thoughts are being thunk about Valarr goody-two-shoes who is just sooooo uninhibited in bed.
Doing the things pretty princes like him arenât supposed to, arenât given a manual, and things that would downright scandalise everyone who knew you. If they knew what you had done with Valarr. What you let him do to you.
He is a relentless lover. Experimental. Attentive. Shameless when he pries his fingers inside your knickers in high-end clubs when youâre ordering drinks. You feel the cool metal of his ring against your clit and you have to bite the inside of your before even looking at anyone. By the end of the night you are a sensate, quivering mess, already leaking when you get inside his car and get on top of him, pulling at his belt and taking him right there, in the back of his car like a fucking hippie.
Valarr is attentive inside your bedroom. Methodical when he waits, waits and waits with your walls squeezing tight around his length and your voice reduced to a hoarse whisperâto hit that one place that makes you see stars in closed spaces. He's charting out his favorite sounds, he's making an inventory of your come-face.
He is experimental when he takes you in front of his heirloom mirror just after shower; You have to steady yourself on the frame of the mirror, watching the soft, effervescent clouds forming on the glass from your combined breaths. The silver strand is almost translucent when it's wet. Look at you, he gasps into your ear. His stubbles tickle your cheeks. He thrusts so deep you bulge forward, your cheeks red and your breaths all spent out.Â
Look at us, he groans. Mismatched eyes on you. So fucking perfect. Canât fucking believe... His speech gets muffled when you really pick your pace though; you like watching the scarlet flush on the nape of his neck and your facesâcontorted into helpless, relentless bliss. Moans like gasps. Your skirt gets bunched upânot taken off. And the moment you realise that you like it. You like the fact that heâs fresh out of shower and the sight of you in your work clothes makes him so feral he has to rush across the room and pull off his towel and have you this instant. You realise you like the hurry of it, the desperation, the animal-hunger you never knew you had in youâyou come almost as soon as he enters you with a moan loud enough to be heard across the room. His hand sneaks in your shirt, palming your breasts, petting them like his favorite toy. He comes right after, ten seconds after. And the bashful, beautiful smileâthis is the first time it happened. You make me hungry, darling. Make me needy.Â
Free Use!Clark who never says no to his girlfriend, no matter when or where she needs him. Heâs always ready, always gentle, and always completely obsessed with how much she wants him.
Nympho!Reader who is utterly addicted to Clark Kent â his voice, his hands, his dick, the way he looks at her like sheâs the only thing in the world. You canât go more than a few hours without touching him, and he loves it.
700+ words of: (18+) ... free use kink, implied consent (cnc?), nympho reader, hcs, implied anal, cockwarming, face riding, exhibitionism, somnophilia, pwop, theyre freaky
ck x nympho!reader fic here
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Free Use!Clark who wakes up every morning to you already grinding on his thigh or sucking him under the sheets. He just groans softly, puts his hands on your hips, and lets you use his body however you need while heâs still half-asleep, voice raspy as he murmurs, âGood morning, sweetheart⊠take what you want.â
Nympho!Reader who gets wet the second Clark walks through the door after patrol. Youâll meet him in the hallway, drop to your knees, and pull his suit down just enough to get him in your mouth, moaning around him like youâve been starving for hours.
Free Use!Clark who is more than happy to let you ride his face while heâs trying to read the newspaper. Heâll just set the paper aside, lie back on the couch, and hold your hips down so you can grind against his tongue until youâre shaking and soaking his chin.
Nympho!Reader who sends him filthy texts while heâs at work. Pictures of your fingers buried inside yourself with the caption âhurry home, I need you.â Clark has to excuse himself to the bathroom more than once because of how hard you make him.
Free Use!Clark who will fuck you bent over the kitchen counter while youâre trying to make dinner. Youâll be stirring sauce and suddenly his big hands are on your hips, sliding your panties to the side and pushing into you slow and deep while he kisses your neck and whispers, âDonât stop cooking, baby. Iâve got you.â
Nympho!Reader who loves waking him up in the middle of the night by sinking down on his dick. Clark just moans sleepily, hands finding your waist as you ride him in the dark, his voice low and wrecked: âCouldnât wait till morning, huh?â
Free Use!Clark who lets you crawl into his lap during movie night and cockwarm him the entire film. Heâll wrap his arms around you, chin on your shoulder, occasionally thrusting up when he knows youâre getting impatient, murmuring praise in your ear the whole time.
Nympho!Reader who gets off on the fact that Clark is Superman. You beg him to keep the cape on sometimes while he fucks you, clinging to the red fabric as he fucks you against the wall, super strength keeping you pinned exactly where he wants you.
Free Use!Clark who has bent you over his desk in the barn, in the back of his truck, in the shower, on the stairs, and once â very carefully â in the sky. He indulges every single craving you have without hesitation.
Nympho!Reader who gets dripping wet when Clark does mundane things â chopping wood shirtless, fixing the fence, wearing those gray sweatpants. Youâll walk up behind him, press yourself against his back, and beg him to take you right there in the yard.
Free Use!Clark who never makes you feel embarrassed for how much you need him. If you crawl into his lap during dinner and start grinding on him, he just pushes his plate aside, lifts you onto the table, and eats you out until youâre crying his name.
Nympho!Reader who loves being passed out from exhaustion only to wake up to Clark gently fucking you again because you whispered his name in your sleep and started rubbing against him.
Free Use!Clark who will pick you up, wrap your legs around his waist, and fuck you slow and deep while walking through the house like itâs nothing. Heâll carry you from the living room to the bedroom without ever pulling out, kissing you the whole way.
Nympho!Reader who keeps a butt plug in sometimes just so Clark can pull it out and replace it with his dick whenever he wants â though he usually ends up indulging you instead because youâre so desperate for him.
Free Use!Clark who finds you in the laundry room folding clothes and immediately bends you over the vibrating washing machine. He slides into you from behind while the spin cycle rattles hard against your chest, the intense shaking pressing right against your sensitive nipples as he fucks you deep and steady.
Nympho!Reader who canât even pretend to focus on the laundry once Clark starts thrusting â moaning loudly as the machineâs vibrations buzz against your tits while his thick length stretches you open, coming harder because of the relentless shaking on your nipples.
Free Use!Clark who looks at his obsessed, insatiable girlfriend with nothing but pure love and lust in his eyes, because nothing makes him happier than knowing you need him this badly.
Nympho!Reader who is completely ruined for anyone else â and Clark wouldnât have it any other way.
18+ mdni dadbf!robby will have you in his lap and will literally hold the bottom of your face, big hand covering your mouth, while frank talks⊠bc with you interjecting and leading frank on tangents his 5 minute story will turn into 20 and he still wont have gotten to the point :/ it drives robby completely nuts
18+ mdni cw: cnc dadbf!robby holding you in his lap, chest to chest, his arm firm around your middle⊠n he tells jack âsheâs alright. just let her cry it out.â when you start sniffling and clawing at robbyâs shoulders, tears rolling down your cheeks while jack forces his thick cock into you <3
step dad!dex pursuing u in secret cuz u canât get caught by ur mom, and youâre trying to keep ur morals and tell him itâs wrong but he coaxes u into letting him fuck uđ
yes I wrote something like that in my drabble of how you and stepdada dex started your secret relationship!!
heâs such a perv who tries to get into your panties no matter how much you whine and say âbut what if mom finds out..â, heâs so persistent that you just let himđââïž bouncing on his cock with muffled moans the same night in your room as your mom sleeps in the next room, oblivious to dex taking advantage of you, bein so sweet on you and getting in your head.. âsuch a good girl letting dad use this sweet pussy like this.. youâll do anything to please me huh sweetheart?â and youâre so fuzzy in the brain from how deep heâs fucking you that all you can do is nod and be pliant
brat!tamer robby is so so so dear to me. the raised brows. the ah-ah-ah's. the pinched eyes. i just KNOW if his girl truly misbehaves he's so surprised and pulls out all the classic one liners too because hasn't he trained her so wel???? yummy
18+ mdni HNNGG YES he hits all the basics!! âcareful âah-ahâ âwatch itââŠ. loves to hit a raised brow and a click of his tongue and a âyou know betterâ whenever he sees you thinking about doing smth brattyâŠ.
dare i say he whistles at you⊠he spots you scheming from across the room, sees you start act on it so he whistles sharply to get your attention, n it makes you jolt and stop dead in your tracks and snap your head towards him. âDonât even think about it.â
Daeron jolts awake with a sharp, ragged gasp, the feeling of flames and sounds of terror still ringing in his ears. Sweat clings to his skin, his chest heaving, eyes wide and unfocused in the dark as he claws at the sheets
His sweet ladydoesnât give him time to spiral. She slides closer, straddles his lap, and settles her weight over him. His hands fly to her hips on instinct, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise as she reaches between their bodies, guides his already-hardening cock to her entrance, and sinks down onto him in one smooth, steady motion.
A broken sound tears out of him as she takes him to the hilt. Rock her hips in a deep, rolling rhythm, taking him slow and thorough, letting the tight heat of her cunt pull him back into the present. Her hands frame his face, thumbs stroking over his cheekbones while she ride him, whispering soft reassurances against his mouth between kisses.
grinding down harder when his breath hitches.
His head tips back against the headboard, eyes fluttering shut as the dream finally loosens its grip. All thatâs left is herâwarm, wet, and moving on him like she was made for this, riding the fear out of him one deep, deliberate stroke at a time until the only thing left in his head is the slick slide of your body and the soft, needy sounds he canât stop making beneath her.
or PUSSY EATING with BAELOR, VALARR, AERION, DAERON, MAEKAR & LYONEL (2.2K)
â â â â â§âË â warning(s) smut, noncon, dark (for aerion's bit), language, fem!reader, cunnilingus, face riding, bush mention, bodily fluids, finger in mouth/light gagging, voyeurism, outdoor/public sex, drinking/drunk sex, age gap, power imbalance, overstim, edging, high valyrian. +18/mdni .á
â a/n first off, thank you x 1000 for all the love for the last fic like this i posted !i love freaking out about these fake people with you all. i hope you enjoy this one just as much and there is more on the wayyy. baelor's section includes a tiny, italicized excerpt from "fire and blood" by george r.r. martin translated into high valyrian that i do not claim as any of my own work or writing. i will also go ahead and spoil that aerion's bit is more of a lead up and there's no explicit oral since it was getting a bit long. as always, all mistakes are a result of my own doing. mwah! â
MASTERLIST(S) | MODERN!BAELOR AU | MAIDEN!READER | SLEEPING BEAUTIES ËËË
đ° BAELOR TARGARYEN of HOUSE TARGARYEN
To keep it simple, Baelor likes you on top. Not hovering but sitting on top of him, even when you're reading. Especially when you're reading books in High Valyrian.
The position he has you would be odd if he hadn't had you in it before; sat on his face, your own hands holding you up to brace against the bed. An aged book between your splayed palms, while Baelor nudges at your clit.
"Keep going, dearest."
The gentle command from Baelor sounds beneath you, encircling your thighs to guide you into an easy grind. The swiping of his tongue along your slit makes the stroke of ink on old pages even harder to read.
"RÈłbas se aegon dÄrysion ikso aĆhi by vÄzos se ñuhor ziry⊠liberysion? Daorys Conqueror drÄjÄ« iiii⊠iderÄptan ondor Ćregon issa rÈłbas ziry ikso pÄletillaâohâs-se brĆstan se Starry Sept se Oldtown ondoso High Septon se VÄdosorysâfuck, right there."
Some of the words could be smoother in their pronunciation, prettier off the roll of your tongue, but your reciting is rather impressive. You're learning fast, which only strengthens the suck of Baelor's lips around the clit. A non-verbal, spit-bathed action of admiration from the Hand, whose cock leaks stringy dribbles onto his stomach⊠twitching each time you squeak and groan.
Baelor makes you read until you can't anymore, until his face is coated in you and you're crying for him to let you come. He only obliges after making you ask in his mother tongue.
"Epagon nyke hae bisa, ñuha jorrÄelagon," he mumbles wetly, pecking light kisses against your folds.
(Ask me like this, my love.)
It takes you a moment to sound it out. The once foreign, now familiar sounds slowly register.
"âŠk-kostilus, kostagon nykeânyke mÄzigon? Kostagon ao mazverdagon nyke m-mÄzigon?"
(Please, can I come? Can you make me come?)
A proud smile spreads against your pussy, followed by a pat of your ass.
"SÈłrÄ« gaomagonâŠ"
(Well done...)
đ° VALARR TARGARYEN of HOUSE TARGARYEN
It is official. You are now wed to Valarr Targaryen, linked to the Prince of Dragonstone until the end of either of your times⊠and Gods, if he wasn't going to make sure you enjoy the first several suns of being his wife.
You've come too many times to care how uncomfortable the two members of the Kingsguard are. Valarr, caring even less, is stuffed under the covers and up against your cunt, savoring away as he has been all morning.
"âŠMy Lordâ"
"I'm a bit busy with my new wife. Your new Princess, who I'm sure would much rather hear nothing than the drone of your unimportant questions."
They can barely hear the muted words over the little groans you release whenever Valarr curls his lips around the swell of your clit. He gives you one last suckle before kissing up your belly and emerging from the blankets with a full exhale of air. The man licks at your neck, then pecks up to your mouth before shuffling on his side with an arm wrapped around your front. His movements slip the covers down just enough to reveal your breasts to the men, who nearly choke as they rescind their stares.
"Y-your uncle has... requested your presence in the main hall," one of the guardsmen stutters out. Valarr continues his kisses, humming with the content of a million and one men when your hand reaches to cup his jaw. He deepens the pecks into a long snog, only interrupted by the few words your husband can remember to get out.
"Men, my father has instructed me to spend whatever necessary time it will take to make my woman comfortable in her new home," he begins, mismatched pupils trained onto you as he lowers himself back under the covers with a grin that makes you giggle. There's a pause of quiet, and then a squeal from you, who reaches a grab at the nearest pillow with a dropped jaw and arching back.
More nipples. The guards look away, this time toward each other. Completely helpless and willing away the blood rushing to their own cocks.
How beautiful their new princess is.
"Therefore," Valarr breathes in, "I advise you return at a later time. Perhaps sometime next week? Possibly next summerâŠ"
đ° AERION TARGARYEN of HOUSE TARGARYEN
"You."
The cut of his voice startles you well before the echo is finished ringing throughout the corridor. Your steps pause, and you tighten your grip on the bedsheets in your hand.
Turning, you see him. The prince, with his hair like ash and violet eyes stuck in a hard stare. There's something else there, too, just behind all that mean. It tries to suffocate your lungs as Aerion struts toward you, only pausing when he's close enough for your throat to bob with a thick gulp. Silently, he keeps watching you, eyes settled upon your chest as you bow before him.
"My prince. You are usually not awake at this hour. Is everything alright?"
Aerion just blinks at you, thinking.
"Fine. Just feeling a bit hungry."
"Oh. I can stop by the kitchens and retrieve a platter for you, if you wish. I am sure they wouldn't mind, so long as I explain who it is for."
The wobble in your voice is small, but there. Quivering with already uneven breaths, you opt to focus on the loose of his sleeping tunic while you speak. Boring and beige it is, yet, somehow, he wears it with an air that only he is capable of.
"No, girl. I'm hungry. Starved."
Brow furrow, you still don't understand. What kind of appetite can a plate of summer fruits not fill?
Your question is answered by a long walk to his room and a surprisingly gentle touch he uses to guide you toward his bed.
At first, he just talks.
Asks you how in seven hells you'd been assigned to working for the ruling family. Wondered why such a pretty thing like you would be relegated to changing bedsheets and fetching bathwater. There's a bit of impatience to his voice, but he keeps himself together long enough to get your shoulders to relax and wrap a hand to unstring the back of your dress.
He quickly stops you from covering yourself when the fabric pools to the floor, leaving you completely bare before him. Tracing a touch around your nipple, Aerion talks with a bowed chin.
"As I said, I'm rather famished⊠and I've had an eye on you for quite some time, gevie."
The word, strange sounding to you, slips a shiver down your spine. Aerion drags his middle finger lower, across your stomach, through the hair of your mound, and dips it inside your slit. You gasp and reach to clutch at his arm, moaning in surprise at the way the digit strokes your clit before he yanks it away.
Gazing straight at you, Aerion stuffs the finger inside his mouth. Groaning at the taste, he wipes all over his tongue before tugging it free with a pop.
The man commands you with a silent ah, dropping his jaw and waiting for you to do the same. Between your parted lips slips the same finger that reaches to press so far against the back of your tongue that you gag.
Aerion smirks at the sound, grabbing your cheeks with the rest of his hand so you can't look anywhere but him.
"Yes⊠you'll do quite nicely."
đ° DAERON TARGARYEN of HOUSE TARGARYEN
He's drunk, nearly-crying, and balls deep inside you.
"Fuck me," Daeron groans, eyes rolling as his hips smack into yours. You clutch him and the damp of his skin closer, tugging on the wild head of hair when he cries out once more with an ache to fill you for the second time this night. "Milk me, dove. Take my seed."
His words are slurred and breathless, choking away into nothing as his cock pumps you full with another thick load of cum. Your name slurs out of the man as a prayer, eyes glazed with alcohol and tears. "Ahâah. Yesyesyesyes."
Daeron pulls out before either of you is ready, but only to use his tongue to catch when his cum leaks from your slit. His impatience and hazy mind get the best of the eldest son, who resorts to slicking his tongue inside you to scoop out the mess. Eating himself from you, he makes certain not to forget your clit, thumb coming to pull back the hood to swipe his nose at it.
Again, he's drunk. Yes, on ale and wine, but also you. Addicted, really, to filling you up then slurping at your clit until you're empty, only to fill you back up once more.
"The way we taste togetherâŠ" he huffs out wet breaths across his still squirming tongue. "I could die in this, for you. Drown in it."
Daeron nuzzles his face deeper. Swirling his head and tongue in opposite directions while stretching his grip until he can grope your chest. He squeezes, humming with slow blinks and a sweaty forehead. All the while, thinking nothing of your husband-to-be.
Completely lost in you, Maekar's future (and second) wife, all the ale clouding just how fucked he will be if he is to keep this up. The unfairness of it all keeps him stupid, lapping at you like a trained mutt. Like a son who does not care of his father's wishes.
Daeron saw you first, so why doesn't he get to marry you?
đ° MAEKAR TARGARYEN of HOUSE TARGARYEN
He can't help but let a little of his demeanor, stern with sturdy grips, leak in at times like this. Times when he has to grip your skin to keep you from closing your legs like your body keeps trying.
It's almost too much. The fast flicks of Maekar's tongue and rough slurps of your hole, making sure to drag his teeth against your clit just to feel you jerk. You can feel the beard of white scratch at you with every sharp gesture of the man's head, prickles dragging to dampen themselves along your slit.
A gasp snatches from your lungs when Maekar pushes his tongue inside you, as deep as it'll reach. He growls, allowing you to trap his head with your thighs as he fucks his tongue in and out of you, jagged breaths blowing from his nose loudly.
"My P-Prince, I must returnâaghâto my chambersâŠ" you remind him through shaky, barely able to remember the reason for the coming evening celebrations. "âŠto prepare for tonight's festivities. My father is pr-probably wondering where I've gone. Ah! If we do not finish soon, I fear all the honey cakes will be gone beforeâ"
"Fuck the cake," Maekar grumbles, silently making a note to himself to make sure you get some regardless of when he finally frees you from his grasp. "And your father is probably drunk on wine and too busy shouting songs with my guards to realize his kin is gushing about in the arms of The Anvil."
With that, he's latching back onto you, scraping the flat of his tongue on your nub in lively strokes. His chest jumps with a small victory when you whine his name, forgetting all about the party and sweets and the worry over what your father will think.
Soon enough, you won't have to concern yourself with whatever your father feelsâhow easy the aging prince traces his title into your dripping centre. Soon enough, you will be his pretty wife, fully his to feed cake while he sucks your tits to rid himself of the shitty days behind him.
đ° LYONEL BARATHEON of HOUSE BARATHEON
Of course, he is to find you at the worst possible moments. Worst being relative, as Lyonel possesses a skill of the tongue unlike any other, but still. You could be in the bath, in bed, or walking through a nearby forest, and he's pouncing. Sudden and tender, groping at your flesh through the dark, golden-detailed cloth that he'd begged you not to slip on during the earlier hours of the morn.
Deep chuckles bounce from Lyonel and against your inner thigh. After the sound, a sloppy kiss.
"Lyonel," you huff, helping to bunch up the dress of your skirt that he's already halfway buried beneath, his hands clawing at your panties with light scratches and tugs of impatience. "L-Lyonel."
The man answers with a dig of his tongue inside you, groan cutting through the buzz of the outdoors at the taste. The ground sits hard under your back, almost damp when you arch to rub harder against the measured flicks.
"We w-will be requested for dinner soon," you remind him, breathless and with a fuzzy stare at the sky of seemingly endless clouds. Lyonel remains distracted, suckling you with long licks until his mouth fills with the taste of you, promptly spitting globs of spit to slicken you even further. You can feel the warm, sticky drip down your ass as Lyonel feeds away. Unconvinced.
Finally, he answers. Bubbles of drool coat his lips and chin, the words muffle just below your belly button, when he kisses his way through an unbothered shrug.
"No matter that," Lyonel wheezes, stomach pressed against the grassy ground as he shuffles. Poking his head to catch your eye. "I will command the kitchens to prepare you something of sustenance once the trees watch me take you properly."
"And what of your meal?"
Lyonel laughs, messy curls tickling his forehead. "Oh, my sweet, sweet thing. I have all the nourishment I need right here in my palms."
his favourite position is you riding him. he gets to be lazy and have a show. in return you get to use him however you want to make yourself feel good. heâll take whatever you give - heâll get clingy and squirming if you tease him, but heâs too much of a sub to try to take control back from you when youâre on top.
he wants to stay buried in your tits. doesnât matter if yourâs are big or small - large breasts he can suffocate in, smaller ones he can nuzzle and listen to your heartbeat. he has a bad night and he wants to stumble into your room and pull down your dress far enough he can hide his face against your breasts until he falls asleep. he also wants his face in them while you ride him.
he is CLINGY and holding you but in a way that is absolutely subservient and desperate
he is LOUD. L O U D. man does not shut up and he canât be sneaky or quiet about it. mostly noise or unintelligible begging rather than words. lots of pants and whines and moans. little âuh uh uhâs. and fuck, he whimpers.
call him a good boy and watch him cum about it
he gets pussy drunk. will eat you out and whine if you pull away after cumming, trying to pull you back on to his face. begs you to keep riding him even after heâs cum and is overly sensitive.
in line with the above point, if heâs on top heâs basically just flat over you and humping. sometimes doesnât even have his cock inside you or it slips out and he just keeps humping.
riley detamore trying so hard not to come in his pants as you give him a shoulder massage, straddling him to the bed
this is what im talking abt fawkkkk
never watched match me if u can so if this is out of character just ignore it ntm on me plz
like poor baby had been looking so stressed out the past week studying for some final, coming back to your shared apartment late at night from the library and you can see itâs taking a toll on him.. heâs all over the place, not getting any time to with you and you just miss him so bad!!
so as soon as he comes home after class youâre on him at the door and pulling him into your room, âyou just look so stressed riley.. let me help you wind down hm?â youâd purr, pushing him down on the bed and making the boy get into the position you needed him to be for the massageâwith true intentions to just get him relaxed.
you got on top of him and got comfortable on his lap, your ass pressing down on his crotch as you start to knead at his collar and his shoulders, offering sympathetic coos for your boyfriend. âyou feel so tense here baby, you have to take it easy okay? I donât want you to get burnt out..â youâd murmur, really focused on reliving the shy boy and oblivious to how much he was struggling underneath you :( you were already pushing it when he saw you in your lounge clothes, which was just your panties and one of his shirts that you got out of his closet while he was goneâbut the concerned petname and the way you weâre touching him all over just got him so worked up!
he had been squirming throughout the whole massage, his eyes closed in ecstasy as you work your magic, âI k-know i just canât afford to fail this, itâs a really big-â, suddenly cutting himself off with the biggest pathetic whimper in front of you, feeling his bulge get bigger below you.
mindlessly, you had scooted yourself closer to him as he was talking and he felt your clothed pussy grind against his cock, making him forget his train of thought and get hard :(( you could only smile at your boyfriend cos you know heâs embarrassed, lowering your hips down further as you hook your arms around his neck to kiss at his jaw. âaw riy.. itâs okay, just felt so good huh?â youâd say, slowly pulling your hips back and forth against his hard on as your hands travel to his shoulders and biceps, trailing your sweet kisses to his sensitive neck.
âim s-sorry baby i didnât mean toâah!â, heâd whine nd jerk forward with his hands gripping at the bed, this is such a sight to see and you know your panties are soaked just from seeing him like this.. âoh I know, just be good and cum for me yeah? can you do that for me riley?â
and he almost cums in his pants on command just from that, his body all jittery and heâs mumbling and pleading for you to help him cum,,, sighhh
frank castle against the headboard smoking a cigarette while you grind and bounce up n down his cock chasing an orgasm he refuses to help you with. youâve been a brat and he doesnât reward brats. âif you wanna come you better do it before i finish this, kid. once Iâm done you lost your chance, Iâm taking what i wantâ
smirking around the cig when you start humpinâ and bouncinâ even faster like a bunny in heat :(
i sure can pooks.. there has been much request for this sweet boy and itâs the first thing iâve written for him on his own, so i hope you like it!đ
valarrâs nsfw alphabet
A = Aftercare (what theyâre like after sex)
this sweet prince is a king of aftercare. a gentlemanâs duties start early in the royal house and baelor was never shy of teaching his sons how to properly treat a woman. yet it comes naturally to valarr as it is, he is ready to run a bath, preparing a cloth at your bedside before youâve even finished, peppering you with soft kisses and kneading the skin where it hurts and wrapping the sheets around you both as your breathing evens out.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partnerâs)
on you, i think itâs your hands, waist and thighs. heâs like his father in this regard and he has a thing (like most targaryen men) for curve. however much or however little heâs obsessed with grabbing at your thighs and your waist, tracing his mouth along your frame reverently. and your hands, being able to hold them, to lace his fingers with your own.. itâs delicate and itâs yours and he likes the difference in size compared to his. and the way you grab at him, and the nails raking down his back, it makes him shiver.
and on himself, he likes his mouth and his shoulders. with his mouth he can worship you, kiss you, lick at you so sweetly and passionately, heâs able to taste you and between your thighs or with his tongue sliding against yours is here he likes to be most. and his shoulders, theyâre strong from tourneys, from training heâs able to do anything, once flex and youâre over his shoulder or dipped playfully rough onto the bed. and he can also push your thighs apart easier..
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
heâs not big on mess but he likes to play with it a bit, heâs not scared of it, fucking you until youâre both slick where youâre joined, and your wetness coats him. his favourite is to cum inside of you, it is what feels closest to you, and heâs in awe of the way it drips out of you. but he also likes when he can cum in your hand, watching it trickle down your fingers as you suck them into your mouth..
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
he wonât admit it loudly, at least not until you are either married or very close, but he is a switch, and has a tendency to sub if given the chance, and he wants to, to submit to you.. get on his knees for you.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what theyâre doing?)
heâs experienced enough to know what heâs doing, having bedded some women (mostly older, donât @ me) and overhearing many a knight in passing. he knows how to please you, and well, but he is still learning.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
missionary is his go to, itâs where he can have all of you, and see you better, thrusting into you as he collapses against you, lips passionately pressed against yours. he likes lotus as well, having you wrapped around each other and as close as possible while youâre both desperate, he has to hold back from cumming.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
he is serious in bed but isnât far from being goofy, sometimes there are little accidents, nose bumping here and there and he canât help but smile. he is set on making you feel good, heâs focused but heâs not going to shy away from laughing with you, itâs more intimate.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
heâs well groomed, preferring it that way because of training and general want to, but itâs dark like his hair, trimmed and straight with a softer and lighter trail of hair from his belly button, much like the silver streak in his hair.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
valarr is very intimate, and heâs a romantic.. he makes those gestures by lighting candles, or preparing a bath for both of you to have, keeping his eyes locked on yours the whole time while youâre having sex. his forehead pressed to yours through every breath and heâs in love.
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
he doesnât jack off very often, and he never really did beforehand, itâs not something that he really cared for unless it was the real thing. and now that he has his lover, his partner, itâs not selfishness or possession that makes him think it (ahem aerion) but that youâre his and he is yours, that he doesnât have the need to.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
he has quite a few, many he wonât talk about out loud, and you discover in your own way.. but he has a mommy kink, somnophilia (when youâre both waking up, or waking up inside of you), face sitting and breath play, also mirror sex..
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
your shared chambers, and anywhere inside of them, itâs private and itâs endless, from the bed to the toilet, to the window, but without the worry of anyone seeing or interrupting.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
you and only you. thatâs his motivation and his turn on, especially when you are in those sheer lace gowns designed for bed, heâs imported many of them just to see you in them.
N = No (something they wouldnât do, turn offs)
anything to hurt you or put you in danger, or anything that would defile you, such as piss/scat kinks.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
heâs a giver, through and through and heâs ready to taste you any time that he can, he could stay between your thighs forever if it was possible and heâs good at it, he latches onto you, suckling at your clit until youâre crying out. but he is a sucker for you going down on him, gripping loosely at your hair as heâs whining and trying to be composed.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
his pace builds over time, taking his time with you, worshipping every inch of you, all the while fucking too deep into the mattress it punches into your lungs.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
heâs not huge on them, but he isnât opposed either. especially in dire moments when it could be his last, or before a tourney, or when he has to leave for a while, itâs still just as meaningful as before.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
he is willing to, so long as it doesnât involve hurting you at all, and he will. heâs open to what you are into, and the things he doesnât know about, itâs worth trying once.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
valarr can go for quite some time, lasting a long while before he tires, spurred on and edged by the thought and feel of you. perhaps at least three rounds before he starts to slow down properly.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
he doesnât own them, but he would use them on you if you asked, he very much likes the idea of fucking you at the same time with himself and a toy.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
now, he can be quite a bit of a tease, nothing that will keep you aching too long, but longing looks or smirking at your from afar, ghosting his fingers along your back as he walks pastâ a promise for later. but as soon as you look at him, and you tell him you really need it, he crumbles.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
heâs very breathy, not overly loud wanting to hear you more than he can himself but once heâs close heâll shove his face into your neck, moaning deeply.
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
he fantasies about fucking you in his armour, careful as not to pinch or injure you. but something about the way you watch him when heâs in combat, and feeling the weight of you pressed against him through the steel makes him hot.
X = X-ray (letâs see whatâs going on under those clothes)
donât shoot me for this, heâs not huge, but he does know how to use it. valarr is probably around nearing 6/ 6 and a half inches, on the thicker side with a thick vein, and it curves upward towards his stomach. and every time he drives into you, you feel it..
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
his drive is pretty high, he has enough stamina to last in more than one way and having you around him is more than enough motivation, there isnât a time when he would turn it down.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
so long as you are satisfied and comfortable, and resting beside or on him, he is happy enough to fall asleep, and it doesnât take him long to, rolling onto his side with you in his arms.
Would you be alright doing some headcanons of how our beloved ATOTSK guys would react to another man crowning reader, their wife, as the queen of love and beauty at a tourney? đđ
oh this is good territory, I most definetly can.. đ
another knight crowning you
features: baelor, maekar, dunk, aerion, lyonel, valarr and daeron.
warning(s): wife!reader, violence/mention of in some, canon typical jousting fuckery
Baelor didnât participate much in tourneys any more, his growing age and responsibility distancing him from the entertain and bustle of the lists. But he does enjoy the overseeing of such an occasion, joining in the celebrations by scouting the young knights, as well as he had since he was a boy, teaching his son own knowledge.
Though given the Kingâs high demand of him, it was a rarity for him to even be at such a place, and with Valarr entered upon the lists, he was not one to refuse, bringing you along, dutifully at his side. And during its events, it had proven more eventful than you had thought.
You hadnât cared much for tourneys either, the splintering of wood, clattering of armour, groaning men in pain and often wounded horses, it wasnât the most pleasing sight. But you were comfortable enough, resting against the hard wood of your chair, glancing at the sea of heads in audience as the herald called out. Every tilt came and went with promise of victory, that was until the last, when a young knight of a house you hadnât thought to name, Tully, you believe you heard, dismounted from his horse and stepped the gravel space to stand before you.
All eyes in the royal box peered over, a hush of quiet falling as you looked around, his gazes grimly set on you. âFor the Princess.. if she would do me the honour, I shall crown her our Queen, of Love and Beauty.â Your face flushed a deep shade of red, fingers clutching the arms of the chair, rising hesitantly by default, by duty. Baelor watched on, an impeccable still, his finger twitching his rings around his fingers, studying. He observed between you and the young knight, now holding his lance out with a bashful smile, so young and draped in untouched confidence. Yours matching tightly, greeting him with utter softness, the bodice of your dress straightening your back regally.
He couldnât blame the boy. It was not every day one could stand before a Princess, much less a beauty like you. His mind drifting as he watched, remembering fondly of when he had done just the same, years ago, himself a deal younger and your grin meeting his for the first time as you gave him your blessing and well wishes. He had done for you that tourney, claiming every day forth that only your honour gave him the strength. You flicked your eyes back at him, not for permission but blessing, and he nodded, your hands taking the outstretched flowered wreath gratefully.
You set it upon your head, the knight nodding to your husband as he took few paces back, bowing politely. He rested there for a moment, nodding back to him and signalling him to rise, their eyes locking, it was lighthearted though a glinted warning enough to unhorse one hundred men reflected from him, the boy taking that sing to take his leave. Baelor would not wish badly on the boy, he had only done what his heart had told him to do, something he too had and would have done all over again, head turning to you as the noise picked up, his own heart swelling at the sight of you, gracious and bright.
He reached out for you, ringed fingers curling around yours, arm draping between your seats, bringing your hand to his lips as your eyes met, and softly kissing them, âMy queen.â His voice was hush, bestowing the title onto you adoringly, but gravelled, a promise for more to come. Those mismatched eyes burning into yours, a reminder. Every part yours, as you are his.
ââ
Your husband was as prickly as ever. Every passing lord and lady draining him more of any likeness, the fanfare of a tourney not exciting him as much as it used to. But he wasnât one to dismiss his father, the King, being presented with task to make appearance at a small town in The Reach. Most likely to appease the people, spread message and presence of the crown carefully and humbly, reminding softly of dragonfire. Maekar was no stranger to the need, his brother already taken up in Kingâs Landing, heâd decided to push Aerion into the mix of mud and steel, the younger man taking the opportunity gratefully.
His other sons were not too pleased, one the furthest from a battleground and the other two far too young. However the only thing seemingly keeping him from collapsing under the bore was , you. You kept him on his toes, cheered up, the way he needed to be, even if he didnât show it, pretending he was unaffected, you had effect on him like no other.
Seated beside him, your hand brushed the back of his hair, tense scowl firm on his features as he awaited his sons rounding through the lists. Though unamused, snacking on the pine nuts and fruits provided and sinking few cups of wine, he was supportive, prepared even. He was almost relaxed, your touch, the hum of cheers, everything he was used to, that was untilâ a young baratheon knight made his way for you. He knew where it was going before it had begun, lance held high, armour perfectly placed, untouched by not yet being pummeled to the ground.
He sat from his slouch, suddenly more interested. You breathed next to him as the knight called out for you, violet eyes glancing up at you. He cracked another nut between his teeth before squinting to get a better look, you stood just before him, graciously taking the crown as the git below passed it to you, claiming you his âQueenâ for the tourney, to fight in your honour. Your turned to face him, others heads falling behind you enough to brace, his attitude already known. The flowers were of yellow and tangerine, leaves of lilies peaking out through the weave.
His eyes didnât leave yours, softening as they watched you, only giving one glare back to the boy as he pulled away, pleased with himself, sending a wink to the Prince in recognition that almost made him fly out of his seat. The muscle in his face twitched, turning back to you as if to check if youâd seen it. You had. All of it in fact, the way it worked him up so.
âA problem, my Prince?â You pursed your lips, raising a brow as you settled the weight of plant atop your head. His glare fixed on you for a moment, checking, studying you all over, thinking you might be joking, scoffing lightly. Every thought of what the boy may have been thinking, now wishing as he mounted his stallion to topple over face first. But he refrained, fingers flexing around nothing, âNone at all, my heart. Though I believe you should keep that.â
You nodded slowly, a slight confusion etching your features turning to a knowing, the want in his voice obvious. If you were to be crowned, he was to bestow it on you one way or another, already deep in thought of it slanting in your mussed hair as he pinned you beneath him.
ââ
Dunk was set to ride into the lists, though heâd rather be beside you walking the market stalls, and your urges for him to take care, he listened, a chance to take the coin of it brought him victory. Perhaps to be able to gift you one of the necklaces or cloth youâd been looking at hours before. He was a determined man, taking the war horse beneath him steadily by the reins, eyes searching for you through the pitted holes in his helm.
You made your way through the crowd, up the steps to the higher stands getting a better view. His frame wouldnât be hard to find, neither would the particular flash of colour of his falling star shield, though you wanted the best view you could have. You rested upon the large wooden beam, your eyes meeting through the fog and throng of crowd, you did not see his, but he saw yours, a soft, encouraging smile. Though those were not the only eyes who had set themselves onto you.
One of his opponents, a knight clad in silver and shining gold trotted past him and the others in a line, no knights had been called and yet he took it upon himself to make his way to you. Beyond the royal box, beyond the other smiling maidens and straight to you, like some wicked twist of fate. You nearly laughed, face falling as your eyes flicked to Dunk where he stroked his horseâs mane, falling back to the man.
âMy lady.. if you would do me the honours..â The rest of his words fell, the thrum in Dunkâs ears far too loud as his chest ticked, your smile shadowing through the sunâs rays as his back stood gallantly to him.
The crown was placed upon your head as you bowed for him to place it there, the shades of blooming lighting up your face so perfectly he nearly forgot the way his heart thudded against his ribcage. It wasnât so much jealousy, he may have his own doubts, but Dunk was taken with you, and he knew beyond any doubt you were with him, more so he trusted you. Just not these knights, high or low born. Apart of him curses himself at the fact he hadnât thought to do it first, how much he longed to be the one asking for your honour and bestowing you with the love and beauty that you were.
Your eyes searched for his as he rode out, facing every opponent with a fierce nobility, shoulders broad and reached out at the ready. Through the cheers somehow your applause was the loudest, jumping up and down with every victory. Heâd made it into the top few as he was unhorsed, best and bested only by the exhaustion and distraction that consumed him, you. He had been a tad more brutal than usual, spurred on by earlier events.
Though his heavy breaths shuddered into a lull, gentle and tender as they reached you again, his surcoat and chain mail dirtied and few drops of blood from broken skin. But he smiled wearily seeing you again, melting into your touch as you congratulated him, praised him, giving him more honour than any gesture would have, he carried it with him regardless, and the reminder of it was enough.
He tucked a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, towering over you as the people passed by and exited from the lists, âA crown couldnât compare to you, love.. you look.. beautiful.â
ââ
The morning had started as simple as any other, tangled with your silver haired prince in the sheets, face pressed to his bare chest until it was time to rest. You were dressed attentively, you in a fitting red gown, reflecting that of his armour of black and crimson. Aerion was to be upon the lists as he had been for the past few of them, touring the lower lands of Westeros with you with him, in order to proclaim his own victories, his own status as a true knight.
He pulled you in for a sharp kiss before he left, nose knocking against yours as he whispered of riding in your honour, he already had your hand, your heart, and that was all was needed. You bid him good luck, heart in your throat as you were seated, your chairs close to that of your father in law and his uncle, Prince Baelor. They kept you company, engaging in small conversation as they tensed in waiting, Aerion was known for his fighting, for his unyielding nature, feared by many already. And yet you still worried for him, his ego boosted too high for his own good.
He circled in the background, waiting just as impatiently as you. The dragon scaled pointing sharply from his helm and down to his back, scouting and sizing up every one of his opponents. Your fingers thrummed the wood in anticipation, catching sight of him as you nodded, more to yourself than to him.
âPrincess..â You were to busy looking at him, you hadnât noticed what the shadow of his helm had been staring at, glaring daggers into the short frame walking your way. From across the lists a young noble lord had made his way to you, your head falling down as your title was called. He looked up, bowing his head as he did so, and you returned it, looking back at the others confused, they waved you forward.
âIf.. if I.â The boy looked back, sensing eyes were upon him, and you followed them, urging him on silently. Aerion pulling the reins tighter to his stallion only paces away at the other side of the grounds. Waiting, watching. âIf I may have the honour as to crown you. Our Queen of Love and Beauty.â
He eventually stuttered out, and from both a deep seated feel of pity and gratitude you took the neatly woven wreath, sliding it onto your arm as you rested it onto your delicately worn hair. If the audience were any quieter, they would have heard your husbandâs scoff from across the lists, fingers tightening as he looked at you. It wasnât what you deserved that was an insult, you should be. wearing a crown, sat side by side with him, looked up to by many. That he liked, longed for. Though it was the gall of this pathetic knight to do so right in front of him, especially looking so proud.
He was sure to knock it from him, that ridiculous smile. And he did. He had pushed his way into tilt beside him, dismissing the other knights in turn just to face him, and every onlooker knew it.
The poor knight only lasted Aerionâs mercy for two rounds before he unhorsed him, striking his horse into the leg and through his shield, sending the boy flying to the dirt and landing on his arm. It was sure to be broken, not mortally wounded, but enough for his screams to be clear as he was dragged away by the maesters. You, Maekar and Baelor had all cringed at the sight, lowering your heads as Aerion charged forward, padding his horse over to the royal box, stopping in front of you.
He lifted his helm, not bothering to listen to any other, only looking into your eyes. A fire seething in his eyes, promising, lips curving menacingly, âFor your honour.â
ââ
Drinks and trays of grapes and tarts darted every corner of the pavilion, the banners of House Baratheon waved high in their banners of antlers and yellow. Lyonel, your husband, had ordered your own little box be set up amongst the lists, rivalling that of the Targaryen royalty mere meters away, it was smaller, more quaint and just as extravagant.
You had let him go about it, himself still deciding whether to enter himself or not. It was not required of him and youâd much rather him not come back to you bloodied for you to tend to, so he remained at your side. You on his arm, slunk around your waist like a cat did a tree, laughing and grinning with every jest and short remark, making your way to the audiences as the tourney had began its tilts.
He was sure of himself, ultimately pleased in his efforts of grandeur. You were relaxed beside him, listening to the drunken lords behind you throw crude japes about the hosting lord sat near the crown, happily in your own daydreaming element. Lyonelâs hands brushed you every now and again, his arm slinging around the tip of your seat, brown eyes smirking into yours with a deep affection, whispering sweet nothings.
You were too busy listening to the growl of his teasing when a knight strode forward, stallion huffing as he jumped his heavy boots to the mud, rising as he bowed his head. His armoured hand reached out, both yours and your husbandâs heads turning in inquisition, his face studying the younger manâs, amused.
âMy lady.. if you would give me the grace of your victory. The Queen of Love and Beauty you shall be.â He offered a kind smile, more innocent much to the other knights you had gazed upon. And you took it gratefully, sliding it through the top strands of your hair with a gracious âthank youâ. He bowed as he left, the others falling into an applause around you, slinking back into your seat, picking at the leaves.
Lyonel stood swiftly as you sat, turning to face you, his hands clasped together in a louder applause as he began to hit them into each other. The proudest smile spreading across those striking features, tongue peeking out as he kneeled before you. Your face flushed, shaking your head at him, not many people watching hey his look alone was that of a thousand. The only person.
âMy queen, my lady.. my love. A marvel you are.â He bowed ridiculously, too low for his own good, pressing a sharp kiss to your lips, inching you back down into your seat.
ââ
At every passing tourney, Valarr had made it his beginning ritual to crown you. Finding the most bright and elegant bouquet to be woven into wreath, just to place it on your head before riding out into the mud. It was a small gesture, a private one though not quiet, he was loud in his love for you, humble in a way others were not.
It was a tradition between you both, one your elders before you looked upon kindly, a sweetness as you took to your titles, a gentle play you both shared a part in. You called him my Prince, you his Princess, placing a chaste kiss upon your lips as he departed, a fond smile on his mouth from the remnants of you. Nothing could take away that, even from the huffs and jealous looks from others, it did not compare to his eyes on you. And you were to keep it with you as he battled, every wince and scream of a horse the mere background, fully fixed onto him.
Though when one of his known rivals made his way to you, out of nowhere for the first time, a heavy set look in his eye. Even you were confused, raising a brow in interest. Valarr had only just settled the war horse beneath him, smoothing the cape behind him in readiness. The sight catching the glare of the sun all of a sudden. You moving to stand, peering over the wooden beams of the pavilion, the crown heâd placed on your head minutes before still proudly sitting there.
You gave the lord a puzzled but polite look, accepting his honour gratefully though it was false, the words were weakâ your honour already taken by someone else. And that someone knew it as well. It didnât stop the pressure in his chest however, staring unashamed forward through the open visor. It wasnât something he was used to, it almost felt like a challenge, one he wasnât going to let go of lightly, nor make a scene of either.
Your face flushed as you smoothed your skirts, an embarrassment etching your features of the feel of having two crowns. You werenât quite sure where to put the other, less attractive than the one Valarr had given you, and you were not bailed either. Compared to the summer flowers and roses your husband had bestowed you, the young lord attempted at winning with wilted leaf and twine, only dotted with few bluebells.
He won for you that day, even besting the lord whose wreath sat on your arm, the man yielding after four rounds and a caved in breastplate. And on your walk back to your shared tent, you had placed the other crown rather haphazardly onto his own silver streaked dark of hair, smiling a soft tease.
âIt suits. Yours is far prettier..â He smiled back at you, nose brushing your temple as you made your way to privacy.
ââ
He was no knight, that much was known by all. For all Daeron did care for in such a celebration, was one thing and one only, the wine. It had been imported from countries as far as Essos, sweeter and tastier than the drivel from Dorne. To be dragged by his father, beside his brother, to yet another tourney was not the highest on his agenda of to doâs, much less futile attempts to push him into armour. In which he refused.
Other than the wine, what he cared for most, what he was to busy staring at the whole time was you, his wife. Having you on his arm, even seated in the godforsaken rickety, old box, was some sort of miracle amidst the humdrum of cheers and screams ringing in his already aching head. You had calmed him, encouraging him out of bed with kisses and your touch to even drag him here yourself, and he did.. eventually. Behind his cups, his arm was still linked with yours, slumping in his chair as he watched on, sipping rather childishly as opposed to his cousin and brother riding gallantly out into the field.
It was almost laughable, perhaps thatâs how he viewed it himself, and yet you couldnât find it in you to want for anything else. He was comforted by you, content in where he was so long as you were there with no interruptions, everyone else too busy engrossed. But when can he truly catch a break, not here apparently.
By the time you had found a lull in the chatter, breathing in the distant smells of sweet cakes and perfumes, heavy boots crunched underfoot. Daeronâs eyes trailed before you could look up, pausing mid sip, a rare sight, to sit up straighter. He was met with an unwelcome sight, a knight around his age with a prideful look in his eye, staring right into your direction. His gaze lifted to you as he called out.
âFor our Princess, our Queen of Love and Beauty.â
The world seemed to thin for a moment, the loss of your arm as you stood at the edge of the wooden platform breaking his heart just a little. The man, so strong, so passionate in his words, so alluring it seemed as the flurry of young girls around giggled. You only nodded gratefully, taking it into your hands as you moved back beside your husband, he met your gaze and you shrugged.
For all of the insecurity and shame he may have felt within himself, the meaning of your stare meant more to him in that moment, it held affection for him more than it did any other, and he felt it. And he saw the way you kept the wreath in your lap, so shy and humble, he set his chalice aside, moving his fingers to wrap around it.
And just as the knight had no chance to, he leaned closer to you from over the arms of the chair, the flowers popping onto the top of your head by his hand. The bright smile crept up on his face through glassy eyes, âWhere it belongs, my love.â
You thanked him, bowing your head as he leaned in deeper for a kiss, your lips meeting expertly together in affection. And he meant every word.
masterlistââ ! â do not plagiarize, repost, or translate works without the knowledge or consent of the creator in other platforms or websites. â¶
He loves you so much. So so so fucking much. So much it hurts.
Like physicallyäžlike a hot knife twisting in his chest every time you blink those pretty eyes at him.
You could hand him a razor and point at his throat and he'd say thank you, he'd fucking thank you with his last breath because you're an angel and he's just the dirt under your nails.
He's not a bad guy, okay??!
He's a good boyfriend.
A devoted boyfriend.
He'd die for you. He'd kill for you. He'd crawl inside your chest and live between your ribs if it meant being closer, and that's romantic, that's soulmate shit, not creepy. Dont say its creepyăŒ
But then he hears you crying through the door, and his stomach drops.
Is someone hurting you? Did something happen? Was it himăŒdid he fuck up again?
He's already digging his own grave as he rushes to you, ready to do anything. anything, just make it stopâ
Oh...
Your shoulders are shaking. Your hair is messy and unbrushed because you've been too sad to care, your cheeks are flushed and wet and rosy, your nose running just a little, your mouthâgod, your mouthäžis pouty and swollen and suckable, like you've been biting your lip to keep the sobs inăŒ
He's supposed to comfort you. He knows that. That's what good boyfriends do. That's what he does.
He wraps his arms around you from behind, pulls you close, whispers "shh, shh, I'm here, I've got you." into your tangled hair. He's so good at this. He's so gentle. He's soäž
Oh fuck.
Oh no.
Oh no no no no no.
You're crying harder now, and your body is trembling against his, and he can feel every little shudder through his chest, his stomach, hisăŒ
He's hard. He's so fucking hard and he didn't mean to, he swears he didn't mean to.
He's a monster, a disgusting horrible boyfriend.
Who gets turned on when their girl is crying? Who does that? Whoâ
But you're so pretty when you cry.
And you're so needy right now, so broken and fragile and his, leaning into him like he's the only thing keeping you together, and he justâhe just needs a little friction, just a little, he'll be so gentle, you won't even noticeâ
He shifts his hips. Just barely. Presses himself against your lower back through your thin sleep shirt and his sweatpants and breathes.
"It's okay," he whispers, rubbing slow circles on your stomach while he rubs himself against you, just a little. just a tiny bit, he's still comforting you, he's still being good, he's stillâ
"I've got you. I've got you."
What the fuck is wrong with him?
He's a fucking creep.
A disgusting, pathetic, perverted piece of shit.
He hates himself. He hates himself so much it makes him even harder.
He's so fucking sorry. He's grinding, slow and subtle, biting his lip so hard it bleeds, using your sobs to cover the shaky little breaths he's taking against your hair.
You're crying more and more, and his pre cum is soaking through his boxers.
He's a good boyfriend.
Of course he's a good boyfriend!
He'd die for you. He'd kill himself if you found out, if you turned around and saw the wet spot on his jeans, the desperate, leaking outline of everything he's trying to hide.
Please don't notice.
Please don't hate him.
He loves you more than anything, he's justâfucked up, okay?
He's broken and sick and his balls are aching and you smell so good when you're sad, salty and warm and vulnerable, and he wants to lick the tears off your chin while he fuckâ
Oh god.
You just sniffled and arched a little and his dick jumped so hard he almost came right there, grinding against the fabric of your shorts like a dog in heat.
Please. Please let him cum first. Then you can hate him. Then you can scream at him and call him a freak and he'll go swallow a bottle of pills like he deserves.
But pleaseâ pleaseâ just let him rut against you for one more minute, just let him sliding into you while you're still hiccuping and broken and his.
And if you could just pretend not to feel itäžjust this onceâif you could just stay still and cry and let him use the sound of your pain to get off, he promises he'll never ask for anything again.
He'll comfort you properly in a minute, he swears.
