husband!aerion who cums in his pants jsut from making out...⊹ ࣪ ˖
"aerion, you're getting your spit all over my chin," you complain half-heartedly, attempting to pull back from the onslaught of his kisses.
his grip on your waist tightens as you straddle him in the privacy of your chambers.
he doesn't stop. if anything, your protest only seems to fuel the ferocity of his assault. his mouth is a hot, wet possession against your skin, trailing from your jaw down the column of your throat. your husband is practically devouring you, marking you, trying to consume you whole.
"shush," he mumbles against your mouth, claiming you again with a passion that borders on feral. “i do not recall getting the same complaints when i kiss your cunny.”
your fingers tangle in his silver hair, pulling just enough to make him hiss. the sound vibrates through your chest as you grind against him, feeling his hardness beneath layers of expensive fabric.
"you're disgusting," you mutter with a smile, your body betrays your words as you continue your rhythmic movements atop him.
aerion's hands roam possessively over your curves, his mouth never leaving yours for more than a second. "tell me, wife, does my passion disgust you as much as your eyes suggest?" he chuckles darkly between kisses.
his condescending tone makes you grip his hair tighter, eliciting a guttural moan from him. you feel his hips buck involuntarily beneath you, his control clearly slipping.
"gods, aerion," you gasp as he bites your lower lip. "you're like a beast in heat."
his response is a strangled sound, somewhere between pleasure and surprise. suddenly, his body goes rigid beneath you, his fingers digging into your hips almost painfully. his kisses become desperate, sloppy, as he loses all composure.
when you finally pull back to look at him, his face is flushed, his pupils blown wide with desire.
"did you just...?" you start, a wicked grin spreading across your face.
aerion's expression is a mixture of pleasure and hunger for more, "don’t look so pleased with yourself," he murmurs, his lips hovering just above yours.
you lean in close, whispering against his ear, "my poor husband, so overwhelmed by a simple kiss. whatever would the court think if they knew their fierce prince came in his pants like a boy?"
his free hand slides down your side, fingers hooking into the fabric of your gown. "i may have found my release prematurely, but i assure you," he whispers against your neck, "i am far from finished with you tonight."
he captures your mouth again, this time with a gentleness that surprises you. "only you have this power over me, my infuriatingly perfect wife." he murmurs against your lips.
What are your headcanons for Aerion and his wife/reader? I love everything you write about him, and if you don’t mind me sharing a thought about being married to Aerion: I feel like he’d play hard to get about everything, and only after some time being married would he start to grow attached to his wife, more out of a sense of possession than love. I also feel like it’d be really hard not to be completely overwhelmed by him 😦 he’s actually insane and I love it ❤️❤️❤️ anyway, I hope you’re doing well!!
yessss absolutelyyyy!!!
headcanons aerion x wife!reader ⊹ ࣪ ˖
aerion doesn't understand love as most people do. to him, possession is affection. the more he wants to control every aspect of your life, what you wear, who you speak to, where you go, the more he actually cares for you. he'd never admit it, but when he's being most controlling is when he feels most vulnerable about losing you.
his famous targaryen temper would be something you'd learn to navigate like treacherous waters at the beginning stages of your marriage. small things wouldn't bother him, but perceived slights to his honor or your "disloyalty" (even just speaking too long with another man) would trigger terrifying rages. afterward, he'd be confused by your fear, as to him, passion is passion…whether in anger or desire!!
your resistance would be foreplay to him. the more you challenged him, the more desirable you'd become. he'd enjoy breaking down your defenses, seeing you go from defiance to submission (though he'd respect you more for never making it too easy).
he would be intellectually condescending, especially in the beginning, always assuming he knows better than you about everything…from politics to personal matters. yet, he'd secretly be impressed when you proved him wrong, though he'd never admit it. instead, he'd find another way to assert his superiority.
once you give birth to an heir, aerion's obsession would shift to include your child. he'd be terrifyingly protective and demanding about the child's upbringing, insisting on targaryen customs and language. your role would expand to include being the mother of his legacy…and seeing you become a mother would only make him want to make more children with you, and he'd become almost insatiable in the later stages of your marriage.
as years pass, your children become the primary way aerion expresses affection. he'll spend hours teaching them high valyrian, watching with intense satisfaction as they perfect the dragon's tongue. when he sees you patiently guiding their lessons or comforting them, he experiences a foreign warmth that both confuses and pleases him. you can only assume it comes from the relationship he had with his mother before she passed.
while he remains in control, there's a new tenderness in his touch. after particularly vigorous encounters, he traces patterns on your skin and press soft kisses to your shoulders…small little gestures that prove his love to you though he doesn’t say it often.
where once his rages would terrify you, now you've learned to weather them. instead of confusion at your fear, he now shows a clumsy sort of remorse by bringing you a gift or seeking your presence without explanation, as if proximity alone is an apology.
his condescension has softened into what he considers "playful debate." he now actively seeks your opinion on matters, though he'd frame it as testing your intelligence. when you prove him wrong, instead of immediately asserting superiority. your mind has become as valuable to him as your body.
your marriage has developed its own rituals like nightly walks in the gardens where he actually listens to your day, or the way he always saves the choicest portion of the evening meal for you.
as your children grow, aerion's anxieties shift to their futures. he becomes obsessed with securing their positions, educating them in the ways of dragons and rulers. in quiet moments, he expresses these fears to you, his voice uncharacteristically vulnerable. "they must be stronger than me," he might admit, which is as close as he'll come to acknowledging his own perceived shortcomings.
he learns your preferences without being told, anticipates your needs before you voice them, and shows a loyalty that extends beyond mere possession. when you're ill, he actually cancels engagements to remain by your side!!!
i've always imagined it as intentionally a little vague so people can picture it however they want, but the original version is definitely set in the southern united states. think louisiana, mississippi, south alabama...that general vibe. like think shawn heard!!! lols americanized aerion.
that being said...i also don't really mind when people picture him in the uk! it depends on how u want to invision him but the og idea was that he is american!
at what ages do tt!aerion and reader become parents? 🤭
i've always pictured it happening pretty quickly after you come back!!
19-ish you return home from boarding school that winter. you and aerion slowly find your way back to each other. the letters, the desserts, fixing your car, sitting on his couch...that's when all the old feelings come back. then he secretly attempts to baby trap you multiple times because he's terrified you're going to marry valarr. he knows it's wrong, but in his mind he's running out of time and this is the only way he can keep you.
around 20ish you find out you're pregnant. at first you're determined to tell him because it's his child, but you make it clear that the pregnancy doesn't automatically mean you're getting back together. (that conversation goes...very badly.) then ofc mae (maegor) is born, making you both first-time parents while you're still so young!!!
bobby’s pursing his lips while examining his clunky camcorder, making sure it’s running smoothly through the viewfinder by directing his shot towards your unimpressed expression and lingerie clad form. a grin tugs at his lips, “casting couch style? or maybe all romantic and cutesy? you already know i’m pretty good at playing boyfriend.”
you cross your arms over your chest. the motion squishes your tits together in the lace that’s holding them— a pleased grunt falls from bobby’s lips as he watches it happen through the camera.
“what’s your one friend’s name again?” you ask, titling your head the side as your eyes meet his. you feign ignorance before fully jabbing at him with your words, “maybe i’ll ask him to do this for me instead ... i feel like he’d definitely say yes.”
“yeah, that’s not fuckin’ happening.” bobby murmurs with that possessive edge you’ve only heard a few time before.
“then shut up and sit down.”
his eyes narrow. before he can do or say anything else, you’re grabbing his arms and leading him to relax on the sofa with a light push to his chest. he lands with soft groan, you know he’s already aching in his boxers just from that sound alone. a hum of approval leaves you, “you can start actually filming now— pretty please.”
“right …” he breathes. he’s suddenly more nervous than he has been in months around you, as you go from the mean and bossy girl he knows to a needy plaything for the camera.
you drop to your knees in front of him the second he starts recording. he’s torn between watching you through the viewfinder and actually keeping his eyes on you. he doesn’t trust himself not to tremble and fuck up his shot or become distracted, so he settles on watching the recording no matter how much it makes him suck his teeth. you giggle so quietly that the camera can barely pick up on it when you see the hard outline of him through his jeans.
“c’mon, baby. touch me already.” he coaxes through a raspy whine.
it’s then that you remember you gave his filthy mouth free-reign. it was in your agreement. you swallow down the urge to roll your eyes before you rub your hands up his tense thighs. one of them palms him over the denim keeping him confined, his hips lifting to chase after the little taste of friction. he hisses when your fingertips brush against his lower abdomen once you finally go for his belt. he’s too easy.
the second your fingers wrap around him and free him from his boxers, he adjusts his own grip on the camera. you see his jaw work with the need to hold back a groan as you peer up at him through your lashes, your soft palm rubbing against his shaft, working him in slow pumps that make his head fall back against the couch for a split second. when your delicate fingers squeeze just enough, he sucks in a breath behind the camera— “are you gonna use that mouth on me?” he drawls out.
you only nod, allowing some drool to fall from your lips to make the glide of your hand easier before your soft lips wrap around him. his hand comes down to cup your jaw, thumb brushing over your cheek as you lower your mouth and feel him twitch against your tongue. when you push past the urge to gag, throat flexing around his dick while you manage to take him fully with practiced expertise, he holds you there. because you gotta show off your talents for the camera, right?
“attagirl. so good at taking dick, look at you—” he grits out, moaning as your teary eyes look right into the lens and your mouth vibrates with a sweet hum. he feels heat settling at the back of his neck, sweat inducing and merely a precursor to the full pleasure you’re about to give him. he rubs the hot tear that escapes your lashes into your soft skin, talking down at you as you start moving your head and breathing through your nose like a you’ve learned to do, “you’re gonna be everyone’s favorite little pornstar, huh?”
Sorry for being a slut but can you do dry humping with Bobby when you’re Kat’s best friend? And reader and Bobby say it doesn’t count since clothes are on
HAGAHGALOLSSS CUTEEE
you and bobby getting it on (sort of) during work hours! ⋆.˚
you're trying to make sense of the inventory spreadsheet clark left you, numbers blurring together on the clipboard when you hear bobby call your name from across the showroom floor.
"hey, come check this out," he says, patting his lap from where he's sprawled in one of the plush leather sofa chairs. "this remote has like, fifty different settings."
"bobby, i'm supposed to be working," you protest, but you're already walking toward him.
"five minutes," he grins, holding up the remote. "just wanna show you how this massage function works."
as soon as you're within reach, he grabs your wrist and pulls you down onto his lap. the clipboard nearly slips from your hands as you land sideways across his thighs.
"bobby!" you laugh, trying to push yourself up. "clark will kill me if i don't finish this inventory."
"clark can wait," he murmurs, his lips finding that spot behind your ear that makes you melt. "you've been working wayyyy too hard anyway."
his hands slide down to your hips, fingers tracing patterns through your skirt as he starts kissing down your neck. you can feel his breath against your skin, warm and teasing.
"seriously, i need to-oh," you gasp as he nips at your pulse point, your body betraying you as you lean into his touch.
"need to what, babe?" he asks, his voice muffled against your skin. "right now i think you need to relax." before you can protest again, he's guiding your hips to move against him and lifting your thigh to get you to straddle him. the friction sends a jolt straight to your core, and you bite back a moan.
"bobby," you breathe, but your hands are already tangling in his hair instead of pushing him away.
"that's it," he murmurs, his hands tightening on your hips as he helps you grind against him. "just like that."
his lips find yours, and you're lost in the kiss, all thoughts of work and inventory sheets forgotten. his tongue explores your mouth as your hips move against his with increasing urgency.
"god, you feel so good on me," he whispers against your lips. "been thinking about this all fuckin’ day."
"me too," you admit, your head falling back as he kisses down your neck again.
the leather chair creaks softly as your movements become more desperate. bobby's hands slide from your hips to your ass, practically kneading your ass as he guides your movements.
"like that?" he asks, though he already knows the answer from the way you're grinding against him. "you like rubbing against me like this?"
you can only nod, words failing you as pleasure builds with each movement. bobby's dirty talk has always been your weakness…the sweet way he says the filthiest things.
"wish we were naked," he murmurs, his hips bucking up to meet yours. "wish i could feel how wet you are right now."
the thought sends a fresh wave of arousal through you, and you press harder against him, chasing the pleasure that's building with each movement.
“this is a really bad idea…” you whine in a haze, “anyone can walk in and catch us-”
"let 'em watch," he growls, his hands gripping your ass tighter. "maybe they'll learn something."
you laugh breathlessly, but it turns into a moan as he shifts his angle, pressing perfectly against your clit through the denim. the friction is maddening, not enough to get you there but more than enough to drive you wild.
"that's it," he encourages, his voice dropping to that low rumble that makes your stomach clench. "ride me just like that baby…"
bobby's hands guide you, his mouth claiming yours again as he swallows your moans.
"ew! guys!" kat's voice cuts through your post-orgasmic haze. "really?! on the furniture we're selling?!"
you and bobby freeze simultaneously, eyes wide with panic as kat stands there, hands on her hips, looking utterly disgusted.
"we had a deal! if he got to hang out here like a deadbeat loser, we agreed NO SEXUAL ACTIVITIES in the store!"
bobby has the decency to look embarrassed, though he's still holding you tightly on his lap. "we were not having sex," he defends. "our clothes are on."
kat stares at him like he's just grown a second head. "the 'it doesn't count with clothes on' rule? seriously? are we fifteen again?”
"we weren't-" you start, but she cuts you off.
"don't even," she grimaces. "i can see exactly what you two were doing…grinding all over each other like teenagers in the back of a movie theater…"
"it's not like we stained it," bobby mutters.
kat throws her hands up in exasperation. "oh, well that makes it perfectly fine then! as long as the furniture remains pristine, feel free to turn my workplace into your personal love nest!"
you hide your face in your hands, mortified. "can we please just forget this happened?"
"oh, i'm not forgetting this," kat says, "i'm mentally documenting this moment for future blackmail purposes."
"hey!" bobby protests. "that's not fair, we didn't even finish."
"BOBBY!" you and kat yell in unison.
"what?" he asks, genuinely confused. "i'm just saying, it's rude to cockblock." he grumbles, finally loosening his grip enough for you to slide off his lap.
as you stand awkwardly adjusting your clothes, kat looks between you both with disgust.
"you two are like horny rabbits with impulse control issues. now get back to work before i tell clark you're both 'stress testing' the furniture cause i'm pretty sure that's not in the job description."
"actually," bobby pipes up, "i think it could fall under 'team building exercises'."
kat stares at him, then at you, then back at him again. "i'm going to pretend you didn't just say that. now both of you, back to work. and if i catch you 'testing' any more furniture, i'm hosing you both down with the fire extinguisher."
as she walks away, bobby leans in to whisper, "think she'd really use the fire extinguisher?"
"only if we're lucky," you mutter with a slight smile, grabbing your clipboard. "now come on, we actually have work to do before clark gets back."
Letting u know this person sent this same prompt to someone else as well not sure if that’s something u would want to know but thought I’d tell u incase
thank you for letting me know!!!!
kind of sucks but i don't mind if people send the same prompt to multiple writers since everyone ends up putting their own spin on it... but it was really sweet of you to give me a heads-up!!!! 💕💕
Girl ur trailer trash! Aerion stuff hits a little too close to home as someone who is currently dating a blonde haired blue eyes mechanic who smokes cigarettes and lives in a mobile home. He actually has some rich cousins who we went on vacation with last year, and one of them would constantly hit on me and at one point my boyfriend claims he saw him spiking my drink and he beat the absolute shit out of him. We got kicked out of the resort since he fought him in front of a HUGE group of people and his uncle had to bribe the local authorities so that no one would get arrested 💀 Haven’t talked to said cousins since and now his dad and his cousin’s dad are majorly beefing 😫 love him tho!
PLEASE 😭😭 not the trailer trash!aerion prophecy coming true.
first of all... your life sounds like it belongs in an HBO drama because WHAT DO YOU MEAN
i'm glad you ended up okay!!!! that's a genuinely scary situation omgggg!!! wishing you two a lot less chaos going forward!!! 🥰🥰💝
Roland and Reader fics just scratch that itch that we didn’t get with Harwin and Rhaenyra 😭❤️ I love every one of them you’ve written,,, I wish we could’ve seen more of Harwin and Rhaenyra’s relationship
STOP this is literally the biggest compliment!!!!
that's exactly the vibe i was hoping for. we were robbed of harwin and rhaenyra, so i'm just filling the void the only way i know how!! 💕
+18, DARK THEMES, DUBCON/CNC, obsessive behavior and stalking (initially digital, then in-person), home invasion, degradation kink, praise and oral sex (f receiving), rough fingering, p in v, spit kink, livestream sex, dead dove: do not eat, (breeding vibes in part 3 guysss) ᥫ᭡
you stared at the message, your heart hammering against your ribs. your apartment, your sanctuary, suddenly felt like a glass box, and he was standing right outside, able to see everything.
you scrambled off your bed and crept to the window, peeking through the blinds. down below, under the flickering streetlamp, stood his figure.
even from this distance, even with the distortion of the glass, you knew it was him. he was just standing there, hands shoved in his pockets, looking up at the building with an unnerving stillness.
panic, cold and sharp, lanced through you. how? how did he find you? you were always so careful. you never used your real name, never showed the outside of your building, never gave away any identifying details. but he'd used your name in the message. a name you couldn't even remember sharing. a cold dread settled in your stomach.
your phone buzzed again, the sound making you jump.
aeri0n_t: i know you're in there. please just talk to me.
you didn't answer. you couldn't. you just stood there, frozen, watching him as he pulled out his phone and typed. a moment later, a new message appeared.
aeri0n_t: i'm coming up.
no. no, no, no. you backed away from the window, your mind racing. you could lock the door and hide in the bathroom. you could-
the knock echoed through your apartment, loud and insistent.
you held your breath, praying he'd think you weren't home, that he'd just leave.
"i know you're in there," his voice called through the door, muffled but clear. it was deeper than it was through your speakers, rougher around the edges with an emotion you couldn't quite place. maybe frustration? desperation?
"i can see your light is on. please, just open the door sweetheart."
you stayed silent, your back pressed against the wall, your entire body trembling.
"please," he said again, his voice softer now, almost pleading. "i'm not going to hurt you. i just...i need to know you're okay. you ignored me for four days. i was worried."
his words should have been reassuring, but they weren't. he was worried…he was so worried he'd tracked you down and was now standing at your door, demanding entry. this wasn't the sweet, reverent "silver dragon" from your chat room.
another knock, harder this time. "open the door, or i swear to god, i'll wake up every single person on this floor until someone lets me in."
the thought of causing a scene, of your neighbors seeing him, of them finding out what you did for a living, was more horrifying than facing him yourself. with a shaking hand, you reached for the deadbolt and turned it. the chain was still on, a flimsy last line of defense. you peered through the crack.
he was even more striking in person. with the lean, athletic build you'd only seen in glimpses on screen. his hair was a shock of silver-white, messy and sticking up slightly, he was dressed in dark, expensive-looking clothes, but they were rumpled, as if he'd been wearing them for days. and his face…his face was a storm of emotion. anger, yes, but also a deep, unsettling distress that made him look younger, more vulnerable, and infinitely more dangerous.
"oh fuck," he breathed, his eyes finding yours in the narrow opening. relief washed over his features, quickly replaced by a simmering fury. "why didn't you answer me?"
you swallowed hard, your throat dry. "aerion... you can't be here. how did you find me?"
he didn't answer. instead, he simply put his shoulder to the door. the chain snapped with a loud crack, and he was inside your apartment, pushing past you before you could even react. he kicked the door shut behind him, the sound of it clicking into place echoing like a gunshot in the sudden silence.
he stood in the middle of your living room, his gaze sweeping over your space—over the soft glow of your ring light, the scattered lingerie, the laptop still open on your bed. his jaw was tight, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. he looked like a caged predator.
"four days," he said, his voice low and dangerously quiet. he turned his full attention to you, and you took an involuntary step back. "you ignored me for four fucking days. with no fucking explanation. i thought something happened to you…"
"you shouldn't have come here," you whispered, wrapping your arms around yourself, a pathetic attempt at a barrier. "you're scaring me."
his expression softened for a fraction of a second, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. he took a step toward you, and you flinched. he stopped, his hands coming up in a gesture of surrender.
"i'm not going to hurt you," he said, his voice gentler now, but the intensity was still there, burning beneath the surface. "i just...i needed to see you."
he closed the remaining distance between you, his movements slow and deliberate. he didn't touch you, not at first. he just stood there, so close you could feel the warmth radiating from his body, could smell the faint, clean scent of his cologne mixed with something else, something metallic and sharp, like ozone before a storm.
"why were you ignoring me?" he asked again, his voice barely a whisper. he reached out, his fingers gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. his touch was surprisingly soft, but it made your heart pound with fear. "was it something i said? something i did?"
"this... this isn't a good time," you stammered, your mind racing for an excuse, any excuse. "i was... i'm in the middle of something."
he glanced over at your laptop, then back at you, a knowing, almost bitter smile playing on his lips. "a show? were you about to go live for them? for the faceless masses who tip you in tokens and don't give a shit about you?"
he stepped even closer, his body now even closer against yours. his face was inches from yours, his eyes searching yours, desperate and demanding. "i gave you a shit ton of tokens. i gave you my name. i thought...i thought we had something."
"we don't have anything," you said, your voice trembling but firm. "this is my job. you're a client. that's all."
"don't say that," he growled, “i'm not just some client. i'm the one who tells you you're beautiful when everyone else is just telling you to spread your legs. i'm the one who respects you!"
"respect?" you laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. "you tracked me down, aerion. you broke into my apartment. that's not respect. that's borderline obsession."
"it's not obsession," he insisted, his voice rising with frustration. "it's... it's devotion. i care about you. i've never cared this much about anyone…it hurts."
you were trapped. trapped between his body and the wall, trapped by his desperation and your own fear. you could feel the hard lines of his body against yours, could feel the frantic beating of his heart against your chest.
"you're not scared now, are you?" he murmured, his hand tracing the line of your jaw.
you nodded, a tiny, almost imperceptible movement of your head. it was the truth. you were terrified. but the nod, in his eyes, was a betrayal.
his face changed. the desperate, pleading boy vanished, replaced by something cold and hard. "oh," he said, his voice dangerously soft. "you're scared. you want something to be afraid of?"
a bitter laugh escaped his lips. "fine. you want to treat me like a client? then i'll fucking behave like one."
before you could even process his words, one arm wrapped around your waist, lifting you effortlessly as if you weighed nothing. you gasped, your hands flying to his shoulders, trying to push him away, but it was like shoving against a statue. with a grunt, he hoisted you over his shoulder in a fireman's carry.
the world tilted, your hair hanging down in a curtain as you stared at your apartment floor. "no! put me down!" you screamed, your voice raw with panic.
you thrashed wildly, kicking your legs, pounding your fists against his back, but he was immovable. it was like hitting brick. his grip on you was like iron, pinning you in place. he stopped beside your bed, and with a careless shove, he dumped you onto the mattress. you bounced, the air knocked from your lungs, scrambling to get away, but he was on you in an instant, one hand pressing down on the center of your chest, holding you flat.
"stay fucking still," he commanded, his voice a low growl.
you didn't stop. you couldn't. you bucked and twisted, trying to squirm out from under his weight, your screams muffled by the room. he just watched you, a look of detached annoyance on his face, as if you were nothing more than a fly buzzing around his head. with his free hand, he reached over and adjusted your laptop.
"no, no, no," you sobbed, realizing what he was doing. he angled the screen, tilting the camera until it pointed directly at the bed, at you, trapped and struggling beneath him. the little green light was on. it was still live. your audience, your faceless masses, were watching everything.
"there," he said, a sickeningly satisfied smile on his face. "now everyone can see."
he shifted his weight, grabbing your chin in a punishing grip, forcing your head to turn toward the camera. you whimpered, tears streaming down your cheeks, blurring the view of the little green light. you squeezed your eyes shut, you wouldn't look. you wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
"open your eyes," he commanded. "look at the camera.”
you blinked them open slightly as his grip on your chin tightened, and with his other hand, he brought two fingers up to your tightly sealed lips. "open up," he ordered.
you shook your head, a muffled whimper escaping your throat.
smack.
the sharp, stinging crack of his hand against your cheek was so unexpected it made you gasp. it wasn't hard enough to truly hurt, but the shock, the humiliation, was something that shot red hot through you.
"i said, open up," he repeated, his voice utterly devoid of warmth. "or the next one will be a lot harder."
defeated, your body trembling with a mixture of fear and a strange, unwelcome thrill, you slowly parted your lips. he didn't hesitate, pushing his two fingers into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. the taste of his skin was salty, clean.
"get them nice and wet," he instructed, his eyes locked on yours through the camera video. "show them how good you are at following orders, sweetheart."
you hesitated, your mind screaming at you to bite down, to do anything. but the look in his eyes, the promise of pain, held you captive. you closed your lips around his fingers, your tongue moving tentatively, coating them with your saliva.
"that's it," he murmured, a flicker of that old approval in his voice, twisted now into something darker. "such a good girl when you want to be. you know how to use that mouth, don't you? it's all you're good for, really. talking to them, taking their money...and now, taking my fingers."
he began to slowly pump his fingers in and out of your mouth, fucking your mouth with his hand. "suck," he commanded, his voice a husky whisper. "show everyone how much you like it."
the degradation burned through you, but a sick part of you, the part that craved his attention, obeyed. you hollowed your cheeks, sucking on his fingers as he'd instructed, your eyes locked on his.
just then, a sound pierced the tense silence, a cheerful, electronic chime from your laptop.
ding!
unknown443: [tip: 100 tokens]
another chime followed, then another, a cascade of notifications lighting up the screen from other usernames.
aerion smiled, a cruel, triumphant curve of his lips. he pulled his fingers from your mouth with a wet, obscene pop. a string of saliva connected your bottom lip to his fingertips before breaking. the sound, the sight, was utterly humiliating, and a fresh wave of heat washed over your face.
"good girl," he purred, the praise a poison dart. he shifted his weight, the hand that had been pinning you down moving to your waist. with a rough tug, he yanked you further down the bed, positioning you exactly how he wanted, your body pliant under his strength. his free hand trailed down your stomach, his fingers hooking into the delicate lace of your panties.
"let's see what we have here," he murmured, more to the camera than to you. "let's see if the rest of you is as obedient as your mouth."
you squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself, but you couldn't stop the helpless whimper that escaped your lips as he pushed the fabric aside. his fingers found your folds, and you froze. you expected pain, expected roughness. but his touch was exploratory, almost clinical, for a split second. then he stilled.
you felt him tense above you. you dared to open your eyes, and the look on his face was one of pure, unadulterated triumph. a slow, predatory smile spread across his lips.
"well, well," he breathed, his voice thick with smug satisfaction. he looked from your face to the laptop, making sure the camera had a perfect view. "she's fucking soaked."
he slid one long finger through your slick folds, and you cried out, a strangled sound of shame and unwilling arousal. it was true. despite your terror, despite your disgust, your body had betrayed you.
"you can scream all you want," he said, his voice a low, taunting rumble. he pushed that single finger inside you, sinking it knuckle-deep with a slow, deliberate thrust. "but your body doesn't lie. it wants this. it wants me."
your back arched off the bed, a desperate, involuntary reaction to the invasion. you thrashed your head from side to side, but it was useless. he was too strong, his hold too absolute. he began to move his finger, pumping it in and out of you.
"so fucking tight," he groaned, his eyes closing for a moment as if savoring the sensation. then he opened them, his gaze burning into yours. "and so fucking wet. all this for me? or for them?"
he added a second finger, stretching you, filling you. the sensation was overwhelming, a mixture of pleasure and pain that short-circuited your brain. your screams turned to ragged, panting sobs.
"answer me, baby" he demanded, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing it in a tight, cruel circle. "who is this for?"
"you!" you sobbed, the word torn from you. "it's for you!"
"yeah that's what i thought," he suddenly withdrew his fingers, leaving you feeling achingly empty. he brought his hand up to his face, his eyes never leaving yours as he looked at his glistening fingers. then, holding your gaze, he slowly, deliberately, licked them clean.
a guttural sound of pure satisfaction rumbled in his chest. "fucking delicious," he breathed. he leaned down, his face inches from yours, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that you knew the camera's microphone would pick up perfectly. "i think i'm going to start by eating your pretty little pussy."
he didn't wait for a response. he pushed himself up and leaned over you to your laptop. you flinched away, but he wasn't interested in you right now. his long fingers tapped at the keyboard, and you heard the soft whir of the camera's motor as he adjusted its position. he angled it down, capturing the entire length of your body on the rumpled bedsheets.
he returned his attention to you, his eyes dark with intent. he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of your panties, the only barrier left between you and complete exposure. with one sharp, decisive tug, he ripped them. the delicate lace gave way with a tear, and he tossed the ruined fabric aside as if it were nothing.
"much better," he said, his gaze raking over your naked cunt.
he shifted down the bed, his body a heavy, commanding presence. he settled between your legs, his shoulders pushing your thighs apart, forcing them wide. there was no escape. you were completely open, completely vulnerable to him. you could feel his warm breath on your most sensitive flesh, and you squeezed your eyes shut, your entire body tensing in anticipation.
then his mouth was on you.
it wasn't gentle. it wasn't exploratory. it was a hungry, possessive assault. he licked a long, wet stripe up your slit, stealing a choked gasp tore from your throat.
he didn't stop. he sealed his lips over your clit and sucked, hard, sending a jolt of white-hot pleasure-pain through you. your hips bucked involuntarily, but his hands came up to grip your thighs, holding you down, pinning you in place.
he ate you out with a messy, single-minded intensity. it was all wet sounds and desperate lapping, his tongue delving into your entrance, his teeth scraping lightly against your folds. he was devouring you, and the sounds he made were obscene, slurping and groaning as if he were a starving man and you were his feast.
"look at her," he panted, pulling back for just a second, his chin glistening with your wetness. he wasn't looking at you. he was looking at your pussy, his expression one of pure adoration. "she's so pretty. so fucking pretty."
he dove back in, his tongue swirling around your clit in tight, relentless circles. your hands flew to his hair, your fingers tangling in the silver strands, but whether you meant to push him away or pull him closer, you couldn't say.
"she behaves so well," he murmured against your flesh, the vibrations of his words sending shivers through you. "she never ignores me. not like you do."
he punctuated his words with a sharp thrust of his tongue, fucking you with it, and you cried out, your back arching off the bed.
"no," he continued, his voice a dark, worshipful chant. "she always gets so wet for her owner, huh? she knows who she belongs to, even if you don't."
he increased his pace, his mouth working you with a ferocity that bordered on violence. one of his hands left your thigh, and you felt two fingers slide easily inside you, curling upward to find that spot that made your vision blur. he pumped his fingers in time with his tongue, a perfect, devastating rhythm.
"that's it," he groaned, his voice muffled by your flesh. "give it to me. give me what's mine."
the coil in your stomach tightened to an impossible degree. the pleasure was overwhelming, humiliating, undeniable. you could feel the audience watching, could hear the distant chime of more tips, but it all faded into the background. there was only the weight of his body holding you down, the relentless movement of his tongue and fingers, and his voice, claiming you, body and soul.
the coil inside you snapped. a blinding, pulsing wave of pleasure ripped through you, so intense it was almost painful. your body went rigid, a choked cry tearing from your throat as your orgasm crashed over you. your thighs trembled, your pussy clamping down around his fingers as wave after wave of release washed through you.
he didn't stop. if anything, he intensified his efforts, his tongue flicking mercilessly against your oversensitive clit as he worked you through every last spasm. he drank you in, his groans of satisfaction vibrating against your flesh as he lapped up every drop of your release, not letting a single bit go to waste.
when you finally collapsed back against the sheets, boneless and gasping, he slowly pulled away. he didn't wipe his mouth. he just leaned back over you, his face hovering inches above yours, his chin and lips slick and shining with your cum. the scent of your own arousal filled the air between you, musky and intimate.
"taste yourself, baby" he commanded, his voice a low growl. "taste what you gave me."
he didn't wait for an answer. he crushed his mouth to yours, a messy, possessive kiss. you could feel the sticky wetness of your own release on his lips, taste yourself on his tongue as he forced it into your mouth. it was a humiliating, intimate act, and the camera captured it all. through the haze of your own pleasure, you were acutely aware of the hard, thick length of his cock straining against the fabric of his pants, pressing insistently against your thigh.
he finally pulled back, his chest heaving, his indigo eyes burning into yours. "have you ever taken a dildo?" he asked, his voice rough, conversational, as if he were asking about the weather.
your mind, still foggy from your orgasm, struggled to process the question. you shook your head, a small, hesitant movement.
a slow, predatory smile spread across his face. "no? just your fingers?"
you nodded again,
"good," he breathed, the word a puff of air against your lips. "then i get to be your first."
he pushed himself up, kneeling between your legs. his eyes never left yours as his hands went to his belt. the metallic clink of the buckle was loud in the quiet room. he undid his pants, pushing them down just enough to free himself.
and there it was.
his cock sprang free, hard and heavy. it was just as perfect as it had been on the laptop screen, but seeing it in person, feeling the heat radiating from it, was something else entirely. long and thick, with a satisfying heft, the skin was pale against his dark clothes, but the head was a flushed, angry pink, already beading with precum. prominent veins mapped a path up the shaft, and it jutted out from his body, a testament to his undeniable arousal.
he wrapped a hand around it, giving it a slow, deliberate stroke. "this is what you do to me," he said, his voice thick with lust. "this is what ignoring me for four days did."
he leaned down again, his face so close his features blurred. his free hand came up to grip your jaw, his thumb pressing on your chin, forcing your mouth open. "open up," he whispered, his voice a dark, intimate command.
you obeyed, your body too overwhelmed, too wrecked to fight back. he hovered over you, his gaze locked on your open mouth, and then he spat. a warm, wet string of his saliva landed on your tongue. it was a primal, claiming act, and a fresh wave of humiliation washed over you.
before you could react, his mouth was on yours again. this kiss was different, deeper, more possessive. he swirled his tongue with yours, mixing his spit with yours, a messy, intimate exchange that left you breathless and dizzy.
when he finally pulled away, a string of saliva connected your lips. his eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with lust. "my turn," he said, his voice rough and gravelly.
he held his hand out, palm up, in front of your face. "spit."
you hesitated for only a second before obeying, spitting into his waiting palm. he gave a low, appreciative hum. he brought his hand to his cock, using the combined slickness of your saliva and his to coat his length. he pumped himself slowly, his fist gliding over the rigid shaft, the wet sounds filling the room. he watched you the entire time, his eyes burning with an intensity that made your stomach clench.
"that's better," he groaned, giving himself one last, tight squeeze.
then, without warning, his hands were on you again. he grabbed your hips, his grip bruising, and with a rough, effortless movement, he flipped you over. you landed on your stomach with a soft "oomph," the air knocked from your lungs. he was on you instantly, his weight settling over you, his knees pushing your legs apart.
you felt the hot, heavy length of his cock press against the curve of your ass. he shifted, dragging it down until the swollen, flushed head was nestled right against your entrance. you were still so wet, so open from your orgasm and his earlier assault.
he didn't push in. not yet. he just held himself there, the tip of his cock teasing your slick folds. he moved his hips in a slow, maddening circle, using your wetness to coat himself, getting the head of his cock "super wet" as he'd intended. the friction was delicious, torturous. you could feel every contour of him, every vein, as he slid against you, teasing your clit with every pass.
"feel that baby?" he breathed in your ear, his voice a low, possessive rumble. "this is what you've been waiting for..."
"...this is what you were made for."
and then he pushed in.
there was no gentleness, no slow acclimatization. he drove into you in one long, brutal stroke, burying himself to the hilt. the stretch was immense, a burning, overwhelming fullness that stole your breath. a sharp, guttural cry was torn from your lips, muffled by the sheets beneath your cheek. he was bigger than anything you'd ever taken, bigger than you'd imagined, and he filled you completely.
he didn't give you time to adjust. he set a punishing rhythm from the very beginning, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in, his hips slapping against your ass with a loud, wet smack.
the camera, positioned perfectly, captured everything: the glistening sheen of your combined wetness coating his thick shaft as it pistoned in and out of you, the way your flesh clung to him on every retreat, the slick drip of your arousal running down your inner thighs to soak the sheets.
your face was smushed into the bedding, your mouth open in a silent scream as moans were forced from your body with every powerful thrust. you felt like an animal, a bitch in heat, being taken and used, and the shame of it was mixed with a dark, thrilling pleasure you couldn't deny.
"that's it," he grunted, his voice a low, rhythmic pant. "take it. take all of it. take all of this fuckin’ cock…you're so fuckin’ tight, baby."
he brought his hand down on your ass in a sharp, stinging slap. the sound echoed in the room, followed by your yelp. "such a good girl for me. taking my big cock so good..."
his hand fisted in your hair, pulling your head back slightly, forcing your arch deeper. he panted, his words punctuated by the relentless slap of his skin against yours. "remember our first private show? you said you didn't know how you'd ever take all of me." he laughed, a dark, triumphant sound. "look at you now. taking every inch."
he slowed his pace for a moment, grinding into you, his cock pressing deep, making you whimper. "it makes me wonder, though..." he murmured, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper he knew the mic would pick up. "if this pretty little pussy is this tight... i wonder how that cute, tight asshole would feel."
panic, cold and sharp, lanced through the haze of pleasure. he was looking at the camera, a speculative smirk on his face. "what do you think, chat? should i find out?"
"no!" you screamed, the word tearing from your throat. "no! please!"
you started to thrash weakly beneath him, trying to squirm away, but his grip on your hip was like iron. your pathetic struggles only seemed to amuse him.
he laughed, a deep, cruel rumble that vibrated through his chest and into yours. "shhh shh calm down, honey" he soothed, his tone mockingly gentle. "don't worry. this time, i'll just enjoy the cunny i came for."
he released your hair and grabbed your hips with both hands, his grip bruising. he resumed his brutal pace, fucking you harder, deeper, chasing his own release. your protests died in your throat, replaced by the mindless, desperate moans of a body completely overwhelmed.
one of his hands left your hip, snaking around your body to find your clit. he began to rub it in tight, fast circles, his touch knowing, exact. the additional stimulation was electric, shooting through you like a lightning bolt.
your body, already pushed to its limit, spasmed in response. the sounds of your slick wetness grew louder, a filthy, rhythmic squelching that mingled with the slap of his skin against yours and the distant, cheerful chime of tips flooding in.
"that's my girl," he grunted, his rhythm never faltering.
he leaned down, his chest pressing against your back, his lips brushing against your ear. "this is the last time you'll ever go live for them," he panted, his voice a low, possessive growl. "you understand? after tonight, i promise to take goood care of you.”
your mind, a haze of pleasure and pain, could barely process his words. you just wanted it to stop but you wanted it to never end. you nodded dumbly against the sheets.
a low chuckle rumbled in his chest. "yeah, you do," he praised, his voice thick with satisfaction. "fuck, you're so pretty when you get cock dumb…"
that was it. the coil inside you snapped again, harder this time. your vision went white, your body convulsing as a powerful orgasm tore through you.
a long, broken moan was ripped from your throat, your pussy clamping down around his thick cock like a vise. you could feel your release gush out of you, soaking the sheets beneath you, a final, humiliating surrender.
he groaned as your walls clenched around him, his pace faltering for a moment as he savored the feeling. he rode out your orgasm, his strokes slowing as you trembled and whimpered beneath him.
he leaned back up, his hand still resting possessively on your ass, and looked directly at the camera, a triumphant smirk on his face. he gave your ass a light pat.
"and that's cum number two," he announced to the live audience, his voice clear and full of arrogant pride. he watched the comments fly by, the tips pouring in. "how many do you think we should go for, huh?" he asked, his tone casual, as if he were taking requests.
"how many times do i have to make her cum before she decides to forgive me and stop fucking ignoring me?"
Aerion is so obsessed with Old Valyria that I bet he learned high Valyrian.
He’s definitely fluent in the language, even if Targaryen doesn’t speak it much after all of the dragons died.
I can see him use it to you in the bedroom when he fuck you in the mattress, your face down pressed in the silk sheets, his face close to your ear. He would pound into you while whispering dirty words in his native tongue like “Look how pretty you are under me” or “I’m gonna fuck a baby in you.”
You won’t understand a word of what he say, but his voice sounds sooo good and it would make you clench around him in a loud moan. This mf would be so pleased to himself.
He would try so hard to make you pregnant every night, pumping his seed into you, just to have a kid to share the language with. (He would definitely speak to your womb every night.)
