer to his groin.
His thrusts were quick and hammering, pounding deep in you in a way you had never thought possible. It was intense, no doubt, having a girthy cock like his inside your cunt.
“Full of your goodfather,” he repeats, as if the mere thought simply made everything better. That fact turned you on, and to your surprise, also turned him on.
“Harder, harder” you beg of him, trying to maintain yourself stable under his harsh thrusts, and you wish for him to go on and on until you couldn’t breathe from the pleasure.
The obscene squelch that each of his thrusts made was only working to make you moan louder. His balls glistened, coating from your juices as he pumped on your cunt harder as requested. His cock was no different, and that thought made you moan out loud.
You feel one of his arms wrap around your neck, just to hold you still as he leans to speak to you. “Tight little cunt…” he manages to say in between thrusts. “Look at how you take it, made for this,” he grunts.
You had your mind blank, only feeling the pounding on your cervix as you would wish to ask him to fill you full of his seed. Yet you know that he won’t, because having a bastard would be his ruin… and yours. Still, that thought was enough to make you moan loudly before coming undone in his cock.
“Fuck, fuck, yes!” You moan, feeling drool fall from your mouth. This man was fucking you into patheticness and you did not care.
Maekar groans as he feels your pussy tightening around his cock, still thrusting and overstimulating you. He was all over you, his arm tightening around your neck, not enough to choke, but to help you feel his control over you. His hand gripped your shoulder, as the sounds he makes fall right into your ear serving to fuel the fire inside you. His chest was against your back, and you could even smell his aroma, feel his beard against your skin, the hairs around the base of his cock against your cunny… He was everywhere and you love it.
He takes no longer time to finish, yet against what you predicted, he does give you the pleasure of finishing inside you, burying himself balls deep. The pumps of his cock inside you as he cums makes you bite your lower lip, as he moans rather loudly for his stance. He leaves your insides full and sticky, perhaps too much, but again, he might not have had a proper release in years.
As the last ropes of cum came from his cock, he sighs back, as if the weight of it all came down to him. Yet he does not speak more about it, and you also don’t.
You wondered how to make prince Maekar come back to you. You decided, the very same night he fucked you, that you wanted him as your husband. Not Aerion, not Daeron. You wanted to have his babies, and perhaps if you married Aerion, they could pass as his. But you didn’t want his bastard, you wanted his legitimate babies, you wanted your offspring to call him father. You wanted to bounce on his dick every morning and get pounded from behind every night.
How… was the question that remained in your mind, even when the next morning, when you came to apologise from your unrestrained behaviour from the day before, as maidens were supposed to be pure until marriage, Prince Maekar took no mind in your words. As you were trying to get him to engage, to say something to your words so you could say “well, since you defiled me, you have to wed me” he simply took you in his bed, with no complaint from you.
And so you were wedded to him when his valet and maids found him eating your cunt.
Yet now, after your father and prince Baelor had arrived, the change of news had you smiling widely and being very welcoming to them both, as if you were already the Lady of Summerhall. You'll have to ask prince Baelor if you could be adressed as Princess (even if you had no grounds for that...)
As the announcement was made, Maekar had all of his Maekarlings lined up to welcome you as their future step-mother.
“I hope that we can set our differences aside” You say in a slightly mocking tone to Aerion, as you kiss both of his cheeks in a motherly way. You may never replace their mother, that much was true, yet you still hoped to care for all six of them... and maybe adding one or two children of your own to the family. “And perhaps even play cyvasse again.”
◟ content ⸝⸝ straight to smut , biting , clawing , super short , marks , wife!reader , mention of blood ! ୧ hold me back ! ♡
Aerion Targaryen sees himself as dragon ― a superior , standing above anyone else. His yell sounds like ancient growls , his fingers are like claws. He hoards , and conquers. Especially your body. Because him wanting to be more dragon than man , becomes awfully clear whenever he has you ― his pretty wife ― underneath his body , and at the other end of his heat. His devotion.
He has you crowded underneath his hot flushed body , your sweat slick back clinging to the furs lining your marriage bed ― his hips snapping against your own like he was trying to mold your insides to his fitting. This wasn't a conceiving ritual , or love. This had everything to do with conquering your body , making it pulsate with something only he could coax from you.
And he doesn't avert his gaze from your own ― he can't. Steel blues eagerly drinking in each of your pleasured expressions. It's just all for him... , all because of him. Even the furrow of your brows when he drags his tip deliciously close to your cervix has him full of satisfaction and something dangerously close to pride. You just do so wonderful in taking him ― always have , always will.
His large hand palms your face , squishing your cheeks into a reluctant pout before hungrily forcing you into a kiss that's more lust than love. His tongue drags against your own , making you taste him in a way that's almost primal ― smoked salmon from supper , and a hint on spiced wine. Your body arches into his , legs trembling when his other hand forces one of your thighs to open wider , to give him more space ( if possible ). The kiss is more tongue than teeth ― more spit than mouth ... , and despite being focused on how his thick head continuously bullies his way into your softest parts , you feel his teeth. Sharp and unapologetic as he bites your lip until it draws blood.
He hears you gasp , feels you clench , and gods if that doesn't make him want to bite you harder. More. Until you're trembling , and breathless and ...
"Ow !" Aerion groans when your fingers fist his silver hair , practically tugging him away from your face before your animal of a husband can do any more damage. "May you stop digging your teeth into me, I am not sheep!" And you watch as he licks his lips ― tasting your blood with a gaze that makes it feel more intimate than it should be. And your frowning gaze has his cock twitch inside of you , gaze blown and just so close to losing it already. But he stills inside you.
His eyes skip over yours , assessing. Then his thumb skims your bottom lip.
"You're not," he agrees , leaning down , voice rumbling near your ear. His teeth are dangerously close to your throat again. "If I wanted prey , I would've taken a doe as my wife." He doesn't let you reply , or defend , because his hips shift just the slightest bit ― until his tip is snug with the spot that always has you see stars. And it's enough to have you distracted , enough to let him mouth the side of your neck without you keeping him away from you.
And you don't fight him in his claim.
So when he bites again you don't relent. His teeth skip over the sensitive skin ― sharp , like you imagine a dragons to be , sinking into unmarked skin like he's genuinely trying to rip out a piece of you. Your nails dig into his back , anchoring yourself while he thrusts with new fervor , until you're sure you're leaving indents in hot flushed skin.
The sharper his mouth marks you , the harder you claw a path down his body.
And when you know you must've drawn blood too ... only then does he completely press himself flush into your cunt , spilling into you with shuddering breaths ...
simon's riley cock so big you can take just a tip, he's aware of his own size, the thick, veiny girth with mushroom tip that no one could take before at all. even sucking him off is a real struggle, making your lips stretch uncomfortably, sensitive skin left torn in the corners, aching and stinging. so you found another way to make you both enjoy this.
not just with your palm, although he enjoys the feel of your smooth, tight fist stroking his warm cock, length pulsing and throbbing, beading precum down your fingers and knuckles. the sight is enough to make him near his orgasm, abdominal muscles tensing, rippling as simon grunts and moans. biting at his pale lip, hips bucking up to fuck in the tight squeeze.
rudy crown of his cock coated with beading, glistening drops of precum, as simon slaps his still hard shaft against the puffy, slick folds of your pussy. your hips squirming at the feeling, moaning short and sweet, and he shudders at both the feeling and the sight of you. spreading your pretty cunt, showing your pulsing, wet hole that waits for him, as he rubs down, smearing the tacky liquid from his length against your fluttering lips.
making you arch up into the feeling, grasp onto his forearm that is braced next to your head, nails sinking into the ink tattooed over his pale skin. his leaky tip breaches your hole, sinking along the snug, warm walls of your pussy, feeling every pulse and clamp that is already makes simon tremble. thighs tensing as they pump forward, sheathing in as much of his gorged girth as he can.
simon ruts in messily, unstoppable in his sloppy, frantic thrusts, groaning and grunting at the feeling, sweat dripping down his rippling back as he tenses against the tingling sensation. lightheaded to the point where his eyes turn opaque, pupils dilated, drunk at the fast approaching orgasm that pools low in his stomach. your mewling gasps a tumbling background to the rising, slick squelch of your cunt.
you both cling to this sparkling feeling, how good it feels, being so close to sink fully into your tiny, needy hole that clenches in rapid pulses around him. but simon has to hold back, calloused palm splaying across at your fattened clit, brushing a thumb over, rolling. it's enough to make your tight gummy walls clench down harshly, gushing unexpectedly, bringing him to his release faster than ever.
[𝝑𝑒] ⠀::⠀ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. your boyfriend buys you a pretty golden necklace with his initials, not knowing it’ll only intensify the urge to claim you as his.
tags. olderbf!gojo satoru x gf!reader. smut, pwp. age gap (reader early 20’s, gojo early 30’s). possessive. breēding kink; crēampies. pregnancy kink? reader gets called ‘baby, sweetheart, mama’ :: wc. 1.7k :: ac. @/3-aem
“look at that, baby,” satoru coos as he watches the golden necklace bounce around your collarbone with each wet thrust. it’s a 24k gold necklace he bought just today, with his initials on it. a pretty damn expensive purchase.
something inside him stirred the moment he put it on you. satoru couldn’t help himself from pinning you to the couch and claiming you as his own for the nth time. it doesn’t matter how many times he fucks you; it’s never enough.
the letters ‘sg’ are shimmering under the light of the living room. he’s grinning from ear to ear, nearly cumming from the sight of you wearing that necklace alone. it’s a sign of possession to him.
you’re his—you’re only his. he’s the only one who can touch you like this.
“shit, ‘t makes me wanna put a ring on it,” satoru hisses, one of his hands pressing down on your lower tummy.
you gasp and clutch at his broad back, nails digging into his flesh quite painfully.
“i think i’d engrave my initials on the inside of the ring too, what do ya think?”
each word is punctuated with a thrust. his hips are non-stop ramming into yours, claiming even the deepest spots of your body beneath him. he leans down to trail kisses down your sensitive neck, eliciting a couple whines from your lips.
“d’y wanna get married, sweetheart?”
the sudden proposal takes you off guard. you can’t believe satoru would ask such a thing while being balls deep inside you. you’re blabbering nonsense, your voice muffled due to the saliva building up in your mouth.
“m— married? babe, are you ser-” your question is left unanswered as your boyfriend kisses your plump lips.
satoru switches to a slow and gentle pace, grinding into your needy cunt until it leaves you shaking. his fingers play with the golden jewelry around your neck.
a necklace will do. as long as you’ll wear that accessory from this day forward, he’ll be satisfied. the urge to make you his forever partner could be satiated. for now, that is.
he knows you still have a bright future ahead of you, like getting your degree and first ever proper job.
“let’s have you finish university first, yeah?” satoru smiles down at you after detaching his lips from yours.
he watches the string of saliva hang between your mouths, giving a short hum once it snaps. his big hand slithers down to cup your breast and knead it, kissing your nipple whilst holding eye contact, “i can wait for you.”
satoru sighs as he rolls his tongue around your hardened nipple. he’s drooling over your breasts, a drunken glint in his eyes. he’s so obsessed with you to the point that he’d marry you right now if he could. that proposal wasn’t really a joke—but he figured that it also wasn’t the smartest.
he’ll give you a proper and serious proposal one day. though, now you know for sure that he’s gotten into this relationship with the thought of actually marrying you.
“but i also—fuck—can’t wait,” satoru whines, feeling your walls clamp down on his thick cock.
his dick is pulsing with need, exploring your squishy insides while his balls prepare to release all semen stored right into your fertile womb. even if you may take a pill to get rid of any unwanted consequences, the thought of seeing your tummy swell with his child is making the older man go insane.
satoru buries his face between your breasts and breathes heavily against your sweaty skin. his hips move with renewed vigour, his energy never depleting when it comes to pleasuring you, “wanna make you my wife ‘n breed this pretty pussy.”
you moan repeatedly, unable to stop yourself. especially after satoru frantically spews such lewd words. he’s getting lost in your cunt and the way it’s swallowing him in—into your pretty pussy that he owns. his pussy.
“wanna be your wife so bad, ‘toru,” you hiccup, nearly crying from the intense pleasure.
you’d love to be satoru’s wife. he already treats you so well while you’re his girlfriend, you can’t imagine how much better it’s going to get once you’re officially his. your stomach fills with butterflies at the thought of being able to call him your husband.
the white-haired man chuckles. his blue eyes stare down at you with nothing but love, “yeah? mh, i’ll treat you so well every single day. g’nna come home to you ‘nd give you some proper loving.”
satoru can already imagine it. coming home to you after a long day of work, needing a quick release. seeing you greet him at the door will send him into a frenzy. especially if you’re wearing an apron—he’s a sucker for domestic stuff.
you, his wife, taking care of him after a rough day at work. . . it’s a dream come true. he’ll spoil you with materialistic gifts and his unending love so you’ll live a happy life.
and don’t get him started on kids.
satoru ruts into you like his life depends on it, the hypnotising rhythm of your boobs jiggling in circles is making him drool. having a little family with you is his end goal. you’ll be such a good mother and he’ll be such an amazing dad; a perfect combination.
satoru can already picture the amount of times he’ll dump his cum inside of you, without any restrictions. without you taking a pill or him wrapping a condom around his dick. his libido is going to be at an all time high when the time comes.
even if he ages a bit, he’s sure that he’s going to be able to have sex with you non stop. you get him hard without fail every single time. you’re his everything—the apple of his eyes.
satoru nearly chokes on his own saliva. he pushes his cock in to the base, burying it as deep as possible. your fingers curl around the pillow you’re holding for support, your eyes rolling back. his pink tip hit the right spot. that sweet spot that makes you cum without fail.
satoru bites his bottom lip. the way he’s looking at you, with a possessive kind of love and lust, is simply too much. his oceanic eyes are glimmering with need. erotic images flash through his mind of him impregnating you, “going to put a baby into you as soon as you’re ready.”
your tummy fills with butterflies. the way he’s talking to you like you’re already a married couple is making your pussy even wetter than it already is. it’s like it’s begging satoru to give it to you already—to make it store all his cum.
his eyes roll back as he leans his forehead against your shoulder. he has to hold himself back from cumming too soon. he wants to cherish every second spent inside of your warm body.
satoru attaches his lips to your breasts again, “mhhh, y’re gonna look so beautiful pregnant, mama. those tits of yours. . .”
his voice is barely audible because he’s busy sucking on your nipples. your boyfriend is imagining the pair growing with each semester, filling out perfectly to store milk for the baby.
satoru cannot wait to be the reason why your body will change so much. you’ll be even prettier than you already are, that he can tell already. he’s going to give you gifts every day, to thank you for carrying his child. he’s going to spoil you rotten because you deserve it and so much more.
he can’t wait for the married life with you. many men dread that life, but that’s not the case with satoru. every day of his married life will be spent with his wife—you—and the honeymoon phase will never end. ever.
satoru’s cock is twitching and begging for the much needed release. he pounds you into the couch until you’re screaming in pleasure, feeling him so deep inside you. he’s so big, he’s stretching you out so well to the point of no return.
the older man grins at the sight of your already fucked out face, “y’r cunt is gonna be so swollen because of how much i’ll pleasure her—paint her all white with my cum.”
satoru’s nasty words are causing unspeakable things to your body. you’re on the brink of reaching that euphoric state. the dirty talk is too much to handle at this point. your limbs are tingling and your cunt is aching to be stuffed full of his hot semen.
“s-satoru, don’t say such stuff,” you comment in a shaky breath.
your head is spinning and your hands desperately reach out to hold onto his shoulders, squeezing the skin. your hips are bucking up lightly, your clit bumping against satoru’s pelvic area with each thrust, “i’m gonna cum if you keep saying that.”
your lover’s grin widens even more. he knows you enjoy it when he whispers such dirty stuff in your ear. that’s mainly the reason why he does it. he’s talked you through multiple orgasms before—it’s quite easy to do so with his husky voice and manly touch.
“that’s fine, baby,” satoru coos and leaves one last, sloppy kiss on your nipple before leaning in to attach his lips to yours. his tongue swirls around yours as you share your spit, the mixture trickling down your chins.
his hips don’t stop. he positions his lower body in an angle that gets you screaming for mercy, which he won’t do. he craves to ruin you on his cock, to see you melt with pleasure underneath him.
“make a mess on my dick while i make a mess inside of you,” satoru encourages you which seals the deal.
your body shakes as you feel the waves of pleasure run through your system. you can feel hot ropes of cum nestle deep inside of your cunt. your boyfriend shudders at the sensation and helps you ride your climax out.
he pushes in and back out a few times, lazily, his finger finding your clit to rub until you’ve calmed down. “good girl. y’ took all of it, hm? lovely,” satoru nearly collapses on top of you after the energy leaves his body, careful not to crush you underneath his weight.
he doesn’t bother to pull out. he keeps his cum plugged into you—relishing the moment of ecstasy. even if he can’t fully breed you now, he’ll wait until the day he can.
“i love you, wifey,” satoru kisses your temple, tiredly giggling at the nickname he gave you. in his mind, you are already his one and only woman.
𐔌 cw: pregnancy, children, minor anxiety and birth mentions, breeding and baby fever .ᐟ
there's wood carved dolls gathered in a neat row upon the hallway table, standing atop a delicate lace napkin, shaped as various wild animals your daughter so enjoyed playing with, shaking them eagerly in her tiny fist or attempting to gnaw and slobber all over the polished timber
these toys were the proud result of arthur’s labor, a task during which he had sliced his calloused, already scarred fingertips more than once, collecting numerous splinters that you were forced to pull out. frowning at his carelessness but smiling all the while, after all, how could you possibly fault him for wanting to craft something so beautiful for the baby?
you were brushing away the dust when the front door swung open, heavy boots thudding against the wooden floorboards, arthur stood there. the brown hair at his temples slick with sweat from the sweltering summer heat, collar of white and blue blouse hanging askew at his collarbones, fine hairs dusting sun tanned skin along scars and freckles.
your handsome man, holding a bag packed tight with baby clothes, the very items you had explicitly told him to stop buying since the trunk was already overflowing. the baby was only a few months old, yet here he was again, flinching playfully the moment your voice boomed across the hallway, his aquamarine eyes widening in guilt, plump lips stretched into a crooked, sheepish grin.
“mister morgan! what did i say about stop wasting money?” you pitched out, abandoning the dust cloth on the table as you braced both hands on your hips. the curves remaining striking even beneath the fabric of your dress, pregnancy was not that long ago, leaving behind a soft fullness he couldn't tear his eyes away from, not even if he were facing a scaffold.
setting the bag against the wall, arthur began to step toward you with an agonizing slowness, a predator by nature, gait loose and hips swaying as his hands outstretched. wrapping those corded, muscular forearms securely around your waist, large palms flattened against your plush ass without a shred of modesty.
face breaking into a wide, cat like grin, leaning in to press a slow peck to your scowling lips and let out a low, content purr, his dense eyebrows arching in amusement.
“guilty, darlin, aah'm so guilty.. just couldn't hold back, but she would need 'em anyways, ain't she?” he whispered against your earlobe, pressing a wet kiss against warm skin there. you leaned into his frame, rolling your eyes even as you nodded in agreement, because yes, she would, even if you already possessed enough garments to clothe the entire neighborhood.
arthur smelled of pine wood, heat, and honest sweat, with an underlying trace of something spicy. his beard feelt coarse and rough as you nuzzled the old scar on his chin, swatting playfully at his side the moment you felt his broad palms knead into your ass. a raspy laugh escaping him, brawny chest rumbling pleasantly against your own bosom.
as without another word, he began to guide you backward, away from the mundane chores and toward the sofa standing in the center of the living room. and you knew, by the sharp gleam in his squinting eyes, that you wouldn't be getting any work done anytime soon.
ever since the day you told him of the pregnancy, your palm cupped protectively around your womb, mind resolute that this child would see the world's light and hear the birds' song, arthur had been anxious. possessed by restless need to dote on you, he rarely left your side, pressing his chapped lips against your belly to whisper sweet nothings while you napped.
as you lay with heavy lids, fingers carding idly through the hair at his nape, knowing with absolute certainty that he was a man who would keep you and your child safe. and so it was, there were no more robberies, no more dangerous schemes from which one might not escape alive.
there was only honest, grueling work that he was healthy enough to endure. he delivered packages, unloaded crates of fresh produce at the general store, and helped repair everything around town from broken pens to heavy wagons, fetching whatever was ordered or crafting it with his own two hands.
refusing to let his child grow up without a proper, present father, a stark contrast to his own young years. the memory which haunted him still, as he stood watching your daughter sleep peacefully in the crib he had built for her from scratch, scars silvering on his palms.
arthur had been arguing with you for the simple reason that you worked far too much around the house, cleaning, cooking, and even trying to tend to the garden beneath the blistering sun while your body was still so weakened. his lips pressed into a thin line, arms crossed over his chest, sinews bulging as he watched you work.
he never told you that he still remembered the terrifying way you had screamed during labor, or how your skin had gone cold and clammy. yet, every single time, he would reach out to pull you tight against his side and plead “darlin', jus'... lemme do it instead, alright?” until you would eventually sigh and nod.
tugging him down into a kiss with your fingers twisted firmly into his belt loops, waiting for his stubbornness to melt until his shoulders sagged and his broad back bent to your will. you showered every mole on his chiseled face with kisses, giggling aloud when he scooped you up.
utterly unbothered by the rich soil from your hands and skirt that stained his own clothes. the quiet bubble shattered when your daughter began to babble demandingly from the open window of her room. not letting you turn around without another shared kiss, his mouth far more demanding this time, bruising and deep. leaving your lips swollen and heat pooling lower than your belly.
he held her close to his chest, having changed into a fresh brown shirt that smelled like clean laundry rather than the grime of hard labor, her wispy hair was the same rich brown as his own, sweet with the scent of milk. eyes wide and a pale, powder blue, yet to deepen with age, though she was bound to grow into a startlingly beautiful girl if she inherited arthur’s exact coloration.
she murmured softly in her sleep, clenching tiny fists, and he smiled down at her with a serenity you had never before seen upon his face. every harsh line of his features had softened, the very hands that could master not only a man but a bear now cradled her body as though she were the finest porcelain.
so impossibly small in comparison to her father as he lulled her back to sleep with gentle swaying and low, gravelly croons. arthur always insisted on putting her to bed, not merely to grant you a moment’s rest, but because he simply could not get enough of holding her.
whispering to her, counting down the days and months until she reached her first year. she was his little sugar, and watching them from the armchair in the corner, your gaze made him flush a deep crimson, climbing hurriedly from chest to hairline, still too proud to admit how tender parenthood had made him.
there were always flowers upon the dining table, their stems stretching tall from a glass vase while a few loose, purple petals drifted down to catch upon the wooden floor. arthur brought a fresh bouquet every couple of days, and there had never been a day where he failed to do so, purring flirtatious “pretty flowers fo' pretty missy”
the flower selling ladies in town recognized his face without looking twice, eagerly telling him about the newly gathered blossoms they knew his wife would adore. surely you did, bending to inhale their fragrance as you set the dinner on the table, tilting your head just so as arthur approached to place the salad down.
one large hand wrapped around your waist, giving a tender squeeze before he pressed a smiling kiss to your temple. you swayed back into his solid embrace, never doubting that he would ever let you fall. and once dinner was finished and the baby was tucked safely into her crib, he refused to let you touch the dirty dishes.
whisking you away toward the bedroom instead, his teeth nibbling at your shoulder blade playfully along the way, palms cupping the warm weight of your breasts, fingertips grazing the underside curve, and you sagged into the feeling.
arthur is a devoted man, carrying your sighs and the very taste upon his own lips as he traced a path from your toes up to your pleading mouth. pressing countless heavy kisses along your skin, marks destined to fade into long lasting bruises and teeth indents, leaving your flesh tingling and sensitive as you squirmed beneath him.
you shook when his rough beard chafed the inside of your thighs, legs parted and draped over his flexing shoulders. calloused fingertips sinking deep into your malleable flesh, thumbing up and down in agonizingly slow, small circles while his crooked nose dragged down your wet, puffy folds.
sucking down at your clit with a lewd pop, rolling the swollen nub against his curling tongue until you drenched his jaw, the moisture gleaming brilliantly under the lamp's amber glow. your fingers weaving frantically through his hair, clutching and mussing the strands, a few tresses falling across his intensely furrowed forehead.
eyes hidden beneath the fan of long eyelashes, but his pupils were saucer wide, brimming with adoration and filth he chooses not to say aloud. whispering them against the soft skin of your belly, lips ghosting reverently, tracing every silver line of the stretch marks that had not yet faded, teeth plowing across sensitive places.
“wanna have more with ya.. fill the house with babies, would build another one if needed..” he pleads, swears on a rumbly moan, kissing each your knuckle while his throbbing cock stuffs inside you, soaking in rivulets of your flowing slick, dragging through gummy walls with ease.
reaching so deeply everytime, fluttering pussy slicking further, dripping everywhere, hole clenching in pulsing waves. voice breaking into a barely stifled moan, quickly tamed into barely a garbled hum against arthur's kiss swollen lips. eyes glazed wet, shimmering with clear tears gathered at the corners, as you look into his irises.
blue and green turned turbulent, his broad hips snapping forward, angled to elicit more erotic sounds, see how your eyes roll and fingers clench into his scarred biceps. thumbing peaky nipple until it dribbles milk, running down the digit that he suckles into his mouth, humming with a canine grin.
skin slapping with squelch, your fingernails digging deep, leaving thin scarlet lines across the broad expanse of his pecs, where a solid layer of fat covered dense muscles beneath. arthur's hairy abdomen flexing, every slow, plunging thrust making your legs tremble, roughhewn thumbs digging into your hipbones.
bed frame groaning and creaking, and you only hoped the baby would not wake, as he rearranged your pussy anew, thrusts faltering to sloppy and uncoordinated humping, scalding pressure scrabbling it's claws in your belly, and you begged, voice cracking “yes — please. . fill me up, arthur”
it takes one bottoming out thrust, your pussy clamped down vice tight around his jerking, gorged girth. tip spilling jets of cum after hitting your sweet spot, cumming alongside him, spine arched sharp as slick mixed with other fluids, frothing out in clear milky globs.
his heart rate kicked up, thumping against your chest. calloused palms cupping your warm cheekbones as you melted back into the sheets, surrendering to the slow path of his lips as they traveled across your face. your arms looping around his neck, fingers gliding over the bumpy geometry of his old scars.
urging him even closer until you were clinging to him with every ounce of your strength, a raspy laugh escaping him, large hands snaking beneath your damp back, cradling your frame to hold you tight against his heaving chest.
gentle!gojo takes his time with you. he worships you from head to toe, trailing kisses down your body. he traces your scars and asks you how you got them. he whispers softly to you: "you're beautiful" and "my pretty girl" until you turn away in embarrassment.
gentle!gojo loosens you up before slipping it in, using his fingers and his tongue to stretch you out. he's sure to make you come at least twice before he's satisfied. your pleasure was his pleasure.
gentle!gojo lovesss missionary because he can watch your face twist in pleasure as you take him. he showers you with praises to keep you going and checks in to make sure you're doing okay. he buries his face in your neck and breathes you in. you smell like sex and your sweet vanilla perfume, his absolute favorite.
gentle!gojo also gets pussy drunk. he presses kisses into your thigh and talks to your pussy. "so pretty, so soaked, just for me? what did i do to deserve all this," he slurs before nuzzling his head deeper in between your thighs.
gentle!gojo understands the importance of aftercare. he runs you a warm bath, lights your favorite candles, and holds you close to his chest. pressing his lips closely to your ear, he tells you how good you did for him and how proud of you he is. he thanks you for trusting him enough to have you like that.
on the other hand..
rough!gojo will fuck the attitude out of you if he has to. he pins your hands up and makes you take everything he gives you. "you done?" he asks, fingers tilting your chin back up when you tried to look away. if you dare to not reply, he snaps his hips against yours and taunts you. "what happened baby? you had a lot to say earlier."
rough!gojo uses you as an outlet to take all his anger out. he pounds into you at a relentless pace, gripping you so hard that you were sure to leave marks in the morning.
rough!gojo is the jealous type. he goes real quiet when he’s jealous, keeping a firm hand at your lower back possessively if a guy even looked in your direction the wrong way. the second you got home, he reminds you exactly who you belonged to.
rough!gojo degrades you in bed. he swears calling you a filthy slut or a dirty whore got you even wetter. he chuckles when you clench around him each time he whispered those words in your ear, balls slapping against your ass with each thrust, hitting that sweet spot deep inside.
rough!gojo loves to edge you. he brings you so close to the edge you could practically taste it, before pulling out randomly. "'toru," you whine. "please," you hiccup, tears forming in your eyes as you realize just how close you were. "i need to co—"
slamming back into you, he smirks as you yelp in response. "i tell you when you get to come. lemme hear baby, let go for me. for real this time."
rough!gojo has the stamina of a horse. he can go multiple rounds with little to no breaks. all he needs is to feel is your cunt fluttering around him and he flips you over onto your stomach, prepared to go again and again and again.
2 sides of the same coin! been a minute since i've posted smut 🤔
art credits: @ satsu1640
you were zuko’s entire world, and it was no doubt that he loved you more than anything, but even you had to admit that he had a very lustful side. at times, especially during particularly cold and quiet evenings, he just couldn’t keep his hands off his wife.
laying in bed next to the firelord, his arms wrapped around your waist as he embraced you from behind. it was a long day for him, spending coutless hours meeting with his advisors and countless discussions on issues with the fire nation colonies. you couldn’t help but soothe your poor husband minutes earlier when he had first entered your bedroom after spending the entire day away from his firelady.
it was, no, seemed innocent at first, aleast until his hands undid your robe and started slowly inching higher and higher up your chest as he caressed the supple skin. you could almost feel the smirk on his face when his palms met your breasts, feeling him poke your ass from underneath the covers.
your nipples peaked embarassingly quickly as you tried to reprimand him.
“zuko.” you scolded him, having to bite back a moan when he pinched both peaks.
his mouth found the side of your neck as he sucked on the skin, only humming a “hmm?” in response.
“please get some rest, you have to leave for a meeting with the earth king first thing tomorrow. it’s already late.” you insisted. “they won’t be pleased if you show up late aga- haah… fuck…”
you moaned as his fingers met your clit through your damp undergarments, your head throwing back as he rubbed circles around the nub.
“what was that, my love?” he sneered, grinding his hips onto yours as he continued to leave marks on your neck.
“z-zuko…” you whimpered, subconciously grinding onto his hand.
“mhm?”
you opened your mouth to tell him to stop only to cut yourself off with a moan when two of his fingers slipped into your cunt, pumping in and out at a brutal pace.
“that’s what i thought.”
as if the sensation of his long digits bullying your pussy wasn’t enough, his other hand rolled your nipple, leaving you at a loss for words. you let out loud needy moans, your hand immediately darting to your mouth to save yourself from the self-induced embarassment.
“shy already? mmm you’re so desperate, huh?” zuko smugly muttered, picking up the pace on his fingers as he grinded harder from behind you.
as you felt your climax approaching, you decided to give up all resistance for the sake of your own pleasure.
“clenching around my fingers so tightly, fuck… now, what was that about my meeting with the earth king, honey?” he grinned.
“i… aahhh… d-don’t know what you’re talking about…”
fire lord! zuko x wife!reader | explicit smut, bathing sex, body worship and insecurity, MDNI 18+
"...again?" the pillow muffled ZUKO'S groan as he rolled onto his back, eyeing the empty space beside him. the sheets were still warm from where you had been moments ago... vanishing into the bathing chamber like smoke whenever his hands wandered too close.
moonlight caught his bare shoulders tense as he sat up. "you can't keep avoiding me forever," he called toward the shut door. the answering silence prickled his skin.
Inside the bath chamber, you pressed damp palms to the mirror, your reflection distorted. three months since your little daughter's birth, and still your body felt like unfamiliar territory. fire nation nobility whispered about concubines with unmarked skin, while you...
a knock. "talk to me." zuko's voice, low on his side.
the door creaked open before you could answer, steam curling around zuko’s feet as he stepped inside. his hair, half - undone from sleep, fell across his scarred cheek. you turned away, gripping the bathing pool's edge, but not before catching the way his gaze dropped to your waist where the water's surface clung.
"you’re supposed to wait for permission to enter," you mumbled, sinking deeper into the scented water.
zuko didn’t dignify that with a reply. though, he crouched at the pool’s edge. "three years married, and suddenly you’re shy" his thumb seized a droplet rolling down your shoulder. "or is it that you think I’d mind these?" his touch grazed the faint red marks along your hipbone... lighter than the lightning scars on his chest but just as permanent.
you flinched. "the fire sages say a ruler’s consort should..."
"...look like untouched porcelain... I know, I know," he finished weakly. "the same sages who called my face unfit for the throne?" he tapped your chin, forcing your gaze up to where his scar gleamed raw. "when have we ever cared for their opinion? why start now?"
you shook your head at god knows what. jasmine petals stuck to your damp collarbones as zuko shrugged out of his sleeping robe. it soon pooled at his feet. his chest was a battlefield of its own... old ridged burns interlaced with newer, pinker marks where your daughter's tiny nails had scratched him during late - night feedings.
"zuko, I..." your protest died as he soaked his body into the water, the heat making his muscles glisten.
when his knees hit the under water stone bench, zuko’s mouth found the spot beneath your ear. "be honest... which part of you thinks I’d ever stop wanting this." he cooed on damp skin, hands sliding down to grip your waist. "these hips?" a squeeze that sent water sloshing over the ledge. "this stomach?" palms skating lower, thumbs digging into the softness below your navel where your daughter had grown. "or..." his touch drowned under the waterline, testing your thighs with a passing touch of fingertips... "here?"
you gasped, hands flying to his wrists. "zuko, are you sure you don't want to wait..."
"this isn't about me," for grounding, you leanined your head against the wet tile behind you. "I've waited enough, three months, and I know you have to." his free hand squeezed your inner thigh, slow before just holding. "every night, watching you feed our daughter and pretending not to see how you wince when she latches." his fingers danced higher, avoiding where you ached most. "listening to you cry in here afterward like I wouldn’t burn the entire fire nation to the ground if it meant taking your pain."
your breath quickened. his thumb hovered just above your throbbing core, the heat of the bathwater nothing compared to the fire coiling low in your belly. "how low of you, to think I'd care about a few angry marks?" zuko whispered to your throat, a hand sliding up to cup your breast... heavy with a nurturing substance. "when every night I lie awake smelling the scent on your skin and imagining..." his fingers finally dipped between your folds, and your back laid off the tile, in an arch with a sudden gasp.
the sound echoed off walls, mixing with the drip of water from zuko's hair as he bent to lick a stripe of your neck. "we both know," fingers circling your clit, agonising and teasing, "the sages are yet to know how wet you get for me?" his teeth scraped your earlobe. "how even now, you're clenching around nothing?"
his fingers froze... a heartbeat... when your thighs tremble. It was that pause that undid you more than his touch... zuko’s breath hitched when your nails scored his shoulders... his thumb softened its circles to light strokes the instant your breathing grew ragged.
the tile was cold against your spine, but his mouth was scorching as it trailed lower... past your collarbones, over your breasts still tender from feeding your daughter hours before. he paused there, lips floating over a peaked nipple, eyes flicking up to watch you squirm. "tell me," he reassured, "if it’s too much."
you nodded violently as his tongue swirled tight around the sensitive bud, sucking gently until your hips jerked against his stomach. the whimper that escaped you sounded foreign in your own ears... desperate and keening... but zuko drank it in like a man starved. again with his free hand pacing down to grip your hip. "I got you,” he soothed to your chest as his fingers found your dripping core once more.
and gods, he did... every slow, torturous stroke of his fingers was purposeful to make you unravel by degrees. where the younger zuko, you married might have rushed, the man before you now worked with devastating patience, curling two fingers inside you just deep enough to tease before retreating to thumb lazy circles around your clit. "zuko..." you gasped.
"I know," he breathed, crooking his fingers just right. though open-mouthed kisses were placed to the stretch marks beneath your breasts, they gentled kisses whenever you hissed. his thumb never stopped its rhythm, even as he moved to cradle the back of your head with a hand. "perfect."
zuko suddenly took back his fingers... your whine at the loss tangled with the slick sound of his hand leaving you. he lifted you just enough to align himself with your dripping entrance.
"... easy," zuko asked of you. he plunged forward, the fire of him parting you slow. his forehead kissed yours as he waited, letting you adjust... always giving, even when his own thighs quivered with the effort of holding back. "is this too much..."
your nails bit into his shoulders, cutting him off. "...don't stop," you gritted, caving in to take him deeper, the stretch burning sweetly after so long apart. zuko's groan vibrated through your chest as he sank the rest of the way home, his hips greeting yours. for a second, neither of you moved... just breathed, foreheads touching.
you almost saw stars when he took it upon himself to begin moving. zuko’s breath was hot against your temple. he pulled nearly all the way out before pushing back in with the same pathetic pace. "still think I'd want anyone else?" he rumbled in the moment. he decided on deep, measured strokes that hit that spot inside you with exactly how you wanted, each resulting by the slap of water.
you couldn’t answer... couldn’t do anything but clutch at his shoulders as pleasure boiled tighter with every thrust of his hips. zuko was close in admiring your face, loving - lustful gaze.
his grip on your waist was the only float, keeping you from slipping beneath the surface. you forced your eyes open, your vision blurring with tears. zuko’s his scar flushed dark in your view. a water drip slid from his hairline down the bridge of his nose, slanting before falling onto your parted lips.
"... zuko,” you whimpered, the name broke as his thumb searched for your clit again, circles over and over. "I can’t... I’m going to..."
"I know," he smiled, so sweet second before his mouth closed onto your jaw, then neck. "let me see you."
you came undone with a cry, your body clamping around his as pleasure surged through you like wildfire. zuko’s rhythm faltered, his own release hitting him as he buried his face in your neck.
when he finally pulled back, his hands were gentle as they traced your waist, his thumbs guarding the marks there. "beautiful,” he told himself with a kiss to your collarbone before reaching for a nearby cloth to dab at the sweat beading along your brow. the tenderness in his touch made your throat tighten... he looked at you like you were still the same woman who stole his heart years ago...
the cloth fell from zuko’s fingers into the water as you caught his wrist, laying his palm flat to your stomach... "you're thinking about something, you dare not tell."
"am I?" zuko's thumb traced your navel. "funny. I thought I was worshipping."
your laugh arrived and left when he silenced it with a kiss... slow and deep, his tongue passing in, by your lips. drawing back, his lips lingered close enough to share breath. "the sages," he brought up their wicked calling, nipping at your lower lip, "never warned me about this."
"about what?"
"that their fire lord would fall to his knees for a single sigh from his wife." zuko ushered you to perch on the pool's edge, as he dipped his head lower... pushing your thighs apart on the way down...
all atla works ࿔ ✎, @starr-jazz, @champagnesbiggestproblem, @rosieposiediditagain, @vanillakirstein, tags are open...
Freaky stuff I headcanon Dunk is into - Ser Duncan the Tall 18+ imagine....
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A/N: my whole womanly cycle, ever since going down the Dunk rabbithole, is just ovulation. Ovulating with no end. perhaps it's just an excuse. Maybe this is my true self... can yall blame me tho? Lol... enjoy. Anyways yes i do like this gif…. Sue me…
Content warnings: 18+ NSFW content, minors do not interact; fem!reader, lots of pussy-centered stuff, e.g. sniffing, eating… lowkey putting my own kinks onto this, just sexual stuff with our big boy Dunk the Chunk, nothing too crazy I think…
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Free use. More specifically, you dragging him to some place private and using him to please yourself. Some time after the two of you have settled into your relationship, he's explicitly told you he is at your service — and boy does he mean it. Just seeing you be pleased, happy, and comfortable with him gets him hard. His body is biologically hardwired to please you. Whether it’s his wide tongue lapping up your cunt juices; his long fingers rubbing your cute little nub, dragging against the sweet spongy spots inside you; his strong thighs you could grind on, or his fat chubby throbbing cock stretching you, stuffing you so full you forget you were ever empty… Whatever of his that you want, you can have. You don’t even need to ask. He’s grateful for you to take him at your whim.
On the outside, it seems like you're the insatiable one, always seeking him out. But you know your man; most of his waking hours, his attention is on you. Hyperaware and vigilant, but in a way that he is always anticipating… not only if you need anything, but also when you'll next use him.
When you travel, Dunk glances at a lush group of trees and wonders if you'll take his hand and drag him there. Maybe you’ll push him onto his knees, lift up your skirts and push his face on your pussy so he can wrap his lips around your little pearl to suckle on. When you two eat supper together, he sees you smile sweetly at him, and his cock twitches in his breeches. When he wakes up earlier and finds you sleeping peacefully, his heart melts with adoration (and his cock twitches in his breeches Imao).
He has a pussy sniffing kink. It goes hand-in-hand with his love for your bush. It's just something about your natural body scent that makes him go dumb, makes him pant a little heavier. Dunk loves smelling you in general. Your sweat after a long day, the smell of soap and sun in your hair, even your body odor that you feel shy about... You always smell divine to him, but he can't deny that his nose always seems to end up between your thighs.
He adores you, his kind, loving, strong, and gorgeous wife. You are too good to him, letting him spread your legs and dip his face in your bush. Soft and luscious, he nuzzles his nose into it, and breathes you in. There is no greater joy and comfort than you, your body so relaxed and open to him. His warm breath excites your womanhood, makes you more slick when he uses this thumbs spread your cunt lips wider. All for him to see, all for him to feast until there is nothing left to taste.
He would never pressure you or keep you from your hygiene routines... but if it were up to him, he'd have you lifting your skirts and sitting on his face after a long day, before your nightly swim in some river. Spread your folds and sit your slick hole right on his tongue, he swears it's the best flavor he's ever tasted. His big hands firmly but gently gripping your hips, rocking you back and forth; coating his nose, his lips, his tongue, even his chin with your cunt juices. It's the best way to drown, he thinks.
Dunk is obsessed with eating your pussy. He dives into your cunt any chance he gets, slurps and gulps you down in the same way a dehydrated man does with a tankard of cold water. Your pussy juices drip down the sides of his mouth, desperate to drink it all up. After your hips tremble and thighs squeeze his head as you cum on his tongue, he won’t let up unless you literally pry him off of you. There’s a string of saliva that connects your cunt to his lips. Licking the sides of his mouth, glistening with slick, he asks if you can give him another tasting.
Daddy kink. (Yes I'm projecting but hear me out...) It starts off as a wholesome nickname for him. He takes it as you being so happy of his care. When you call him daddy in that sweet and kind voice, his heart flutters. Chest puffing up as his pride swells, knowing he's doing right by you.
And when you moan daddy while he's stuffing you so full of his girthy cock? While your wet cunt is milking his balls of every drop, and leaking juice down both of your thighs? It takes everything within him to not pump you full of his thick, warm seed. He’d love for you to make him a father.
Knowing that you trust him so fully, appreciate all that he does, and need him so dearly... it gets him to chant "i love you" over and over. He babbles the confession with every hard thrust of his strong hips against yours, heavy balls pressing against the plump swell of your ass.
Mating press. (He loves any position where he can see your face. However...) Make him take you with both your legs over his shoulders, and he will pound your little cunt like he's trying to make you carry six babes all at once.
His biggest fear is you being afraid and distancing yourself from him, so he is extra careful and gentle with how he speaks and touches you. It took quite a long time and much convincing to have him admit he badly wants to pin you down under him and fuck you as hard as he could, pump you full of every drop of his seed.
He loves your spit on him. It's between you and the gods why you're obsessed with licking and slobbering all over his heavy, full balls and his girthy, throbbing manhood... but every time that you do, he is always grateful, so much so he whines thank you over and over with every wet stroke of your lips on him.
Squirt on him, cream on him, spit on him, sweat on him. Every thing you give him is a blessing. Sweet and nice.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
Yall, my search history is filled with stuff like "what do medieveal people call panties".
Anyways, do leave me asks if you wish to share your thoughts/ideas/or just be horny for Dunk ehehehe,,, Dunk lovers, you will find community with me.
✮ SEX EDUCATION: where your hot professor teaches you how to cum!
⋆ LESSON 1: GUIDANCE ON HOW TO TOUCH YOURSELF
you're on his lap, your back is pressed against his chest, your legs draped over his. "wider, baby." you spread, your skirt is bunched around your waist. your soaked panties are already on his desk. he made you take them off the moment you walked in, holding them up to the light and tsking at the wet spot.
"there," he says, satisfied. "now i can see everything." his hands grip the soft skin behind your knees and push your legs even further apart. you're completely open, completely exposed, your bare pussy on full display, glistening in the lamplight. you can feel the wetness pooling beneath you, soaking into his trousers, into his chair. "fuck, look at you. you're already dripping, good girl." you whimper and try to close your legs, but his grip tightens. "ah-ah. keep them open. this is a lesson, remember? you need to watch. you need to learn."
you force yourself to stay still, your pussy throbbing under his gaze. "touch yourself." you hesitate. your hand hovers over your own body, trembling. "i said touch yourself, baby. two fingers. start with your folds. feel how wet my good girl is." your hand moves. your fingers slide through your wetness, and the sensation makes you gasp. you're so wet that your fingers glide effortlessly, your own arousal coating them. "that's it. feel how wet you are? you've been thinking about it, haven't you, baby?" "yes," you whisper. "every night?" "yes, professor." "tell me what you did." "i—" your fingers are moving in slow circles around your clit now, and it's hard to think. "i touched myself. in bed. thinking about you." "good girl. show me how."
your middle finger sliding down to circle your entrance, then back up to your clit. "mmnh..." your hips buck against your own hand. "faster, baby."
you speed up. the wet sounds fill the room, your head falls back against his shoulder, and you feel his breath against your ear. "now two fingers inside, good girl. fill that pretty pussy for me." you slide them in, and the stretch makes you gasp. your walls clench around your own fingers, but it's not enough. it's never enough. you can feel how tight you are, how desperate. "that's it. fuck yourself on your fingers. imagine it's my cock, baby. imagine it's me splitting you open." "ah— ah— hnnggh! professor—" "look at you," he murmurs. "so desperate. such a good student, fucking herself on her own fingers. you'd take my cock just like that, wouldn't you? all desperate and whimpering." "yes! yes!" you're fucking yourself faster now, your hips lifting to meet your own hand. "that's my good girl, play with your clit now. use your thumb. circle it." your thumb finds your clit, and the it makes you cry out. you're so sensitive, so swollen, every touch sending sparks through your body.
"ah—hah! professor! i'm— i'm close—" "good. cum for me, baby. cum on your fingers like the good pretty girl you are." but something stops you, you're right there, teetering on the edge. your fingers pump desperately, your thumb rubs frantically, but you just can't. "i— i can't— nnghhh! " your voice breaks. "i can't without you, professor. please. please, i need your fingers. i need you."
his grip on your legs tightens so hard it might bruise. you can feel how hard he is against your lower back, his cock pressing into your spine. "if i touch you, baby, it's no longer for education. do you understand that? if i put my fingers inside this tight little pussy, it's because i want to. not because i'm teaching you. do you really want that?" "yes," you sob. "yes, i want that. i don't care. please! i don't care about the lesson... hah! i just want you—"
"say it again." "i want you to touch me. i want your fingers inside me. please, professor, please— i need you—" "that's all i needed to hear, babygirl." his fingers slide into you over yours. two of them — thick, massive. he pushes past your fingers, deeper, and the stretch is blinding. you scream, but his other hand clamps over your mouth, muffling it.
"shh, shh," he breathes in your ear, but he doesn't stop. his fingers move inside you with yours, fucking you open. "take it. take it all, baby." "mmmnnnghh! hir— nnnghh!" "that's it. feel how thick i am? feel how your pussy stretches around me? this is what you've been begging for, good girl." his fingers are so much bigger than yours. they fill you completely, pressing against your walls, curling exactly where you need them. and then his thumb finds your clit, presses down, circles. "fuck— ah!.. haaah— professor!"
your legs kick, but he holds them wide, keeps you open, keeps you taking it. you're sobbing against his hand, drool running down your chin, completely destroyed. "that's it. that's my good girl. you're going to cum on my fingers now. you're going to soak my hand, baby. say thank you." "th— thank you—" "louder." "thank you, sir!—"
your orgasm rips through you, your back arches, your head falls back against his shoulder, and you cum hard, your walls clenching around his fingers, your own fingers, everything. your vision whites out. a long, guttural moan tears from your throat as he works you through it, his thumb still circling your clit, his fingers still pumping, never stopping.
"fuck," he mutters, watching you fall apart. "that's it. that's it. good fucking girl. look at you cumming all over my hand. such a pretty sight." when you finally come down, you're shaking. your hand falls away, when he slowly withdraws his fingers, shiny with your cum, and brings them to his mouth. he sucks them clean, one by one, eyes never leaving yours. the sight makes your pussy clench again. "you're a fast learner, babygirl."
⋆ LESSON 2: LET HIM DROWN IN YOU!
his desk is cold against your bare ass. he's cleared it — pushed aside stacks of papers, a laptop, a mug of pens, some students' project folders — and lifted you onto it like you weigh nothing. your legs are spread wide, your heels resting on the edge, your pussy fully exposed and dripping, the papers beneath you are getting wet, but neither of you gives a single fuck.
"you asked me how this would help you learn," he says, his hands gripping your thighs, spreading you even wider. "the truth is, baby, it doesn't." you blink. "what?" "i just want to eat this pretty pussy. i've been thinking about it since the first time you sat on my lap. that sweet little cunt grinding on my thigh. i need to taste it."
"then—" "you need to know what a good eating out feels like. so you know what to expect." he grins against your inner thigh. "but mostly because i can't stop thinking about your taste." and then his mouth is on you. he doesn't start slow. he dives in, tongue flat against your entire pussy, licking from your entrance to your clit in one long, wet stroke. you cry out, your hands flying to his hair. "ah! fuckfuckk! professor!"
"mmmnh— fuck—" he hums against you, and the vibration makes your hips buck. his tongue circles your clit, flicks it, sucks it into his mouth. he pulls back just enough to spit on your pussy — a wet, obscene glob that slides down your folds — and then he's back, spreading it with his tongue, mixing his spit with your wetness.
"that's it. taste so fucking good, baby. sweet, wet and perfect. this is what a good pussy tastes like. remember that." "nnngh!— ah— hnnggh—hiro—" his fingers spread your folds open, and he dives deeper, his tongue pushing inside you. you feel it fucking you, curling, tasting your walls, and you're already so close, your thighs trembling around his head. "cum for me, baby," he says against your clit. "first one. give it to me." "i— i—" "cum. now."
his tongue flicks your clit fast, hard, and you cum with a scream, your back arching off the desk. he doesn't stop. he licks through it, groaning against your sensitive pussy drinking everything you give him. "mmmngh— yes. there we go, good girl. that's one."
your legs are shaking, you think it's over. well, it's not. he goes back in, sucking your clit between his lips, rubbing it with the flat of his tongue. his fingers slide inside you, curling, hitting that spot that makes you see stars. "i can't! — another one— it's too haah! much—" "you can, pretty girl and you will. look at this pussy. she's not done yet."
his mouth descends again, and this time he's rougher. he presses his face hard into your pussy, his nose grinding against your clit, his tongue fucking you deep. he talks to it, low and breathless, his lips brushing against your folds. "such a pretty pussy. so wet for me, baby. you love this, don't you? having your professor on his knees eating you out in his office while others' works get ruined under your wet ass. you love it."
"yes! i love it! oh my go—i love it! professor—" "tell my pussy you love it." "i love it! i love my pussy— i love your mouth on it—" "then cum again, good girl." he pinches your clit between his teeth — just enough pressure, and the second orgasm rips through you. your legs clamp around his head, but he doesn't move. he stays buried in your cunt, lapping at you, groaning against you. "mmmngh. mmnh—" until you're twitching and oversensitive, sobbing from the intensity.
when you finally go limp, he looks up at you. his face is destroyed — wet, shiny, your cum dripping from his chin, his lips, his nose, his eyebrows. he doesn't wipe it off. "one more, baby."
⋆ LESSON 3: GET ABSOLUTELY POUNDED BY HIS BIG COCK
he points to his desk — the lower one, where his teaching assistant usually sits, covered in student papers. "on all fours." you don't hesitate. your palms hit the wood, your spine arches, your ass pushes back toward him, grinding in the air. you're wearing a dress tonight — short, thin, no panties, and you know he can see everything. your pussy is already dripping, your arousal slicking your thighs.
"look at you," he breathes. "soaking wet and i haven't even touched you yet." "please," you whimper. "please, professor, i can't wait anymore! i need you—" "you'll wait until i say you're ready, good girl." he drops to his knees behind you. his hands spread your cheeks apart, and you feel his breath on your cunt, hot and damp. "i've already made you cum twice tonight, remember? on my tongue, on my fingers. so this won't hurt, baby. i made sure you're ready."
"yes— yes—" but his mouth isn't finished. he leans in, licks a long stripe up your slit, and you moan, your arms nearly buckling. "for luck." "professor— i can't! mmnh! i've already—" "shut up and take it." his tongue slides inside you just to try it again. "good girl," he says, standing up. "now you're ready."
he unbuckles his belt, the sound of the metal jingling makes your pussy clench. his trousers drop just enough to free his cock — thick, hard, leaking, the head glistening with pre-cum. he strokes himself, and you watch him over your shoulder, drooling, your mouth open.
"tell me what you want, baby." "i want your cock, professor. please. inside me." "how badly, pretty girl?" "so badly i can't think. i can't breathe. please— i've been so good— i've learned everything— please just fuck me—" he steps forward. the head of his cock presses against your entrance, and you push back, trying to take him, but he holds your hips still.
"slow, baby or it'll hurt. i'm big and you're tight. breathe." "nnnngh... please—" he pushes in, just the head. you scream, but it's late, the building is empty, no one can hear you. he's so big — bigger than you imagined, bigger than his fingers, and the stretch is blinding, burning, perfect.
"breathe, baby. breathe for me." you gasp and he pushes deeper. "ah! mmnghh!!— fuck! professor!" "that's it. taking it. taking all of this cock. such a good fucking girl." he slides in to the hilt, and you feel like you're being ripped apart. his balls press against your clit, and he's so deep inside you that your walls clench around him, trying to adjust to his size.
"look at you," he groans. "taking my whole cock. this tight little pussy was made for me, babygirl." "move— please— move—" and he does. at first he's gentle — slow, deep thrusts that let you feel every inch. his hands grip your hips, guiding you, teaching you. you can feel every ridge of his cock, every vein.
"rock back into me, baby. meet my thrusts. that's it. feel how good it is when you move together." "harder, please! haah! harder!" "yeah? you want me to fuck this sweet pussy proper?" "yes, please!" he slams into you. hard. the desk screeches against the floor. papers scatter. a lamp wobbles and falls. "fuckkkfuck! hiromi!" "that's it— that's my good little slut— take this cock."
his hips pound into you, his balls slapping against your clit. he reaches around, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles. your legs give out, but he holds you up, one arm around your waist, still fucking you, never stopping. "i'm gonna! gonna cum nngh! wanna—" "not yet."
he pulls you up against his chest. his cock stays buried in you, and now he's fucking you from behind, upright, one hand on your hip, one hand on your throat, squeezing just slightly. "you feel that? that's what a real cock feels like, baby. that's what you've been begging for all these weeks." "yes yes! mmmhnah! thank you, thank you professor!" "thank me by cumming. cum on my cock. soak it."
he slams into you, and his fingers work your clit, your head falls back against his shoulder, making you cum with a scream that echoes through the empty building — "ahhh— fuckkk, yesyes, so good! "fuccck, yes— cum for me— cum on my cock." your walls clench around him, and he groans. "nnnnggh— fuckkk— baby mmmnhh— gonna cum, where do you want it?"
"i'm on the pill," you gasp. "cum inside me, professor. please. please, i want to feel it." "yeah? you want me to fill this tight little pussy? you want to walk around campus tomorrow feeling my cum dripping out of you, baby?" "yes! haahhh! pleasepleaseplease!" "gonna! i'm gonna— fuck—"
he slams into you one last time. his cock pulses, and you feel it — hot, thick, flooding you. he groans your name and you feel him twitch inside you as he fills you, his cum spilling deep into your cunt. "fucckkk that's my baby, mmhnh... sweetest pussy, all mine." when he's done, he doesn't pull out. he stays inside you, his forehead resting on your shoulder, both of you breathing hard, sweat-slicked and shaking. lessons completed.
more? ──── art cr. @ yunonoai on x sparkle cr: @kthice
older-bf!nanami who always wakes up before you. he makes sure your coffee is exactly how you like it and leaves a small note on the counter every morning—even if he’s running late for work—always ending with “have a good day, darling.”
older-bf!nanami who is incredibly protective. he walks on the outside of the sidewalk, keeps a hand on your lower back in crowded places, and stares down anyone who looks at you for too long.
older-bf!nanami who gets especially possessive protective when younger men look at you weirdly. he doesn’t make a scene, but his stare turns ice-cold as he watches them. he’ll pull you closer by the waist and give them a look that says “touch her and you’re dead” without saying a single word.
older-bf!nanami who knows exactly how to make you loose your mind in bed. years of experience have made him incredibly skilled. he knows how to angle his hips to hit that perfect spot, when to go slow and deep, and when to fuck you hard and senseless. he reads your body like a book and he doesn’t make a secret out of it.
older-bf!nanami who loves leaving hickeys on your neck and thighs where only he can see them. he’ll grip your jaw and make you look at him while he’s buried deep inside you, murmuring, “tell me who you belong to,” then gently kiss every mark he left the next morning.
older-bf!nanami who fucks with patience, like he doesn’t rush. he always takes his time stretching you open with his fingers first, watching your face the entire time. “breathe, darling,” he’ll say calmly, even as he’s pressing his thick cock into you inch by inch.
older-bf!nanami who sometimes fucks you with too much patience. he edges you for what feels like hours, bringing you right to the edge only to slow down or stop completely until your whimpers fill the room. he’ll keep his thick cock buried deep inside you, barely moving, while he kisses your neck and whispers, “not yet, darling.”
older-bf!nanami who loves the way you whine and beg. he’ll hold your hips down so you can’t chase your own pleasure, looking at you with that calm face while you tremble and plead. “shh… be good for me,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead even as he denies you again. “i’ll let you cum when i think you’ve earned it.”
older-bf!nanami who has gotten noticeably more veiny with age. his hands, forearms, and especially his cock are heavily veined. when he’s fully hard, the thick veins running along his length are so visible, and you can feel every single one dragging against your walls when he slowly pushes inside you.
older-bf!nanami whose dick is thick, heavy, and slightly curved upward. even when he’s soft, it’s impressive. when he’s hard, it’s almost intimidating—fat head, those veins, and always leaking for you. he loves how you struggle to take all of him, enjoying the way your pussy stretches around his girth.
older-bf!nanami who is constantly teased by satoru about your age gap. gojo never misses an opportunity to poke at him. but nanami has grown completely used to the teasing. he doesn’t get visibly annoyed anymore. instead, he just sighs, adjusts his glasses, and replies something like, “at least my girlfriend doesn’t run away when i speak, gojo.”
older-bf!nanami who tolerates the jokes but draws the line when they go too far. if anyone ever implies you’re “just a phase” or “with him for the money,” nanami’s expression turns icy cold in an instant that makes everyone shut up immediately.
older-bf!nanami who sometimes gets mistaken for your father in public. waiters, store clerks, or strangers often say things like “it’s so nice to see a daughter spending time with her dad” or “your daughter is beautiful, sir.” he stays perfectly polite on the outside, offering only a small smile, but you can feel the way his hand tightens on your waist.
older-bf!nanami who acts unfazed in the moment, simply correcting them calmly with “she’s my girlfriend, actually.” but the moment you’re alone, especially in the car or back home, he feels stupidly lucky, almost greedy, that someone as young and beautiful as you is his. and it always leaves him with a sudden urge to claim you right away.
older-bf!nanami who often ends up fucking you in the car shortly after. the second you’re both inside, doors barely closed, he’s already pulling you into his lap or pushing your seat back. his hands are impatient as he tugs your clothes aside, breathing rough against your neck while he pushes inside.
older-bf!nanami who gets especially talkative during these quick, needy car fucks. between deep thrusts he’ll whisper things like “let them think i’m too old for you… as long as you keep moaning for this old man’s cock.” he loves making you cum fast and hard, one hand covering your mouth so people walking by won’t hear you.
older-bf!nanami who, after cumming deep inside you, stays buried in you for a while, gently stroking your hair and kissing your temple. he’ll softly say, “i don’t care what anyone thinks… you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
older-bf!nanami who has started getting a few silver strands in his hair. you sometimes find them when you’re playing with his hair, especially at his temples. he used to be a little self-conscious about it, but now whenever you touch the grey hairs he smiles.
older-bf!nanami who especially loves when you kiss the grey hairs at his temple or run your fingers through them while he’s inside you. it makes something possessive and soft twist in his chest at the same time. he’ll press you deeper into the mattress and whisper, “these grey hairs are because of years of waiting for someone like you.”
older-bf!nanami who secretly worries that he’s too old for you. sometimes when he sees you laughing with people your age, a fear settles in his chest. he never says it directly, but he makes up for it by being even more attentive—spoiling you more, fucking you harder, reminding you with every touch that no one else could ever take care of you the way he does.
In which Toji uses his superhuman strength to get his hands on you
“I won’t ask again, doll. Unlock the door and let me in.”
“No!”
He pounds on the bathroom door. The whole house shakes, so does your skeleton. “Not in the mood for games, woman. You got my dick hard; you’re going to take responsibility, like a big girl.”
What were you thinking spamming him nudes whilst he’s at work? No, the better question is, what was he thinking taking you seriously enough to speed home? Can’t a girl have fun without consequences?
“I was gonna,” you start, practically shaking in the tub as you hold a shampoo bottle, a foolish delusion of protection, “but then you came home early! You weren’t supposed to come home so soon. Ugh, you ruined everything. You know I need at least an hour prep to be in my most seductive mood, Toji!”
You can almost visualise the disbelieving scoff that’d reveal his sharp teeth and make that delectable scar stretch when he bangs on the door again. He’s probably leaning against it, imagining all the ways he could have you bent and pumped full of cum. The thought makes your thighs squeeze tightly even as a nervous, almost manic laugh escapes you.
The rattling of the walls stops. Silence rings out.
“...You laughing at me?”
Oh fuck.
You’re done for. That much is clear when he punches a hole in the door barely a second later with a thunderous bang. Huddling on all fours, you brace yourself with a scream as the wood splinters onto the floor. Your poor pussy’s going to feel just like that door when he’s done with you, you’re sure.
You peek up. Toji’s hands grip the wood, ripping a bigger hole in the weak thing. His glinting eyes meet yours. He growls, “Oh, good. You’re already in the right position.”
Screaming bloody murder, you throw the bottle at him, and another and another. They all bounce off his chest as though they weigh nothing. “Fuck off! I take it back. I take it all back!”
“Too fucking late. Shouldn’t play games you’re not ready to lose,” he lectures. In no time at all, he steps through and casts a shadow over your body. The veins on his beefy arms pop, his thighs flex, and his lips curl up — yet, all you’re looking at is the monstrous cock in his pants, painfully hard and somehow bigger than you remember, weighing him down.
“I hate you, you big brute!” you shriek, when he throws you over his shoulder.
He snorts. “Yeah, sure. Pretend you’re not creaming your fucking panties.”
Busted.
“I’m sorry?” you try, a last ditch effort to get your way. “I won’t do it again?”
He throws you on the bed and watches you bounce, licking his lips. “Try again when I’m feeling nice. Maybe I’ll buy your bullshit apologies then.”
Sniffling, you grumble, “And when’s that going to be?”
“Dunno.” Toji lifts one shoulder lazily as his hands grip your knees and shoves your legs apart. “Let’s get to orgasm number eight and go from there.”
I imagined that scene from The Shining lol but much less scary, and more ngh!
"you're burning up," you whisper, fingers threading through his raven hair as he presses your back against the silk sheets.
"i know." he grits, "i can't—when i'm with you, i can't control it."
everywhere he touches, heat blooms across your skin like a flower trail. it’s not yet hot enough to be painful, but more-so intense—a delicious warmth that somehow finds it way from your skin to your core. as he pulls your clothes off, one by one, his golden eyes gleam molten, pupils blown with adoration.
"tell me if the heat’s too much, and i’ll stop.." he breathes against your collarbone, that’s when you promptly feel the first wisps of steam curl between your bodies.
your breath halts momentarily. the air around him is shimmering with heat haze, and when his mouth closes over your nipple, you gasp at the scorching warmth of his tongue. he groans against your skin, and more steam rises from his shoulders, his back, dissipating into the air above you.
"z-zuko—" your hands slides down his chest, feeling the rigid muscles, the frantic beat of his heart. his skin is slick with the beginning of sweat, temperature climbing steadily higher.
he pushes inside you in one smooth thrust that has you both crying out. the heat of him was incredible—his dick was warming you from the inside out, filling you with heat only a firebender could provide.
as much as he prides himself on it, zuko's control slips immediately. he sets a desperate pace, hips snapping against yours as he buries his cock in deep again and again. steam pours off his body in waves now, rising in thick clouds that make the air humid and heavy. droplets of condensation form on your skin, mixing with you own juices as the temperature in the room climbs exponentially.
"you feel so good," he groans, voice breaking. his hands adjust to grips your hips, pulling you into each thrust. "so perfect—i can't—"
you could barely breathe in this atmosphere. the steam surrounds you both like an intimate cocoon, and through it you could see zuko above you—face flushed, scar standing out starkly against his reddened skin, dark hair plastered to his forehead. he looks absolutely wild, yet simultaneously beautiful in his loss of control.
your hands slide up his sweat-slicked back and you felt the heat radiating from him in waves. it was like touching a living furnace, but you couldn't let go. you pull him closer, deeper, wanting all of that fire.
"i-i'm close," he warns, voice strangled. "i'm—oh, fuck—"
his rhythm becomes erratic, powerful, each thrust driving you higher, each kiss to your cervix hotter. you could feel his body temperature spiking, the approaching edge of his orgasm.
when you come, clenching tight around him, zuko's control shatters completely.
he thrusts deep one final time and goes rigid, a guttural cry tearing from his throat. the steam explodes from his body in a thick cloud, so dense you couldn't see anything beyond his large silhouette above you. the temperature spikes dramatically—the air around him scorching, his skin blazes against yours as he pulses inside you, lost completely to his release.
gradually, the steam begins to thin. zuko's body temperature drops from scorching, to merely hot, then to warm. he collapses against you, breathing hard.
"i’m sorry," he mumbles against your neck. "i really didn’t mean to—"
"don't apologize." you run your fingers through his damp hair, feeling the lingering warmth. "that was the hottest thing someone’s ever done to me during sex—literally."
he lifts his head to look at you, golden eyes still hazy with afterglow. a small smile tugs at his lips. "you're not burned, are you?"
"nope," you trace the line of his scar gently, "just hot."
zuko huffs a laugh and kisses you softly, “damn right you are.”
zuko heats his tongue up when you finally sit on his face
"hnnngh, z- zuukkooo..." you feel your eyes cross and see stars when his tongue continued to dive deep into your cunt, the warm feeling expanding across your stomach exponentially.
it was an unreal feeling you didn't think was even possible in this world.
your thighs quiver around his head, putting your full weight on him on turned him on more, making him groan into your taste.
your neck was flushed with darker hues leading down your body, your eyes were instinctively shut due to how well his tongue fucked you.
who could blame you when you started to slowly grind yourself onto his face? your clit was bumping onto his nose!
your mouth agape as you let out adorable mewls, a mix of his name, and whimpers.
but what would surprise you the most was when he would randomly spike the temperature of his tongue while he dragged it on your poor gummy walls.
having your hands planted behind you whilst you try to get as much friction on your swollen, red clit as much as possible,
you couldn't help but start to let out louder noises when you started to reach your climax (again). making out with your hole so thoroughly only made it even worse when he moves your body to lick, and lap at your poor clit.
"gonna come again? do it on my face, my love... pleasef-" only smothering his face back into your pussy once more <3
warnings ! smut (mdni!), flexible reader, dry humping, p in v, fingering, slight overstim. + 680 words.
obsessed with the idea that zuko finds out you’re kinda flexible and he makes it his mission to split you on his cock in every which direction…
the first time he realises is when you’re lying down in bed together, you just woke up and you stretch your arms out to feel a satisfying pop in your arms and shoulders. you have a routine, of course, zuko knows you like to twist your torso left and right to release any air trapped between your joints. he’s surprised, however, when you pull your leg up and stretch. his eyes zero in on the way your thigh touches your boobs, your hand holds your calves to your head and the groan you let out is downright almost pornographic and it does something to zuko.
he clears his throat and turns to face you while you fold your leg so that your knee is pressing against your chest “i didn’t know you were flexible.”
“really? i’ve been doing this since i was young,” you inform him, releasing your leg as you face him.
“well that would’ve been nice to know,” he huffs, moving the hair that fell into his face.
you quirk an eyebrow at him “why’s that?” you ask with a faint smirk lingering on your lips.
his cheeks heat up, a flush takes over his skin and you resist the urge to coo at him. who knew the fire lord could be so adorable?
“my, my, zuko,” you place a hand on your chest “is my baby having nasty thoughts about his girl?”
he groans and covers his face in embarrassment of you catching onto him. you grasp his hand to unveil his face, too enamoured by his shyness. zuko leans up to press his lips against yours, parting his lips so that his tongue peeks out to meet yours. you smile into the kiss, the hand you're still holding onto now pressed against your chest, cupping a breast. he hums into the kiss and switches your positions so that he's leaning over you now.
you smirk when he pulls away for air, placing a hand on his cheek as you ask "wanna test that flexibility out?"
he grins and nods his head eagerly. you giggle, getting rid of the covers concealing your figure. zuko loves your nightgown, it never fails to get him excited whenever he sees you in his colours. he gets between your legs, wrapping them around his waist as he goes back in to kiss you. he takes his time making out with you, pressing his core against your own at the same time. you buck your hips, creating friction between your bodies and you can feel him getting harder. he presses deeper into you, moaning into the kiss as you feel his tongue on yours. there's a growing wet spot on your panties, zuko takes the chance to pull his cock out, giving it a few pumps before pulling your panties to the side and sliding his tip along your wet slit and catching onto your clit for a few seconds. you urge him to put it in and he does, he also grabs your leg to mimic your earlier stretching position. he starts thrusting his hips, enjoying the access this position gives him, he keeps looking down at the place you connect and feels himself losing his mind.
he continues drilling into you till the two of you reach your peak, he switches your position so that you’re lying on your tummy with a pillow propped under your pelvis while he spreads your legs fully. he groans at the sight and collects the cum he spilled into you and messes it on your swollen pussy. you're a moaning mess at his actions, feeling him play with you before he stuffs his fingers into you and pumps them. the delicious pain from the stretch paired with him fingering you prompts you to tell him to keep going. he thumbs circles onto your clit and replaces his fingers with his dick, continuing his onslaught of pleasure on you.
