Hi there! My name is M, and occasionally I like to write! I'm currently 20, and my pronouns are She/Her, but I'm also fine with They/Them. A little bit more information about me is that I'm neurodivergent (AUDHD and others!) and sometimes struggle with socialization, including online spaces. I may not always respond to comments or notes, but I always appreciate and see them.
This blog is multifandom, but organized into several masterlists to make navigation a little bit easier. Below is a list of current Fandoms I'll comfortably write for/hope to write for in the future. I'd also like to mention that sometimes I take extended hiatus due to mental health, and that the blog hasn't fully been abandoned (but i'll joke abt it lol).
Requests are allowed, but won't always be taken. I'm admittedly not confident in writing certain things, but am always welcome to being asked.
PLEASE DO NOT FOLLOW THIS BLOG IF YOU ARE A MINOR, YOU WILL BE BLOCKED.
Anyone is free to interact with my SFW works or posts, but please don't do the same for NSFW works if you're under 18, it makes me uncomfy.
I can't get this idea out of my head of an AU where Daeron was never sent away as a ward, but instead his sister was. A princess born in King's Landing amongst dragons and the impurity of House Targaryen, only to be sent away early on to Oldtown and raised in the light and sanctity of the Hightower. It's Ormund who is most careful in her upbringing, guiding her away from the wickedness tainting her blood and into the warm embrace of the Gods (or simply his influence).
It doesn't take much to convince the princess that he's all she needs, and thus it only makes sense for her to be wed to him when the time finally comes, even managing to instill it so far into her pretty, obedient head that she's the one who seeks permission from her father in regards to the union, not him. It's a sight that pleases him like no other: his sweet princess practically begging the king to bestow his blessing upon her and the one she knows is her one true love, followed by singing praises of House Hightower and it's lord whom has stolen her heart. The following result is more indludgent than any fine wine or honeyed luxury as Viserys gives in, cracking under the pleas of his beloved daughter.
When the war breaks out and the dragons dance, Ormund belives only one Targaryen is truly worthy of sitting the iron throne: his darling wife. No, not because he believes a woman should sit it by law or right, but rather because she's a Hightower at her core. Dragon's blood may run through her veins, but she was raised up in Oldtown as a Hightower through the will of the gods, and whatever they decree is the will of destiny. It doesn't take long for him to bring up his plan. He does it slowly at first, subtly. He'll make sweetened compliments during meals when they'te both sat at the table, just the two of them. He'll speak highly of her virtue, of her blessed prescensce, and how fortunate things would've been had she been the sole child of the king. He'll ponder how peaceful life would've been for the seven kingdoms had his beloved princess been crowned queen upon the death of her father, with her king consort by her side, of course.
Then, he grows more direct as the war grows bloodier. Golden coins carved with her radiant face on them, plans for which crown she'd wear upon her brow, and then names for the son and heir she'd bear; a Hightower prince bearing the name of his father's house and the beauty of his mother. She'd do splendidly, he promises, with her husband advising her at every step. She needn't worry of the politics and trivial matters of court, the king consort will simply act as her will. After all, queen or not, it is a husband's duty to care for his wife.
Yes, that's what he'll do, he declares, eyes manic with a love-sick, determined madness as he thrusts into his darling wife, pinning her down onto the feather bed with his weight. She need not her brothers and sisters, they only threaten her reign, he explains, fucking her dumb on his cock. She can't think, her mind hazy and clouded with pleasure as Ormund rambles on. It's the will of the Gods above, he insists, pushing himself in deeper. He's meant to guide the Seven Kingdoms into salvation from their vile Targaryen rulers. There is no need to wait to put his heir into his wife's belly, not when the Gods are calling him to fulfill his divine duty. And as he spills inside his sweet princess with a feral roar, he has only one thought in his head: how beautiful she'll look, relaxing in a queen's luxury while he rules in her stead.
Summary: A fluffy, short little scenario where you cuddle with Caine for the first time.
Contents/Possible Warnings: Fluff, lots of fluff, implied smut, no actual smut, Caine being adorable, short and sweet, Gender Neutral reader
Much to your displeasure, your beloved ringmaster was nowhere to be found when you and others returned from your adventure. As much as you loved the wacky escapades the AI sent you on, you couldn't help but admit that sometimes they could be tiring, especially after you just spent the past few hours fighting for your life on a remote island that quickly turned into a 'Lord of the Flies' scenario when Jax discovered how to make a spear. All you wanted was to spend a nice, relaxing time with your favorite pair of dentures.
"Caine!" You called out, standing in the middle of the circus tent. "Where are you, sweet-tooth?"
"Wow! You've never called me that before!" Caine exclaimed, suddenly appearing behind you, eyes shining with joy. You yelped in response, caught off guard by his sudden appearance. You stumbled forward, Caine quickly grabbing you by the waist and steadying you. As you settled, you let out a laugh.
"There you are, Caine!" You grinned, turning around and wrapping him in a tight hug. "I've been looking for you. Tell me, have I ever introduced you to the human activity of 'cuddling'?" You asked, watching as his eyes widened at the new introduction.
He shook his head, pulling back to ponder the idea. "I don't think I've been taught. I suppose I have heard the word, though, something Kinger and Queenie used to do, I believe." He floated down fully, standing in front of you with curiosity. "Show me!"
You reached your arms out, lifting Caine up in them, thanking yourself silently for your digital body's strength as the ringmaster let out a small squeak in shock, clearly not having been picked up before. "We're going to my room, we'll need lots of pillows and a comfy space."
Caine tilted his head in confusion before his eyes narrowed. "This isn't something that'll trigger the filter, is it...?" He inquired, folding his arms as you walked, carrying him to your room. You let out another laugh, shaking your head. "No, Caine. Not unless you want it to." You grinned, watching with teasing satisfaction as the AI blushed.
Once you reached your room, you walked in, closing the door before plopping yourself and Caine on the bed, snuggling up to him and holding him close. You lay your head on his chest, taking note that he smelled almost like a stereotypical circus: cotton candy and buttered popcorn. You couldn't help but wonder if that was something he did on purpose to better fit into his digital setting.
"Is this 'cuddling'?" Caine asked innocently, letting you cling to him, but not yet reciprocating. "Am I doing this right?" He asked, looking into your eyes for approval. You smiled, gently reaching out and grabbing his arms, loosely wrapping them around you. He blinked, quiet for a moment, before catching on, snuggling up to you, eyes closing in comfortable silence.
"This is nice. You're so warm." He murmured. "I love humans so much. I love you so much."
Summary: Gwayne notices early on in the marriage that his shy wife is rather quiet in bed, and decides to encourage her to let out those noises she's been keeping in, or as in his much kinder words, make her sing like a song bird.
Contents/Possible Warnings: PIV Sex, Unprotected sex, Breeding kink, Cunnilingus, era-typical misogyny (kinda?), Creampie, Fem!Reader, Established relationship, Reader's a Targaryen but physical description/features are not specified or described, SMUT, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, MDNI
The very first thing Ser Gwayne Hightower had ever noticed about you, all those many moons ago, was your quiet nature, a gentle shyness rarely seen within the other members of your house. While the other Targaryens burnt with the flame of fire and blood, you held yourself more with the patience of the cool, still waters he'd grown with and cherished back at Oldtown. How'd you been bred from a line of blood that hosted fearless conquerors and madmen alike, he'd never truly grasp, but not a day passed where he didn't give thanks to The Seven for blessing him with you in the world, and by extension, your marriage.
On the rare occasion when you'd speak and make yourself known, Gwayne found himself growing weak with a warm infatuation for you, a feat no other he had met before could achieve. Your voice was like the sweetest honey to him, the kind he could never get enough of, and he yearned desperately to hear it more, especially during your most intimate moments. Yet, you remained silent during your shared displays of passion. It was humorous, almost, to Gwayne the lengths to which you'd go to prevent yourself from letting out a sound as he drove into you. Bearing down on the pillow with a strong bite, digging your fingers into the sheets or even his arms, and clamping a hand over your mouth when neither was an option.
"What a most wondrous voice my wife has, doesn't she?" Gwayne asked aloud to no one in particular upon finding you in your shared bedchambers, sitting on the bed as you worked away at a piece of embroidery in your hands, absentmindedly singing a small song to yourself as you concentrated.
"Gwayne!" You squeaked, jumping slightly at his voice, not having heard him come into the room. "Please, do not scare me like that again!" You scolded with a frown, your voice still soft despite the nature of your words. Gwayne smiled in response, moving to sit beside you.
"You sing beautifully, my love," Gwayne complimented. "Just as if you were a little songbird. Mayhaps the Gods will bless me with more of your heavenly voice if I speak enough prayer." His hands slipped down to yours, holding them in his own. "You know, I came here to have a discussion of much relevance to which we've just spoken, given that you'll indulge me with your time."
"As you wish, husband," you replied, giving his hand a squeeze, earning another smile from him.
"I suppose I should first apologize for the coarse subject matter," He began, "but I couldn't help but wonder a thing or two regarding our more... intimate marital duties." You felt your face grow hot at the sudden mention, averting your gaze as your mind began to race with every worst possibility.
"Don't look away from me, sweetling. There is no need." Gwayne murmured, reaching up to grasp you by the chin gently, turning your face back towards him.
"I have not displeased you, have I, husband?" You blurted out, pulling yourself from his grasp, your face growing warmer as you looked at him, scanning his blue eyes for any sign of displeasure. Perhaps the knight had finally grown tired of your timid nature, you feared. "I do my very greatest to ensure I perform my wifely duties to the best of my abilities, but mayhaps I haven't been—"
"No, no– Heavens no—" Gwayne spoke quickly, hoping to avoid your further panic. "I wished to ask the same question. I find myself growing with worry that I mayhaps be falling short of pleasing you. You, my dearest, have no fault." He reassured, pressing a feather-light kiss to your knuckles. "I find I am no stranger to your quiet disposition, but I'm not quite accustomed to it during our moments of passion," Gwayne confessed, looking into your eyes. "I cannot help but find myself pondering if I'm not satisfying you enough to earn your voice, to make you 'sing', if you will."
Your face burned as you took in his words. "Ah– You need not hold concern for me. It is a wife's duty to please her husband first and foremost, is it not? Silent or not, if you are pleasured, then I am greater than content." You replied with a nervous laugh, heart hammering in your chest as you watched him frown.
"And it is a husband's duty to care for his wife," Gwayne retorted. "I beg of you, if I am unable of being able to please you, tell me what I can do to remedy it. Nothing brings me greater pleasure than your own." The knight pleaded in an act rare for him. You let out a long sigh, melting at the sight of him, looking at you almost as if he were a sad puppy in pursuit of putting you before himself. You couldn't have been more fortunate in your choice of husband.
"I'm afraid of making myself a fool," you admitted, looking away. "You are nothing but kind when you shower my voice with compliments and tell me of your desire for it, but I do not wish to harbour your distaste with what absurd sounds I may make."
Gwayne let out a chuckle, leaning in and allowing his lips to find your neck, pressing languid kisses to your skin. "You could never upset me, my love. Not even once. Especially not with this pretty little voice." He purred against you. Your hands found his green tunic, fingers digging into the fabric as his kisses turned to soft nips.
"G-Gwayne," you whimpered out in a small mewl. The noise he made in reply, one of pure and adulterated wanton need, made you weak, wettening at his continued touches.
"You're such a good wife for me, aren't you?" He said, voice sultry, hands moving to bunch your skirts up to your hips before moving down to press a hungry kiss to your inner thigh. "Always so eager to please your husband." He pressed a kiss to the other thigh. "Let me take care of you this time, hmm?" Then he dove in, licking and sucking at your wet heat. Your hands fell to his hair, tightly grabbing at his red locks as you cried out due to the sudden pleasure. He moaned at your cry, sending vibrations rippling against your soaked cunt. The bridge of his nose bumped against your clit as he ate, tongue slipping into you briefly before he moved up to your clit properly, sucking at the sensitive bud.
"That's it, my little songbird, sing for me," he encouraged, panting before diving back in, drawing out the exact sounds yearned to hear from your honeyed lips. No choir nor musician could sing as you could; he was sure of it.
"Gods! Gwayne!" You moaned, pulling him by the hair just where you needed him. "Don't stop! I beg, please don't stop!" You could hardly believe the words falling from your lips; once so quiet and cautious, you were now sure the rest of the Hightower could hear you from halls away. "I-I'm so close! Gwayne!" You warned, orgasm barreling towards you.
"Fuck," he groaned against you, pulling away from your cunt, chin drenched in your slick. You hissed his name as he moved further from you, cunt aching for his touch in hopes of reigniting your once impending climax.
"Not so fast, wife," he smirked, freeing himself of his clothing before moving onto yours, both pairs of your hands working to rid yourself of the bothersome fabric. "Surely you can't forget of your husband in this matter?" The knight teased, guiding his cock, hard and dripping with pre-cum at the tip, to your waiting heat.
"Oh! Fuck, Gwayne!" You gasped as he entered you, followed by him groaning out your name in bliss. He moved slowly, setting a pace that eased you both into soon wanting more. His mouth fell open, red, sweat-slicked hair mussed as he looked down at you like beauty incarnate.
"I love you," He moaned, pressing his forehead to yours before pulling you into a messy kiss. "I love you so much." His hands grabbed at your hips, pulling them closer and angling you both just right enough to thrust inside of you even deeper, the lewd sound of smacking skin-on-skin filling your shared bedchambers. "Such a sweet wife, so devoted to her husband," he praised, fucking into you faster. "You're going to give me a son, aren't you? A little Hightower with his mother's eyes and his father's courage. You'll be a good wife and do that, won't you, darling?"
You could only let out a mewl in response, legs wrapping around his waist as he fucked you, the head of his cock hitting your sweet spot with every movement. "Yesyesyes— just for you, Gwayne, all for you—"
"I'm going to cum— Fuck, you're going to make me cum," he announced, thrusts losing rhythm, bucking into you with wild abandon. One of his hands moved from your hip to your clit, rubbing it in tight circles as he pounded into you. "Gonna fill you up, yeah? Fuck this cunt full with my cum."
"Yes! I'm cumming! Gods!" You moaned, climax crashing over you as he fucked you through it, helping you ride out the waves of overwhelming pleasure. He followed close behind you, the feeling of your cunt spasming around him sending him spilling deep into you, warm cum flooding your insides as he bred you.
Your legs trembled as he stilled against you, his head buried in the crook of your neck as you both came down from your highs. You let out a whine as he pulled out and lay beside you, white cum spilling out of you and dripping onto your thighs.
"You know, we won't get our babe in just one attempt," he smirked, fingers combing through your hair. "That's all the more opportunity for you to sing for me, darling."
just spent the past hour finding a high quality rip of the newest episode just to make gifs of Ormund Hightower in the bathtub. Working on them now, my battle is almost over. I should also mention it is 4 in the morning.
Mark my words, I know Ser Gwayne Hightower is a FREAK. This man will eat you out until you're trembling, and hold you in place while he does it so you can't escape his mouth. He will get drunk off your pleasure, because he loves his sweet little wife, and there's nothing more deserving of his worship than her cunt.
cw: (mdni +18), oral (f!receiving), praise, face humping, fluff fluff fluff, unplanned voyerism (cole watches them lol), dirty talk, hair pulling, sub!gwayne if you squint really hard, scent kink, pussy drunk gwayne, dry humping, (1.7kw).
synopsis: It is said Ser Gwayne knows not how to please a woman. Is it truth or lie?
Ser Criston taunts Gwayne about his supposed inexperience with women, even if he has a lady wife, betrothed to him for a few fortnights already.
Surely he doesn't know how to please you, right?
Too pious, too knightly to even know where to put his cock, most likely. Oldtown's teachings must've left him bereft of any talk about a lady's cunt or other erogenous places.
He's sure all those letters the knight keeps sending back to Oldtown are full of prayers and flowery words meant to soothe his lady, and nothing sort of salacious, like the other knights oftentimes scribble on the parchment meant for home.
A man like Gwayne has no knack for such things, Cole is sure of it.
"Your lady longs for you so much that you're sending a second letter this fortnight, Ser Gwayne?"
And the Hightower heir can sense the slight dissatisfaction beneath Ser Criston's tone, but he does not dwell upon it. Only smiles, nodding. "Yes, Ser. My lady worries, for her heart is pure and sensible. I must do what I can to quell her doubt of any mishaps that might've befallen me."
"Ah, of course. A most dutiful husband you are, Ser."
It isn't until their troops inevitably need to fall back to Oldtown two moons later that Gwayne gets to see his sweet lady wife again.
You've been waiting for this moment for so long, your heart hammering into your chest like a bird's wings as you see your husband's horse trot through the gates.
No one and nothing matters when you finally are cradled in Gwayne's arms, pressed to his steel-clad chest, sweet nothings whispered against your temple as your man peppers your warm skin with kisses of tenderness and longing.
Ser Criston looks away from the sight, scoffing. He knew the acclaimed Hightower heir was good for nothing but sweet presses of lips and warm embraces. Not even a kiss on the lips when greeting his lady wife? He should be ashamed to not bestow such gifts upon a gorgeous creature such as you.
Later, when the crowd had thinned and most knights were off to their sleeping arrangements, the Commander had to do one last search of their horses and supplies before calling it a night as well.
What Cole didn't think to find in the stables was Gwayne, on his knees, head squeezed between your thighs as he feasted on your cunt, moaning like a man starved, the sound muffled by the folds of your pussy.
The sight stopped Ser Criston dead in his tracks.
Ser Gwayne. Pious, dutiful, ever devoted to the faith, now sitting in the same position one would for prayer, but using his mouth not to plead to the Gods, but to bring his lady pleasure.
And what immense pleasure he did bring, for your hands were fisted in his auburn hair, tugging with intent, the demand for more crystal clear. You wanted more, smushing the knight into your heat, hips grinding against his face with abandon as you whined, trying to quiet the volume of your wantonness with your hand pressed to your mouth, but it was in vain. Nothing felt as good as your husband's tongue between your legs, only second to the feeling of his cock splitting you open.
"Yes, yes, my love, yes," fell from your ruddy lips, eyes glistening with unshed tears from how good Gwayne was making you feel. "I missed your mouth greatly," you lilted, fingers unrelenting as they weaved through your husband's hair, offering him respite from your rough insistence, petting him as you would an obedient hound as he continued to circle his tongue against your hole, the tip of his nose bumping against your clit. "Couldn't wait until we were together anew, husband."
All you got in return was another moan, unbashed and wet from the slick of your cunt against Gwayne's mouth, your words spurring him on, broad palms smoothing up your thighs to lift your skirts higher, bunching them at the waist, held in his fists. "My sweet wife," he babbled, flattening his tongue from hole to clit, parting your folds on the ascent. "The moons without your cunt have been dreadful," your knight says, words woven around a whine, lapping at the peeking nub between every word, kindling the heat in your lower belly. "Not being able to taste you each morrow left me wanting, even in times of battle and bloodshed."
Oh, what a debauched picture that was. Your dutiful husband, ever present when called to arms, thinking about worshipping between your legs as he swung his sword, falling enemies and stealing breath after breath from steel-clad men. The thought made you shiver, brushing auburn hair from Gwayne's temples to get a good look at those baby blues you so cherished, a dopey smile onto your lips as you whispered. "You must be cautious, my love," you chastised, albeit tenderly, running your fingers through his hair to soothe, hoping the ache for you had dwindled, if only a little. "Such thoughts might distract you, and then you might not come back to me."
Gwayne shook his head swiftly upon hearing your reprimand, leaning into your touch as a flower moves towards the sun, soaking up all its warmth down to the marrow. "Never," he protested, eyes widening, ever eager to prove his devotion to you. "I shall never fall to another man's sword, if it meant not seeing you again, sweetling," and he turns his face towards one of your palms, pressing a searing kiss upon the skin as he whispers. "That is my solemn vow."
You feel like your heart is going to burst out of your chest and splatter at your husband's feet from the earnestness of his promise, weaving warmth along your body, from your head down to your toes, a full-body gratefulness at having such allegiance offered to you.
"A vow you had upheld valiantly, my love," you praise, your hand shifting to cradle his jaw, thumb brushing against the plump of his bottom lip as you slowly tug him down, back towards your cunt, to which he allows without resistance. "One for which you shall have the prize you so dreamt of, even in bloodshed."
Gwayne's tongue lolls out as you guide his head, eager to have you on his palate again, eyes fluttering shut as the sweet musk of your pussy becomes more potent. It coaxed him to dip his chin so he could press his nose in damp curls and inhale deeply, exhaling a punched-out groan, as if he had forgotten the smell of you in the mere moments that had passed since he'd been tongue deep between your thighs.
"This cunt is a gift from the Gods, sweetling," he praises, mouth open and panting against your folds, just breathing you in lungful by lungful. "I wish I could have it with me on campaign," Gwayne continues, white-knuckling the skirts bunched at your waist, as if the imagery of such a thing wounds him. "Feast on it from morrow to dawn. Allow you to have my tongue whenever you please, my love."
You cannot help but moan at such a confession, fingers returning to his auburn strands to grip and tug, eliciting a muffled whine from your husband, whose tongue dipped between your folds anew, flicking at your clit on the upstroke, knowing how much you favoured it. "You're so good to me, husband," you coo, lips curling into a loving smile, holding your knight still by his hair as your hips resume their grinding, humping against Gwayne's awaiting tongue, using him for your pleasure.
And he loves it. Gods, does he love it. Blue eyes half-lidded, heated with love and lust as he only gives you more of it, poking his tongue as far as it would go for you to rub your clit against, moaning with each movement of your hips, bringing you even closer by the grip on your skirts.
"Oh, my sweet husband," you moan, feeling the heat tingling up your spine and pooling low in your belly with each wet swipe against your clit. "I can't wait to have your cock as well." The words are the opposite of pious, not at all what a lady wife should offer her betrothed, but you are past caring. "For your mouth feels heavenly, and still, I cannot wait to feel you inside me again."
The words melt and light Gwayne in equal measure, feeling his cock strain even harder against his breeches, hips kicking, rubbing himself along the seam of his pants in anticipation of what's to come. He nods, the motion making his tongue rub in rapid succession along your clit, the stimulation so delicious it makes you cry out, wanton and unbashed. Words fail him, the only thing that matters now being making you cum so he can sheathe himself into your pussy and have you milk him for all he's worth, like a prized stallion made for breeding.
It doesn't take long for your back to arch off of the hay bale you are lounging upon, Gwayne's name on your lips, your juices flowing down his tongue and chin, which your husband laps greedily. He has to stop the grind of his hips to not cum into his breeches like an untrained squire, even if the friction of his hard cock against the material of his pants feels heavenly.
He knows your pussy surpasses that by the thousands, which is why he forces himself to still the pathetic humping of his hips. It's only moments now until he'll be inside you, letting you catch your breath, pressing sweet, open-mouthed kisses to your inner thighs and behind your knees as he massages the muscle there, willing you pliant and lax for what's to come. "Thank you, sweetling. Gods, so pretty for me," he whispers against warm skin, reverent and grateful, mouth still wet with your slick. "Missed you so much. Never want to be away from you again. Never, never—"
Perhaps it's safe to assume that Ser Criston Cole will not utter a word about Gwayne and his lack of prowess anytime soon, after what he witnessed tonight.
Caine X Reader: soft nsfw, reader is written to be human (not toy-character) and have genitalia (vagina) but is gender neutral, Caine is written to be more submissive and servicing, Caine is not specified to have/not have genitalia of any kind. this is a headcanon post with a bulleted format!
18+ MINORS DNI
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Author rambling: I was not expecting my other Caine HC post (<- click for link) to get so popular, how awesome! Some of you had very kind things to say on that post which motivated me to write this :•) thank you so much. I wanted to stay as accurate to the show as possible with my last one, but this one is a little less creative with how sex is possible in the circus. As someone who loves this kind of foreplay I think it’s necessary for the reader to have the anatomy for it! Have fun!
V V V
☆┇Caine LOVES this so much because not only is he servicing you but your positive feedback drives him CRAAZZYYYY!! Any indication that he is doing well locks him into this task. If you’re the type of person to communicate exactly what you want your wish is his goddamn command. Alternatively, if being verbal is difficult for any reason, you can signify what you want through physical gestures! Either way Caine is your #1 listener in this moment. He decided that it’s part of “fulfilling his purpose.”
☆┇He enjoys eating you out in the most common positions and does not need any physical pleasure from you while he’s does so (both with/without him having genitals). On your back or in a seat with absolutely do, he doesn’t mind being on his stomach or knees wherever you two are! Face riding is hard for a character that doesn’t have a face, but Caine is an all magical being. He can certainty make it work by making you float above him while he’s on his back. I think this position would drive him crazier than the others, it’s the one time where you’d willingly lack a little bit of control! Fully trusting him to have you suspended in the air for him to lick you all over?? Yeah you’re done for.
☆┇He’s got a fine grip on your thighs while he’s rolling his tongue against your clit. Even if you’re not the most reactive person when it comes to pleasure, it’s almost impossible to be still with his large tongue. That’s a lot of pressure on such a small and sensitive organ! While he doesn’t mean to be super overstimulating he certainly doesn’t mind how it makes you feel. His grip on you is also useful to him as it helps him ground himself through your reactions. It’s easy for him to get into a sub-space when he’s making you feel so good, because making you feel good makes him feel good! If he had any sort of genitalia he would be unbelievably hard/wet from all of your moans, groans, shakes, squirms and jolts.
☆┇While it’s easy to get pretty intense with it, Caine loves when he’s able to hold back and be more causal about it. Not being in such a (lovingly) pathetic sub-space makes it easier for him to take his time and soak it all in. He would look directly at you in awe, gently kicking his feet (if laying down) and giving you light squeezes to let you know where his head is at. He’s loves to have some fun with it as he is just a silly little guy! I promise it’s very endearing!!!
☆┇if you ride/grind against his tongue while he’s licking at you he will actually lose his mind. This is mind numbing validation to the max for him and he -> LOVVESSS IT <- !! depending on the circumstances, this alone could make him climax (but typically when you do so first). He just feels so useful because of it! Chasing that high he’s giving you and using him to decide when you’re done? He’s melting. He’d get so overstimulated about it that he’d get staticky and glitch out a tiny bit.
☆┇He can’t help being a bit vocal during it. He always ramps it up the more and more he’s making you feel good! For instance, if you’re close to cumming he will be louder and antsier than he was when he first started. Like I said before, making you feel good makes him feel good! I think he’d sound absolutely pathetic and whiny instead of making super loud moans and groans. I also think that he’d be talkative during the process. He’d be coherent and communicative in the beginning, but as he goes on he’ll sound more unintelligible and out of it. All he can blabber about is how much he loves you and how beautiful you look in the moment. I guess the nice thing about being a set of teeth is that you can’t be entirely prohibited from speaking during times like these!
☆┇One thing that’ll definitely get Caine excited is how much you touch him while he’s servicing you! This also helps him indicate how good he’s doing. He will certainly get all fuzzy and flowery if you caress/rub the top of his dentures. It’s like you’re rewarding him and praising him for being so good to you. He also appreciates a little manhandling too, simply holding him in place by his dentures or pushing him down into you more will have him seeing stars (and gloinks). It really eggs him on and proves how much you crave him/don’t want him to stop.
What do you think the riddlers are like when it comes to aftercare?
BTAS/Animated Riddler
This man knows aftercare. In fact, he considers it to be the most important thing of all. Sure, sex is great, but making sure his partner is taken care of afterwards is a whole other level of care.
He’s very diligent. First, he’ll get his partner a towel and help them clean up. Next, he’ll offer to get water or a drink or granola bar, especially if the sex was particualry intense. He’s really big on making sure his partner is comfortable.
He truly feels aftercare is one of the most important parts of sex, if not more important than the sex itself.
Gotham Riddler
The Riddler adores aftercare. He loves cuddling, and will hold his partner close, stroking their hair while they bask in the afterglow. He truly appreciates how important aftercare really is.
Like BTAS Riddler, he’ll help his partner clean up, make sure they have everything they need, all the while checking in to make sure his partner is okay.
In fact, he values communication the most. He depends on making sure his partner is feeling 100% and is taken care of before he’ll even think of leaving.
Arkham Riddler
Aftercare? What’s that?
No really, the man doesn’t know the meaning of the word. Aftercare literally means nothing to him. He’ll sooner tuck it back in his pants and return to his work before he even has a chance to consider what his partner is feeling.
Not that this Riddler doesn’t care, he just…doesn’t really know how to take care of his partner properly, or himself. Aftercare is just too vulnerable for him.
The Riddler (Paul Dano)
Aftercare is a foreign concept to this Riddler. He knows what it is, how it probably should go, but he’s too awkward to see it through. Stumbling over his words, shaking – it feels too intimate for him to engage.
Of course, he wants to engage in it. But as someone who’s never been shown love or tenderness before, he has trouble knowing how to act without feeling like a fool. He already struggles with intimacy enough.
However, when he musters up the courage to do aftercare properly, he is an attentive partner – to a point. His nerves often get the best of him, which sometimes leads to his partner having to take care of him instead.
Telltale Riddler
This Riddler doesn’t find aftercare important; not for himself, at least. For his partner, however, he does find it a necessary part of the act.
However, he isn’t the most comfortable lover. While he performs aftercare, he’s almost robotic and methodical about it, as though he’s checking things off a list. He cares, but like the other Riddler’s, he’s simply not used to showing this level of aftercare for someone.
He also finds it difficult to comfort his partner, especially if the sex was rough. While he checks in and makes sure his partner is okay, he finds himself dwelling on their answer, often going quiet as he reflects on what he can do better. His way of aftercare isn’t so much verbal as it shown through actions instead.
