Moonlight

[hugsohugs]

one genre of fanfiction that seems to have mostly disappeared since i became an adult is shenanigans-type fics. like not exactly crack but just "the gang goes to 7-11" type, extremely low-stakes plot stories. the beach episodes of fanfiction. i just feel like i don't see those around so much anymore. whered they go. i miss them :(

[erwinsvow]

omg hear me out, maekar! daughter married to baelor as a way to runaway from a potential marriage to aerion 😶

this is the bessstttt version of this. i love it because no one besides reader (and eventually baelor) is happy. aerions pissed you juked him, maekars pissed youre smashing his big bro, baelors catholic-esque guilt complex is making him crazy. reader is like la la la married my hot uncle who i know will talk me through it AND i get to be queen AND i don't have to marry my bitchass brother ?! shots for everyone

[pottergff]

౨ৎ baby lamb. southern gothic au.

summary: harry comes home for lunch and finds you feeding your baby lamb lola.

warnings: none, just fluff.

a/n: this is kinda short but it's cute. i really love this au 🎀 <333

hjp masterlist.

"hey, lola, baby! don't—" you ran after the lamb, quickly wiping your hands on a kitchen towel before catching her. she was trying to nibble on one of the table legs again.

"how many times have i told you? you can't do that!" you scolded.

lola answered with a tiny meeh.

she'd developed the habit of chewing on pretty much any surface she could find, especially if it was wood.

"you little cheeky girl," you shook your head and went back into the kitchen. lola followed.

sunlight poured through the windows and filtered through the curtains, making your forehead damp with sweat from the heat, so you tied your hair into a messy bun.

you looked at the clock. it was getting close to noon.

harry still hadn't arrived. he'd told you he'd be home for lunch — he'd spent the whole morning fixing things outside.

you were preparing lola's bottle, warming the milk.

lola was a tiny lamb you'd become emotionally attached to — maybe because she'd been one of the first, and one of the only girls among all the lambs you were raising with harry — to the point she sometimes spent time inside the house. you were practically raising her like part of the family.

you tested the warmth of the milk on the back of your wrist when lola let out a small bleat.

then the dining room door opened, and a familiar voice made you turn.

"y/n?"

harry.

his cheeks were flushed from the heat, his hair messy like he'd run his hands through it more than once throughout the day, and his shirt was stained — evidence of a long morning spent working outside.

"i was waiting for you," you walked over and greeted him with a quick kiss.

"yeah, 'm sorry. took me longer than i expected."

he slipped off his shoes by the door before stepping further inside.

there was something about seeing harry after work that felt incredibly attractive.

maybe it was what it meant — the intimacy of knowing he came home to eat, that he'd worked hard under the sun for both of you.

or maybe he just looked good like this.

maybe both were true.

you smiled and leaned in to kiss him again, this time longer.

"love, 'm all dirty," he warned softly between kisses. he wasn't sure where to put his hands. they were still dirty and he didn't want to stain your clothes.

"i don't care. i like you like this." you prolonged the kiss, your hands resting against his chest. you could feel the warmth of his body through his shirt.

he smiled against your lips and kissed you again, more deliberately this time.

then you felt something bump into your leg, followed by a meeh.

you yelped and pulled away from harry with a little ouch. looking down, you found lola staring up at you impatiently.

"oh, hey," harry greeted her with a chuckle.

"someone's hungry," you said, heading back to the kitchen. now harry and lola followed behind you.

"yeah, that's me," harry said as he poured himself a glass of water.

"i was talking about my baby," you shot him a playful look while grabbing the bottle.

"i thought i was your baby."

"you both are. she's just my daughter-baby."

you sat down on the kitchen floor and handed the bottle to the impatient lamb. immediately, lola began drinking eagerly, her tiny tail wagging frantically.

"didn't know i already had a daughter."

harry raised an eyebrow before taking another sip.

"yep. we're parents."

that sentence.

the way you said it so casually — like it was the most normal thing in the world — made something warm in his chest.

harry looked at the scene in front of him with softened eyes: his girl feeding their daughter.

he admired the tenderness you had with animals, the way you treated them like they were the purest and most innocent souls in the world.

you always said they were. that's how you'd convinced him to start raising lambs.

at first, he'd thought it sounded complicated. too much work. too much responsibility.

but how was he supposed to say no when you looked so excited about it?

without noticing the way his expression had softened, you kept feeding lola. you were fascinated by how eagerly the tiny animal sucked from her bottle.

"aww, that's my girl!" you cooed at her in your baby voice, smiling at how cute she looked.

"y'know, i think we can call her brother stevie." you looked up at harry.

"stevie?"

"because of stevie nicks." you said it like it was obvious.

"that's a very specific reason to name a lamb."

"i know, but it's stevie nicks," you huffed.

"the lamb isn't going to know that." his arms crossed as he leaned against the kitchen counter.

"but i do." you tilted your head.

"fine." he sighed, already knowing he wasn't winning this one.

the lambs were your thing.

"see? your dada likes it! i told you." you smiled proudly and petted lola.

harry shook his head and turned toward the hallway. but before leaving, he looked back.

you were still sitting on the floor, lola resting across your legs.

it was like you two had a secret language. one he didn't completely understand, but could still feel.

you understood each other.

he smiled.

even if he never admitted it out loud, he loved your silly naming ideas and your baby voice, and he couldn't deny that he liked that — at least to lola —he got to be dada.

[fucktoyfelix]

force breeding someones cunt with their ass stuck in the air…telling them how much it increases the liklihood of fertilization if they orgasm…and tying a hitachi to their clit while watching them struggle not to give in and orgasm all that cum deep and hard into their womb…

[fucktoyfelix]

laughing as they inevitably fail and cum uncontrolably over and over again……“wow u must wanna get knocked up super bad huh? you cant even stop cumming now that you’ve started youre gunna have a baby for sure now…”

[unholy-jackal]

This actually ties in pretty close to one of my favorite fantasies. Every time they cum, their ovaries release another egg. Want triplets? Sextuplets? A litter of ten? It’s variable It can be used as punishment and reward. Imagine someone who doesn’t want to get pregnant, pining them down and making them cum over and over before you even breed them, knowing that with every unwanted orgasm they’re dropping another egg to make them even bigger over the next 9 months, another squirming brat they don’t want. Or as a reward, you want to get big and round and huge? You have to sit there and let me rip orgasm after orgasm out of you until we get to your desired number. Bonus points if they can actually feel their ovaries drop the egg whenever it happens, giving them an extra reminder of the added risk/consequences🥰

[hayatistic]

nsfw content. breeding + cockwarming.

Baelor’s first marriage had required him to fulfill certain expectations, such as producing an heir who would, when the time came, sit on the throne after he had passed.

He had not felt the sort of desire his brother had to sire many offspring, one was enough to silence those who dared to question his fertility and a second was precaution to ensure the longevity of his bloodline’s reign.

However, having watched you play with Maekar’s youngest children with a look of adoration and a nurturing, guiding hand, Baelor felt a tendril of longing wrap around his heart to witness you behave in a similar manner with children whose physical traits, as well as other attributes, were a perfect mixture of both yours and his.

“You mustn’t move,” he chided quietly, arm tightening around your waist to discourage squirming.

The soft fabric of his silken robe caressed the bare flesh of your stomach with every shift and rearrangement of your bodies, causing an eruption of goosebumps to rise over your flesh.

“It feels so–,” your words were cut off by a whimper escaping your throat, head lolling over his shoulder at the sensation of his pulsating appendage within your passage.

The dizzying sensation of being wholly engulfed by him, whilst enveloping his own fullness within your walls caused your eyes to become unfocused and watery.

Baelor was reclining comfortably into the cushioned thickness of his armchair, the tie of his night robe undone, revealing his loosened silken trousers and thick torso to the heated space of your shared bedchamber.

He had you completely bared and sprawled atop him with your thighs hooked on the arms of the seat, mounted on the twitching, redden length of his cock.

“This is the best way,” Baelor moaned lowly when you wriggled your hips, “to guarantee success." 

You felt his voice as a physical sensation that entered your ears, trickled down your body and settled pleasantly at the base of your spine, level with where it felt like he was piercing you.

“I know, my love, I know,” the wanton raspiness that laced his words elicited another shiver out of your trembling form. 

It felt like he was residing within the deepest depths of your soul, the fat head of his cock pressing into a sacred part that resided deep within you, one that you had not even known existed until he discovered it.

“I feel–gods, I feel everything.” you confessed, turning your face to place kisses along the column of his flushed, damp neck, paying extra attention to the visible vein that ran along the length of it.

He had brought you to completion several times and had released inside of you three times in various positions, yet he remained fully, and more than readily, erect with an ever growing and desperate desire to ensure that his seed took. His dedication to seeing you swollen with his child appeared to have given him an insatiable hunger.

Every tiniest movement caused the short, coarse, dark and grey hairs dusted across his chest to ticklishly poke into the flesh of your back. 

The combination of your fluids had soaked into the cloth of his trousers and dripped down your inner thighs; each time you imagined the lewd scene the two of you had created, a new spread of heat would travel across your chest, neck, and face.

Baelor’s wide, calloused hands slid up your body, not stopping their upwards voyage until they cupped your breasts.

“Have you thought of a name?” 

You nodded in reply, fingers threading through the soft hair near his nape, “But, it’s a secret.”

He playfully nipped at the flesh of your earlobe, “Is it now?” his arms returned to their embrace around your torso, holding you firmly to him and the warmth he provided.

“Yes,” you sighed, tightening around him until he let out a quiet groan, “one that you will only learn when we are expecting.”

“Then,” Baelor began, moving his hands to support the underneath of your thighs as he rose from his seat, holding you wide open and split apart on the girth of his shaft, “I should make certain that you are with child after tonight.”

“I suppose you should,” was your cheeky response, a teasing grin etched into your face. 

One that, barely a moment later, would be replaced with a surprised, open mouthed expression when Baelor dislodged from within you before mounting you from a new, unfamiliar position.

[ariannsmartell]

We Dornish are a hot-blooded people, quick to anger and slow to forgive.

[bvnnysdepravedmind]

the idea of being used by a group of male friends, one of them invites me over, all of them are at the house, looking at me like im tasty.

we all sit down on the couch and one of them starts to touch me, still innocently enough, a hand on my thigh, around my waist. then another one, groping my breasts, lifting up my shirt...

until im completely naked, two hold my legs open, two hold my arms, one spanks my cunt while i cry but they see that im wet, they see that i like it.

they choke me, hit me, fuck me all they want, im covered in their cum by the end, after all of them have their way with me.

and they leave me there, bonus points if they take pictures and threaten to expose me if i ever tell anyone and if i dont become their personal whore...everyday now i have to be on all fours and do whatever they want.

that's all im good for anyways.

[traddoll]

[ohmylul]

I said I was done with Doctor Foster gifs and yet here I am. He just looked so delicious here. I couldn't help but place him in a box.

I regret nothing.

DOCTOR FOSTER | S01E04

[maliciouslittlewhiteboy]

the black family is so gothic victorian and the rosier family is so southern gothic if that makes sense

[clowngurlkhoinkers]

cursed bra that makes your tits huge and leak tons of milk and makes you really horny and stupid and moo

[the-velvet-dragon]

Cursed Brassiere of Unnatural Growth (Uncommon magic item)

This brassiere is worn as any similar undergarment and attunes to the wearer automatically and permanently as soon as it is fastened. While worn, the brassiere begins transforming the wearer via the minor alter self spell. The breasts increases by one size after one day, another size after a week, and again after a month. While breasts are increased in size by virtue of this item, they gain the Lactating property, and Feeding from breasts affected by this restores 1d4 hit points. Cursed: This item is cursed. It can be removed as clothing, but it's attunement maintains the effect so long as the brassiere is on the same plane of existence as its wearer. A Remove Curse spell breaks the attunement. When the attunement is broken, the Lactating property is removed and any breast milk that flows afterward no longer restores hit points. However, the breast size change does not revert except by a minor alter self spell cast to reduce their size.

[clowngurlkhoinkers]

where can i find this item and also can i have some for my friends

[hayatistic]

Taste

✧ Pairing: Baelor Targaryen x female reader (no use of y/n or any form of physical descriptors).

✧ Content warning: some dubious consent, reader is mute, large age difference, thigh riding, power imbalance, scar worship, loose mentor-mentee relationship, kissing, mention of suitors, tongue sucking, subtle father figure connotations.

✦ — Baelor discovers you, the young daughter of a lord who had opposed him during a minor rebellion, with a slit throat and a faint pulse near a riverbed, and decides to grant you a second chance at life.

Upon learning that you would have difficulty ever uttering a discernible word again, Baelor had kindly made accommodations to ease your struggles.

He had taught you how to write more eloquently, assisted you with broadening your vocabulary and knowledge by allowing you unrestricted access to his personal library, and provided you with the shelter and protection your family had been unable to upkeep when they had chosen to side with a traitor.

And here you were, nearly a decade after he had saved you that rainy afternoon, seated on a cushion near the hearth of his solar with your legs folded neatly by your side, watching your saviour fight to stay awake.

Baelor was opposite you, perched comfortably on his wide reading chair, scanning scrolls and various other letters that demanded his immediate attention, all while visibly battling not to succumb to sleep’s awaiting embrace. His eyelids gradually sank lower until the gaze he used to assess the parchment turned into narrowed slits; shadows coloured the skin beneath his eyes, their presence proving how tired he truly was despite his stubborn refusal to admit it.

You had long since abandoned your book, finding his struggle far more entertaining than “The History of the North”, the contents of which he had insisted he would quiz you on during breakfast the following day.

His hair had grown significantly greyer since you had first laid eyes on him all those years ago. 

He had been the first person your vision had settled upon once you had awoken from a two moon long slumber, the startling contrast of his one blue and one brown eye had your eyelids fluttering open and closed repeatedly, their unusual pairing, as well as his distinct features, had made you believe he was a figment of your imagination.

The soft, amused lines that often creased around his eyes when you would visibly convey your visceral loathing towards a particularly old-fashioned court custom had also deepened as he had aged. 

Whilst you had had your lessons on etiquette, history, and embroidery since you were young, there were many things you did not have the chance to learn before entering the court’s watchful eye, and it was the older prince who took the time to educate you with patience and guidance.

He had confessed to you one spring evening, after two years of being under his care and guidance, that he had always wanted a daughter.

“How many chapters have you completed?” Baelor’s soft timbre wrought you out of your musings, his gaze moving from the words in front of him to your undivided, star-struck stare.

Your head whipped down, opening the book back to where a feather had held your place, and indicated with your fingers how far you had delved before becoming distracted.

“Six?” his brows furrowed, a hand rising to absentmindedly stroke his beard. It was a habit, you had learned long ago, that he did when he was unsatisfied with your progress, “I imagined you would be nearly done by now.”

It was your turn to communicate your disapproval of his excessive expectations with a shrug of your shoulders and a jut of your lower lip. Feeling brave, you pointed at him, made a motion that represented sleeping, and fixed him with an accusatory look.

“My fatigue has no bearing on your studies,”  Baelor responded, his own reading long forgotten as he discarded the scroll on a nearby table. 

“I should confess,” he began suddenly, appearing uneasy, “that there have been some discussions amongst my council concerning your best interests.”

You placed the book beside you, uncaring that you hadn’t marked your place, and leaned forward.

“You are,” Baelor’s fingers tightened around the arms of his chair, his digits pressing so harshly into the soft fabric that you were certain there would be residual indents long after he had released his hold on them, “at an age where it would no longer be appropriate for you to remain under my care.”

As though you had eaten expired food, your stomach churned violently; the overwhelming lightheadedness that assaulted your senses made you grateful you were already seated on the floor.

“I have found quite a few amiable suitors, all of which you will have the opportunity to get to know before you make your final decision to.. marry one of them.”

You moved to a kneeling position, the majority of your weight resting on your calves, as you stared at the older man with a betrayed, anguished look on your face.

A desperate wish to speak once more filled your heart, it had been your sole prayer for years, one that you hadn’t silently begged for since the day Baelor told you that you did not need an audible voice to relay a message worthy of being heard. Now, as you were subjugated to his decree, you wished for your voice to return to you with a quiet sob.

“You will be happy,” he spoke gently, “as well as generously taken care of.”

You wanted to confess to him that you longed to remain by his side until the end of your days, listening to his mild complaints concerning the realm all the while gladly completing the reading he would assign you.

Of course, you could send him letters outlining your opinions on the novels you had finished, which would not be much different from how you communicated your thoughts to him presently, but you did not want to be away from him. 

Baelor refused to look at you, his jaw clenching beneath his beard as he revealed that arrangements for you to meet each one of your suitors would be made in the upcoming days.

Distraught, you moved forward, skirts tripping you as you closed the distance between yourself and the man whose decisions you had once obeyed blindly.

When Baelor’s gaze finally returned to yours, your vision was too blurry to notice the glossiness to his own eyes–he was not unaffected by your uncharacteristic outburst.

Desperately, both of your hands grasped at one of his hands, a tingling of sparks traversing up your limbs and settling heavily over your heart at the feel of his calloused, large hand cradled within yours. You could count on one hand the number of times you had touched him since he had found you, most of which had been accidental.

“I will not allow anything to befall you, if that is what burdens your heart,” was Baelor’s strained reply to your hushed cries.

Frantically, you shook your head and bowed your face to kiss the top of his hand, your hold tightening.

“Rise,” Baelor ordered and for the first time since your heart had opened to the older man, you refused to follow his command.

His knuckles against your lips suppressed the sound of your cries; your warm tears flowed freely onto his limb, running down the length of his fingers to collect at the tip of his digits before falling into the chaotic mess of your skirts below.

Baelor spoke your name in a low, pained tone, his available hand moving to push your chin upwards until your tear-stained, puffy face was visible to him once more.

“Do not be afraid, sweet girl,” he offered you a kind smile, one that once would have had your heart racing and stomach fluttering pleasantly.

Now, it evoked unwanted, distressing thoughts.

What if you never saw it again?

“On the morrow, after you have slept on it, you will see that–,”

The older man was cut off by the abrupt collision of your mouth against his parted lips.

Baelor’s startled form remained still when you awkwardly enclosed his upper lip between both of yours, inexperience evident in the clumsiness of your movements.

Less than a beat later, Baelor had moved you backwards with a firm hold on your shoulders, his breath leaving him in quick huffs as the gravity of what you had done hit both him and yourself like a bolt of lightning.

His alarmed expression caused a wave of dread and humiliation to cascade over you, an ice cold pit of regret now replaced the frightened swirl that had afflicted you only moments prior. 

In a flurry of movements, you twisted out of his light grip and fled.

The following weeks were torturous, to say the least.

You silently endured the distance Baelor had created between the two of you, his solar and private library no longer welcoming sanctuaries that you could seek peaceful solitude and warmth within.

Suitors met you and, once you ignored them thoroughly enough, disclosed their reluctance to move forward. 

Initially, each one was more determined than the last to be the one who, if they could not steal your affections, would earn your respect and willingness to form a strategic alliance with their house.

Of course, there were some suitors who believed themself above you, reiterating words you had heard countless times.

“A traitor’s daughter is provided refuge by the very man whose life her father had plotted and treasoned against,” one had said during a stroll of the gardens, “how ironic.”

“If I were the prince, you would not have been shown mercy, of that, I am certain,” another had mumbled underneath a tree after you had accepted his offer to watch the sunset.

The final suitor you would grant your precious time had been the most filthy of his vulgar predecessors.

“Has he tasted you? Is that why he kept you to himself all these years? A silent mouth to fuck?” 

Before you had the time to process his crude allegations, he pressed his unpleasant mouth hard against yours, inciting a startled sound from deep within your chest.

Of its own accord, your hand rose and firmly struck his cheek.

Days later, when you refused to meet another suitor, despite the desperate pleas of your lady’s maids and chaperone, Baelor himself was forced to take matters into his own hands.

“You must be willing,” were the first words he had spoken to you in weeks, exhaustion evident in the slump of his shoulders and heaviness of each step he took, “I had expected you to behave more mature regarding this subject.”

You moved to your desk to scribble several sentences, occasionally stopping to glare up at his patiently waiting form, before holding it out for him to retrieve.

“I do not wish to be married, especially not to a man who is incapable of behaving like a gentleman.” 

Baelor read your words aloud, a grimace tugging at the side of his mouth as he looked at you pointedly, “Who has behaved ungentlemanly towards you?”

You motioned for him to continue reading.

"He kissed me without permission, that is why I struck him."

A livid look passed over Baelor's face before he schooled his expression back into a mask of composed neutrality.

"I was not informed that he behaved in such a manner towards you, but I assure you he will be dealt with."

You reached for a fresh piece of paper to jot down another message before you held it up for him to read from where he stood.

“I will take meeting each suitor more seriously if, and only if, you offer your assistance in the teachings of one, final subject of my choosing.”

“Very well,” Baelor agreed with a tilt of his head, a weight settling over his shoulders as he watched you continue to write.

You hesitated once you finished, placing the stiff quill down firmly as an onslaught of thoughts plagued your mind. Finally, you turned over the note to his outstretched hand, the tip of your finger tingling pleasantly when it brushed against his heated palm.

“I will not marry until you have taught me how to properly and thoroughly–,”

Baelor’s voice cut off, his figure stiffening until you could nearly feel the flustered indignation rolling off of him in waves.

“You cannot be serious.”

When you made no movement to reveal you were jesting, Baelor gave a firm, disapproving shake of his head.

“No,” was his adamant reply.

Immediately, your hand returned to the quill, a hurriedness to each stroke you wrote.

“I have never asked anything of you, except this. I ask for your guidance one last time, on a subject that I wish to be better acquainted with. It is merely a peck that I wish for.”

The look of disbelief and then contemplation that reflected within Baelor’s eyes told you that he was truly considering it.

“A peck?” he questioned, taking a seat on the cushioned chair in the corner of your bedchamber, “Then, you will return to your suitors?"

You could have dislocated your neck from how enthusiastically you nodded, your hands rising to press over your chest as a silent vow to uphold your end of the deal.

He sighed frustratedly, a hand moving to pat the short hairs atop his head downwards.

“Very well,” he held out a ring adorned hand when you bounced over to him, “but as soon as I say stop, you will stop.”

Once more, you nodded your agreement and moved to hunch over his frame.

Baelor stared up at you pensively, his lips tightly pressed together as he waited for you to get this urge out of your system.

As though he were a sacred gift sent directly from the Gods to you, you carefully cradled his face in your hands and leaned forward to plant a light kiss over his tense mouth.

For a moment, neither one of you moved, the cool exhale of his breath tickling the top of your lip. 

You had kept your eyes open because he had, but soon enough your lashes were fluttering until you could no longer hold the heavy weight of your eyelids up.

A low sound left his throat in response to your sigh, his eyes drooping when you cautiously pulled at the flesh of his bottom lip.

Baelor’s mouth parted, wide enough to allow you access to lick the front of his teeth. 

You had spent countless evenings watching them appear and disappear as he read to you; equally having imagined what his tongue would taste and feel like against your own each time it had swiped across his lips to moisten them.

“Stop,” Baelor’s raspy voice entered your ears and settled heavily between your legs, a visible tremor moving across your limbs as he shifted beneath your hold.

Urgently, you held him in place, a secure loop of your arms around his neck as your head turned sideways to press a kiss below his right eye.

“You appear to be–,” you cut him off, tongue swiping at his temple to taste the saltiness of his skin.

A mewl left your throat when you returned to his lips, the messy melding of your mouth against his was unpracticed but willing and desperate to please. 

You were certain he had had past lovers whose skill when it came to something as simple as kissing would put your experience, or rather, lack-of, to shame. However, it did not matter, not now that you had finally fed your desire to know what he tasted like.

A deep noise rumbled through Baelor’s chest, scattering your thoughts into nothing except how he felt.

When you pulled back to regard his face you found his darkened, mismatched eyes already on you, his lips moistened from your spit and reddened from your nibbles.

“Have you had your fill?”

His cropped, dark grey and silvery hair stood in messy clumps atop his head, courtesy of your fingers and their ceaseless tugging. Though, it was the dusky pink hue that coloured the tops of his ears and cheeks that fascinated you.

A sharp intake of air filled Baelor’s lungs when you drew closer, your thumbs caressing the sides of his eyes before you bent to place kisses against the heated flesh of his cheekbones. He exhaled your name unevenly, the huskiness to his voice made it sound like a plea and a prayer mixed into one word.

Would he be upset if you marked his flesh?

Determined to leave a remembrance of this encounter into his skin, you suckled a large, colourful spot into his throat. 

Baelor’s subtle shift of his head, his body instinctively submitting to your ministrations, was all the permission you needed to continue. With a newfound hunger, you returned to his mouth to suck on the wet muscle of his tongue, the suction of your cheeks slipping it further past your lips.

In a lapse of momentary judgement, Baelor pulled you over him, your knees resting comfortably on the cushion below, a calf pressed to either side of his thighs.

The sound of teeth clashing, saliva obscenely mixing, low sighs and deep moans filled the chamber; the lewd combination of noises created a swirl of arousal within your abdomen. 

Baelor’s reluctance to view you as the woman you had gradually grown into under his tutelage was now forgotten as your hips bucked against his thigh, fingers grasping roughly at the coarse hair of his beard to angle his head how you wanted it.

Unthinking, you unlatched your lips from around his tongue and leaned backwards, pulling his face to your neck. 

Baelor’s tongue swiped across the scar that horizontally marked your throat, the sensitive flesh tingling under his attention.

“Sweetling,” he rasped, panting against the marred skin that had once been your most painful insecurity.

His affections were laved heavily over the length of your neck, the stifled murmuring of “I would have never,” was followed by an array of kisses and light nips, and then, “let this happen.”

The underlying insinuation of his words had you pulling him back upwards, your open mouth fitting against his with a frenzied neediness. 

It felt like you could kiss him for days and not feel an ounce of hunger or fatigue.

“Wait–,”

You scarcely heard him over your loud whimpers.

“Sweet girl,” Baelor called, gently pushing you backwards to examine your features and took a shuddering breath at the sight that greeted him; his widened pupils dragged down to lock on the string of spit that still connected your mouth to his, “this has gone on far enough.”

A look of hurt passed over your face, an embarrassed whine bubbling up in your chest when he turned his head to the side when you attempted to kiss him once more.

“You are more than proficient at..” he trailed off, his throat bobbing as he leaned further back, “well, you know.”

Nudging closer, your mouth made contact with his again, a twist of your torso releasing his already loosened hold on your arms.

Baelor’s quiet complaints fell on deaf ears, his lips moving against yours even as he repeatedly assured you that you did not require any more of his teachings.

Haphazardly, your hips continued to shift against his firm thigh, the feeling of your wet core dragging against the heat of his limb proved to be too much when you felt the quickly approaching tendrils of a release begin to wash over you. The scorching temperature of his leg somehow seeped through the layers that separated the both of you, his hands moving to help you find your completion despite the occasional murmurs of protests he exhaled against the skin of your burning cheeks, extended throat, and swollen lips.

“Baelor,” you struggled to stutter aloud, his name was barely discernible and strange on your heavy tongue, but his head snapped up at the sound of it regardless.

An indecipherable look spanned across his face, his heated, wide hands rising to cradle your face. 

Baelor leaned forward, his hesitancy forgotten as he assisted you with reaching your peak. 

He lifted his solid thigh to press more snugly between your legs, the strength of it sending wisps of pleasure that began at your core and dispersed throughout each of your limbs left you malleable above him.

During the onslaught of pleasure, you would later recall your lips returning to his, the depth of his open mouth swallowing your cries of ecstasy to replace them with guttural groans of his own.

Baelor’s lips moved down to your throat a final time, licking at it over and over again until the skin felt raw and tender beneath his care; he lapped at it as though he could replace the large scar that rested there with an even more noticeable one of his own making.

Dark spots danced around the edges of your peripheral, their size growing until your vision was rapidly tunneling. 

Your hips ceased their movements as a blanket of satiated bliss enveloped you; your limbs weightless and tingly in the aftermath of your release.

The last sound you heard before you succumbed to darkness was Baelor's hoarse voice. His words were muffled against your collarbone, leaving you to wonder what it was he had said before your mind drifted to a state of familiar unconsciousness.

[hayatistic]

Thinking about dark!Baelor after the trial of seven, he survives and hes the same but diff too 🤭 he takes what he wants now and doesnt feel shame for it 🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠

(rubs hands together like a fly while snickering) dark baelor… 🚬🚬🚬

—

baelor survives the ashford trial of seven, but the version of him who had courted you with gentle patience is gone.

when your betrothed finally awakens after two moons of continuous slumber, you’re shaken to find a dark glint in his eyes that had never been there before.

his voice is as soft and melodic as it had always been, but now there’s a shadowy haze that lurks behind his gaze, one that has you incapable of maintaining contact with his mismatched stare for more than a few seconds before you’re forced to glance away.

a heated flush travelled up your neck each time his attention was focused intently on you, which seemed to occur every time you were even in the same vicinity as him.

finally, one evening, when you’re reading to him within the private space of his solar, he pounces.

baelor’s tongue forces its way within the wet passage of your mouth, hands threading through your hair as his fingers pulled out the pins that held it in place, the sound of them hitting the stone floor blending in with his low growls and deep sighs.

your mouth had opened to his willingly, the shock you felt and the uncharacteristic passion he displayed made you easily compliant under his ministrations. 

“your grace, please, we must wait,” you tried to reason with him when his lips moved south, his hands roughly tugging the neckline of your modest gown down until your breasts were visible to the cool air.

baelor ignored your warning, his tongue hungrily lapping at your pebbled nipples until you were wriggling; he was quiet apart from the soft rumbles that escaped his chest every now and then.

the coarse, grey hair that covered his chin rubbed over your tender breasts, his eyes gleaming with a depraved sort of satisfaction when you squirmed at the painfully pleasurable sensation it wrought.

later that night, when he has you spread out over his desk with his cock plunging deep into you, he would reveal how he’s dreamt of doing this to you since the very moment he saw you all those moons ago.

[milkyhoneybee]

I know lots of people have talked about it/made content about it before, but I do love the idea of like... bimbofication/body modification and free use as a punishment for crimes

I forget to pay my taxes, so the government makes me go to a facility where they plump my lips up to an absurdly lewd size and I have to work a gloryhole at least one night a week until I've paid off my debt

And then if I shoplift or get into a fight with someone, they confiscate all my clothes and make me wear humiliating, slutty outfits, they make me get implants, and I'm legally designated as a 'stress relief officer' meaning people can grope me whenever they want

They give me drugs and hypno to make me dumber, more docile, hornier...

I can't keep a real job, but eventually with enough missed payments and more crimes, my debt is bought by a company, so I have to work in strip clubs and brothels to keep a roof over my head, unable to say no to anything

Eventually I'm legally not even human because of all the crimes I've committed, I'm covered in full-body latex with ears and a tail, with massive fake tits, my hands made into 'paws', and my drooling whoreish mouth in an o-ring gag, fat, wet pussy on display, plumped up clit with a little bell attached to the ring piercing it, begging for cum like a bitch in heat

[milkyhoneybee]

Harpy girlfriend who doesn't have human hands and she can't get her wings into the right position to play with her tits, absolutely losing it and trilling loudly when you suck on her nipples and grope/pinch them

Fitting a pair of snakebite nipple suckers onto her and watching as she becomes more desperate, clawed feet coming up to try and pull them off but they're too narrow for her to get a good grip on

Laughing and cooing at her as her feathers fluff out and she gets frustrated as the constant pressure turns to oversensitive pain

Eventually you tell her they'll come off if she bounces enough, and you set up a suction toy on the floor for her, watching her bob up and down erratically as she tries to get the suckers to pop off

Her cloaca dripping wet, stretched around a toy that's just a little too big for her, eyes dark and face flushed, sharp teeth worrying her plump lip

Eventually you take pity on her and yank the nipple suckers off roughly, making her cum hard and let out an avian screech as her nipples are finally exposed. Throbbing, thick, bright red from their abuse

Of course, you don't waste time getting them in your mouth

Next time, you go for clover clamps with weights attached and send her out flying, watching her have to readjust her wings every time the weights make her flinch or tense

You joke about getting her heavy silicone implants and how she wouldn't need to fly then, she'd be your pretty songbird on display, perfect tits to show off how successful she is, not needing to hunt or migrate when she has you to care for her, even if the implants would make her look like a ridiculous, sexualised ornament instead of the regal predator she is in her own mind

If you got them big enough, she'd be able to reach them and press them together with her wings

You could get her some pretty gold chains to hang between nipple piercings, put all sorts of colourful hanging jewels on them to show how much her mate cares for her

Or, even though she's more avian than human, you wonder if you could get her to lactate, especially when she occasionally lays an unfertilised egg or three, always getting broody and needy around then, how cute she'd look begging you to drink from her tits to relieve their fullness, maybe get her a wearable set of pumps modified to fit over her wings like a harness, so she can get her teats sucked while she hops around your home

[milkyhoneybee]

Being cursed with 'inconvenient' bouts of random breast growth, and having to deal with it. Having to make sure you buy only clothes in super stretchy material, since you don't know when you're going to suddenly go up to an M-cup.

You either give up on bras, or you end up having to spend time fixing them every time you snap the clasps or stretch the cups out.

Maybe it feels really, really good, having them grow, so not only are you suddenly toppling forward from the sudden increase in weight, you're also moaning like a whore and squirting in public because you had an involuntary titgasm.

Blushing as you try and go back about your business, but unable to ignore the range of reactions (especially anyone visibly horny about it) -- maybe you manage to waddle around to a bathroom to fix yourself up, but then there's a woman behind you you briefly recognise from outside, crowding you into one of the stalls, her breath hot and heavy against your neck as she can't help but grope your now absolutely massive udders, and they're sensitive and you can't help but cum over and over until she's done playing with you.

Your nipples are still extremely noticeable when you finally leave the bathroom (maybe a few other people hear and were waiting for their turn after the first, maybe a few people fuck your tits, others want to suck on them while they fuck or finger or even fist you, you're kind of stuck underneath their weight and the weight of the expectations for fixing the lust you've inspired in these people).

Slowly they go back to a more 'regular' size, but you never quite get back down as small as you were originally, and the creep up in bra size over time makes you nervous-- one day you think you're going to shrink down to a Z-cup, and you don't even know what size you'd call the completely ridiculous blimps they'd be when they were expanded out.

Sometimes you wake up with massive knockers, others it happens in public, sometimes it's extremely fast, other times it takes up to an hour before they stop slowly swelling.

Maybe you manage to get a 'normal' hook up at the bar, things are going well, you think that you'll finally be able to fuck someone without them being entirely focused on your breasts, but then you see it on their face when they're pressed against you, the way their eyes dip down and their brow furrows, and they're trying not to ask what they logically know is a silly question because tits don't just grow like that, right?

But then they see the evidence, the fabric of your outfit stretching, the noticeable increase in cleavage, the weight, and how horny you're getting... And they just can't help it. Who would be able to ignore that sort of thing? And you silently accept that you're in for another night of titfucks and suckling your teats and groping your massive mammaries.

[bigtitfreak]

scientist who’s only focus is experimenting on my tits 🤤 testing my reactions to every kind of sensation, seeing how long it takes them to recover from bruises, how quickly they can induce lactation, how much work it takes to train my body to cum from having my nipples pumped