#: he holds me in his big arms / drunk and i am seeing stars
୨ৎ IMOGENE. XIX. MASTERLIST.
⤷ works in progress…
݁˖ ❀ ⋆｡˚ KINKTOBER!
୨ৎ visit my other blog!
୨ৎ REQUESTS: CLOSED FOR KINKTOBER!
requesting rules:
be as specific as possible! it makes the process of writing easier and faster, as well as getting your request shaped more closely to how you envision it! i only do requests that i want to do! i will not write anything with incest or pedophilia, though other dark topics are welcome !!
☆ ──꒰summary꒱ ❞ Valarr is not a man of many words, but he will make sure that you understand who you belong to
contains! violence, death, targcest, suggestive content requested material
೯⠀⁺ ⠀ 𖥻 𝗢 ⠀ᰋ the dust almost choked out the smell of horse sweat and grass. almost. you scrunched your nose and tried to strategically only breathe in the scent of your crushed lavender perfume, but it was mostly useless.
you watched as the knights, lords sons and common men alike all flitted restlessly around, either atop their steeds or on the ground, inspecting their armour to make sure it was in the most perfect of conditions for the tourney; if they couldn’t win, perhaps they could look good enough to find themselves a wife.
ser Berenger steered his stallion toward the royal box, his armour gleaming under the midday sun, the serpent on his breastplate so intricate it seemed to snake and writhe around in the shadows and light that bounced upon its metal scales. he looked up at you, eyes gleaming with hope, “my lady,” he called, pointing his lance up towards the box, “grant me your favour, and i shall carve the prince from his saddle in your honour.”
you smiled, a shy curve of your lips. ser Berenger was a handsome man: blonde and broad framed. he was the son of a lord, and a very good hunter. the man was one of the better options for a targaryen princess to wed, even if he was a bit dull. you untied a pale purple scarf from your hair and leaned over the railing.
“ride well, ser.” you dropped the fabric and he caught it as it fluttered down, tying it tightly around the hilt of his lance.
in the distance, Valarr sat atop his great black charger. his face remained a mask of stone—as it always did—eyes narrowed, nostrils flared, watching your silk scarf cling to somewhere it didn’t belong.
the herald blew the horn. the clash of lance and armour sounded like a thunderclap as Valarr hit ser Berenger with the force of a landslide. his lance was shattered into splinters, and the blonde man was flung backwards, armour clattering violently against the hard earth.
the crowd roared, two thousand hands coming together to celebrate the unhorsing. but Valarr did not celebrate. no, not yet. he spurred his horse forward, the animals hooves drumming a frantic rhythm. he leapt from the saddle before the horse had even stopped.
“you dared take my favour,” Valarr said, voice low.
the other man groaned, struggling to sit up, still winded. “it was but a game, my prince—”
Valarr didn’t let him finish. he seized a mace from the dirt, discarded from a previous joust, and lifted it above his head.
you gasped but didn’t look away, your hand darting out to grip your fathers arm out of fear.
Valarr’s first blow broke ser Berenger’s visor, the steel crumpling as if it were made of copper. the second crushed his jaw and pulled a ragged scream from the man’s mouth. the third and fourth sounded wet; the mace was bloodied, chunks of facial viscera clinging to it and being dirtied on the ground. Valarr continued to bring it down until the knight stopped moving beneath the heavy metal, until he was naught but a mangled piece of flesh. he stood over the corpse, chest heaving, blood splattered across his pale cheeks.
the body was dragged away by two green-faced squires who desperately tried to look away from his mangled face. the day continued on, and Valarr remained victorious throughout the entirety of it.
when nightfall came, you retreated to your tent despite begging your father to let you sleep in his with him, the gore of the morning still fresh on your mind. Maekar was stern as ever and banished you to your own makeshift chamber with a pat on the cheek.
you lay beneath your sheets, the flickering light of a single candle flickering across the walls of the tent, making strange shadows dance around the linens, as if mocking you in your wakefulness with each shape that almost resembled a moving mace and a cracked face. a shadow eclipsed the light as the tent flap opened.
Valarr stepped inside. he had washed the blood from his skin, but the tang of iron still clung to him, like death itself had shackled itself to his bones. he had exchanged his knights armour for something softer and quieter, and moved with almost no sound, leather boots pressing softly into the rugs. he sat on the edge of your bed—a cot draped in red and black fabrics, a lambs skin over your pillow so you could sleep in luxury—and the mattress dipped under his weight.
you stirred, moving your eyes from their place on the tent’s wall and blinking up at him in the dimness. “cousin?” you whispered, “what is it?”
he reached out, thumb grazing your cheek, tracing the line of your jaw and watching you as he did so, like he was waiting for you to startle like a spooked rabbit ready to bound away. his hand lingered then slid down to the column of your throat. your pulse fluttered for a reason you didn’t know. maybe it was the remnants of earlier in the day.
“were you frightened?” he asked, “when i killed him?”
you shuddered, remembering the sound that had come from the dead man as Valarr stole away his life. “yes.” your fingers dug into the linen sheet, pulling it up to your chin, “i’ve never seen you… like that.”
Valarr leaned closer, the heat of his body radiating through his tunic. he shifted and his thigh brushed up against your hip through the sheets. “do you know why i did it?” he asked.
you shook your head slowly, looking up at him through your lashes, eyes locked onto his mismatched ones.
“because i cannot have another man after you like that,” he murmured, “do you understand?”
“he was only asking for a favour.”
Valarr leaned down, lips hovering just an inch from your face, his breath warm. “he had more in mind for you than getting a favour. i will not tolerate another man dreaming of you.” he shifted again, pressing his weight more firmly against you, the suggestion of his desire hard and insistent against you. “you are to be mine, cousin. now, do you understand? answer me, briefly.”
you nodded quickly, a strange heat blooming down below. “yes. yes, Valarr.”
he lifted his hand from your neck and moved it back to your cheek, stroking your cheek with his thumb tenderly until finally backing away entirely. “good girl.”
𑣲⋆｡˚ Duncan has always been a big man. he was a mere sixteen years old when he began to hit his head on the tops of doorways and not fit right into any of his shirts. he’s known it. but he always feels especially large when his hands are cupping your breasts, fingers warm, your skin dampening as his tongue circles around the hardened peaks of your nipples. he loves the pillowy softness of your tits just as much as he loves the wet warmth of your cunt. he’d lick you forever, taste the salt of your slick and be happy to do so; to him it is the only known nectar of the gods.
he wants your fingers in his mouth, opening him up and looking at his teeth like a bad dog, telling him what a good boy he is for being so patient for you. his cock is leaking, pressing against his breeches, desperate for your touch but too shy to ask for it.
he will gladly be your guardian knight, your loyal dog, your humble servant, your man. he lives to serve and is pleased by pleasing you.
Gonna need some more details on that Daeron with erectile dysfunction post you made 😩
i just absolutely love the idea that Daeron is so pathetic that he can’t even get it up… and he has such a big dick, so it’s a shame he can’t even use it :(
you’d take his soft cock in your mouth, bobbing your head and getting it all wet, trying to make him harden even a little bit so that you can seize the opportunity and slip him inside your needy cunt. but the alcohol has a very strong hold on him, and it seems to be choking out his ability to perform.
so instead you’d be forced to deal with yourself while your pathetic husband watches. maybe he even gets off on the fact that he’s in such a deplorable state, eyeing your hand as it dips down to your wet folds, rubbing your clit frantically and telling him through ragged breaths that you should go make use of the handsome knights his father employs.
೯⠀⁺ ⠀ 𖥻 𝗢 ⠀ᰋ Daeron swayed in the doorway of your chambers, the flickering torchlight from the corridor casting a long, dancing beam across the stone floor. it was late at night, and the room was hushed. it smelled of the lavender incense you always liked to burn—you said it helped you sleep. for Daeron, the scent helped to get him off: he had spent many a night with a pouch of lavender clutched to his nose, his hand on his cock while he thought of you.
you—the real you, not the one that existed in his daydreams—lay curled beneath silk sheets, a pattern of shallow breathing barely stirring them. you were completely oblivious to the prince stumbling towards your bed.
Daeron reached down, his fingers clumsy as he gripped the edge of the sheet. with one slow tug, he peeled it back, exposing you to the chill of the night air. he leaned over you, the heat of his breath ghosting over your skin.
he touched your ankles, revelling in the smoothness of you, caressing upwards towards your thighs and pushing your flimsy nightgown upwards, bunching it around your waist, leaving your bottom half naked.
Daeron felt a surge of heat in his gut. gods, the perfection of one’s own blood could not be matched. he brought his hand to his mouth, licking his fingers with a slow, deliberate swipe of his tongue, wetting them with saliva. he pressed his fingers against your slit, rubbing up and down with a touch that was almost tender. it sounded wet, which made him suck in a breath to calm himself down. he worked his fingers toward your opening, priming you for what he wanted.
he pushed down his breeches, his movements jerky as he fumbled with the drawstring. he freed his cock, thick and throbbing, the head already weeping with anticipation. he positioned himself, the tip of his shaft brushing against your wettened folds. you stirred.
your eyelids fluttered open, pupils dilating as you registered the silhouette looming over you. “Daeron?” you whispered, voice still thick with sleep, “what are you doing?”
“just… loving you, sister.” he murmured, voice slurred, a lazy smile pulling at his lips.
you blinked the fog of sleep away, and it cleared to reveal terror. you tried to scramble backwards, but he grabbed you, pinning your arms to the mattress. “get away from me! Daeron, stop it!”
“now, now…” he chuckled, “no need for all that noise. you’ll wake everyone, and we don’t want that, do we?”
“you’re drunk, just let me go.” you said, trying to ration with him.
“i’m just a little festive,” he leaned down and nipped your earlobe, “and you’re so wet for me. i can feel it. you want it.”
you opened your mouth to yell, hoping a nearby guard would hear and come to your rescue, but he clamped his hand over your mouth before a sound could come out, muffling your cry into a pathetic little whimper. he shifted his hips, guiding his cock back to your opening. with one, forceful thrust, he buried himself inside of you.
you let out a strangled cry against his palm, body arching with the shock. he groaned, the tightness of your scared, virgin cunt gripping him like a vice.
“gods, you’re so tight…” he gasped, his voice losing its charm and turning into a vessel to show his need laid bare. “so fucking tight.” his thrusts were erratic and heavy, no doubt result of the alcohol in his system. the sound of your bodies meeting filled the quiet room; a wet and rhythmic noise as he slid in and out of you.
his grip on your face had loosened. “please,” you sobbed, eyes wide and brimming with unshed tears, “stop, please, stop.”
“hush,” he grunted, hips slapping up against you with a loud, fleshy thud, “just take it. be a good girl for your brother.”
he released your mouth fully now, moving his hand down to properly grip your hip. he increased the pace, his balls slapping hard against your ass. he could feel the friction building, the heat of your internal walls squeezing him despite your consternation for the whole situation. he reached down, his thumb grinding harshly against your clit, forcing a mixture of pleasure and pain through you.
“look at you,” he panted, his voice ragged, “squeezing me so hard. you love it, don’t you? tell me you love it.”
you couldn’t even bring yourself to say something. all that came from your open mouth was a ragged sigh. Darron laughed at it.
he thrust deeper, his cock hitting deep, ramming up against your cervix with a blunt force. he felt the build up in his loins, the pressure becoming unbearable. he let out a low, animalistic growl, his movements becoming frantic. with a final, purposeful shove, he seated himself to the hilt and shuddered. his body stiffening as he came, pumping hot jets of cum deep into you. he stayed there for a moment, panting, sweat dripping onto your nightgown, staining the fabric, the smell of sex and wine thick in the air.
he slowly withdrew, the sound of his cock slipping out of your wet pussy a wet, suctioning thing. he looked down at you, your legs shaking, inner thighs smeared with a mixture of his seed and your own fluids.
“see?” he whispered, leaning down to kiss your forehead with a clumsy affection, lips hot on your clammy skin, “you did like it.”
☆ ──꒰summary꒱ ❞ aerion makes his sweet girl take all of him, even though you’re so nervous.
contains! manipulation, p in v, aftercare (kinda?) requested material ❤︎
⤷ ゛authors noteˎˊ˗ i am currently (and very desperately) trying to change my writing style to be more interesting and engaging… but like, still lmk if there are any inconsistencies or grammatical/spelling mistakes! xx
೯⠀⁺ ⠀ 𖥻 𝗢 ⠀ᰋ you laid back against your floral duvet, legs trembling as Aerion tried to position himself between your legs—which were currently clamped shut with anxiety. the sheets felt impossibly cold against your skin. you looked up at him with wide, watery eyes, your chest heaving. “i really don’t think i can, Aerion.” you whispered, voice shaking. “please, it’s just too big.”
“shh, baby. you can do it for me, right? you wanna make me happy.” he slid his hands down the tops of your thighs, trying to wedge his fingers in between them and pry them apart.
“i do, but it hurts just thinking about it!” you buried your face in your hands but unclenched your legs, letting him spread them, bearing your cunt to his greedy eyes. his gaze made you feel a million times more naked than you already were. it was like he had the ability to strip away each layer of skin and tissue until he saw right to the core of your being; the lustful animal of your person.
“it only hurts because you’re being stubborn. just relax.” he rubbed his thumb through you folds, smearing around the slick, enjoying the wet sound it made. he pressed the broad, blunt head of his cock against your entrance. you gasped despite the lack of intrusion, hips instinctively jerking away.
he began to nudge his way inside. you whimpered and dug your fingers into the sheets, trying to breathe through the pain of the stretch like he had told you to do so many times before.
“almost there, baby, just a little more. see how well you’re taking it?” he cooed, rubbing comforting circles into your skin.
you just whined in response, looking up at him with a pained expression.
“shhh, don’t cry. you’re just a little tight.” he gripped your hips tight, watching his cock slowly bully its way into your cunt, pushing through inch by inch, “such a tight little pussy… can barely fit my cock…” he groaned, mostly to himself, “we’ll fix that.” he pushed harder, ignoring your whining. he felt the narrow canal of you fighting him, the walls gripping his shaft tight, like a vice.
he forced himself deeper, stretching you beyond your limit with his girth, until finally, he had buried himself to the hilt. you sniffled, a few tears still wet on your pinked cheeks.
“look at you, taking every inch. who’s my brave girl?”
that tone was familiar, and you knew that it meant he was making fun of you, but it went straight to your clit despite the fact.
he started to move, and you let out a choked cry as you felt him hammer into your cervix. he watched your face, enjoying the way you look completely overwhelmed by him, the way your eyebrows knit together in a look of almost pained satisfaction, the whimpers that slipped past your lips every time he thrusted.
he groaned, emptying himself inside while he gripped your hips tight, his nails digging in so harshly you thought they’d puncture the skin. they didn’t, but a nasty bruise was sure to be left behind at the least, and you’d look at them in the mirror, remembering this moment fondly, imagining the next time it would happen while your cunt soaked through your cotton panties.
Aerion withdrew slowly, leaving you open and leaking, your pussy still throbbing from the immensity of the stretch. he leaned down and kissed your forehead, his voice suddenly soft and sweet. the gaze of your orgasm shielded you from the artificial nature of it. “you did so good for me. such a good girl. my perfect little girl.” he smiled.
☆ ──꒰summary꒱ ❞ after ignoring Aerion for too long, he decides to show up and show you exactly how annoyed he is.
contains! established relationship, aerion being possessive and mean, unprotected sex.
requested material ❤︎
೯⠀⁺ ⠀ 𖥻 𝗢 ⠀ᰋ the sun beat down mercilessly on the white limestone patio. you lay sprawled across a lounger, skin glistening with a thick layer of coconut-scented tanning oil. beside you, two of your friends were draped over the same chairs, their voices a familiar drone of curated hatred for their current lives.
“i’m telling you, it’s totally a knockoff! you can tell by the stitching at the bottom!” one of them said, peering over the top of her oversized sunglasses, her cheeks looking slightly burnt by the heavy uv.
your phone, resting on your stomach, buzzed for the tenth time in two minutes. the screen lit up with yet another notification from Aerion.
— ᨳଓ . where the fuck are you?
you rolled your eyes and shifted your hips, feeling the heat of the sun sink into your skin. you didn’t feel like answering. in fact, the more messages he sent, the more you enjoyed the forced silence you were inflicting upon him.
“is he still blowing up your phone?” one of your friends asked, glancing over with a smirk that told you she was begging for any sort of drama, which you and Aerion’s relationship always had.
“constantly.” you sighed, “he thinks he owns every second of my day. it’s actually pathetic.”
“he’s obsessed with you…” she laughed, “it’s kind of hot! in like, a psychotic way.”
“it’s annoying,” you snapped, though a small smile pulled at your lips. “he’s so desperate. i can practically smell the insecurity through the screen.” the phone buzzed again. this time it was a call. you watched the contact photo—Aerion smiling while the camera’s flash lay bright against the handsome planes of his face, taken on a drunken night out a few months ago—dance across the screen until it went to voicemail. you picked up the phone and typed a quick, dismissive reply.
— ᨳଓ . leave me alone. i’m tanning.
you tossed your phone onto the lounger and closed your eyes. “ugh, he’s totally gonna have a meltdown over this,” you whined, “he hates not knowing where i am.”
two hours later, after obtaining a nice, golden brown tan and enough gossip to last you a good week (at most), you began to gather up your things. you slid into your sandals and grabbed your tote. you gave the other girls a quick wave and as you walked down the long, manicured driveway of your friends house.
a matte black sedan sat idling at the curb, the engine humming. Aerion was leaning against the drivers side door, his arms crossed over a white tee that strained over his chest. his jaw was set, his eyes dark and fixed on you. “you’ve got some nerve.” he said, his voice a low rumble.
you stopped a few feet away, popping a bubble with your gum, “hi to you too, Aerion.”
“i called you twelve times. twelve.” he emphasized his point by slapping the hood of the car.
“i was busy,” you lied, stepping closer, hips swaying under your thin slip. “tanning is hard work. you wouldn’t understand since you spend all your time obsessive over me.”
Aerion stepped forward, closing the gap until you could feel his breath on your skin. he smelled of sandalwood and minty gum. “don’t play brat with me today. you know i don’t like being ignored.”
“and i don’t like being suffocated,” you shot back, voice rising. “maybe if you weren’t such a prick all the time, i’d actually want to answer the phone.”
“you love it when i’m a prick, don’t lie to yourself,” he countered, his hand shooting out to grip your arm firmly, “you won’t be able to find anyone else to deal with your bitchy little moods anyways.”
your face flushed. you hated it when he called you that. you reacted instinctively, your palm connecting with his cheek in a sharp slap. the sound cracked through the quiet afternoon air. Aerion’s head snapped to the side. for a second, there was total silence. he slowly turned back to you, a dangerous glint in his eyes. he didn’t yell like he usually did, instead he grabbed you by the waist and hoisted you off the ground.
“hey! put me down!” you shrieked, kicking your legs, sandals flying off and hitting the pavement.
Aerion, of course, didn’t listen. he marched to the back door of the sedan and shoved you inside with a rough grunt. you landed hard on the leather upholstery, the air rushing out of your lungs. before you could scramble up, he was over you, his body pinning you down, his weight crushing you into the seat.
“you think you can just get away with hitting me you little bitch?” he hissed, angry face inches from yours.
“i can do whatever i want,” you gasped, the adrenaline reaching your pussy, making you grind your thighs together, desperate for any kind of friction.
Aerion’s hand drifted down, gripping the fabric of your little pink bikini bottoms. he yanked them down, the bows you had tied in the laces that were keeping them up untying, making them fall off your body like cotton candy in water. you didn’t fight him; you lifted your hips off the seat so he could fully discard the bottoms, tossing them on the floor of his car.
he quickly unbuckled his belt, the metal clinking loudly. he shoved his jeans down, then his boxers, his cock springing free, thick and rigid and pulsing with need. you stared at it, tracing the vein that ran down the centre of the shaft, eyes dilating.
he reached over to the centre console, fumbling for a condom. his fingers were shaking slightly from the adrenaline, and the small square packet slipped, sliding under the seat. “shit.” he muttered, glancing down.
“forget it,” you whined, your voice raw with desperate desire, “just put it in. now.”
he didn’t need to be told twice. he grabbed your thighs, hiking them up, over his shoulders, opening you wide. he lined himself up with your weeping cunt and thrust forward.
you let out a loud cry as he buried himself deep in you. the sensation overwhelming, the sudden stretch because of the sheer girth of him. “fuckkk… you’re so tight,” he groaned, his voice a rasp.
you fingers dug into the leather beneath you, “harder, Aerion. do it harder.”
he obeyed, pulling back until he almost slipped out before slamming back in. the sound of your bodies filled the car, the air smelling of sex and your coconut tanning oil.
“tell me who you belong to.” he said, his thrusts becoming more frantic, more violent. he gripped your hips, his fingers leaving red marks on your skin.
“you,” you moaned, “i’m yours. just… just keep going.” his pace accelerated, spurred on by your affirmation. he was driving so deep that he hit your cervix, sending jolts of pleasure through you that made your toes curl. he leaned down, biting your shoulder, his teeth sinking into the soft flesh.
“don’t ignore me or…” his sentence was broken by a moan, his balls slapping against your skin with each time he pistoned into you. “or i swear i’ll do something bad.” Aerion’s version of doing something bad usually meant something just like what was happening now, only meaner and rougher.
“shut up,” you told him, your voice shaking as the impending climax drew nearer. he sensed it and shifted his angle, grinding his pelvis against your clit while he continued to hammer in. the friction was intense, a searing heat that pushed you over the edge. you cried out, your pussy clamping down on him as you came.
feeling your walls pulsing around him was all too much. he gave you three, powerful, deep thrusts, his body shaking with the effort before he erupted. he groaned loudly, his cum pumping into you in hot, thick bursts.
he collapsed onto you, his sweat slicked chest heaving, sticking to your own skin.
he pulled out, looking down at the mess of cum between your thighs that leaked out onto the leather.
hiii, could you please write something where aerion teases reader at church and takes her out back for some fun in the middle of the sermon👀👀🩷
୨୧ the pastors voice droned on, talking of salvation. Aerion leaned in, “you really reckon the lord cares about us sittin’ here in this heat, sugar?”
you looked at him out of the corner of your eye, “shush!”
“i’m real hungry,” he said, slumping back in the pew like a bored child. he wasn’t a holy man—you had forced him here, obviously, he’d never step foot in a church without some bribery or a sweet smile from you.
“well maybe you should’ve eaten before we left. i told you it would be a while.”
“no, i’m a different kind of hungry,” he let his hand slide from his lap over to your thigh, palm running along your sunday dress. “this little thing looks real good… makes a man want to do things that’d get him cast right out the front door.”
“stop it! people will hear!” you hissed through your teeth, though your tone lacked any real conviction, and you didn’t move his hand from your thigh.
he gripped your wrist and pulled you up, steering you towards the exit. the heavy oak door clicked shut, muffling the pastors words into a distant hum that blended into the summer sounds of cicadas and the light breeze that made the leaves clack together. he shoved your back against the rough cedar siding of the church, the splinters catching and snagging at your dress. “you’re shakin’… that holy spirit getting to you?” he laughed, amused by his stupid joke.
you didn’t reply, only closed your eyes while an embarrassed heat bloomed along your cheeks and the tips of your ears. he hiked your skirt up to your hips, exposing the white lace tops of your stockings. he ripped the nylon at the crotch and pushed your panties aside so he could get access, then freed himself from his jeans and drove himself into you with a groan.
your head hit the church’s wall with a soft thud, a strangled moan escaping your lips. you said a swift prayer in your mind in hopes that god would forgive you for doing something so lustful on one of his holy sites. you prayed that he’d forgive you for liking it so much.
“say it,” Aerion said, as if reading your mind, “tell me how much you like it, how much you like sinnin’ with me.” he hooked his arms under your knees and lifted you up, spreading your cunt even wider so he could get better depth. he watched himself thrust into you, his cock diving in and out, covered in a steadily growing supply of slick that dripped from your pussy.
“oh, god,” you said, voice cracking as he hit a sweet spot within you, your legs shaking, “i love it… i love it, Aerion!” you cried out, gripping his shoulders so hard your nails left little crescent moon shaped indents in his sun-tanned skin.
he hammered into you, the wet slap of skin on skin so loud you worried the congregation would hear from inside. he gripped your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh as if anchoring you for every deep, bruising thrust he gave. you arched your back, your fingers started to claw at his shoulders as the pleasure built, your piety dissolving into a frantic heat.
you shuddered with the orgasm, warmth washing over you. you clamped a hand down over your mouth, silencing your moans. soon after, Aerion reached his own peak, and buried his face in your neck, breathing in your vanilla perfume. he groaned, filling you with a hot, pulsing release.
you spent a good few moments waiting, just breathing each other in. Aerion tucked himself away and smoothed down your dress. “now,” he whispered, stepping back, giving you another once over, “let’s go back in so we don’t miss anything else.” he gave you a kiss on the cheek. you silently agreed, leading the way with shaky legs, still feeling him inside of you.
☆ ──꒰summary꒱ ❞ Daerons had his eye on you for a long time. he wants you for his wife, but he knows you well enough to understand that you won’t go with him on your own terms… so, he decides to give you a little helping hand.
contains! noncon, kidnapping, name calling, abuse.
requested material ❤︎
೯⠀⁺ ⠀ 𖥻 𝗢 ⠀ᰋ your eyelids felt like they were made of lead. as you blinked, the world resolved into a yellowed ceiling and the metallic hum of an ancient window unit struggling against the heat. your wrists burned. zip-ties bit into your skin, anchoring you to the rusted frame of a floral-print sofa that looked like it should be in someone’s grandmothers house.
the floor creaked. Daeron leaned against the doorframe, a can of cheap beer in his hand. “morning, sunshine.”
you lunged forward, the sofa sliding a few inches on the floor. you screamed, the sound tearing through your dry throat. “you piece of shit! let me go!”
Daeron set the beer on a milk crate he was using as a makeshift table, the can sweating next to a poorly rolled blunt and a lighter with a horse design on it. he walked towards you, his footsteps slightly unsteady. you always knew his reputation as a drinker, so it wasn't surprising. "that's the fire i love." he knelt beside you, touching your hand, "you're gonna look real pretty when you're wearing my ring."
you tried to move your hand away from his touch, but there was only so much you could do while tied up. "i'd rather rot in the ground."
he laughed, a soft, hollow sound that didn't travel to his slate grey eyes. he moved his hand to your jaw, tracing the line of it. you jerked your head away. "get your filthy hands off me!" you spat at his face. it hit his skin with a nasty slap.
Daeron didn't flinch. he just wiped the saliva off his cheek with his shoulder, movements slow. "you're just scared. that's natural. but we got all the time in the world. just you and me in the quiet."
"this isn't love, this is a crime, you freak!"
"love is whatever i say it is." he gripped your chin, squishing your cheeks together awkwardly. you tried to scream but he stopped you before you could even start, clamping his other hand over your mouth. “nobody hears you out here, sweetheart. nearest neighbour is a mile of pine and mud.”
he forced your face upward, pressing his lips to your forehead, then your eyelids, then your cheeks, his breath hot. it wasn’t done with passion, but with a strange sort of methodical and possessive hunger. almost worship.
“you’re gonna be such a pretty little wife…” he murmured against your skin, “i can see it now. you’ll cook, you’ll clean… you’ll look at me with those big eyes every time i walk through that door…”
you thrashed about, kicking at the linoleum floor, bumping the thin wall. “i hate you.” you sobbed, voice breaking. “i hate everything about you.”
“hate is just love that hasn’t found its way yet.” he whispered, his lips grazing your earlobe. “we’ll get there. i’m patient. i can spend months breaking you in if i have to. we’re gonna be together forever. i’m never letting you go.”
he moved his mouth towards yours, lips dry and cracked, his kiss heavy and suffocating. he tasted like bitter copper. as he pressed his tongue against your lips, trying to force it into your mouth, you saw your opening. you clamped your teeth down hard on his lower lip, biting deep until you felt the skin break and the metallic taste of blood fill your mouth.
Daeron recoiled with a sharp hiss, clutching his face. blood leaked between his fingers, staining his skin a vivid crimson. the vacant look in his eyes vanishing and being replaced with a flash of rage.
“you little bitch.” he slapped you across the face, the force of the blow whipping your head to the side, your ear ringing and your cheek blooming with heat. you gasped for air, your eyes wide and shimmering with tears, but you glared back at him through the haze of pain.
Daeron stood up, his chest heaving. he looked down at you, the charm completely stripped away, in its place a vacuum of anger. he wiped the blood from his lip with the back of his hand and stared at the red smear.
“i was trying to be sweet, i really was. i wanted this to be easy, but you’re making it so hard… so maybe we oughta skip the honeymoon phase.” he reached for a roll of duct tape sitting on the coffee table. the sound of the tape ripping made everything feel more real.
“please,” you whispered, the fight suddenly draining out of you.
“shut up,” he commanded, leaning over you, “you’re gonna learn how to be a good girl. and if you bite me again, i’ll give you something real to cry about.” he pressed the silver tape firmly against your mouth, smoothing it down so that your lips pressed uncomfortably against your teeth. your muffled screams were swallowed by the adhesive.
Daeron stepped back and admired his work, a thin, bloody smile touching his lips. “there. now i can get some peace and quiet.” he got up, picked the now-warm beer off the milk crate, and walked out, shutting the trailers door behind him.
summary: Dennis comes home to find you and Trinity talking about him in their living room. He panics, thinking you're going to break up with him. Maybe a little reassurance is all he needs.
warnings/table of contents: strictly angst/fluff, explicit language, Dennis is insecure, Trinity's sarcasm is going to be the death of him, wc 1.3k
Work at the PTMC was no small feat, and tonight, Dennis considers himself lucky to have made it out of there alive.
This shift in particular had seemed even crueler than usual, with multitudes of patients piling in by the second and Dr. Robby barking out more orders than a commanding officer.
Dennis breathes a sigh of relief when he reaches the door to the apartment he shares with Trinity. He fumbles with his keys, trying to lessen the distance between him and his bed.
Much to his surprise, the apartment isn't empty when he stumbles inside. Trinity is there, sitting on the living room floor with a glass of wine in hand. What's more, you're sitting there beside her.
It's not like you and Trinity weren't close. In the amount of time that you've been going out with Dennis, you’ve spent nearly as much time with her as you have with him.
But—at least, to Dennis’s knowledge—you had never hung out with Trinity without him.
The room seems to go still when the door clicks behind him. Yours and Trinity's laughter halts, and you both look at him as though he's interrupting.
Something that feels a lot like jealousy settles low in his stomach, but he forces a smile. “Hey.”
“Hey, Den,” you say with a smile, though he catches a flicker of guilt hidden in your expression.
“Uh, what's up?” he asks, hanging his bag on a hook and kicking off his shoes. “Am I interrupting something?”
“Yeah. We were talking shit about you,” Trinity deadpans, brushing him away with her hands. “Now fuck off so we can finish.”
Dennis, being the huckleberry that he is, completely misreads the situation.
It's safe for Trinity to assume they’ve been friends long enough for Dennis to recognize her unrelenting sarcasm, but after tonight, he’s too exhausted to pick up on social cues.
He just nods, his lips curving inward, not quite sure what to do with himself.
Deciding it’s best to flee the scene, he does just that, retreating to his bedroom after uttering a quiet, “Sorry.”
Dennis spends his entire thirty-minute shower in a panic.
He racks his brain, trying to think of where he could've gone wrong in your relationship.
The two of you have been dating for six months. There have been a few quarrels here and there, but Dennis can honestly say he’s never been happier.
Until tonight, he thought you were happy too.
Now, he's not so sure.
You had never spent time alone with Trinity alone before tonight, and one look on your face when he walked in told him everything he needed to know.
You’d been talking about him.
By the time he steps out of the shower, Dennis is convinced you're going to break up with him. It only makes sense, considering. Whatever he did—or didn't do—was going to come back and bite him tonight.
When he opens the bathroom door and finds you sitting on the edge of his bed, waiting, he's certain of it.
EARLIER THAT NIGHT
Trinity kneels beside the coffee table, pouring two generous glasses of red wine.
“Bring that shit over here!” she yells, and you head over, bags of snacks crinkling in your arms.
“Just so you know,” you say, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside her, “I plan on getting drunk tonight.”
“Why do you think I invited you over here?” She hands you a glass, and almost snorts when she sees you consume half the glass in one big gulp.
“I wasn't kidding.”
“Duly noted.” She checks the stove clock. “When’s Huckleberry supposed to get off tonight?”
“If he's on time, he should be here in an hour.”
“He's gonna be so weirded out when he gets here and sees us together.” Trinity snickers, washing her laughter down with a swallow of wine.
“Oh my god.” You cover your face with your palms. “I can see it right now.”
“He's gonna be like—” She takes a deep breath, straightening her face and widening her eyes. “Uh, uh… what’s going on here?”
“Stop!” You playfully hit her knee and fall over laughing. “His eyes are not like that.”
“Uh, yes they are. They get scary big when he's nervous. You always make him nervous.”
“Me?”
“Don't act like you don't know.” She rolls her eyes. “He's like, stupid in love with you.”
You smile to yourself, color blooming in your cheeks. “He's a really good boyfriend.”
“Yeah, ‘cause he knows you're out of his league.”
“What are you talking about? Dennis is so cute.”
“Uh, ew. Stop drooling on my rug, please.”
“I'm serious, Trinity! He's so cute, so sweet, and he treats me so well…” you trail off, looking down at your twiddling thumbs. “I really think he would do anything for me.”
“That's the Nebraska farm boy in him.”
“He literally bought me flowers the other day, for absolutely no reason.”
“Last week, I mentioned something about this necklace I wanted, and I'm pretty sure he bought it for me,” you continue.
Trinity stares absentmindedly into her glass of wine while you continue listing Dennis’s virtues.
You lean closer, lowering your voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “And when we were having sex the other day, he—”
“Okay,” Trinity slaps her hands onto her knees. “I've heard enough.”
The two of you fall into a small fit of laughter, just before Dennis lets himself into the apartment.
“Long shift, huh?” you ask, patting the spot next to you.
He makes his way over and sits down, the mattress dipping under his weight.
“Uh, yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck.
Silence grows heavily between the two of you, unnatural and tense. Dennis’s eyes drift somewhere in the distance. You lean in and plant a kiss to his bare shoulder.
“What's wrong?” you ask, rubbing slow circles on his back.
“I think I should be asking you that question,” he states, the warmth leaving his voice.
“What do you mean?”
“I came home to find you and Trinity getting chummy on my living room floor.” His eyes stay glued to the floor when he adds quietly, “I know you guys were talking about me.”
“Chummy?” You laugh despite yourself, your drunkenness slipping into view.
“Whatever.”
“Baby, look at me.”
He complies, looking at you with wide eyes. Trinity was right. His eyes do get big when he's nervous.
“Trinity invited me over…” you trail off, searching for the words. “And yeah—we were talking about you—”
“I knew it.”
“Let me finish, please.” You laugh. “I was telling her about all the sweet things you've done for me.”
He lifts his head to get a better look at you.
“I told her about you buying me flowers… and how good I have it with you.”
A smirk tugs at his lips, embarrassment coloring his face and forcing him to look away. You tilt his chin back toward you.
“And honestly, Denny—when I was talking to Trinity, I realized just how lucky I am to be with you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes,” you assure him. “Did you really think Trinity was being serious?”
“Uh, yeah. I thought you were gonna break up with me.”
“I can't believe you would think that.”
He shrugs.
“You know, sarcasm is like, Trinity’s thing, right?”
“Yeah, I do.” He smiles. “I guess I'm just tired.”
“I'm sorry for making you think we were talking shit about you.” You cup his face, caressing your thumbs over his cheeks. “I love you. So, so much.”
“I love you, too.”
You lean in to give him a small but affectionate kiss before resting your forehead against his.
☆ ──꒰summary꒱ ❞ you—poor sweet eighteen year old southern belle— got knocked up by an absolute loser. after a big fight with said loser, he offers to calm your spirit with a little… oral care.
contains! Daeron being an alcoholic LOSER, oral (f receiving), fingering, established relationship, Daeron loves to eat pussy.
requested material ❤︎
೯⠀⁺ ⠀ 𖥻 𝗢 ⠀ᰋ the heat clung to your skin like a wet wool blanket, thick and humid and smelling of pine needles and road dust. Daeron steered his beat-up pickup, the tires crunching loudly over the gravel lot. he killed the engine and the silence that rushed in to fill the space that was previously taken by the rumbling engine was heavy, broken only by the ticking of the cooling metal. you sat rigid beside him in the passenger seat, hands folded over the growing bump that was your stomach, your floral dress pristine, a stark contrast to the ugly and cracked leather seat that you sat on.
Daeron stumbled out of the drivers seat, his movements loose and swaying. he smelled of cheap beer and old sweat. he rounded the truck and opened the passenger door, leaning heavily on the frame. “well, uh. we’re here,” he said, picking up his arm and dropping it back down to his side with a heavy slap as if to enunciate the arrival.
you stepped out, eyes widening as you took in the tin-can that was his trailer. overgrown weeds choked the porch steps and a discarded deck chair lay half sunken into the mud nearby. you followed him inside, and the smell hit you instantly: cigarettes, wet dog, and the sharp, sour tang of spilled beer.
“oh my god…” you whispered, clutching your small suitcase to your side, “Daeron, there are cans… everywhere. is that laundry in the sink?”
Daeron chuckled and kicked a crumpled can across the linoleum, pushing it out of the way. “s’just a little clutter, don’t get your knickers in a twist.”
“clutter? this is filth!” your voice rose, polished southern accent sharpening. “i can’t stay here. i can’t bring a baby into this! my mother would have a heart attack if she saw this floor!”
Daeron swayed on his feet, blinking slowly. god, he was drunk again. he reached out to touch your shoulder, but his hand drifted, grazing your cheek instead. “you’re real… pretty when you’re fussin’. just relax. i’ll clean it. someday.”
you stepped back, face crimson with anger. the frustration you had been bottling up since your daddy had pointed towards the door and told you to never return finally boiled over. you slammed your suitcase on the ground with a loud thunk. “someday? that’s your answer for everything! someday i’ll get a job. someday i’ll stop drinking. you’re a no-good alcoholic loser, Daeron!”
his expression flattened. he leaned against the wall, his eyes half closed. “now you’re just bein’ mean, sweetpea.”
“mean? i’m eighteen years old! i was supposed to go to college! i was supposed to be in a dorm, not in some tin-can in the middle of nowhere!” you screamed, voice cracking, “and why? because i let you talk me into this! because you knocked me up and now i have nowhere else to go!”
he stared at you, but didn’t argue. it wasn’t that he thought you were right, it was because he didn’t even seem to hear the weight of your words. he just looked at the curve of your hips beneath the floral fabric. “you’re just stressed… you need to unwind, baby.”
“i don’t want to unwind! i want a father for my child that doesn’t smell like a bar!”
Daeron moved then, surprisingly quick for a man in his condition. he lunged forward, grabbing your waist and pulling you flush against him. you gasped, hands landing on his chest, feeling the heat of his skin through his thin white tee. he smelled of musk and alcohol, a heavy, masculine scent that, paired with the feeling of his firm, warm body that you had grown so fond of in the early days of seeing each other, seemed to dull your anger.
“shut up,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear, “jus’…shut up for a minute.” he pushed you back onto the couch that was draped with an old jacket, the springs groaning under your weight. you tried desperately to ignore the thought of the things that had happened and spilled on that couch. you tried to push him away, but your movements were weak, and your resolve was crumbling by the second. he didn’t kiss your mouth, instead, he slid down your body, his weight pressing you into the cushions.
“Daeron, stop it. i’m still mad at you,” you stated, trying to sound stern, though you arched your back as his hands slid up the bottom of your dress.
“i’ll make it… make it up to you,” he mumbled, his voice muffled against your thigh as he buried his face into your clothed leg. he hiked the floral fabric up to your waist, exposing your creamy thighs and the white cotton of your panties. he didn’t waste time. he hooked his fingers into the elastic and tugged them down, tossing them onto the dirty floor. you shivered, the suddenly cool air hitting your wetness.
Daeron groaned at the sight of your naked cunt, an animalistic sound in the back of his throat. he spread your legs wide, his rough palms gripping your inner thighs, pushing them up towards your chest. he stared at your pussy, the swollen lips glistening with a thick layer of arousal. the scent of you—sweet and muskily feminine cloyed his brain.
he leaned in, using his thumbs to pull apart the sticky folds of your pussy so that he could lick at your clit. you sucked a jagged intake of breath through your teeth, fingers digging into the upholstery. he buried his face in you, his tongue broad and wet, licking from the bottom of your opening all the way up to the hood of your clit in one long, slow stroke. he could taste the salt and sweetness of you, your pregnancy making you slicker than he had ever known you as—and he had known you many times before. he began to lap at you aggressively, his tongue swirling around the sensitive nub, sucking it into his mouth with a wet sound.
the sound filled the tiny room as he worked his tongue deep inside you, sliding in and out of your tight opening. he pressed his face even harder against you, nose nudging against your clit as he fucked your weeping hole with his tongue. your hips began to buck and your breath started to come in short gasps.
“i’m- i’m almost-” you grabbed at your own breast, kneading the sensitive flesh, craving the end of the edge that Daeron was helping you chase.
he didn’t even notice your pleasured sobs. his drunkenness seemed to manifest into a singular, obsessive drive. he used his teeth, grazing your labia before returning to your clit with a rapid flutter of his tongue. he sucked the small pearl hard, drawing the juices out of you. he could feel your muscles pulsing against his mouth, the walls of your pussy clamping down on nothing.
he shifted his position, sliding one finger deep inside you as his tongue continued its relentless abuse on your clit. he felt the heat of you, the way your cunt felt softer and more welcoming. he pushed his finger to the last knuckle, the wet friction creating a sloppy squelch. “you’re so wet…” he mused against your skin, “so damn wet for me.”
your voice was gone, replaced only by a whine. you felt the tension in your lower belly, a tightening knot that became more precarious with each flick of his tongue. you gripped his hair, pulling him closer, wanting more, the pleasure getting white hot.
your body suddenly stiffened, back arching off the sofa. “i’m- i’m cumming-!”
you exploded, muscles clamping down on his finger, a gush of hot, creamy fluid spilling over his lips and chin, the scent of your orgasm filling his nose and travelling to his head like a drug. he didn’t pull away. he stayed there, licking every drop of your release from your oversensitive pussy.
as the tremors subsided, you sank back into the couch, chest heaving. Daeron pulled back, his face a shiny mix of spit and your juices. he looked up at you with a lazy smile that suggested he gained just as much pleasure from this act as you did. he didn’t say anything, but you knew what he wanted to: see? i was right. i did make you feel better.
you touched his cheek and allowed him to fix your dress, ignoring the discarded pair of underwear on the ground, and inch towards where you sat on the couch. he put his head on your lap, blonde hair a mess, and closed his eyes.
☆ ──꒰summary꒱ ❞ after messing up the days that you’re supposed to come over and tutor egg, you run into his older brother and get a lesson of your own.
contains! dubcon, p in v, name calling (kind of), creampie!
requested material! ❤︎
೯⠀⁺ ⠀ 𖥻 𝗢 ⠀ᰋ Aegon was a good kid—a handful? yes—but a good kid. that’s why you made the ridiculously long drive out to his family’s manor every tuesday and friday to tutor him. you gripped the leather strap of your book bag and pressed the buzzer.
a minute passed while you waited on the porch of the Targaryen manor, a sprawling piece of property that probably cost the price of your apartment three million times over. you considered ringing again, but the door swung open with a sudden jerk. a man that you didn’t recognize stood there, his hand on the doorframe as if to block you from entering. He looked to be in a few years older than you at most, and had the same, strikingly white hair that the boy you tutored did. he wore a linen shirt that was no doubt expensive, unbuttoned half-way, revealing the smooth plane of his chest and the thin gold chain that rested there.
“can i help you?” he asked, his tone bored.
“oh, um, i’m Aegon’s tutor? i’m here for… to tutor him.” you said, offering a smile in an attempt to cover up the horrifically awkwardly put statement that had just fallen from your lips.
he had a sharp, predatory look in his eyes as he gave you a lazy once-over, moving slowly from your black flats up to your modest pink cardigan, lingering on your tits before returning back to your eyes. “Aegon’s not here, sweetheart. neither is my father. he decided to shave a stripe in the middle of his head, so they’re off to get him a proper haircut. and hopefully a nice hat.”
“do you know when they’ll be back? i have my tuesday lesson with Aegon today… it’s supposed to start at 2:30.” you asked.
“it’s wednesday. you’re a day late.”
you gasped, your face flushing. “oh no. i am so sorry. i don’t know why i thought it was tuesday. i’ll just… um… i’ll just go. im really sorry for bothering you.”
“come inside. i’m sure my father will be willing to compensate you for your trip out here, he’s a very generous man.”
“i really should just head home,” you stammered, but you didn’t move.
“don’t be a bore. they’ll be back in an hour or two. come in, have a drink. unless you’re scared of having a little human conversation.”
you hesitated, then stepped inside. the interior of the manor smelled of old mahogany and one of those expensive tobacco candles. you’d been inside countless times, but you still weren’t used to the sheer opulence of the house. he lead you to a dimly lit drawing room, the heavy curtains shutting out the midday sun. he didn’t offer you a seat.
“so, you’re the one that’s been teaching my baby brother. he never was that bright… he was always falling off things as a child— maybe it got to him.” he laughed to himself, it wasn’t even that funny. he stopped behind you, leaning in close, his breath warm against the nape of your neck. “you’re shaking. why are you shaking? i’m just a guy.”
“i’m just a bit nervous. i’ve never really met any of the adults in the house aside from your father.” you bleated. even your interactions with Maekar were brief, purely transactional. “are you Aerion?” you asked. it was the only name that you had heard from Aegon, aside from the alcoholic brother he often complained about, but this silver haired man seemed to be perfectly sober, so you decided to stick with the former.
“yes, i am. i’m sure my brother has told you some… stories. i’m not exactly a pillar of society, but i can assure you that i’m not as bad as he says.” he reached out, fingers grazing the skin of your shoulder and sliding down your arm. “but enough about me. on to you. you’re so sweet. so innocent. i bet you’ve never had a man really take what he wants from you.”
you shivered at the words, a mix of fear and a sudden, traitorous spark of heat blooming deep on your gut. “i don’t know what you mean.”
“i think you do. i can see it in the way you’re looking at me. you’re scared, but you’re curious.” he moved in front of you, his presence overwhelming. “tell me. do you like being a good girl? does it ever get exhausting being so perfect?”
“it’s not exhausting.” you whispered, unsure of what he really wanted you to reply with.
“liar.” his hand shot out and gripped your waist, pulling you against him. “i can practically smell the arousal on you.”
“Aerion, please, i should go.” you gasped, though you didn’t push him away.
“oh, shut up,” he commanded, his voice suddenly harsh, gravelly. he crashed his lips into yours, the kiss aggressive and demanding, like he was trying to steal something away from you. he tasted of mint. his tongue forced its way into your mouth, sucking on yours with a crude intensity that left you breathless. you let out a muffled moan, head swimming with a lusty sort of confusion.
Aerion pulled back, his face still inches from yours, eyes dark. he grabbed the hem of your dress and yanked it upwards, bunching the fabric around your waist. he didn’t bother with your underwear, simply pushing them to the side so that he could slide a hand between your thighs. he found your clit instantly, rubbing it with a rough pace.
“soaking wet for me…” he whistled, pulling his hand away for a few moments to admire the slick coating his fingers. “little tutor with a dripping pussy. how scandalous.”
“please… oh god,” your knees buckled.
he didn’t waste time. he unzipped his pants, his thick, rigid cock springing free. it was heavy, a vein running down the middle, the head already glistening with a bead of precum. he grabbed your hips, lifting you to sit you down on a table.
“open your legs wider you little slut,” he barked.
you obeyed, legs splayed as he positioned himself. he slid his cock in, the stretch overwhelming as he buried himself to the hilt.
Aerion didn’t give you time to adjust. he began to pump into you with a violent, rhythmic aggression. each thrust was deep, his pelvis slapping against your ass with a meaty sound. the friction created a loud, wet noise as his cock slid through the cream of your sticky cunt, the sound filling the room. “you like that?” he groaned, “you like feeling my cock stretching you open? fuck, bet i’m bigger than anything else you’ve ever felt…” his own words seemed to get him off.
“it’s… it’s too much,” you whined, hoping to urge him on further, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him even deeper.
his movements became erratic, his breath coming out in ragged gasps. he reached up to push your dress up even further, moving it up and over your breasts, pushing your bra aside so that he could grope at your tits. he squeezed them hard, then rubbed at your nipples, grinning while he watched them harden from his touch. he shifted his angle, hitting you even deeper, nudging against your cervix with a force that made your vision blur.
“i’m gonna-” he groaned, bending over to kiss you, hungrily licking into your mouth, “gonna fill you up,” he whispered int the crook of your neck. “gonna leave a mark in you.”
the slap of skin on skin peaked to a relentless pace, the walls of your cunt quivering, pulsing around you, milking him with every stroke. you felt the tension build, a coil tightening in your gut until it snapped. you cried out, body shaking in the throes of a messy orgasm.
Aerion let out a guttural roar, his body stiffening. he thrust one last time, burying himself deep and unloading a thick, hot torrent of cum inside you. you could feel the head of it pulsing against your cervix and filling you up.
he stayed inside for a moment, breathing heavily, the scent of sex and sweat sticky on his skin. slowly, he slid out, a flood of cum flooding along with his cock. he stepped back, adjusting his clothes with a cold indifference. he looked at you trembling on the table, cum leaking down your thighs, dress hiked up awkwardly.
“you can go now.” he simply said, his voice returning to that casual tone when you had first rang the doorbell. “and don’t miss Aegon’s next session, he seems to like you.”
☆ ──꒰summary꒱ ❞ you are to be wed in a weeks time, but you haven’t the slightest clue as to how to please a man? you’re lucky that your dear brother has offered to show you!
contains! targcest, virgin!reader, oral (m receiving), p in v, reader being kind of a dumbass.
೯⠀⁺ ⠀ 𖥻 𝗢 ⠀ᰋ the scent of sandalwood and alcohol filled Daeron’s bedchambers, but all you could smell was your own panic. you paced the length of the rug, the hem of your gown whispering against the ground. in a mere seven days, the entirety of your body and soul would belong to a too-old Lord that you only knew of through tales passed about by other people’s lips. the thought made your stomach churn.
“you’ll pace a hole in that carpet,” Daeron said, leaning back lazily in his velvet-backed chair. he watched you with a lazy, feline intensity.
you stopped and looked at him, your eyes wide and clouded with confusion, “i don’t know how to… how to be someone’s wife? i do not know what to talk about, i do not know how to act, i do not know anything! Daeron, how will i ever survive there?” the words tumbled out of your lips in a stupid jumble.
Daeron stood slowly, putting a chalice of mead down on a nearby table, his taller frame casting a shadow over you in the flickering candlelight. “men are simple creatures, sweet sister. they want a few specific things: a woman with warmth, beauty, and a nice wet cunt.”
the latter made you blush a deep red, the colour flooding your face hotly. you had never been with a man like that, and Daeron seemed to pick up on that fact.
“have you truly never been to bed yet?” he asked rhetorically, a little laugh falling from his mouth, “you haven’t even been with that…” he searched for the words, “that knight fellow? the one with the black hair?”
you shook your head timidly. Daeron just laughed and stepped towards you, “well you should know. your husband will expect you to know how to please a man of his standing.” he reached out to slide his hand over the thin fabric of your bodice. his palm was hot against your ribs. “you’re trembling. are you afraid of me?”
“no,” you whispered, your chest heaving, “i’m just… i’ve never been touched like this.”
“that’s the problem. you’re a blank canvas, and this husband of yours will expect a finished portrait.” Daeron’s fingers brushed the underside of your breast, circling the nipple through the flimsy linen. “it would be a cruelty to let you enter that marriage ignorant. as your brother, it’s my duty to ensure that you’re… educated well enough.”
you blinked, your lips parting, “you can teach me?”
“i can do far more than teach you. i can show you how a man’s body works.” he gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him. you gasped, feeling something hard and thick pressing against your belly through the both of your clothes. “do you feel that, sister? that is a cock. it is the centre of a man’s world, the dictator of all his decisions and desires. when it is hard like this, it wants only one thing: to be inside something tight and wet.”
“is it always that hard?”
Daeron chuckled, “only when we’re thinking of something we desire. right now, i’m thinking of you.” he guided you towards the bed, pushing you back until you fell against the expensive silks and furs. with a swift motion he stripped away your gown—it made you wonder how many times he had done the same to other women—he followed suit, shedding his clothes until he stood before you, his cock thick and erect.
you stared at it, your eyes tracing the vein that ran along the length of the shaft, the glistening bead of precum at the tip. “it’s so… large. it looks like it would hurt!”
“it might at first,” Daeron said, crawling over you, his weight pinning your thighs open, “but the pain will give way to something much better. now, first lesson. use your mouth. taste me.”
you obeyed tentatively, leaning forward. you licked the head of his cock, the taste salty and masculine.
“more,” he commanded, “wrap your lips around it. suck.”
you opened your mouth wide, sliding your lips over the tip. you gagged slightly as he pushed deeper, his cock hitting the back of your throat. the sound of your wet, sloppy sucking filled the room, your saliva coating the shaft. Daeron groaned, his fingers tangling in your hair, fucking your throat. “yes, just like that, you’re a natural.” he hissed.
he pulled away abruptly, the sound a wet pop echoing in the sudden silence. he shifted, positioning himself between your legs. he reached down and slid two fingers into your pussy. you jumped, a sharp gasp escaping you. “you’re so tight,” Daeron noted, his voice raspy, “and so wet. look at how you leak for your brother.”
“i feel… strange,” you whimpered, your hips instinctively arching into his hand, “it feels like i’m itching on the inside.”
“that’s desire… now, watch.” he guided his cock to your opening, the broad head rubbing against your clit. he pushed slowly, the friction creating a wet sound. you cried out, your hands finding his shoulders and digging into them as he breached your maidenhead.
your body shook at the loss of your virginity, “stop! it hurts!” you cried out, your face flushing.
“stay still, breathe through it,” he instructed, pausing. he waited for you to relax, then gave a sudden, powerful thrust. the sound was visceral: a wet, heavy thud as he buried himself to the hilt. you gasped, a mixture of pain and shock, your body shuddering. he stayed there for a moment, fully sheathed inside you, the scent of sex and blood rising between you. “see?” he said, leaning down to give you a whisper of a kiss on your neck, “the worst is over. now comes the pleasure.”
he began to move, pulling back until only the tip remained before slamming himself back in. the sound of your skin colliding became a steady rhythm. your initial pain began to dissolve into a blurring heat, you felt the friction of his cock sliding against your walls, the way his balls slapped against your ass with every heavy stroke.
“does it feel good, sister?”
“yes! oh, gods… yes,” you cried, voice high and needy.
“that’s it,” he watched your face, your eyebrows knitting together as the pleasure began to build. “now grip me, squeeze your muscles around me,” he instructed, “your husband will expect it of you.”
he shifted his angle, hitting your cervix with a blunt force that made your fingers dig deeper into your brothers shoulders. he was moving frantically now, chasing his own orgasm, the friction creating a mix of slick and precum that frothed around where you met.
you began to shake, your pleasure reaching its height, and Daeron noticed: “cum for me, sister, let it all go, relax.” he groaned.
you shivered violently, your internal muscles clamping down on him in waves. the sensation triggered him, and he let out a deep groan, thrusting one last time with everything he had. he surged deep inside of you, his cock pulsing as he shot thick, hot ropes of cum against your cervix.
you felt the warmth flooding you, a heavy, filling sensation that made you feel as if you had completed something great. Daeron collapsed on top of you, his skin slick with sweat, just the same as yours.
he pulled out slowly, the sound of the exit a wet, sucking pop. a mixture of blood and cum leaked out of your cunt, staining the dark furs beneath you. you looked up at him, tired but blissful, “will my husband be like that?”
Daeron smiled, rubbing his hand over your thigh, “probably not. but you know that your dear brother will bring you the pleasure you need.”
warnings/table of contents: 18+, explicit sexual content, swearing, camboy!dennis, masturbation, blowjob, au where reader is Dennis's roommate
If medical school wasn’t going to kill Dennis, he thought the stress of his student loans might.
It was honestly ridiculous how much debt he had managed to accumulate over eight years of college and medical school. He still could barely afford lunch, even after being promoted to intern and having a steady paycheck every week.
A tad dramatic, but Dennis would be lying if he said you hadn't saved his life when you let him move into your apartment temporarily while he got back on his feet.
Temporarily. That was last year.
It made him sick that he was still living with you rent-free after all this time. In his mind, constantly monopolizing the kitchen and bathroom and driving you crazy. Even though you had reassured him numerous times that you didn't mind him living with you–that you liked his company, in fact.
He felt even worse when he thought about what he was doing in your spare bedroom.
A couple months after he moved in with you, Trinity made a joke.
You should just make an OnlyFans, Huckleberry.
Dennis laughed at first–thinking about how absurd it sounded coming from her mouth. Dennis, who has only had sex about three times in his twenty-six years, the kind of guy that almost came in his pants when a woman undressed in front of him.
Yeah, what a joke.
But when his student loans kept rolling in month after month, the joke didn't sound so funny anymore.
So, consequently, that's how he found himself here–in front of his shitty laptop, filming himself jerking off.
He started his account as a last resort about a month ago–not thinking anyone would actually be interested–but was surprised at the immediate success it had. Apparently, people have a thing for doctors.
Dennis declares Sundays as his “filming” days, as it is your first day off together and you usually spend it outside the apartment. This way, he doesn't have to worry about disruptive noise or you potentially walking in on him.
He's grown quite used to this little routine, which is why his ears don't even register the sound of jingling keys–or the front door open.
His legs are spread open in his desk chair, scrub pants pulled down to his knees, making small whimpering sounds as he slowly strokes himself.
He’s completely lost in the moment, head thrown back against the chair, unable to hear your bag hit the floor, your footsteps, or the sound of his door opening–
“Oh my god!”
He snaps back into reality at the sound of your voice, quickly pulling his pants up and slamming his laptop shut. His face is already red by the time he stands and turns to face you.
“You're not supposed to be home!” he exclaims, awkwardly trying to hide his erection.
“Yeah–I came back to grab something,” you laugh, anxiously threading your fingers through your hair. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“It's–it’s not what it looks like, I swear,” he says, lightly pointing his finger–his signature move in any scenario where he feels compromised.
“What the hell else would it be?”
“It's just a money thing, okay?”
“So… you're a prostitute.”
“What? No!” His eyes widen at your accusation. “They're just videos. I mean–I don't even show my face. It’s completely anonymous.”
“It's just a side thing,” he adds, dropping onto the edge of his bed in defeat. He rubs the back of his neck, looking somewhere past your face.
“It's not even like I–I don't know.” He pauses. “It's not like I enjoy it.”
You scoff before you can stop yourself, dragging your hands over your face. “I mean–it certainly looked like you were enjoying it.”
Somewhere in the middle of the silence that follows–without either of you realizing it–you inch closer to him.
He looks down at his lap, shoulders tightening, frantically moving his hands around to shield his… still very prominent predicament.
“I enjoy it,” he admits, referring to the act of masturbation. “In a normal way, you know?”
You look at him for a second, taking in the way his expression has dulled–embarrassment washing over where defensiveness used to be.
Then, slowly, you lower yourself to the floor in front of him, crossing your legs as you settle in place.
“So…” you begin, your voice softer than before. “You're saying this doesn't do anything for you?”
He looks down at you–looking up at him.
“What do you mean?”
“Like… filming yourself–it doesn't turn you on?”
A beat of silence.
He looks at his hands, fingers trembling in his lap.
“I mean… a little,” he blurts. “Why?”
Your posture straightens, and you look at him with a new level of curiosity. Your finger reaches out–testingly–and brushes over his knee. He jolts in response, mouth hanging slightly agape.
“Can you turn it back on?”
After a lot of convincing on your part and awkward shuffling around, Dennis is finally ready to start filming again–this time, with you.
It’s not that he minds doing things with you–God knows he wants to–but he just can't stand the thought of you being exploited at his hands.
But the second you touched his knee and whispered, “Turn it back on… please,” he knew he was fucked.
Now he's sitting on his bed, open and vulnerable, with you right below him. His knees are spread so you fit just perfectly between them, with your hands resting on the tops of his thighs.
His bare thighs, as you've stripped him down to only his underwear, which is bunched at his ankles.
“Tell me when you're ready,” you whisper.
“I-I’m ready,” he breathes, his sweaty hands tightly gripping the sheets.
You plant soft kisses along the length of his thigh until your face is met with his painfully hard cock that's leaking pathetically from the tip.
It starts out slow, with you taking only the tip at first. Your mouth is warm, engulfing his cock in a way he has never before experienced.
The sounds that escape his mouth are sudden, loud. He swears his knuckles might break from how hard he’s grasping the sheets.
The blue light above his laptop screen glows, but doesn't look at it–only down at you. He’s thanking God his face is out of frame right now.
The funny thing is… he's not even thinking about recording. The only thing on his mind is how good your lips feel wrapped around his cock, and how he's wanted this for so long. A few hours ago he didn't even think you liked him.
Your head bopping up and down–taking his full length–tells him otherwise.
“Oh fuck,” he rasps, leaning back and straining his neck. His chest rises and falls rapidly, unable to set a steady pace–telling you he's close.
“Oh my God, you–” he cuts himself off, wanting so desperately to moan your name. It burns on the edge of his tongue.
You pat his thigh–a nonverbal way of telling him he's allowed to come–and he does, pitiful whimpers escaping from his lips while he spills into your mouth.
An hour has passed since… tonight’s festivities.
You're now both sitting on the edge of Dennis’s bed in silence, waiting for the other to speak.
Dennis is completely unsure of what to say–his roommate just sucked him off, for Christ’s sake–so he settles on trying to make some light conversation.
“I don't think I've ever performed like that.”
You smirk. “Oh, so that was a performance?”
“Oh my God, no. That's–” he laughs, putting his head into his hands. “That's not what I meant.”
You reach over, resting your hand on his knee.
“I know what you meant.”
Brief silence ensues, but more comfortable this time.
“Dennis?” you say after a minute.
“Hm?”
“You're gonna blur my face out, right?”
“Well, duh.” He places his hand over yours, a playful smile creeping across his face. “But I might keep the original copy… if you don't mind.”
☆ ──꒰summary꒱ ❞ trailer trash!Aerion convinces you to let him fuck you without a condom on— he promises on his mamas grave that he’ll pull out! why wouldn’t you trust him?
contains! dubcon/coercion, unsafe sex, aerion is a meanie
authors note: let me know if there are any spelling errors…! inspired by @louloucake’s tt!aerion series!
೯⠀⁺ ⠀ 𖥻 𝗢 ⠀ᰋ the air inside of Aerion’s trailer tasted like stale cigarettes and grease. a rusted fan rattled in the corner, doing a pathetic job of cutting through the oppressive heat of the summer evening. you sat on the edge of his stained mattress, your floral sunday dress bunched around your hips, your knuckles white as you gripped the cheap, yellowing sheets. you don’t even know how you had gotten to this point: discussing sex with Aerion (of all people!) despite the fact that you had sworn to both your poor mama and the heavenly lord that you’d save your body for marriage.
Aerion loomed over you, his shirtless chest glistening with a thin film of sweat. he smelled of diesel and musk—all that time under his beat up pickup certainly showed. he reached down, his rough hand grabbing at your face and holding it so that your cheeks squished together, forcing you to look up into his narrow, predatory eyes.
“stop lookin’ so nervous, girl.” he drawled. “those things mess with the feeling anyways. you want me to feel every inch of that tight little pussy, don’t ya? and i reckon you wanna feel me deep inside you, real raw.”
“but… what if i get pr—”
Aerion stopped your sentence with a sharp tch. “hush now. i promise i’ll pull out. i ain’t trying to tie myself to some… church mouse like you.” he sneered, his grip tightening. “now, you gonna be a good little girl and let me have my way, or are you gonna keep on whinin’ like a bitch?” he emphasized his point by roughly pulling his hand away from your face
you swallowed hard, your heart hammering in your chest. you looked at him, searching for a sign of kindness that you had somehow convinced yourself lived beneath all that aggression. “you promise?” you said, “you’ll pull out?”
“i swear on my mama’s grave.” he said, making a little mock-prayer motion before pushing you onto your back, the mattress groaning. he yanked your dress up and pulled your panties down with a violent tug. he didn’t waste any time with tenderness—that just wasn’t the kind of man that Aerion was—he spat into his palm and gave his cock a few half-hearted pumps to slicken himself up.
“look at you…” his eyes roamed over your half covered body like he was taking in every single detail of your nakedness and cataloguing it for later, “all holy and pure, and here you are, spread out for a piece of shit like me.” he grinned, “you’re just a little slut in her sunday best, aren’t you?”
you blushed a deep red, opening your mouth to chirp out a shaky plea: “please don’t call me that…”
“i’ll call you whatever the hell i want, girl.”
he lined himself up and drove into you with a brutal thrust. you gasped, your back arching in a mix of pain and pleasure at the sudden stretch of his thick cock. Aerion began to hammer into you, his hips slapping against you, the friction creating an intense and searing heat within you.
“god, you’re fuckin’ tight,” he groaned, his pace quickening, “squeezin’ me like a goddamned vice… does god know how much you love this? does he know how wet your pussy is for me?” he laughed, watching himself disappear into your dripping cunt over and over.
“Aerion, please…” you begged, your voice quivering.
“just shut up and take it,” he barked, his movements becoming more frantic.
the wet sound of your bodies colliding filled the small room; a pornographic symphony as he pistoned deeper and deeper into the depths of your holy cunt, stretching you out. your breath came in ragged hitches, your fingers digging into the mattress. you felt the raw skin of his shaft sliding deliciously against your sensitive walls, the sensation overwhelming and terrifying all at once.
Aerion’s breathing turned into heavy grunts. he gripped the soft flesh of your hips, his fingers bruising your skin as he gripped you tight, accelerating to an almost animalistic pace. he was bottoming out, his balls slapping against your ass with every shove. “i’m close, sugar… i’m right there,” he choked out.
you panicked, the reality of the situation rushing back to you through your haze of lusty intertwinings. you tried to shift your weight, pushing against his chest, “pull out, Aerion, you’ve gotta pull out!”
he didn’t move. instead, he surged forward, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand and burying himself to the hilt. he let out a loud, guttural moan as his body stiffened. you felt a hot, sudden explosion of his cum hitting your cervix, wave after wave of thick fluid pumping deep inside of you.
he didn’t pull away. he stayed buried within you, his chest heaving, letting the heat of his seed fill you, like he was trying to make sure it stuck.
you lay there, your eyes wide and watering. “you… you didn’t pull out,” you whispered, “you promised.”
Aerion slowly withdrew, a string of his cum and your slick stretching between you before snapping. he looked down at you, his expression devoid of guilt, he wore nothing but a smug , almost triumphant grin on his face. “well, i reckon i changed my mind,” he said, reaching for a cigarette from the pack on the side table, “now you’ve got a little piece of me inside you, sweet thing.”
hiii 🫶 i’m in love with how you write clark kent 💕 i was wondering if you could write something with him being desperate to eat the reader out
like maybe they’re visiting his parents for a few days and she refuses to do anything in his parent’s house but she’s wearing shorts and dresses and being so sweet so he’s incredibly pent up
so he drags her outside and just drops to his knees and buries himself under her dress (like he doesn’t even bother taking off her panties he just eats through and around) he’s starving and messy and she’s just trying not to pass out
Plzplzplz if it’s not too much trouble 💕💕💕🫶 YOUR AMAZINGGGV
contains! oral (f. receiving), a whole lot of horny thoughts, semi-public sex.
summary: clark’s taken you to visit his parents. he can’t seem to keep it together though, all he can think about is your pussy…
— original ask.
݁˖ ❀ ⋆｡˚ the Kent farmhouse was warm, lived in, and so wholesome it made Clark’s skin itch with guilt for what he was thinking.
he’d grown up here, every board creaking with memory, every corner carrying his mothers patience and his fathers steady hand. now he was sitting at the long kitchen table again, shoulders squared in a plaid shirt, trying to look like the good son he always was.
and you were across from him, wearing shorts that were so small they barely covered your ass.
it wasn’t your fault, you weren’t trying to be cruel. you were sweet to his ma, telling her that the pie cooling on the windowsill looked to die for, giggling when you asked about stories of Clark as a boy. you helped dry dishes, offered to set the table, complimented Martha’s flower arrangement for the centrepiece, smiled constantly.
and that should have been a relief… but Clark couldn’t focus on anything but the way your bare thighs stuck slightly to the kitchen chair, or how your sundress rode up when you leaned to pass him a plate. his cock had been hard under the table more times that he could count, straining thick and heavy against his jeans, leaking precum into his briefs while he smiled politely and answered his mothers questions about how work had been going or how he was finding metropolis lately.
every brush of your hand on his arm, every warm laugh, every innocent glance up at him with those wide eyes of yours was torture. you were sweet, wholesome and polite, and yet all he could think about was spreading your thighs wide and licking you until you cried out his name.
but not here. god, not here. not under his parents roof.
dinner came all too quick yet it dragged on for what felt like a century. you sat beside him, laughing at his fathers terrible jokes, leaning in close, your soft shoulder brushing his arm. his cock throbbed painfully, and he had to keep his napkin bunched up in his lap to hide the outline of it. by the time they were finished, Clark was so strung up he could barely think. and then you excused yourself to the porch, saying something about how the sun looked “so gorgeous on the plains”, Clark didn’t really pay attention though, because your little dress was fluttering around your thighs in the evening breeze when you stepped outside in a way that made him follow you like a dog.
you leaned over the railing, looking out over the fields with a soft smile, hair practically glowing in the golden light of the evening. he closed the door behind him, heart hammering, his whole body trembling with want. he said your name softly and you turned to him, smiling like you always did.
he crossed the space in two strides, hands grabbing at your waist, lifting your body. you gasped in surprise as he set you down on the wide porch railing, legs dangling, dress riding up indecently high.
“Clark—” you started, breathless, but he was already sinking to his knees in front of you.
it felt obscene—it was obscene—the farm spread out behind them, fireflies flickering in the tall grass, the faint sound of his mother humming inside while dealing with the dishes. and there he was, on his knees on the old wooden porch, about to shove his face in between your thighs.
he leaned in, mouth brushing up on your clothed cunt. your panties were thin cotton, pale and soft and already damp against his lips. he groaned low in his chest as he mouthed at you through the fabric, tongue pressing against your slit until you whimpered, clutching at his hair.
“Clark— oh, god—”
your sweetness, your scent, the way you trembled under his mouth, it all destroyed him. he licked broad, messy stripes over your cunt through the panties, sucking lightly, soaking the fabric with spit and your wetness. his cock throbbed through his jeans, painfully hard, perfume smearing in his briefs as he ground helplessly against nothing, desperate for any kind of relief.
he hooked a finger in the gusset of your panties and pulled them aside. the sight hit him as hard as an actual blow would: your pussy bare and glistening, lips swollen, clit peeking out, so close he could taste you.
Clark groaned, burying his face against your cunt. his tongue dragged up your slit, hot and wet, lapping greedily. he sucked at your clit, gentle at first, then harder when you gasped and pulled his hair. he was messy, desperate, smearing his face with your slick, moaning against you as if eating you out was the only thing that had ever mattered. you clutched the railing with one hand and his hair with the other, thighs trembling around his head, “Clark— ohmigod, Clark, fuck!!—”
the sound of you swearing from pure pleasure spurred him on. he licked into you, tongue thrusting, then up again to swirl around your clit. he couldn’t get enough. the taste of you filled his mouth, slick dripping down his chin, and he moaned against your pussy like he was cumming from the flavour alone.
“baby, please, don’t stop,” you gasped, rolling your hips against his mouth.
he didn’t, he couldn’t. he sucked your clit hard, tongue flicking fast, two fingers sliding up to tease at your entrance, spreading your wetness as he devoured you. you cried out, thighs squeezing tight around his head, and then you were cumming, shuddering, your cunt clenching as you spilled hot against his tongue.
Clark groaned, sucking harder, drinking you down. his cock pulsed in his jeans, so hard it hurt, precum soaking the denim, but he didn’t care. he just held your hips steady and ate you through it, lapping and suckling until you sagged against the railing, whimpering and spent.
when he finally pulled back, his face was wet with slick, chin glistening, lips swollen. he looked up at you with wide, adoring eyes, still kneeling like a man in prayer.
you sighed, tired but happy, and looked down at the problem at his crotch. “let’s… deal with you next.” you proposed, biting your lip as Clark rose to his feet.
he groaned a little as he looked down at himself tenting in his jeans, already trying to figure out a way to get through the house and up to the guest bedroom without letting ma and pa Kent see the… situation.
