cw: filth!!, licking, sniffing, dry humping, nipple play(m!receiving), degradation, praise, body worship(m!receiving), breath play(f!receiving), scent kink!!, coming in pants, face humping, (2.7kw).
n/a: idk what came over me. based on this post!! u can read this as a piece from the my hot husband au/universe or a stand alone!! i just wrote this with their dynamic in mind lol! enjoy! < 3
"mhm, you didn't bathe after the hunt," you mumbled, fingers lifting maekar's tunic upwards impatiently, revealing his stomach, with that soft pudge of fat at the bottom that you loved. the one pinched by his breeches, making the soft flesh hang just a little over the band of his pants. "good. that's how i wanted you."
your husband only grumbled, rough hands trying to stop you from revealing more skin. still, you were determined, swatting every attempt away with a disgruntled sound, making maekar even more annoyed.
"have you no shame at all, woman?" he grouched, face pinched in irritation as you lifted the tunic until it pooled under his armpits, revealing his chest and belly in all its glory. "disrobing me and pawing at my flesh like i'm nothing but a toy to be played with when i'm exhausted from the bloody fuckingâ"
but you were barely listening to what your husband was saying, and frankly, in that moment, you had no qualms about paying mind to what came out of his mouth. all you cared about was how good he looked in that moment, leaning back against the pillows of your bed, still sweaty and dirty from the royal hunt he attended, looking every inch a man. all muscle and sinew and gods, the smatterings of fine silver hairs all over his chest and belly, and all the way lower on his navel, where a white trail of hair led right beneath the waistband of his breeches, to his cock.
you almost sighed thinking of it. you loved your husband's cock. it was one of the best things about him.
"you're exhausted," you parroted, humming as your soft hands continued to caress his stomach, pressing your fingers in, kneading at the skin like a cat, leisurely and appreciative, eliciting a displeased groan from your husband. "so sit back and indulge me for a few moments, dear husband."
maekar only scowled at you, the furrow between his brows deepening, lip curling in a snarl as he leaned forward, trying to loom, to intimidate in hopes you would cease pestering him. "don't dear husband me, you aggravating woman," he gritted, teeth barred, akin to a dragon before it unlatched its jaws to breathe fire and ash in anger. it made you warm under your chemise. you loved when your husband was all snappy and indignant.
you leaned forward, undeterred by his little intimidation tactic, noses almost brushing as you spoke, your tone soft and persuasive, as if beckoning a wild animal that might bite. "you were gone for so long, and i have been here, all alone, missing you like a limb," you lamented, distracting him from the way your fingers trailed along the waistband of his breeches now, prodding at the pudgy roll of fat there, loving the soft feel of it. "the least you could do is yield to my whims for a while."
aware that it wouldn't be enough to placate your husband, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his scarred cheek, leaving chaste, sweet kisses on the skin as you murmured. "you always look so good after a hunt, husband," you appeased, relentless in your pursuit of what you wanted, especially when it was something as delicious as touching maekar freely without him grumbling in your ear incessantly. "makes me want to devour you whole," your tone was on the precipe of resembling a purr, lips descending towards the strong line of his jaw and down his neck, nuzzling at the sweaty skin in delight.
as always, he tried to persist, even as you felt his skin warm and flush under your lips, making your mouth curl into a satisfied smile. you had him exactly where you wanted him, even if he was still resisting.
"you're being ridiculous," and oh, he was already panting softly, broad chest heaving along with the warm breaths that brushed your temple as you littered his ruddy-skinned throat in wet kisses. "pouncing on me like a cat in heat the second, ahâfuck," he cursed right when your tongue laved at his skin, tasting the remnants of the hunt. the sweat, the grime, the dirtâhim, musky and manly and oh so palatable. âstop. i reek of filth andââ
âand i love it,â you moaned against his throat, mouth parting to press openâmouthed kisses to the skin of his throat, tongue licking at every remnant of perspiration, catching it against your palate and savoring it like the finest arbor gold. âyou smell sâ good, husband, gods. i want to lick you all over.â
it always got like this. the more disheveled he returned, the more aroused you got. shame had deserted you moons ago, being absurdly vocal about how much you enjoyed when your husband was anything but presentable and pristine.
maekar made an aborted sound at your words, already flushed all the way to the tip of his ears, one rough hand moving to clasp the back of your nape and squeeze in hopes of deterring your assault on his senses, but it seemed in vain. the touch only spurred you, a soft sound resembling a purr rumbling against his throat as you continued to press your tongue to his skin, dipping it to taste the touch of grime gathered in the hollow of his throat.
âfilthy,â maekar snarled, fingers squeezing just so at your nape and pulling upwards, eliciting a disgruntled sound from you; a whine. your lips were slick with spit, cheeks flushed and eyes blown wide, hazy with heat and adoration, which only made the pressure of his hand increase, reprimanding you for how far gone you already looked. âyouâre a filthy, dirty woman, you know that?â he spat, tone brooking on a growl. âalways have been,â maekar continued, tightening his hold onto your nape, the pads of his fingers restricting your breath for just a moment, just enough to make you gasp, before he eased it. âgetting hot and bothered by your soiled husband like a degenerate,â his thumb brushed against your throat, where he gripped prior, the closest thing to quiet tenderness you could get in that moment, but it made warmth spread through you regardless.
âwhat of it?â you challenged, dipping your head back to his throat, nosing along the flushed skin, your soft fingers resuming their pawing along his belly, pressing and prodding at the pudgy flesh there, nails scraping along the trail of fine hairs leading below his waistband, making your husband hiss. âitâs your smell i crave, your taste,ââ another filthy lick, along the jut of his collarbones, before moving downwards towards his chest, where the smattering of hair was thicker, the smell of sweat and musk more pungent.
maekar tensed as soon as he felt your lips brush against one of his pecs, and you could feel the shiver that ran through him when the tip of your nose nudged a nipple, willing it to harden.
âdonât you fucking dareââ
you did it again, nosing at the pebbling bud once, twice. then, you licked it, slow and wet, circling the nipple with the tip of your tongue, flicking teasingly.
a garbled moan punched out of maekarâs chest, his hold on your nape tightening anew, his other hand fisting the sheets under him, whiteâknuckled and trembling with restraint. you could tell he wanted to shove you away, to haul you as far as possible from his body so he wouldnât be able to feel all this, to have to succumb to your whims and depravity. but you also knew he liked it. craved your attention like poison in his veins. hated that he needed it. snarled and snapped his jaws while being halfâhard already beneath his breeches, blushing from the tips of his ears to where your mouth was currently busied, lips parting to suckle noisily at his nipple, drawing out another restrained, delicious grunt from your husband.
âlook at you,â he managed to bite out through gritted teeth, broad chest heaving under your mouth, voice thinner, breathier. âlicking and sucking like a common whore,ââ
but you didnât let him finish, letting your teeth scrape against the bud, nipping at it enough to sting, halting his crude words, making him curse, back arching, pushing his chest more into your awaiting mouth. it was a reprimand, but also a sick, twisted pleasure. seeing your husband bucking and snarling under your lips and tongue was a sight you could never get tired of, much like right now, as you laved one last lick to his wet, swollen nipple, before nosing between his pecs through the fine hairs there, inhaling the scent of him like a woman possessed.
âhow would you know what common whores do, mhm, husband?â you murmured, nuzzling along the underside of his pecs, letting your lips press against the skin in damp kisses as you descended towards his stomach, fingers still trailing along the hairs leading towards his navel. âhave you been indulging without my knowledge?â
each question was a taunt, like dangling a hunk of meat under a dragonâs nose, waiting for it to bite. and you loved nothing more than to taunt your dragon until he bit, until you could feel his teeth sink in, metaphorically or not.
and he always bit.
âyou think i would debase myself with some pleasure house wench?â he snarled, violet eyes glinting with something close to offense, which made you preen quietly, warmth spreading through your chest like drizzled honey.
as you nosed along his stomach, you couldnât help but breathe him in again, mouth parting in soft pants as your eyes fluttered, the musk of him stronger the closer you got to the Vâshape of his hips. âi would hope you wouldnât, dear husband,â you mouthed along his belly, tongue poking out to lick at the skin, tasting him again. âi would be thoroughly scorned if you so dared,â another lap of your tongue, slow and filthy, this time along the trail of hair near the waistband of his breeches, feeling a slight tickle onto your palate.
but, gods, the scent. the taste of him.
musky and sweaty and man.
it drove you wild, lips pressing to that tempting silver line, open-mouthed and slow, savoring him on your tongue again and again, as if you couldnât get enough.
a groan slipped unbidden from maekarâs mouth, fingers tightening at your nape, as if remembering he still had a hold on you, blunt nails biting at the skin light enough to make you shiver as he pressed with firmness, as if scruffing a cat. âdonât need some perfumed, wanton wench when i have my hands full with you,â he panted, eyes trained on you, almost unblinking, having watched you the entire time, despite his protests. lavender hues halfâlidded, glinting, part anger, part heat, eyeing you like a predator stalking prey.
his words made you purr against his skin, a satisfied sound, your fingers moving to tug slightly at his waistband, revealing more of his navel to you to lick and kiss. âgood,â you murmured into his skin, dipping to nose at the cincture of his pants, and lower, nuzzling against his crotch, where you could feel him hard and throbbing already.
âwoman, youââ but his protest dissolved into a shuddering moan as you rubbed your cheek against his clothed cock insistently, eyes fluttering, gaze holding his, molten and smoldering with heated affection. the friction was delicious, and it only made more bitten off pleasured sounds fall from his lips, broad chest heaving, splotched red from how hard he was blushing, skin ruddy and flushed. he looked good enough to eat. and maybe later, you intended to do just that.
the scent of him was strongest there, musk so strong it made you dizzy with want, lips parting to mouth at his crotch, feeling his cock throb beneath the cloth, only spurring you on. âsmell sâ good,â you mumbled as you continued to map the hard ridge of his arousal with your mouth, tongue laving at the material, wetting it with your spit, making the outline of his cock even more visible. âtaste sâ good, husband.â
âgods, fuckââ came from above you, the grip at your nape firming, pressing down, almost smushing your face into his crotch, but you couldnât be happier to succumb to maekarâs guidance, feeling his hips twitch upwards, rutting weakly against your face.
it made you moan, the action so debauched, so depraved, making you nose along his clothed cock in time with the clumsy grinding of his hips against your face, the scent of him thickening, clogging your senses and coating the back of your throat from how greedily you inhaled.
âcâcanât believe youâre, shitââ he could barely get his words out, too impaired by the way you looked, the blissful look on your face as he humped against it. âcanât believe youâre getting off on this, you wanton woman,â maekar continued, his hips picking up the pace, forcing you slightly more against his clothed cock, grinding against your cheek, the corner of your mouth, your nose; anything he could, the pleasure tingling down his spine way too rapid for his taste. âmouthing at me like a filthy animal, letting me humpâfuck.â
you could tell he was getting close, the thought satisfying you more than you could tell. seeing your husband so unraveled by this alone, hips grinding against your face, hand holding you down for more delicious friction, chasing more but not being able to get it. a delicious torture that was way too exquisite not to witness.
âmhm,â you hummed against his crotch, rubbing your cheek harder against his clothed cock, feeling it throb incessantly, the smell of him more pungent, the precum leaking steadily through his breeches and staining your cheek. ânot my fault my husband left me unattended for so long,â you lamented, fluttering your lashes, continuing to rub against him. âiâve been so lonely,â the words were mouthed against him, breath warm against his crotch, pushing him closer and closer to the edge.
âalways so fuckinâ demanding,â he groaned, long and suffering, humping against your face with more fervor, so close to his peak, face and throat flushed and splotchy, hand firm against your nape as he pushed your face deeper into his crotch. ânânever satisfied, ah, fuck, fuck, wifeâ,â
wife. the word strained and close to a whine as he lost control, rutting against your plush cheek once, twice, before he came with a pained groan, as if someone clawed the sound from deep in his chest, his spent dirtying his breeches, wetting the fabric against your cheek.
his chest was heaving, mouth parted wide as he tried to catch his breath, his grip still firm, but trembling against your nape, his thumb now brushing along the side of your throat, just like before, as if rewarding you silently, thanking you for letting him use you like this.
it made you smile and you nuzzled into his now damp crotch, the smell of him more powerful than ever, making you moan against the cloth. the sound seemed to bring maekar back from his post coital bliss, his violet eyes blinking down at you, hazy but attentive.
âlick it,â he breathed out, voice strained and heaving still, the fingers at your nape guiding you towards where his cum stained his breeches most, a wet patch visible where the head of his now softening cock was under the cloth. âcanât let good spend go to waste, wife.â
you only hesitated for a heartbeat, mind not wrapping around his words for a moment, before you moaned, mouth parting eagerly, tongue pressing to the damp material and licking, feeling the taste of him invade your palette. âyes, yes,â you sighed, overly pleased, too preoccupied and greedy, lips wrapping around the wet spot and suckling it into your mouth, the essence exploding onto your tongue.
âfucking filthy womanâ,â maekar cursed, the sight of his wife, so desperate and eager, making him equal parts flustered and astounded.
you knew the night was going to be a long one when you felt a twitch under your tongue, your husbandâs cock throbbing back to life, making your lips curl.
HOW I FELT THE WHOLE TIME I READ THIS OH MY GODHFNLDND NENE I LOVE UR BRAIN I LOVE UR KEYBOARD I LOVE U SM MY TALENTED BFF THIS WAS SO GOOD IâM BLUSHING GIGGLING TWIRLING MY HAIRđââïž #NeedThat #WantThat #DesireThat
pope watching you shower, his gaze on ur soapy slick tits on ur plump thighs, on the way water run down your back
maybe he's in a time out for touching you without permission and that's his punishment
he's such a weirdo ugh I need him so bad
đ
hi, đ !!! <33
18+ smut smut smut
leaning against the counter, arms crossed, he watches you through the glass as you shower, paying extra attention to your tits, rubbing the soap around, cupping and tweaking your nipples, moaning and arching your back.
trailing a hand down, you play with your silky pussy, rubbing your clit and pumping a finger into your tight hole. you look at andrew, whoâs now palming himself through his shorts, pouting as he lets out a gruff breath, stroking the length of his clothed cock.
âlike watching me, andy? watching me play with your pussy?â he groans, quickly making work of his shorts as he tugs em down, now able to stroke his chubby cock. letting out a big moan as he tilts his head back, you call out, âthatâs a good boy, fuck yourself to me, andy.â
his eyes trail all over your body, looking at your neck, tits, plump thighs, puffy pussy, your beautiful legs⊠fuck. he felt the base of his spine tingle before he spurted all over his hand and onto the floor. âf-fuckââ
getting out, you walk over to him, grabbing his cock to pump him, milking every last drop out of him. âawh, such a messâŠâ you feel him getting hard in your hand again, tugging him towards the bed to reward him for listening so so well. xxx
and he likes all types. small, big, perky, saggy, big nipples, small nipples, asymmetrical, symmetrical, etc etc etc...... ALL đđ„”
you can bet your ass he's sucking dark marks into your skin, biting and nibbling, licking up and down stretchmarks and scars, toying with your nipples... and if you're into it, he's more than happy to fuck your breasts, wants you to squeeze your tits together just enough to hug his cock as he does... he 100% cums all across your chest and delights in the mess he makes of you...
As you play with your chest, as you palm and squeeze the soft flesh of your own breasts, his gaze is fixed reverently on the movement of your fingers. You can hear him whimper, breathy whines from deep in his throat, growing more frequent with each grasp and twist you bestow upon yourself.
You notice his eyes blown wide in desire as you begin to dance your fingertips across your nipples, pebbled hard, almost painfully so. His hands tighten into fists. He wants to touch, feel, play.
oh my GAWD maul watching/coaching throughout is INSANEEEE đ„”đ„”
i also think how mean (or nice) he is about it depends on when you meet him đ
TPM maul is a bastard. he's rude, crass, and more than a bit of a sleaze. he wants you to put on a show for himâ "twist your nipples, sweet thing" "don't stop unless i say so" "squeeze your tits together"â and often chases his own pleasure first, sitting back and watching with a cocky, self-absorbed smirk as you toy with your breasts as he strokes himself to completion. he likes a good performance, so if you add some seductive sways of your hips, flutter your eyelashes just right, bite your bottom lip... he'll give you a reward.
TCW maul is a bit more mature, but also a bit more mean. he's authoritative with it, demands you strip and beg, have you kneeling before him, baring your breasts. he doesn't have time for games, so every step of the way he's guiding your actionsâ "take your breasts in each hand, pull your nipples, roll them in your palms" "do as i say, and you'll get your release, sweet thing"â and sometimes, if maul is in an exceptional Mood, he'll say "come, apprentice," and maul will invite savage to join, and you'll just have to take it, will have to whimper and moan for another set of fiery eyes that stare relentlessly at you, "come watch our little pet"
and SL maul is quite similar, especially when it comes to his commanding, firm presence, but he's more... kind. he likes to have you touch yourself in many of the same ways, but he'll place a hand over yours as you pinch and knead your tits. he'll brush his knuckles down your sides, feather-light and reverent. if your nipples are sore, he'll offer them a kissâ "please, my love, give it all to me" "so beautiful... so sweet"â he has better manners, more consideration, more desire. maul treats you like an altar to pray at, a temple to worship in... and perhaps even defile. you'll catch a dark, sly glint in his eye when all his ideas about what to do to you spark in his thoughts.
just had an insane thought. jackie putting on his readers so he can see you better when he's devouring your pussy... bonus points for pussy inspection! đ€
18+ mdni !! cw: daddy kink
"come here, baby. let daddy have a look."
jack's laying on the bed, arms crossed across his chest as you tease him, flipping your new mini skirt up to show that you're not wearing any panties. you giggle at his command, crawling on the bed towards jack, crawling up his body to straddle his tummy.
leaning back, you rest your hands on his thighs, pushing your hips forward to put your pussy on display under your skirt. jack hums, reaching his arm out towards the nightstand, grabbing his readers off the table. you squirm as you watch him put them on, focusing on his hands, loving his serious expression as he murmurs, "m'kay--what do i have here..."
glasses on, he takes his hands to lift up your skirt, groaning at the clear view of your pretty pussy, dripping all over his stomach. you whimper when he takes his finger, running it through your folds, gathering your wetness to bring towards his face, inspecting. "so wet for me, honey. like teasing me?"
you nod slowly, shifting to move your hips, fucking yourself on him. jack clicks his tongue, both hands grabbing your hips to still you, "nah uh, baby. daddy's not done lookin' at you. be a good girl and stay still--just a little longer, you can do it." you mumble a little, "'m sorry..." as you sit still, letting him explore, seeing how many fingers he can fit inside your tight hole, seeing how wet you get when he plays with your clit, moving you to play with your silky folds--he takes his time before he lets you cum, melting on top of him. <3
I love the idea of everything with better bobby being so intense and almost dreamlike, trippy from the beginning. Like being high (lmao) and fading in and out of a meaningful conversation that youre struggling to focus on as you sink into the couch. Meaning to dust a kiss on what you think is your unusually clingy bfâs cheekbone and between one moment and the next, what started as an innocent cheek kiss has resulted in you sliding against the wall until youre sat on that yellow floor, lap full of him as he essentially tries to stick as much of his tongue as he can down your throat. Hands confusedly going to his shoulders and heâs curled around and over you like a python, nosing your pulse with quick, shivery breaths, hand on our nape, and waist, reeling you to him as he pins you to the wall. Him getting the hint of a kiss and taking that to mean he can finally just.. do what he wants. Itâs permission, right? You love him too? You must, you initiated contact. And now he can touch and touch and mouth and smell and nose and be the needy, raw animal crawling under a false skin that wants you so so sosososososososososososoossobad so bad so bad
Ëł Ëł BETTER BOBBY SERIES.
Reality itself has a different consistency down here.
Time is soft. The edges blur. The hum does something to your brain you can't explain. There's this ambient frequency in this place and it does to your cognition what warm water does to muscle tension. Loosens it. Softens the borders between one moment and the next. Until everything has this gauzy, slow-motion, underwater quality where you can't quite tell where a thought ends and a feeling begins.
You're lying on the blankets and Better Bobby is beside you and he's been clingy today. Clingier than usual anyway. Which is saying something, because his baseline is already I need to be touching you at all times or I will simply cease to exist.
His head is on your chest and his arm is across your waist, his fingers drawing patterns on your hip through your shirt. You're talking. Having a conversation. A real one. But you can't quite hold the thread.
You keep meaning to finish your sentence but the hum is so warm and his weight is so warm... and his fingers are doing that thing where the warmth-that-reads-you is bleeding through the contact.
Not deliberately, just passively. The way a radiator bleeds heat, and your thoughts keep drifting.
"âand I was trying to tell Clark that the shelving unit wasâ"
Better Bobby shifts. His nose pushes into the curve of your neck between one blink and next. A slow, animal press. Not a kiss. Just... contact. Scent. You feel him inhale.
"âwas, umâthe brackets were wrong, and heâ"
His mouth opens against your throat. Not a kiss. Just his lips. Parted. Resting there. You can feel his breath on your pulse point. Damp. Quick.
"âhe wouldn't listen, he neverâ"
What were you saying? The sentence is gone. It was right there and now it's dissolving the way everything dissolves down here, like sugar in warm water,.
Better Bobby's fingers have stopped drawing patterns and are just pressing now. Five points of heat on your hip. The hum is in your teeth and behind your eyes and you thinkâvaguely, dreamily, from too far awayâthat you should probably finish your thought about Clark's shelving unit.
You turn your head. He's right there. His face inches from yours, those pale eyes half-lidded, watching you with that patient, hungry, endlessly attentive focus.
And you think idly I'll just kiss his cheek. That's all. Just a small thing. A punctuation mark. The kind of casual intimacy you used to have with real Bobby, back when touch was easy, back when you could press your lips to his cheekbone in passing and it meant I'm here and nothing more.
You lean in. Your mouth brushes his cheekbone.
And the world tilts.
Between one heartbeat and the next, between the moment your lips touch his skin and the moment you mean to pull back, there's a shift.
The surroundings stay the same. The change is in him. You feel it through the contact point. Through your mouth on his cheek, a full-body shudder that runs through Better Bobby like a current. His hand moves from your hip to your waist and grips and his head turns, fast, faster than a human head should turn, finding your mouth.
It's not the careful learning kisses from before, when he asked you to teach him how to kiss you properly.
This is... this is the thing that lives underneath Better Bobby.
The thing he keeps leashed and gentle and civilised for you. The thing that unravelled the Smiler in the dark to keep you safe. Except there's no threat now. That intensity is pointed at you.
And it's not trying to hurt you. It's trying to consume you. To crawl inside the kiss and live there. His tongue is in your mouth, his hand settling on the back of your neck and he's pulling you into him with a strength that isn't human. He's not pretending to be right now, and you make a startled sound against his lips and he swallows it. Takes it. Wants more.
You're moving. You don't decide to move. Momentum moves you. He moves you.
Your back hits the wall and you slide down it, the yellow wallpaper rough against your shoulder blades, and then you're on the floor with your legs open and he's in your lapâno.
He's not in your lap. He's around you. Curled over and around you like something serpentine, a thing that doesn't have a skeleton the way humans have skeletons. Better Bobby's body conforms to yours at every point of contact, chest to chest, hip to hip, his thighs bracketing yours, his arms closing around you and it's not an embrace.
It's an enclosure. A perimeter. You're inside Better Bobby the way a heart is inside a chest.
Your hands go to his shoulders. Half pushing, half holding, your fingers digging into muscle that flexes and shifts under his skin in ways that aren't quite anatomically right.
He doesn't notice. Or he doesn't care. His mouth is on yours and then it's not. Then it's on your jaw, your throat, the dip of your neck. And he's not kissing so much as tasting, his lips parted and dragging and his breath coming in these quick, shivery little bursts against your skin.
Fast, animal. The breathing pattern of a creature that's been holding itself back for such a long time and has just now found what it wants.
Because that's what the cheek kiss was. You understand that now, distantly, through the gauze of the hum and the warmth and the overwhelming physicality of him everywhere. Everywhere. Around you and against you, his palm on your nape angling your head back so he can get at the full length of your throat.
The cheek kiss was permission. You touched him. You initiated. And in whatever language Better Bobby's instincts operate in, that translated to: yes. Yes, you can. Yes, I want you to. Go.
And he went.
His nose pushes into the soft space behind your ear. He inhales (deep, shaking, greedy) and makes a sound that comes from below his chest, below his lungs, from whatever furnace drives the entity underneath the skin.
The sound isn't pleasure exactly, it's relief.
The relief of a thing that's been starving and just got its mouth on something warm and tender. He noses down the tendon of your throat to your collarbone and mouths at it. Open and wet and artless.
No technique, no finesse, just contact. As much contact as he can get, and his hips press into yours and his hand on your waist hauls you closer, closer, like the laws of physics are personally inconveniencing him by not allowing you to occupy the same space.
"BobbyâBobby, slowâ"
He makes a sound against your clavicle. Not a word. A vibration. A negation. No. No slow. Had slow. Done with slow. Slow was when I was being careful and now you've kissed me and I don't have to be careful. I needâI needâI needâ
God, his hands.
They're everywhere at once.
Your waist, your ribs, your hips, the back of your neck, sliding under the hem of your shirt and pressing flat against the bare skin of your lower back.
Warmth hits you like a drug, a wave, and your head drops back against the wall with a quiet moan and the yellow ceiling swims above you. Better Bobby is nosing up the front of your throat with those quick shallow breaths, scenting you, learning you, his lips catching on your skin with every exhale.
He's not performing.
That's the thing that breaks through the haze. The one clear thought that surfaces through the gauze of strange pleasure: he's not performing.
The gentle Better Bobby, the careful one, the one who plays with your hair and says I've got you, baby. That Bobby is a construction. A deliberate presentation.
The thing that's pressed against you right now, shaking, sucking at your pulse, making that raw sub-vocal sound that vibrates in your ribsâthis is what's underneath.
This is the animal under the false skin he's stolen. This is what heard your voice through a wall and wanted and has been wanting every second since. Through every gentle hair-stroke, every patient conversation and every careful, calibrated touch.
He wanted like this. The whole time. This raw, this desperate, this artless, graceless, trembling need that has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with a creature that has been alone in the yellow for longer than human loneliness has a name for and has finally, finally found something warm and alive willing to stay.
The wanting is so big it doesn't fit inside the Bobby-shape. It's leaking out. Through his hands and his mouth. Through the harmonic that's gone ragged and unsteady, the hum destabilised by something it wasn't designed to contain.
He pulls back. Just enough to look at you. His eyes are fully black. No pretence now. No Bobby-blueveneer. Just the entity, vast and ancient and desperate. Looking out of a stolen face at the only person it has ever wanted.
"You kissed me," he says. His voice is wrecked. That deep register, broken open, cracking through the cockiness like light through a fracture. "Youâyou kissed me."
"I kissed your cheekâ"
"You kissed me."
Like the distinction doesn't exist. Like any contact, any voluntary touch, any moment where your mouth chose to be on his skin is the same thing. Total. Binary. You touched him or you didn't and you did and that meansâ
"You want me," he exhales.
He doesn't phrase it like a question. It's a revelation.
His hands are cradling your face now, both hands, his thumbs on your cheekbones, and he's looking at you with those black eyes and the expression on his face is... it's too much.
Too many things at once. Wonder, hunger, tenderness and that dark, possessive satisfaction and underneath all of it, at the very bottom, something so painfully vulnerable it doesn't belong on the face of something this powerful.
Hope.
The ancient thing in the walls is looking at you with hope.
"You want me," he says again. Quieter now. Testing the words. Feeling them in his mouth. "Youânot him. Me. You reached for me."
And what are you supposed to say to that?
What are you supposed to say to a creature that has worn loneliness like a second skin for longer than your entire species has existed, that heard you through concrete and plaster and chose to build itself a body just to be close to you? That has been patient, gentle and careful for weeks because it was terrified of scaring you away and has just felt your lips on its cheek and interpreted that as the end of a famine?
You look at him. At the black eyes and the silver earring and the chain and the scar. At the trembling. The hunger.
You put your hand on the back of his neck and pull him in.
He tips towards you. Like gravity.
His mouth is on yours and the sound he makes is not a moan, it's not a growl, it's that entity-harmonic blown wide open. A resonant chord that fills the hallway and the walls. The hum itself. And he's kissing you, shaking, and his hands are everywhere and nowhere.
He's trying to be gentle and failing, trying and failing and giving up and just... taking. Mouth and hands. That impossible warmth flooding through every point of contact and the yellow walls humming around you.
His body curls around you like something that will never, never, never let you go.
bobby franklin x reader [mdni] â your boyfriend splashes out on a new camcorder and insists on testing it out on you.
âState your name for the record.â
âYou know my name, Bobby.â
âThe camera doesnât.â
Said camera has barely left Bobbyâs hands since heâd brought it home two days ago, much to your chagrin. It had taken the entirety of those two daysâwhen you werenât at work, anywayâfor him to convince you to be his muse on your day off. You werenât even sure what you were signing up for.
Now you sit cross-legged on the bed with one of Bobbyâs shirts hanging from your frame, sweating in the summer heat. The fan in the corner rattles noisily, doing little to combat the warmth, and the heat of your annoyance at a camcorder being shoved in your face isnât exactly helping.
You roll your eyes at him, unimpressed. âThe camera isnât a person. I'm not introducing myself.â
âWellââ He kisses his teeth, ready to argue his case.
âIf youâre just using this as an excuse to roleplay, I want no part of it,â you interject, arms folding stubbornly over your chest.
Bobby zooms the camera in on your deadpan face. âSubject displays signs of hostilityââ
âTurn that thing off.â
The warning in your voice only seems to amuse him. The viewfinder hides his expression, but you imagine him grinning, which only exasperates you further.
âHostility increasesââ
âBobby.â
âFine. Fine,â he relentsânot by turning the camera off, obviously, because that would have required him to possess even a shred of self-restraint, and heâs thoroughly enjoying pestering you right now. Instead, he zooms back out and lowers the camera enough for you to see his face. âThis image quality is insane.â
Despite yourself, you feel a little endeared by his enthusiasm. âWell, it better be. That thing is worth, like, a monthâs rent.â
The number still makes you feel vaguely ill. The conversation where youâd discovered exactly how much his new equipment cost had almost given you a heart attack. Bobby, however, appears completely unbothered. In fact, judging by the distant look in his eyes, he probably hasnât heard a single word youâve just said.
Heâs more focused on staring at the tiny flip-out screen again, adjusting the focus ring, watching you reluctantly unfold your arms again.
âThough to be fair,â he says, âyou make it easy.â
Your frown deepens. âThatâs a terrible line.â
âLine?â He replies absently.
âThat.â You gesture vaguely towards him. âWhatever that was. You make it easy.â
A smile curls at the corner of his mouth. âIt wasnât a line.â
âIt absolutely was.â
âIt wasnât.â
âYou called me pretty.â
âI did not,â he denies.
You sit upright. âSo now weâre lying?â
Bobby laughs. âI said the image quality was good.â
âBecause of me. Therefore you implied I was pretty.â
âI did no such thing.â
âLiar!â
The grin spreading across his face makes your stomach flip unhelpfully. You considered yourself immune to his charms by now, but his boyish grin and the way heâs admiring you through his camcorder makes you want to swoon. Which is exactly why you immediately scowl at him.
âStop looking so pleased with yourself.â
âI canât help it,â Bobby says.
You huff an amused breath despite yourself. The sound seems to encourage him, and he adjusts something on the side of the camcorder and squints through the viewfinder.
âHmm,â he hums thoughtfully to himself.
Naturally, such a sound is immediately enough to warrant suspicion. âWhat?â
âI need the subject to move around. Test how it picks up motion.â
âSo now Iâm just âthe subject?ââ You raise a challenging brow at him, and he immediately backtracks.
âI need my hot supermodel girlfriend to move around,â he corrects.
You roll your eyes, but it does make something stir in your chest despite its sheer ridiculousness. Bobby lowers the camera again and you catch the mischievous look on his face.
âMaybe you should model.â
âNo,â you deny instantly.
âYouâre not even going to think about it?â He says, a whine catching in his voice.
âI donât need to. I donât want a video of me stripping, or whatever the hell you want, sitting around our apartment. I babysit my niece here twice a week.â
âOkay, and? Itâs not like she knows how to work one of these. She barely knows how to brush her own teeth.â
âItâsâ itâs the principle,â you insist, cheeks burning. You wouldnât consider yourself a shy woman, far from it, but the idea of there being a physical record of you attempting to seduce your boyfriend is offputting. âIâm not a slut.â
He groans and throws his head back. âNo, youâre not,â he agrees as patiently as he can. Heâs using the same voice he uses to console your aforementioned niece, which isnât exactly helping his case. âYouâre very loyal, in fact. Dedicated, too. Itâd be really nice if you could show me that dedicationââ
âGross.â You stick your tongue out. âDonât make it weirder than it has to be.â
âFine. Fine.â He raises his free hand in surrender. âIâm not making it weird.â
A silence falls over the both of you, and you worry at your bottom lip in consideration. It just goes to show how much you adore him, because you should be sticking with your gut answer and telling him to fuck off. AlasâŠ
âYou promise you wonât show anyone?â
Bobby perks up instantly. âPromise. Scoutâs honour.â The boyish salute that follows makes your shoulders ease up a little, and you briefly question why youâd even consider stripping for such a childish individual.
âFine. But just a little. To⊠test your motion, or whatever.â
âWhat?â He blinks stupidly, before realising thatâs the excuse heâd used just a moment ago. A sheepish grin tugs at his mouth. âOh, right. Exactly. Just a little is fine.â
You swallow, shifting slightly on the bed. The frame creaks, and you canât help but think the moment feels incredibly unsexy. Youâre sweating in the sweltering heat, and itâs probably picking up the whirring sound of the fan, andâ
Now youâre just psyching yourself out. Itâs fine. Itâs just Bobby.
âOkay, so⊠what do you want me to do?â
âI donât know. Didnât think Iâd get this far.â
âBobby.â
âJust do what feels right.â He waves a vague hand. âTake your shirt off, or something.â
Such a request should make you sputter with indignance, but itâs no surprise coming from the man who seemingly spent upwards of eight hundred dollars on a camcorder just to record his girlfriend in their shitty apartment. You force some more confidence into your posture, shoulders squaring as you look down at your shirt. Slowly, your fingers drift down to the hem, curling around it.
You glance up at him for reassurance, met with an eager nod. Stifling a sigh, you drag it up slowly, revealing inch by inch of warm skin. âLike this?â
âJust like that,â Bobby breathes, voice lower now.
Encouraged by that, you pull it up further, dragging it up past your bra. Bobby wets his lips at the sightâyour breasts spilling over the cups, soft and enticing. Up up up it goes until youâre pulling it over your head, letting it fall to the floor in front of you.
You want to shift uncomfortably, clamp your thighs together, cover yourself with your arms. Itâs not like heâs never seen it before. Itâs just unnerving with the camcorder directed at you. But you force yourself to stare directly at it, spreading your thighs slightly to give him a proper view of your panties.
âFuck, yeah,â he murmurs. âTouch yourself.â
âWhat?â You say, alarmed.
âNotââ He laughs a little, shaking his head. âNot there. Sorry. Just⊠your tits, or something.â
Your shoulders sag with relief. Thatâs a little too much for now, but youâre content enough to give him at least some form of show. Your fingers skate back up your stomach, goosebumps prickling beneath them. Then you cup your breasts over your bra, watching his reaction through half-lidded eyes.
âYouâre so pretty, babe,â he says, and the approval goes straight between your legs. âDoing so well.â
You reward him by hooking your fingers under one of your bra straps, inching it down. His breath catches audiblyâselfishly, you hope the camera caught that reactionâand he shifts a little on his feet. The thought of him getting visibly aroused by your display emboldens you further.
The other strap follows, and you palm at yourself over the cups a little more. âI would have worn a better set if I knew we were doing this.â
âI like this bra,â he says, only half hearing you, zeroed in on the sight of you squeezing at yourself.
You release them and he almost groans in disappointment. Before the sound can escape, you reach behind you, unclasping the bra and letting it fall away. His eyes widen cartoonishly, and you bite your lip to mask a smile, trying to remain as sultry as possible.
âShit, can I touch you?â Bobby takes a step forward. Your eyes flick down to his jeans. Theyâre tight, but you think you can make out the forming bulge beneath the denim.
âCanât touch âthe subject,ââ you quip.
Hands skim along your chest again, and he seems enraptured as you grope yourself. Youâre surprised he hasnât caved already, but his restraint is admirable as he nods sagely in agreement. Still, you hear him groan under his breath when you focus on a nipple. It stiffens under the touch, already sensitive enough to make you bite the inside of your cheek.
âIs this enough movement?â You ask, rolling your nipple between your fingers while your other hand palms at the flesh of your other breast. Youâre hardly moving, so the answer is definitely no, but he indulges you with another one of those enthusiastic nods. You're certain you could sit entirely still with your bra off and he'd tell you it was enough for his little 'motion test.'
âYeah. Looks, umââ His gaze moves to the viewfinder, which he realises he hasnât actually looked through since you took your shirt off. He can only hope the camera was pointed at you properly. âLooks great.â
âThe movement, or me?â
âThe movement,â he says, laughing at the indignance that crosses your face. âYou look more than great. You look perfect.â Heat crawls up your cheeks, but heâs not done. âWhich is exactly why I really canât keep my hands to myself right now, and I donât think you should waste your day off sitting in bed alone when we could be having sex.â
You bark out a laugh as he switches it off, setting it on the dresser and advancing towards you. âWell, thatâs an improvement from your last line.â
He stands between your parted legs, ducking his head to give you a quick kiss. âFor the record, it wasnât a line,â he insists as you reach for his belt.
âLiar,â you mutter against his mouth.
The smile he gives you when he pulls back is so hopelessly smitten that your own laughter softens with something warmer. He ruins it by breaking the silence with:
âMaybe we should invest in a tripod. Then we could really record something sexyââ
Man, what on earth was that Half-Man finale... My God, it felt like my heart was completely ripped out.âHonestly, the one I felt the most sorry for was Alby. Alby, my love, why did you get involved with these people? You deserved something so much better; you deserved a good marriage. Alby is the only person in the entire show who is always so understanding and open-minded, and my God, Alby and Niall were beautiful togetherâso pure, such a beautiful love.â
And Niall Kennedy, how do you, with those depressed, loser-like bambi eyes, manage to be the object of desire and temptation for absolutely everyone? You got with Alby, Celeste, Mona, Ava, Joanna, and half of Glasgowânot to mention Ruben's problematic obsession with you.â
As for the ending, well, I actually wanted both of them to die. But I also wanted Ruben to spend eternity stuck in prison, mourning over Niall.âAnd another thing: everyone says Ruben is the main character, the one who drives the story. But in reality, everything revolves around Niall. It all starts with Niall helping Ruben with the test, then Niall inviting Ruben to the college where he gets arrested for beating up Alby. Or when he decides to go after Ruben again. When he sleeps with Mona. In the end, everyone was just a pawn in Niall's story and a consequence of his decisions.
i think dennis would be a shh shh shh shusher and not a shhhhhh shusher. especially the first few times he slips into your tight, warm heat⊠cause he starts talking so fast. he loses all words, all his fantasies and dreams of smooth-talking you through the experience gone because he canât stop rambling about how good you feel, how cute you look under him.. can barely stop his own hips from jerking forward instinctively as his dripping cock seeks more of your sweet cunt. his hands grab onto the soft flesh on your sides, eyes squeezing shut, willing himself to hold on and not spill inside you just yet.
when he breaks out of his haze to see you letting out soft pants and whimpers from him just resting inside you, throbbing and pulsing with need, heâd coo at you so sweetlyâŠ
âshh shh shh, âs okay.. i-im here, baby, youâre okay. taking it so well, my sweet girl. mmph- o-oh⊠feels so good when you squeeze like that. tell me youâre okay, sweets.. i wanna move so bad, please tell me.â
âyeah, yeah im okay⊠please denny jusâ move already..â
he nods fervently and starts his slow, slow thrusts into you. from here on its almost a competition which one of you is louder, groans and moans getting pulled out of you with every shift of his hips. both of you gripping onto each other for dear life and trying to keep your eyes open so you can see each others face strewn up in pleasure. and soon enough hes rutting against you with reckless abandon, needing more, more, more⊠but he doesnât stop talking through all this.
âoh my god, baby, i-i cant⊠think iâm close already, cant hold it much longer. i gotta slow down, but i dont think i-i⊠haah, i cant-â he croaks out, hips stuttering.
when he gets like this, it usually ends either with him filling you up and still going for more, using your overstimulated, still spasming hole, or you turning him over and riding him, edging him for hours before he even gets his first orgasm in. your pick !
You wash your face in front of the bathroom mirror, a routine you do every night. As you spread the facial wash in your hand, your mind drifts to that tiktok trend you saw earlier. You smile, thinking if you're about to do that to your husband. And you do.
You dry your face and exit the bathroom, applying some night skincare. Baelor is sitting on the bed, his back to the headboard. He then put his handphone and walk towards you.
"Hey, sweetheart." He wraps his arms around you from behind, watching you with that content expression on his face, even though you are just doing your skincare.
You just hum as you seal the skincare products.
"Your toner seems to run out. You want to go shopping tomorrow?" He asks with that fond expression. Ever the observant one.
"Maybe. You wanna drive me there?"
He steps in front of you and leans forward to press his lips gently against yours.
"If you want, yeah. I'm free tomorrow."
Not long after, you wipe your lips with the back of your hand.
His brows lift in gentle furrows, confused. Then he pecks your lips again, which you wipe your hands on afterwards.
"Are you okay?"
You still fuss with your skincare products.
"What do you mean?"
He presses his lips longer this time. And you wipe it again.
"Why are you wiping my kiss?" His face furrowed in gentle confusion, his tone amused. You almost break your act and just straight clarify it to him.
"No, I'm not."
"You are." He kisses again, and you wipe.
"See?" His tone teasing now that he knows you're playing with him.
Finally you laugh, unable to keep the act anymore.
"I'm sorry, it's just a prank I see on tiktok."
His brows lift. "Are you?"
You grin. "No, I'm not."
"No, you're not." He says as he kisses you again, longer and deep this time.
Maekar Targaryen
You scroll your phone mindlessly on the couch in the living room waiting for your husband to come home, when the video plays and an idea pops in your mind. Not long after, you hear the sound of keys and doors open.
Maekar steps in and closes the door behind him, and you hear that familiar grunt of him.
"You're home early."
He just hums in response.
He puts his shoes and walks towards you who still lounges comfortably on the couch.
He leans to place a quick kiss on your lips. Before he straightens, you already wipe your lips with the sleeves of your hoodie.
Maekar's brows immediately up, like he's offended by your attitude.
"Excuse me?"
You keep scrolling on your phone, trying to sound casual. "What?"
"What do you think you're doing?"
You wear the most innocent expression possible on your face. "I'm scrolling on my phone, as you can see."
"Oh, don't act smart with me."
"I'm not."
He looks at you like he doesn't believe you, then he leans in again, kisses your lips quickly. You causally wipe it again.
"That's it, woman. I'm not playing your game."
Maekar joins you on the couch and immediately attacks your lips, with hunger and frustration. He kisses you roughly when he feels your smile against his lips.
He pulls away when you're flushed and out of breath. His scowls deepen as your expression turns mischievous.
Then you laugh, holding his nape closer, and give quick playful kisses on his lips to loosen his nerves.
"It's a prank I saw on the internet. You kiss me and I wipe your kiss." You explain.
"Do it again and I'll make sure you can never wipe your lips again."
You bite your lips at his threat. "I'd like that."
Valarr Targaryen
You're just chilling with Valarr on your bed when the idea comes up in your mind. He does his assignment, typing on the keyboard laptop with glasses on, focused and absorbed. Yet sometimes his hand would be on your feet and rub it gently.
"You're done with your assignment yet?"
"Why, you're hungry?"
Your brows furrowed. "No, and why'd you ask that?"
His small smile slips out of his lip, though he still stares at his laptop. "You only bother me when you're hungry."
"That's not true."
He looks up from the screen to look at you. "It is." He places small kisses on your lips. You immediately wipe it.
A faint surprise written across his face, then turns into one of fond amusement.
"Okay miss hangry, what do you want for dinner?" He puts his laptop aside, now his attention is completely on you, which makes you hide your grin.
"I said I'm not hungry."
"No?" He smiles, then kisses your lips again, and you wipe it.
"Did I do something wrong?" You shake your head.
"Then why are you dodging my kiss?" Valarr's face is one of pure concern. Oh your sweet, sweet boy.
Feeling like you can't hurt his feelings any longer, you finally tell him it's just a tiktok prank. His earlier concerned expression fades, turning into a light smile.
He kisses your lips longer this time.
"Don't scare me like that again."
"Can't promise you." And he smiles.
Aerion Targaryen
It's one of another chill night. You just ordered take outs with your boyfriend, and intend to eat it in the car. You ordered a burger and french fries. Aerion, once again, indulging in your unhealthy junk food, he said. Yet he ordered the exact same thing.
You put your phone on the dashboard, positioning it so it can capture both of your faces. You told Aerion you wanted to make a food vlog, even if you've already bought a burger from this place a hundred times. He just rolls his eyes.
You turned the camera on.
"Hey guys, so tonight I am making a food vlog with my boyfriend." You said to the camera, and you see from the screen that Aerion smiles too. He always complains and all sassy attitude but ends up indulging in whatever you're doing. Enjoying it, even.
"So, we ordered burger takeouts from this place. And their french fries too. God, it's still so hot." You fuss with your food.
Aerion looks at you adoringly, then steals a quick kiss on your lips. "You look pretty tonight."
You look at the camera, give a shrug, wipe your lips that he just kissed, and continue talking. "Anyway, the cheese is soâ"
"Wait, why did you wipe your lips?"
You glance at him. "Nothing."
He leans to peck your lips again. And you wipe it, then back to vlogging like nothing happened.
He grows frustrated, holds your neck closer and gives you harmless aggressive kisses.
"Aerion, we're still recording! I told you I wanted to make a vlogâ"
He takes your hand as he knows you're about to wipe your lips with it. You give him a look, and he gives you a challenging one.
"I won't." You say softly, surrender expression on your face.
After he lets go of your hand, you quickly wipe your lips, and he follows with kissing you intensely, his lips ravenous against yours and his tongue invading your mouth.
"I know this is one of your stupid tiktok pranks. But you don't do this to me." He says between kisses while you struggle to catch your breath. Mission completed.
Duncan
You are preparing to go to Dunk's game. Water, make up, purse. While he prepares for his stuff and text on the phone with his friends.
"Babe, do you think I should put my hair up or not?" You look at yourself in the mirror, fussing with your hair. That gets Dunk to look up from his phone and look at you.
He approaches you. "You look beautiful either way." He smiles fondly.
"Dunk, I'm serious."
He hums. "I think it'd be better to put your hair up, because you know, a lot of people, sweaty." His large hand lands on your waist.
You look like you're contemplating your choice. Then Dunk leans in, or leans down, to press his lips against yours.
You immediately wipe it, hiding your grin with pouting.
Dunk looks genuinely surprised. But he thinks maybe you're kinda in a bad mood. So he leans again more carefully, pressing his lips. You wipe it again.
"Babe, what's wrong? Did I do something wrong?" His tone is gentle and concerned.
"No, it's just I don't know what to do with my hair."
He looks at you, really looks at you, and answers seriously. "It's better to put it up, the air is humid there because of the crowd."
He kisses again and you quickly wipe your lips.
When his expression starts to become hurt rather than confused, you immediately drop the act. "It's just a prank I saw on tiktok."
"What?" His brown furrowed gently. He's genuinely confused now.
"I wipe my lips on purpose after you kissed it to see your reaction." You place both your hands on his cheeks. He tries to proceed with your explanation for a while then it clicks in his eyes.
"Oh."
You roll your eyes playfully. "Yes, oh. Of course that'd be your reaction"
"You confused me." He says softly.
"That's kind of the point, but yes, I did."
He laughs then, earnest and precious. "So can I kiss you now, for real? Like, without the wiping afterwards?"
"Of course you can." Then you throw yourself at him and kiss him.
Here's your reminder to watch Baghdad Central because it's delicious seeing Bertie play someone so completely evil. al-Khafaji should have ended him sooner. đ
sexism in medicine kills people. racism in medicine kills people. fatphobia in medicine kills people. queerphobia in medicine kills people. classism in medicine kills people. ableism in medicine kills people.
do not downplay peopleâs fears about being mistreated because they are a part of a marginalised group. it is a matter of life and death and you should be angry about it.
Maekar seeing how well you do with his kids and wanting to add another Maekarling
and you donât need much convincing
18+ (smut, breeding duhhh)
he watches you from across the courtyard where you sit on a low stone bench, surrounded by blooming spring flowers and a gaggle of excitable children that are not made of your blood. but someone of lesser understanding would not have known that.
the deep crimson of your skirts pool out around you, an unfurling magnolia with velvet petals, as you perch on the seat with rhae curled in your lap, head tucked beneath your chin. aemon sits beside you, his head on your shoulder as he reads softly aloud, and daella sits at your feet, fingers running up and down the smooth expanse of your skirts. aegon stands on his toes behind you, pushing yet another small flower into your hair.
maekar pauses in the doorway, leaning against the stone arch as he observes. his children speak kindly to you, and you speak to them much the same, and as you soothe rhae with one hand, pet daellaâs hair with the other, whilst listening to aemonâs muttering and allowing aegon to turn your hair into a garden, maekar realises something. he realises he wants this life with you.
and when he corners you that evening, his children put to bed and tucked out of sight, he realises you want the same thing.
heâs not gentle.
it had started gentle, as it usually did, but after pulling you apart on the flat of his tongue, followed by the stretch of two thick fingers, he knew exactly what he wanted and how he was going to get it. good thing you liked it like that.
maekar curls you over the edge of the bed, your body completely bare as you bend and lay amongst the silks and furs. a strong, calloused hand holds the back of your neck, anchoring you to the feathered mattress as he stretches your pussy open around the thick of his cock.
he groans, feeling your pussy pull tight around him as he ruts in. silk walls draw inwards, heavy against the ridges along his shaft and the vein, pumping hot with blood, that runs along the underside. his other hand is a vice on your hip, dimpling the flesh as he forces you back onto him, the slapping sounds of skin-on-skin loud in the evening silence of your chambers.
you mewl into the sheets beneath you, a string of saliva already catching out the side of your mouth as your husband thrusts into you, the movements deep and far-reaching. heavy balls nudge against the swollen pearl of your clit, and you mewl again, startled, when the head of his cock punches up towards the plug of your cervix.
âdonât fuss,â maekar grumbles, rutting into you, eyes trailing down the line of your spine and over the curve of your arse as he holds you down by the nape. your pussy drools around him, his flushed shaft slick as he pulls out, then shoves back in. he groans, âfuck, you always take me so well, donât you?â
he doesnât really want a response when he questions you like this, cock splitting you open as he pins you to your shared bed. you gape, breathy moans falling free of your throat as your fingers tangle in the silken sheets and sweat builds tacky down your back and thighs. he listens to you gasp and mewl, a crooked smile on his face as he kneads the fat at your hip.
âhow many timesâŠâ maekar begins, sentence breaking momentarily as the wet squelch of your cunt becomes audible in the flame-soaked silence, the open hearth flickering nearby. you whimper, and your husband groans. âwill i have to spill in this tight cunt before youâre full, huh? how many times will she have to take me before youâre round with my child?â
you let out a pathetic sound, some mix of a gasp and a moan, the syllables showing some semblance of his name, but itâs lost in the heat of your pleasure. a third orgasm sparks at the ends of your nerves, flames flickering across the walls of your womb, deep in your pelvis.
maekar grunts, strands of white hair falling loose over his forehead, cheeks hued with pink beneath the candlelight. he palms the flesh of your arse now as the hand on your neck pushes you deeper against the bed.
âis that what you want, little dove?â he asks as his hips rock, the leaking head of his cock pushing right up against that perfect spot inside you. your back arches and you cry out his name, pussy fluttering as heat fills the base of your tummy. he grunts, continuing as you squirm. âyou want me to fill you? spill deep inside this tight cunt âtil she makes a right mess of herself, yeah?â
âmaekar,â you manage out, and itâs low and tense and strung across a high-pitched moan. you fist the silks and furs for support as he rocks against you, bed creaking.
âiâm right here,â he whispers, barely audible over his hips slamming against your arse. the fingers on your neck give you a gentle squeeze, and you suck in a shallow breath. then, he groans, the thick of his cock sucked in tight as your pussy flutters around him. âoh, she wants it, little dove. wants me to fill herâwants me to make you a mother.â
you cry out at his words, your release strung taut across your sparking nerves. itâs right there, your entire body growing rigid beneath him as he spears you apart on his cock. you grow hot, and hotter still, tension deep through the lines of your pelvis as you angle your hips to meet his thrusts, heartbeat heavy in your clit.
maekar huffs and grunts behind you, his voice breaking across a poorly hidden whine. âfuck, fu-uh-ck, oh, little dove, here we go, here we goâŠâ
he coaxes you through your orgasm as it ignites and overwhelms you. your body shakes, trembles like a picked flower, as heat bursts through your pelvis and the depths of your womb, your pussy squeezing tight around him. you moan, his name and his title up in the air around you, as stars burst behind your lowering lids and your legs threaten to give out.
but heâs not far behind youâas you come, he groans his praises, guiding you through the fissuring of pleasure with âthatâs it, there we goâ and âgood girl, just like thatâ as he ruts his cock towards the base of your womb. with each thrust into you, slick dribbles out around his shaft, and he feels it along the seam of his balls as they draw up, visions of you fat with his child at the forefront of his mind.
maekar groans loudly. âgods, youâll look perfect round with my childâfuck, iâll be good to you, little dove, anâ iâll keep you full allâtheâfuckingâtimeââ thrust, thrust, thrust, with each word, before heâs letting out a hoarse moan of your name and shoving himself to the hilt inside you.
he rolls his hips, sliding against you in lazy movements as he spills right against your cervix. still fizzling down from your own orgasm, you let out a shaky moan as he fills you, seed too warm in the base of your pelvis. his cock twitches, jerks inside you as your walls flutter, then pull him in even tighter as his seed fills you, fills you still, then settles.
he doesnât pull out, but he collapses half way on top of youâthe hand on your neck moving to bracket your head. you shift a little, panting as he plants a wet kiss to the corner of your mouth. you whine, turning your head to slide your lips to his. he grunts into your mouth as your tongues meet, and you taste yourself on him as your heart begins to slow beneath your ribs. he pulls away, resting his dewy forehead against your temple.
âitâll take,â he says like heâs sure of it. like he knows it will.
âand if it doesnât?â you counter through a mumble, limbs lax as you melt into the silks and furs, his body a firm press atop yours.
maekar chuckles. itâs a deep, low sound that vibrates through his chest, and it makes a little whine slip past your lips.
âthen we keep trying,â he mutters, rolling his hips and nudging his cock deeper. you whimper, a shudder racking through you in response. he kisses your warm cheek. âiâll fill you again and again, every fucking night, until youâre too full to even move⊠understood?â
you nod, words evading you as he noses your cheekbone, kissing you softly there too as his cock twitches where it sits deep, plugging you full of him.
roald dahl was antisemitic and misogynistic. george orwell was openly homophobic. edgar allan poe married his 13 year old cousin. dr seuss cheated on his wife (and was racist as well as antisemitic!). hp lovecraft was racist as fuck.
anyways theyâre fucking dead itâs not like youâre enabling their behaviors in the afterlife or something. then again I think they bleed into the books so uh keep an eye out for that
the difference between these old white guys and jk rowling is that the former group is all dead. jk rowling is alive and using your money to oppress trans people
Not the vigorous kind that fell under dominance. No, this one was more about closeness, intimacy, and most importantly, the feeling of being seen.
Which why he would always demand to see your eyes every time he was 8 inches buried deep inside you.
It did not matter if it was passionate lovemaking, sleepy sex, morning sex, quickie afternoon sex, i-missed-you-my-wife sex, jealousy sex, i-need-you-now sex, and even during nights when he hammered you senseless leaving you breathless and knees weak - eye contact was non negotiable.
Most times, after he finished savouring your wet fold, he would crawl on top of you, teasing at your entrance, and you would shut your eyes to enjoy the pressure. But he would not move until he had what he wanted.
"Eyes, my beautiful wife. I need to see them." He would command.
When you opened yours to meet his, only then would he enter you. He would roll his hips, rock into you, shift his pace until it sent you over the edge, and every time the feeling would pull your eyes shut without permission, he would not allow it.
"No, my love! Look at me, please." He would whimper. Desperate, even.
Even as you approached your own climax - twitching, turning, rolling your own hips to match his rhythm - your eyes had to stay locked on his. Only then would he finish, spilling himself inside you.
On the nights jealousy had gotten its teeth into him, or you had done something deliberate to bait him past patience, he would bend you over his desk and drill you from behind.
He would take you roughly and whisper filthy things in your ear. The sound of skin slapping, your moans and his groans filling the room until your eyes grew wet with it. Even then he would cup your jaw and turn it slightly, desperate to see your eyes.
Oh, how he loved to see those perfect eyes of yours, wet with pain and pleasure, pouty lips and flushed skin... all because of him. Beautiful and ruined, and still looking back at him. Still entirely his.
When movements became too intense, you would close your eyes again, trying to swallow whatever remained of that feeling pooling in your stomach. It would only last a second before Baelor snapped.
"Eyes! Fuck- Open!"
You would nod eagerly. No voice would come but your eyes, carrying a million emotions at once, did the talking for you. Once he was satisfied with what he had seen, he would smirk, and strings of hot liquid would follow, spilling inside you while you clenched your walls tightly, squeezing what remains of him.
Afterward he would kiss the tears from your face. When both your breathing had evened, he would look into your eyes one last time, searching for something familiar. Certain you were alright, he would pull you closer.
"There she is. My beautiful wife."
Your eyes would grow too heavy to keep open and he would tell you to sleep, that you were safe in his arms. Long after you had drifted under, he would bring his lips down and kiss both of your lids softly.
Tomorrow, he could not wait to see those beautiful eyes of yours again.
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