•sunny•

09/04/2007 >,> older women🧸older man dm!!

[medeia-themaiden]

hear me out, hold me back! Matteo Martari as older Aerion! Someone needs to cast this man as a Targaryen, have you seen his facecard?! Give him the hot wig silver hair!

[devinemist]

I hate when people ask me if im an introvert or an extrovert ..girl im a pervert😭😭😭😭😭

[captainfern]

If It Pleases You

Daeron Targaryen x fem!reader x Ser Duncan the Tall

✿ you and daeron want to take care of your favourite knight during a tourney (and dunk is more than happy to be cared for) ✿ 18+ ✿ wc: 8.5k ✿ cw: fem!reader, no y/n, reader is not physically described, reader has an undefined but established relationship with daeron, SMUT, dunkdaeron, threesome (paris is lovely this time of year), fingering, handjobs (yes plural), oral (m!receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, praise!! pet names (sweet girl, sweetheart, etc), m!masturbation, inexperienced!dunk, slightly more dom!daeron, a lot of making out i'm gonna be real, explicit alcohol consumption, wine play?, fluff and yearning, strong language, everyone is exactly where they want to be :)

a/n: this is written for the wonderfully talented @vekharious — happiest of happy birthdays !! this is for you, queen of dunkdaeron, i hope you enjoy <3

There’s a pleasant, amber-lit warmth around you as you recline back against the plush chaise, eyes dipping in the shadows of the tent. You nurse a cup of blackberry wine, remnants sticky and sweet between the grooves of your bottom teeth as you run the point of your tongue across them. You take a gentle breath, smelling the incense coiling out in thin, white wisps from the thurible suspended overhead: floral bergamot and the musk of something earthier. Shredded wildgrass. Rain on hot earth.

Languidly, your other hand cards through Daeron’s hair, fingers threading between the strands and rubbing along his scalp. His head rests in your lap, his eyes closed, his lips stained a reddish-purple from the wine and the press of your lips. He hums, a leonine purr from the depths of his chest, when the tips of your fingers run in circles along his temple.

He shifts, eyes blinking open to stare up at you. Beyond the canvas of the tent, the music of wandering bards clears the warm evening air of silence, matching birdsong with the plucking of strings and the drone of a wooden flute.

Wordlessly, you lower the cup to him, pressing it gently to his mouth and pouring some in. He drinks with his eyes on you the entire time, glassy and perfectly reflecting the candlelight over your shoulder.

“I’ve been thinking,” Daeron drawls after swallowing, eyes darting across the lines of your face.

“You’ve been thinking? That’s dangerous,” you comment softly, tugging at his hair. “Should I be worried?”

The prince rolls his eyes and continues, “Yes, yes, your jesting is hilarious. But, I have been thinking.”

You take a sip of wine. As you do, he watches the way your throat works around the swallow. His thoughts are softer around the edges, velveteen against the thick arch of his skull, and as his glazed eyes follow the wine down the drop of your throat, he feels his cock give a feeble jerk in his trousers.

You rub your fingers against the crown of his head, speaking when the silence stretches. “What have you been thinking, my prince?”

“Don’t my prince me.”

“You are my prince, are you not?”

Daeron huffs, and you smile down at him. You dip then, pressing your lips to his, the angle slightly awkward, but it doesn’t matter. The prince makes a noise from the back of his throat when your mouth drops to his, and he licks the overripe berries from your lips. He would’ve licked it from your teeth and your tongue too, but you pull away before he can deepen the kiss.

“What have you been thinking about, Daeron?” You repeat, his name so gentle rolling across your tongue. It’s a warm brush across his chest, like the feathering of fingers over his sternum. If he were less mortal, he may have started glowing, skin burning hot at the amorous lilt in that one word alone.

“Duncan,” he replies, almost breathless. The fingers in his hair are teasing, tugging, and he fights off the fluttering of his eyelashes as he looks up at you. “Ser Duncan.”

You peer down at him curiously.

A beat of silence passes, framed only by the distant strumming of a lute and the hammering of your heart against your ribs. The hand on his head shifts, and you swipe a stray lock away from his glistening eyes.

“Ser Duncan,” you say. It’s a statement. Firm and sound as the man who owns the name. The big oak of a man made up of sword callouses on his large hands and a stretching mass of shoulders beneath the thinning material of his tunic. You run your thumb over one of the prince’s eyebrows as you speak again. “And what about him?”

“He’s a big lad, isn’t he?” Daeron whispers out. “A good lad, too.”

“He is,” you agree without much thought.

Ser Duncan the Tall is a big lad. Carved from stone, fists of iron. His arms are thick, as are his shoulders, and his back, and his legs. He takes up space even when he hunches in poor attempts to make himself smaller. His chest and stomach are a solid mass of fat and muscle, soft to the touch which you had found out when, rather boldly—and rather drunkenly—you had placed a palm flat to his chest a few evenings ago. And gods, how he had blushed beneath the trailing of your hand over the solid bulk of his abdomen. Ser Duncan the Tall, a man who made you look bite-sized in comparison, all big and strong with a tendency to go bright red in the ears at the mercy of a pretty lady.

“Such a good lad,” Daeron murmurs, eyes finally closing as you trace the ridge of his browbone. The way he says it makes you smile around the rim of your cup as you take another mouthful of wine. Daeron opens his eyes at the movement, muttering, “Yeah?”

“He is,” you say again, dropping the cup to his face and pouring another decent amount of wine into his mouth. Your hand runs down his cheek, and you wipe a droplet from the corner of his mouth before it can roll down the side of his head. Thumb still at the corner of his mouth as he swallows, you ask, “And why exactly are you thinking about Ser Duncan?”

“I just thought—” the prince begins, almost sheepish, but the wine in his veins is honey-thick and warm, and that velvet brush of his thoughts isn’t bowing to any kind of sober shame. “—we could try something.”

You drink the rest of the wine, sediment swirling in the bottom of the cup as you place it to the side. The two bottles nearby roll empty against the ground. You let your pause linger as you listen to the combined plucking of chordophones somewhere across the camp.

“You want to try something with Ser Duncan?” You query, fingers feather-light as you trace over his cheekbone and the scar that sits there, gnarled but healed.

Daeron smiles. “Yes.”

“And… you think I would agree?”

Daeron continues to smile, but it grows. He reaches a hand, lazy in its movement, to cup the side of your head and bring you down to him once more. He kisses you then, gentle and sugared by blackberries, and there’s a subtle flick of his tongue against your lower lip. You huff into it, and he allows you to pull back. Looking down at him, your hand back in his hair now, you find him smiling still with a pink hue across his cheeks.

“Surely you’ve seen the way he acts around you,” Daeron says, hand trailing briefly over your throat, before tracing a line down your chest, between the valley of your breasts. He continues, “The man goes blood red when you so much as smile at him.”

You want to roll your eyes, but Daeron’s right. You know exactly how the knight shies away beneath your smile, beneath the sweep of your gaze, beneath the whisper of your praise.

Daeron’s hand stretches over the softness of your stomach, palm across your navel. “And he is such a good knight. Surely he deserves someone like you to care for him?”

You offer the prince a knowing smile. “And you wish to care for him as well?”

Daeron shrugs, the movement heavy against your thigh. He kneads at your stomach, and you puff, batting his hand away. He hums out a laugh before his head turns and he kisses your stomach through the thin linen of your chemise.

“If it pleases him,” Daeron murmurs against you. His cheeks are bright pink now, and you can’t help but skim your knuckles across it, feeling the heat prickling there. Daeron catches your hand and brings it to his mouth, kissing over the backs of your fingers. “So?”

A thick heat bundles tightly behind your navel at the thought of Ser Duncan and your prince and you. The wet kisses being left across the back of your perfumed hand aren’t helping the ache between your thighs either.

“You are very convincing, your grace,” you chide, free hand finding his hair and pulling his head back. He grunts, but takes it with lowering eyelids, watching you with the corners of his lips creeping upwards. You ignore the smug look on his face, bending to kiss him once more, lips brushing as you reply, “If it pleases him.”

—✿—

Ten minutes later, and slightly tipsy, you traipse out of your tent and across the camp, the blackberry wine hot in your veins. You shroud yourself in Daeron’s cloak, with your chemise exposed and hastily tucked into a pair of linen trousers, tied tightly around your waist. The material billows around your shins as you cross the encampment, peering through the darkness in search of Ser Duncan.

You follow the music, lured by the stringed quartet who gather beneath the golden lamplight in the opening of Lord Baratheon’s tent. You duck inside, smelling roasted meat and spilled ale, and you fight your way through the churning dancers until you reach the grand table at the very far end.

Lyonel raises his eyes from his supper, fork half-way to his mouth. His eyes twinkle, a few curls of his dark hair brushing messily over his eyes. With his other hand, he wipes them away as he addresses you by name.

“I thought you had retired for the evening,” Lyonel says, eyes trailing down your slightly dishevelled form. 

He bites the slab of meat from his fork and chews carefully as you wave off his comment, looking around the tent as you speak. “May you point me in the direction of Ser Duncan?”

Lyonel’s eyes are sparkling as he chews, then swallows. His grin is woolfish too. “Oh? Whatever for?”

Your gaze finds his and you challenge it, stern and unwavering. The liquid courage that builds like ichor in your blood is enough to chase any potential embarrassment away.

“Take a wild guess,” you say, cocking your head as you appraise him. And before he can make a wild guess—which, from experience, would be more than wild—you continue, “Do you know where he is or not?”

He takes a stab at another piece of meat, before gesturing vaguely with his fork towards the tent’s entrance. He shoves the piece into his mouth and says around the food, “I’ve put him and his boy in one of my tents for the night. He shouldn’t have gone too far, he left a mere few minutes ago.”

“Thank you, Lyonel,” you say, bending into a mocking curtsy. 

Lyonel barks out a laugh, tipping his head to you as you swivel and exit the tent. With your cloak billowing out behind you, you hurry across the encampment until the music has softened and you can make out footprints in the mud that are much bigger than everyone else’s. Ahead, Ser Duncan dips his head to avoid a lantern mounted to a post.

“Ser Duncan!” You call out to him, voice carrying honey-sweet through the warm, still air. 

He turns, slightly startled, just a few metres out from Lyonel’s tent. As you near, you notice the way his eyes widen at your state, taking in the thin material of your chemise, the well-stitched linen of your trousers, and the thick cloak that blankets your figure. He drops into a small bow as you approach, and you chuckle warmly.

“M’lady,” he greets, looking at you through those pretty light brown lashes you’d come to love staring at so much. He rises when you’re directly in front of him, forcing you to crane your head. No matter how tall you ever think you feel, Ser Duncan always makes you feel small. He clears his throat politely. “Are you alright?”

“I am,” you tell him, taking a step closer and feeling the heat radiating from his body. You watch his throat work around a swallow when you reach your hand out and gently touch the pillowy muscle of his bicep. You smile, blinking up at him. “Although, I wanted to ask something of you.”

“Of—” Dunk clears his throat again as if his mouth was too dry and his tongue too heavy. “—Of course, m’lady. Anything at all.”

You grin at that. “I was wondering if you’d like to join me and Daeron in his tent?”

Dunk’s eyes widen. Baby-blue but sparkling dark beneath the casting glow of the nearby lantern. His pupils stretch outwards, and you watch his irises cloud over as he considers the weight of your words. His eyes never stray from your face as your hand gently strokes up and down his bicep.

“I, uh, I mean, I’d… that would…” Dunk stutters, then stops, composing himself. His eyes flicker down to where your hand traces flat lines across the side of his arm, and then back to your face, where you blink up at him like a doe. He exhales a quick breath. “What would I—what would we do?”

“Drink, ideally,” you tell him, fingers drawing over his shoulder now. You reach, tracing line after line until you find the meat of his pec and you feel his breathing hitch beneath your touch. You continue quietly, “But we would like to take care of you, if that is something you’d also want.”

Dunk gapes at your boldness. “We?”

“We,” you assert with a firm nod. Your hand ghosts down one pec, thumb brushing his covered nipple. You’re tracing the hammering of his heart. “Me and Daeron. I must admit this was his idea, but if you are unwilling, that is absolutely fine. He and I will simply—”

Dunk shudders beneath your touch, and one of his large hands lifts slowly to wrap around your wrist. He stills your hand where you’d been drawing circles around his clothed nipple, and you peer up at him with a small smile etched across your face. He stares down at you, chest heaving, eyes scanning your face. Then, he spares a glance towards the tent.

He speaks facing away from you. “I am not unwilling.”

Your smile grows larger. “Yeah?”

The knight turns now, and his cheeks are pink. His ears are even pinker, and you coo up at him, lifting your other hand to feather the pads of your fingers across his cheekbone.

“I am willing,” he whispers, bending his head to draw in more of your touch. His eyes flutter closed as you cup the side of his face, feeling the heat of his blush and the subtle movement of his jaw as he speaks again. “I’m willing, m’lady.”

“Ah,” you say simply, drawing your hand away. His eyes open and he releases your wrist too. You pet his chest again. “He was right.”

“I beg your pardon?” There’s a tip of his head like a puppy.

“Daeron,” you say as if the name was gilded in gold. Perhaps, in many ways, it was. “He told me you were a good lad, and he was right.”

Something like a whine breaks out from the back of Dunk’s throat, and his eyes rise to scan the encampment, but no soul wanders in this direction. You notice the flush creeping down the column of his neck now, and you can’t help the heat that kindles behind your navel as you observe it.

Quickly, you withdraw your hand from his chest and offer the tall man your arm, which he takes without a second thought. He has to stoop slightly, which makes you chuckle.

“Come now, Ser Duncan.” You guide him towards your tent, earth churning beneath you.

The knight clears his throat. “Dunk is fine, m’lady.”

You peer up at him, patting his arm. “Dunk it is.”

—✿—

You pull the flap of Daeron’s tent aside and allow Dunk to duck in, his body hulking through the small opening. You fasten the canvas shut when you both stand inside, and you smile warmly, heart fluttering, as Dunk takes in the interior of the tent with awe. He gapes at the high ceilings draped in blacks and crimsons, the suspended lanterns, and the ornate thurible that overflows with white, bergamot-scented smoke.

Across the room, Daeron lounges much like you left him, stretched across the cushioned, ground-level chaise like a sun-drunk cat. His tunic is gone though, abdomen exposed to the lanterns and candles that fill the tent with a sunset glow. The prince opens his eyes, drawn by the movement, and the smile that pulls across his handsome face is nothing less than excited.

“Ser Duncan,” he utters, low and heady through the shadows, and the tone hits you straight in the bottom of your stomach, heat seeping between your legs as you wrap your arms around Dunk’s arm.

“Dunk,” you correct tenderly, pressing your cheek to his bicep. Your hands drift down his arm, fingers interlocking either side of his hand. You speak to the prince, still separated by metres of intricately-spun Myrish carpet. “Would like us to take care of him.”

Dunk couldn’t blush any harder if he tried.

The smile on Daeron’s face stretches even wider as he sits up and leans against the back of the chaise.

“Perfect,” he whispers, reaching across to secure a new bottle of blackberry wine.

You gently lead Dunk over to the chaise, and he lumbers behind you with his hand in yours. He inhales deeply, smelling the powdery incense and the sweet, perfumed oil on your skin as you remove your hand from his and shrug the cloak from your shoulders. Daeron gestures to the chaise, and Dunk lowers himself with a stiff grunt as you stand before him, pulling apart the knots of your trousers.

Daeron hands the knight a cup then uncorks the wine. “Ser?”

“Please,” Dunk whispers, barely aware of his own voice. 

His eyes linger on the prince, whose hair is perfectly dishevelled and framing his pretty, amber-lit face. After a moment, his eyes flit to yours, and he lets the prince pour wine into his cup as he watches the trousers drop from you, leaving you in just your thin chemise. He swallows, eyes snapping to the dark burgundy wine swirling around his cup.

Dunk takes a sip and is pleasantly surprised. It tastes nothing of the ale or cider he’s used to. It’s rich and sweet and perfectly fermented. Blackberries and sugar, but there’s a berry tartness to it too that lingers along the sides of his tongue. It tastes expensive.

You settle at his other side, and you are so close to him. Dunk can feel the press of your breasts against his arm as you lean to take the cup offered by the prince, and he can feel the shifting of your breathing before you take a sip. Daeron is close to him too, head parallel to his shoulder leaning back against the cushioned chaise. The strumming of instruments from Lyonel’s tent filters through the thick canvas, and the knight downs his entire cup as nerves begin clawing up the inside of his chest.

“There’s no need to be nervous,” Daeron chides suddenly, leaning his head against Dunk’s shoulder. He blindly reaches for the wine and pours more into Dunk’s empty cup. “You are a good knight, Ser Duncan. An honorable one at that. Don’t you think you deserve to be taken care of?”

Dunk’s heart beats wildly against his sternum. Granting him time to think, he takes another deep sip of wine. He feels slightly dizzy already, but he’s not sure if it’s the wine he’s chugged or the heady incense that clouds above his head.

“I don’t think so, your grace,” Dunk answers after a moment. “I don’t think I deserve—”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” you add, hand finding his chest again. It’s still over his heart. A resting comfort that does nothing to cool his heated blood. You smile up at him. “You’re a good knight. The best knight.”

Dunk shakes his head, a small dip in his brow. “I don’t—”

“Our favourite knight,” Daeron interrupts, watching as Dunk drinks his second cup of wine. The prince is already holding the bottle, and he refills the cup quickly, noticing the flaming flush across the giant’s face and neck. “You’re a good knight, aren’t you, ser?”

Dunk looks between you both. You feel him shudder beneath the press of your palm.

“Yes,” he responds meekly, then takes another drink from his cup.

You do as well. As does Daeron, and you and the prince exchange a knowing glance over the rims of your cups as you all drink. A quiet moment passes, the song beyond the tent changes tempo, and suddenly the heat inside you is just that. Heat. A blistering need spreading wild through your diaphragm as you finish your cup—you forgot how many you’ve had—and place it aside.

“Dunk…” You draw out, hand balling in his shirt now.

“Hm?” He hums, mouth full.

“Can I take this off you please?”

You tug at his tunic. He swallows, nearly choking on it, and nods. Smiling, you snatch the hem and tug it over his head, stretching to pull it from his arms too, leaving him bare in the warmth of the tent. You hum, pleased, two hands finding the mounds of his pecs as he reclines against the back of the chaise.

“So strong…” You mutter, squeezing the fat there. 

It makes Dunk groan, his pink-stained lips parting as he watches your fingers work across the muscle of his chest. You grip, palms flat over his nipples, watching the shift of skin and flesh. Daeron watches too, enraptured, before a scheming smile splits across his face and he holds his cup near Dunk’s collar bones. He pours a little then, and you watch with wide eyes as a trickle of wine falls across Dunk’s chest and slips between his pecs.

Dunk groans. “Oh gods.”

“Don’t make a mess now, sweetheart,” Daeron chuckles as you dip and catch the wine with the point of your tongue. You flatten it, just at Dunk’s sternum, and begin licking upwards, trailing back between his pecs and cleaning the blackberry from his skin. Daeron purrs, head resting against Dunk’s shoulder still, smiling proudly. “That’s good…”

Dunk cranes his head upwards so you can suck the remnants from the dip of his collarbone. Then you pull back, holding most of the wine on your tongue. You look at the knight imploringly, but he shifts his head, looking down at the prince.

Daeron nods. “Go on.”

Dunk grunts, a sound of unbridled relief, as he lowers his head and slots his mouth against yours. His lips are warm and surprisingly soft, and they move against yours slowly, timidly. You clutch the muscle of his chest as you crawl over into his lap properly, straddling the mass of his thighs as your mouths move. When his lips split open just enough, you swipe your tongue in, and it’s met with a low groan.

Daeron drinks and watches, but his free hand slinks upwards until he can take a fistful of Dunk’s hair, massaging the back of the knight’s head. Dunk groans again and his tongue meets yours, firm and salt-licked, and you smother it with blackberry wine. One of your hands trails off Dunk’s chest and dips lower, brushing over the hair that thickens beneath his navel in a messy line. You rub your palm over it, and you feel the contraction of muscle beneath fat, and that draws your heartbeat heavily between your spread legs.

Casually, Daeron reaches around where you and Dunk connect and takes the cup from the knight. Dunk makes a noise into your mouth, some kind of gruff acknowledgement, before both of his hands find your hips. They’re warm and solid and big.

“Alright, ser, c’mon now,” Daeron mutters and pulls at Dunk’s hair. The knight swallows his moan as he’s yanked away from your mouth, and you hide a giggle at the blush painting his cheeks and the glaze across his bright blue eyes. All cups are long forgotten now, and Daeron’s hand finds the back of your neck before he’s bringing you towards him. “We have to share the lady, yes?”

Dunk nods dumbly, the movements sluggish, as you smile and slot your mouth against the prince’s while one of your hands continues to trace the line of his trousers. Daeron’s mouth is firmer than Dunk’s, more experienced. His tongue pushes in harder, more incessantly, and his lips shift against yours with a speed you’ve only recently gotten used to. It’s messy and loud, and the prince moans wantonly into your mouth, the sound ricocheting off the tent’s canvas.

Dunk watches and you feel the stirring of his cock beneath the material of his trousers. Blindly, your hand drags down and you press your palm flat to the outline of his hardening cock. The knight sucks in a sudden breath, eyes on where you and Daeron kiss, hiding a groan as the warm pressure of your hand bears down on him.

You take your other hand, previously kneading across the thick fat of Dunk’s chest, and place it across Daeron’s lap too: his cock tenting his linen trousers and aching. He huffs into your mouth and you catch the sound with the tip of your tongue. After a moment, both of your palms working against fabric, you pull away, and Daeron gives you one last wet kiss on the corner of your mouth before he turns his attention to Dunk, who stares at the two of you like you were born from the heavens above.

“Dunk…” Daeron drawls, snatching his nearby cup and quickly downing the rest of his wine. It remains pink on his lips as he tosses the cup across the tent—the sound of it clattering making you roll your eyes—and turns his attention to Dunk. The knight snaps his gaze from you to him, enraptured. Daeron smiles, taking a hand and running a couple of fingers down the curve of Dunk’s jaw. “I would like to try something.”

Dunk’s eyes find yours for a split second. “With me?”

“With you,” the prince affirms with a molasses-thick lilt, fingers sliding down the side of Dunk’s neck. “If it pleases you, of course.”

In the amber light, candles and lanterns glowing like dozens of little suns, Dunk’s pupils swell even more. His attention flits from Daeron, to you, then back to Daeron, tracing the lines of the prince’s face, before ultimately settling on his mouth. You smile, heat unravelling in the depths of your belly, heartbeat thick between your thighs, while you continue to grind your hands against both men’s obvious bulges.

A high-pitched trill from the distant flute swirls through the tent like birdsong. Silence stretches, and then another ballad commences with a clamouring of singing voices and a dramatic strum of a lute.

A single beat of your heart passes before Dunk slowly, slowly nods, and the smile that cracks across Daeron’s face is utterly victorious. You feel the ache of your own wide smile as you remove your hands and take a fistful of each man’s hair, knuckles firm against the backs of their heads. Dunk groans, and Daeron’s smile grows wicked as you press them closer, closer, and closer still, until they both close their eyes and their mouths meet hot in front of you. Daeron’s hand stays firm on the side of Dunk’s neck as he presses inwards, mouth moving. A small, whimper-like sound slips from between the knight’s wine-stained lips as Daeron’s tongue pushes in. His hands tighten on your hips as Daeron kisses him, kneading the flesh at the top of your arse.

“That’s it, that’s so good, Dunk,” you whisper, tugging lightly on his hair. 

He whines in response, eyes blinking open as he angles his head to look at you—but Daeron doesn’t let him get far, pulling the knight down by the side of his neck and slamming their mouths back together. Dunk groans, eyes falling closed once more, and you can’t help the chuckle that escapes you as you remove your hands.

You shift in Dunk’s lap, leaning across to take the ties of Daeron’s trousers apart. They hang loosely around his hips, the knots falling apart easily, and still tongue-deep inside Dunk’s mouth, the prince lifts his hips for you. You bite down on your lower lip, another hot flash sounding through your belly, as you pull Daeron’s trousers down. He’s not wearing breeches—following your drunken round together prior to Dunk’s arrival—and his hard cock flops out hard against the lines of his abdomen.

You take it in hand, feeling the velvet-warmth of his skin, the head flushing a deep, bruising red as pre-cum pearls at the slit. The prince moans like a whore, loud and unabashed, into Dunk’s mouth as you swipe your thumb across the head, then trace it down the dip of his frenulum.

Daeron breaks the kiss and immediately slams his mouth to yours, and the sound that leaves Dunk’s throat sounds more akin to a wounded animal than a knight of the realm.

“Oh, praise the seven,” he mutters, cock throbbing in his trousers as he watches you stroke the prince’s cock as you kiss. That makes you smile, and you rip yourself from Daeron and take hold of the laces of Dunk’s trousers. You look at the knight, imploring, asking, and he nods too fast and too eager. But you love it. “Please, love, please.”

Daeron licks and sucks down the side of your neck as you pull the knight’s trousers apart. You do the same with his breeches. His hips lift momentarily, and you move awkwardly in his lap to pull his trousers and breeches down the thick mass of his thighs, bunching them near his knees as his cock falls free, thick and heavy and wet against his leg.

“Fuck,” you can’t help but breathe, and Daeron picks himself out of your neck. You reach forward and wrap your fingers around Dunk, both hands full now. He groans thickly, head rolling back against the chaise, as you slink your fingers up to the blushing head. You whisper, “Gods, Dunk, it’s—you’re so big.”

Dunk groans again. More embarrassed this time. His ears are bright red.

Daeron hums, delighted, and shoots a hand down too. He meets yours, brushing over your fingers as he wraps his own hand around the thick of Dunk’s cock, feeling the hot pump of blood and the subtle give of the velvety skin.

“You’ll split her apart,” Daeron mutters, speaking as if you weren’t right next to him. He leans his head back against Dunk’s shoulder, peppering the skin he could reach with soft kisses, before speaking again. “But she’ll take you, lad—” his eyes flit to you. “—she always does.”

Dunk groans at the prince’s words, righting his head to watch both of your hands work up and down the length of his leaking cock. You work together—Daeron leaning across to spit a blackberry-stained glob of saliva over the knight’s tip—in taking Dunk apart stroke by stroke. The poor knight shakes beneath you, chest shuddering, lips parted as whine after whine erupts from the back of his throat.

“You’re so pretty, Dunk,” you tell him, leaning forward to kiss the dip in his brow. He inclines his head, pleading, and you whisper against his lips before kissing him properly: “And you’re such a good knight.”

Daeron sucks a mark onto Dunk’s freckled shoulder, eyelids low as he watches his hand and yours stroke up and down, slick with spit and pre-cum. He bites off a moan, his cock jerking in your fingers as you move your hands at the same time. His breathing begins to pick up, a heat firing up in his belly as his eyes find where you and Dunk lick the wine from each other’s teeth.

“Alright, sweetheart,” Daeron says, and you pull away to listen. He takes hold of your chemise, and you break your hold on them for a split second so he can pull it over your head. Dunk groans, one hand immediately shifting to cup one of your tits. Pawing, kneading. Daeron continues, “Y’wanna let our knight stretch you out on his fingers?”

Dunk’s eyes widen.

You nod. “Please.”

Daeron grabs Dunk’s wrist, pulling it away from your chest and instead redirecting it between your split legs. You continue to straddle the knight’s lap as Daeron slides two of Dunk’s thick fingers over your mound then down between your thighs, tips brushing over the puffy bead of your clit. You keen, feeling the heat of your slick—and remnants of Daeron’s cum—as Dunk’s fingers dip over your clit and spread your folds apart under Daeron’s guide.

The knight moans. “This is—oh, she’s—”

“Soaked,” Daeron mutters, pushing Dunk’s fingers against your hole. You suck in a breath. As does Dunk. Daeron purrs, other hand squeezing the base of Dunk’s cock. “She’s soaked, Dunk. All for you—our good knight.”

“Our favourite knight,” you add, the final syllables stretching out into a moan as Daeron urges Dunk to press his fingers inside. Blunt and heavy and thick, spreading you apart. A dull ache builds across your womb, your thighs trembling slightly as two sword-calloused fingers push in, in, in, and then curl. You don’t know how he knows to do that, but he does, and he finds that perfect spot inside you that makes you yowl. “Oh my—ah f-fuck, Dunk, oh gods.”

His cock jerks in your hold, his chest heaving as your pussy clamps tight around his fingers. It’s unlike anything he’s felt before. Lush and silken, all vice-like around his fingers as he slowly pumps them in and out. Daeron’s fingers circle around his wrist, leading his movements.

Stuttering out a breath, you slowly wriggle your hips to meet the rutting of his fingers. You continue to stroke him too, and you feel him twitch again when your pussy flutters. A minute of this lapses before Daeron removes his hand and angles his head to the side, facing the knight, imploring with a batter of his eyelashes.

Dunk grunts but obliges without a second thought. As he splits you apart on his fingers, he dips his head to kiss the prince on his own accord. His mouth moves firmer this time, more confident. He’s finding his feet. Daeron responds to the knight’s eagerness with a lewd moan, his fingers jerking over Dunk’s cock again.

Dunk pulls to the side, panting. “Wait, wait, I can’t—”

Daeron shushes him, kissing his cheek, “I know, Dunk, I know, s’okay.”

And with that, Daeron withdraws his hand. You do as well, whimpering quietly as you place it back against Dunk’s chest for anchorage. Dunk’s head rolls back, eyes to the canvased ceiling, and he groans: half in pain, half in relief. Ghost-like tendrils of bergamot and wildgrass float just above his head, and when he exhales, now completely focused on the warm, wet heat around his fingers, the smoke shifts and dances in the lantern light.

“Add a third,” Daeron suddenly says, voice commanding but drunkenly tender.

Dunk listens. Of course he listens.

A third finger pushes inside you unceremoniously. You moan, gasping simultaneously, nails digging bluntly into the fat of Dunk’s pec. Daeron grins, watching Dunk’s fingers disappear inside you as his hand wraps around yours, helping you fist his own cock. The response Dunk has to your sounds is feverish—his head whips down and he slams his mouth to yours, although it’s mostly tongue and spit and a brief clash of teeth. You both whimper, but the kiss lasts less than five seconds before Daeron is removing your hand from his cock and urging you off Dunk’s lap.

You pout in protest. “Daeron—”

Dunk’s expression is much the same. “M’lord—”

“Gods, you’re like puppies,” Daeron chides, easing you off Dunk’s lap. The knight’s fingers slip from the clutch of your cunt, pulling a thick web of slick with them. You mewl at the loss, the emptiness, and Dunk’s wet hand instantly finds the fat of your arse as Daeron shuffles back, pulling you onto your hands and knees. The prince continues, “Here we go, Ser Duncan. Let us take care of you.”

Daeron cradles the back of your head as he settles you across the chaise, your elbows and knees pressing deep into the cushions. He presses your face against his thigh.

Dunk sits up immediately, his pout gone. Instead, awe spreads thick and fast across his handsome face as he kneels behind you. One large hand paws the fat of your arse, the curve of your hip, whilst the other clasps near the head of his cock as he drags it lightly down the split of your arse.

He moans your name. “Oh this—this is—”

“Be a good lad, Dunk,” Daeron begins, massaging circles along the nape of your neck as he wipes the head of his cock against your mouth. You’ve lifted your head now, smelling the musk of his skin and floral bergamot as you wet your lips. “You’re going to listen to your prince, okay?”

Your pussy clenches around nothing at Daeron’s words, and they’re not even directed at you. The heat behind your navel burns hotter, and hotter still as the tip of Dunk’s cock messily slides down between your folds.

“Yeah,” Dunk breathes out, nodding. His eyes are glazed over and a few loose strands of hair cling to his sweaty forehead.

“Good,” Daeron says, finally feeding his cock into your mouth. You part your lips and lax your jaw, moaning low as the prince slides in. Fending off a moan of his own, he whispers, “Push in just a little. Just the tip—oh, yeah, that’s a good lad…”

Daeron’s sentence shifts mid-air as Dunk immediately heeds his instructions: sliding the head of his cock against your hole, tracing it once with a clumsy circle, before pushing inside.

You moan around Daeron’s cock. Your heart slams against your sternum and the heat in your stomach festers into an ache. It’s a viscous need that claws up your diaphragm, set alight where he slowly pries your pussy apart. Behind you, Dunk shakes—a full body tremor as he holds himself, the tip of his cock buried inside you. His balls twitch and a heavy tension is already settling deep in his bones, his joints, as he feels you pumping warm around him.

“Is this okay?” He whispers, glassy eyes falling up the dip of your spine. “Is this—am I doing okay?”

You say something, but it’s garbled around the thick of Daeron’s cock, your words shoved back down your throat as the prince holds you by the back of the neck. Daeron laughs, a deep, rolling hum as he pets you, hips twitching and angling his cock even deeper down your throat.

“So good,” Daeron mutters, answering for you. The distant music changes again with a loud drumming of fingers against wood. Daeron smoothes his other hand down your back. “Y’can go all the way now. She’ll take you.”

You moan around his cock, tongue writhing over the warm skin. The prince’s eyes fall to you and you exchange a glance. He smiles.

Dunk groans loudly, the timbre shaking the candles nearby as he slowly pushes his hips forward. There’s a tensing in his lower stomach, up the muscles of his thighs as he tips himself against your arse, cock bullying open the clutch of your cunt. You moan again—the slide of him drawing the air from your lungs as your lips wrap around Daeron’s tip—and he whimpers.

“Oh g–gods above, this—oh, fuck, this is—you’re so—” Stinging hot with his blush, the knight struggles to string his sentence together. 

It makes your pussy flutter, something flipping low in your stomach as the heat inside you spreads further. It pulls tight as Dunk continues to feed his cock into you, prying you apart.

“Tight?” Daeron suddenly finishes for him as he begins guiding you up and down his length. Your hand works around the base, smoothing over the curve of his balls as your head moves beneath the press of his hand.

Dunk groans, eyes still closed as he nods. “Yeah, yes, shit, she’s—”

He bottoms out then, pelvis flat against the curve of your arse, his hands gripping the jut of your hips as though you mean to flee him. It’s vice-like, almost too tight. You fight off another moan as Daeron edges down your throat, cock twitching against your tongue as Dunk cuts his sentence off with a whimper.

His cock is thick inside you. The width of him splits you apart, and he reaches so far that the pressure inside you stretches from your womb to your chest. It makes you shake, thrumming like the string of a lute, trembling slightly as you arch for him. He opens his eyes and finds where your pussy takes him. His cock jerks inside of you, and you moan around the prince’s cock.

“She’s the best you’ll ever have,” Daeron begins, still drawing shapes across your arching back as the knight pulls himself from you. He thrusts back in, almost like he’s afraid to hurt you, as Daeron reaches across to paw at the flesh of your arse—simultaneously shoving his cock further down your throat. He ignores the way you gag. “My prettiest girl. Always so good for me—and now she’s being so good for you, isn’t she, Dunk?”

Sweat clings high on Dunk’s forehead, cheeks pink as he begins rolling his hips. His thrusts slowly build in pace, and his heart flips in his chest at Daeron’s words. Nodding dumbly—that’s all he feels he can do—he mutters out a string of, “yes, so good, so good, such a good girl,” as he fucks you atop the cushioned chaise.

Daeron’s hand returns to tracing across the warm skin of your back. He writes his name, his full name and title, not that you can discern that anyway.

Dunk’s thrusts are sporadic in their pressure, and it makes you whine around Daeron’s cock, trying to get the prince’s attention with your lips spread wide around him. The warmth gathering in your womb is there, festering, as your clit throbs with the weight of your pulse. He’s so close to getting it perfect—your best knight, trying so hard to please you.

You manage to catch the prince’s eye when he finally looks away from the huffing knight. His cheeks flame pink, matching the blackberry wine that clings to his lips. He coos, knowing, then directs another lilting order across your body and onto the burning red ears of Dunk.

“You won’t hurt her,” he says. “Go harder.”

Dunks looks over at the prince. “Harder?”

Daeron nods, and so Dunk listens. His fingers tighten on your hips as he pulls out, resting just inside you, before inclining in at such a force you topple forward onto Daeron’s lap. The prince groans, content, as he cradles your head against his lap while you moan around his cock. Dunk grunts as he sets his pace, the sounds bearish as the hazy cloud of incense churns like a thinning stormcloud above his head. The fat of your arse shifts, rippling as he fucks you into the chaise.

Then, he finds the spot that has your eyes rolling. The thick, blunt head of his cock nails it and, by the gods, he feels you tighten around him, and he sees your arch deepen. So he chases it: he chases the high-pitched keens stuck in your throat, and he chases the fluttering of your cunt around him, and he chases the way you rock your hips back to meet each of his thrusts. And the entire time he chases, hounding your pleasure, Daeron praises him, and that sets his pulse thundering in his ears.

“That’s a good lad… that’s it, y’doing so well for us,” the prince utters as he continues to guide your head up and down. “You’re making her feel so good, Dunk.”

You keep your mouth lax, but can barely keep up with him since Dunk’s all but forcing you towards release. You feel it building like stone in the base of your spine. And you know your knight is much the same as, despite his stamina, his thrusts slowly begin to falter.

“Please,” he mutters, practically holding you up now. “Please, sweet girl, I’m—gods, you feel so good. You’re just—you’re so good.”

You whine around Daeron’s cock, saliva stringing wet from the corners of your mouth.

“Yeah, that’s it, Dunk, she’s close,” he drawls, hand shifting from your back to your chest so he can palm at your tits. “Lean forward for me.”

Dunk does as he’s told, and he and the prince meet in the middle. Thanks to Dunk’s height, their mouths slot together easily, a clash of steel and sharpened swords. It’s rough and wet and loud, and the fact you can’t see them makes you writhe between them, both your mouth and your cunt stuffed full. You’re spit-roasted, strung out tight between their bodies as their tongues meet.

“Such a good listener,” you hear Daeron mumble against Dunk’s mouth. Then, they’re kissing again and you’re left shaking. 

Dunk’s cock ruts into you, knocking right up beside the plug of your cervix, drawing a thick, incandescent pressure from the base of your spine. It settles right at the bottom of your womb as you gag around Daeron’s cock, and as tears begin blurring your vision, the pressure mounts, and mounts, until you’re moaning loud around Daeron.

Both men pull apart at the same time to watch you come apart. Your release hits you hard, and Daeron pulls his cock from your mouth, resting your head against his thigh so you can moan “Dunk, Dunk, fuck, oh gods, nnngh—”

“There she is,” Daeron says as he pets the side of your face. His other hand is quick to rut down his length, fucking his fist as he coos down at you. “That’s my girl, taking it so well.”

The muscles in Dunk’s jaw jump as he grits his teeth, fucking you through it. He bullies his cock into you, losing his sense of self the more your heat consumes him. The way your pussy clamps around him, pulsing like the beating of his heart, makes him dizzy. The need he has for you is sickly sweet and he can taste it where he bites his teeth together. He needs you. He needs this again, and again, and again—

“Stuff her full, Ser Duncan,” Daeron says, but the order is breathy as he runs the head of his leaking cock over your cheek as you fizzle down from your high. His fist moves quickly, and Dunk can hear the wet shlick-shlick-shlick as the prince’s head rolls back against the chaise. “Spill inside her. I want you t’feel how well she takes it. How well she takes you.”

Dunk’s a pyre and Daeron the match, his words igniting all that Dunk had been holding back. With a guttural groan, nearly a growl the way it claws out of his throat, Dunk slams you down hard onto his hips—the motion drawing a tired hiccup from you—before his cock jerks. He buries himself to the hilt, stretching you apart, then moans your name like it’s the only word he knows.

“Sweet girl, sweet girl—ah, gods, m’coming, m’coming,” the knight rambles, then spills right up against the base of your womb.

It comes in thick, viscous spurts. You whine, nuzzling your face against the short, coarse hair across Daeron’s thigh.

The knight’s sounds, which have now dissolved into meek whines as his balls draw up and he pumps himself inside you, spur the prince on. Daeron moans your name, followed by a quick “Dunk, fuck,” before he’s spilling over his knuckles and painting the dewy skin of your cheek. You feel some splatter all sticky across your eyebrow too.

Dunk shudders behind you, shoulders heaving as he catches his breath. His cock rests deep inside you, plugging his seed at the base of your cervix as you tremble against him. Dizzy, he reaches across you to stroke a tender hand down your back while Daeron slides the leaking head of his cock through the cum splattered across your cheek.

A minute of panting passes before Dunk slowly removes his cock from the clutch of your pussy—much to your shared chagrin as you both let out a similar sound. He whines, watching his seed spill out of you, and you whine at the feeling of it seeping like molasses through your folds.

Daeron pats your cheek, smearing his cum across your face even more, and the stickiness against your skin and the feel of it growing tacky when you open your mouth makes you cringe.

“Daeron,” you mutter, but it’s not as firm as you wanted it to be.

Dunk collapses back onto the chaise and, much to your surprise, pulls you with him. He collects you with one strong arm around your middle and hefts you like your body mass is no more than a kitten’s. You mewl like one though, shocked and slightly sore, as he bundles you into his side and tucks his chin against the top of your head. You curl into him and he’s boiling hot.

Dunk beckons the prince with a crook of his finger too, and Daeron shuffles across the chaise—slightly unsteady, teetering nearly—before settling half on top of you. You don’t argue as he plasters himself against you, Dunk’s arm reaching around him too.

You trace the freckles across Dunk’s pec as you speak, “You alright?”

Dunk blinks down at you, dazed. “Am… I alright?”

You look up at him and smile. “Yeah.”

“Aye, m’more than alright,” he answers quickly. “M’grand, sweet girl. Are—I wasn’t too rough with you, was I? I didn’t want to—”

“You were perfect,” Daeron interrupts the knight’s stuttering, speaking for you as one of his hands—still damp with cum and spit—takes hold of one of your breasts. He kneads the flesh like he so often does when you lie together like this. “If you weren’t, she wouldn’t’ve come screeching like a wild cat.”

You roll your eyes and Dunk goes even redder.

“You were perfect,” you say gentler than Daeron. You shoot your prince a pointed look—which he counters with a soft kiss to your forehead—before you shift and press a kiss to the patch of skin just above Dunk’s nipple. “You did so well, Dunk. Our good knight.”

“Our perfect knight,” Daeron adds through a purr. 

In response, Dunk takes his hand and threads his fingers through Daeron’s hair, clutching the prince tightly as he dips his head. They share a kiss, any remnants of blackberry wine licked clean by now. A moment passes before you whine, and Dunk can’t help but chuckle as he breaks the kiss and dips even lower, kissing you too.

“I suppose you’ll fight for the honour of both a prince and a lady on the morrow, won’t you?” Daeron mutters, dragging his mouth down the column of Dunk’s neck while the knight kisses you, sucking and biting at the sun-kissed skin.

You hum against Dunk’s mouth, adding with a smile, “And when you win, you’ll have both a prince and a lady waiting to congratulate you.”

Dunk’s cock jerks against his thigh. He couldn’t go any redder even if he tried.

———

oui merci omfg take me to paris pleaseeee

[norabraveseeker]

[agentmilayawithshield]

in Westeros, you're not allowed to be the eldest son with a facecard they immediately end you

[redheadedflag]

me when im on "x reader tag" looking for fics at 3 am BUT all i find is memes and all the funny posts under the world EXCEPT the fics abt the character :

[hirollo]

I love characters that are in desperate need of more screen time…..

(what in the multiverse)

[rinsyear]

wanna sext someone while i touch myself under my sheets like a dirty girl

[ladythedrunken]

I feel like Daeron Lovers are so few compared to all the other targs in the show

[rednnedy]

Hey gorgeous, first of all i wanted to say that i love everything you write <3

In the new RE game there’s 2 end options and one of them is Grace destroying Elpis (i don’t want to say what happen when we choose this option in case i spoil) i wanted to know if you could write something for it as Leon x wife reader ? Sherry telling what happened or maybe even Grace going to see the wife after Leon asked her to do it in case something happened to him.

Lot of love.

xoxo

LOSS OF MY LIFE ✹ Leon Kennedy

SUMMARY: Leon was supposed to come back home after his mission. However, things don't go as expected and, instead, you receive a visit from Sherry to break up news to you, as well as a USB flash drive Leon gave to her in case he died ‼️ RE9 SPOILERS. ANGST: major character deaths, mentions of suicide ✹ PAIRINGS: RE9 Leon Kennedy x Wife!Reader ✹ Find me on AO3 ✹ Join my WHATSAPP CHANNEL ✹ My RESIDENT EVIL MASTERLIST ✹ Make your RESIDENT EVIL REQUESTS here (information included) 💬 Long time no see... hope you're all doing good. It wasn't the best time for me but here we go again. Missed writing and post for all of you, so I hope you like this one even it's a bit... sad 🫂

Your youngest daughter fell asleep on the couch over an hour ago, clutching to one of Leon’s old hoodies and not caring the slightest you’d told her it wasn’t bedtime yet.

Your eldest, however, was sitting at the kitchen table, pretending to do her homework while her gaze kept going toward the front door, waiting for her father to come back.

You couldn’t blame her.

You’d been doing the same ever since you received a message from Sherry saying that things had got complicated.

Before leaving, Leon’d told you something like this might happen, but he always said that, and it never actually did, so you didn’t think much about it and just laughed at his occurrence.

Since the moment he walked out the door, since you watched him drive off in the Porsche to who knows where because, of course, he hadn’t told you where he was going or what he was going to do, your mind had been running through a thousand different scenarios. The only thing you knew was that he desperately needed to find out what was killing him and the rest of Raccoon City survivors, and how he could stop that illness that was consuming them faster and faster.

Leon, as stubborn as ever, had refused to sit back and do nothing or send someone else in his place.

He wanted to put an end to everything himself, specially for you and for your daughters.

In the past, his future had been taken from him, but now he refused to let that happen again.

“Mom?”

You turn around and look at your eldest daughter, who is nervously chewing on her pen.

“Dad… he’s on his way, right? Do you think there’ll be much traffic? Maybe he’s coming tomorrow morning while we’re at school…”

You swallow with difficulty.

“You know your dad’s always late. Don’t you know him? Bet he’s taking his time.”

You force a smile and try to sound as convincing as possible, though it’s pointless.

A few minutes later, you hear the sound of a car engine on your street getting closer. You don’t expect it to be Leon, but the moment a pair of headlights lights up the living room window, you can’t help but sigh in relief.

“He’s finally here,” you whisper, quickly standing up and heading to the door.

Your youngest daughter’s still asleep, but your eldest mirrors you, jumping up from her chair and practically running after you, relief written all over her face.

That changes the moment you open the front door. 

Instead of Leon’s Porsche, you see a dark green Skoda, one you know all too well, and then you see someone you know just as well stepping out of it.

Sherry looks deathly pale and completely exhausted, as if she hasn’t slept in days. You can see how hard it’s for her to walk toward you, how her lips seem to move as she looks for the right words.

Your whole body goes still except for your eyes, darting around in search of your husband. Leon must have come back with her. He has to have. Maybe he just fell asleep in the car, or maybe he got hurt and, before coming to see you, she took him to the hospital…

Your stomach churns the moment Sherry finally stands in front of you and all she can do is shake her head.

“Where’s dad?” your daughter asks, confused.

As you already expected, Sherry doesn’t answer her.

All she does is finally look at you.

She doesn’t need to say anything for you to understand what happened.

“Can I come in?” she asks, her voice breaking.

You grip the doorknob tightly while your mind screams at you to say no, to tell her to fuck off and go away because letting her in would make everything become real.

You don’t want reality to hit you yet.

“Of course… Yeah, come in…” you finally say, betraying your own mind.

Sherry steps inside but doesn’t dare move past the hallway. You notice how she plays with her hands, nervously, and how her eyes stay fixed on the floor, not able to meet yours again.

Your daughter, however, goes from being confused to being quite frightened, as if she already knew what was coming.

“Sherry. Where’s dad?” she repeats.

The blonde opens her mouth, but closes it again when she realizes she can’t bring herself to say it.

You’re so confused, so desperate, so on edge that your sense of time completely slips away. You don’t know how much time passes, or how many times you hear your daughter begging Sherry to tell her where Leon is.

“What happened?”

You don’t even realize you’ve said it out loud until Sherry steps closer and pulls you into a tight hug.

“I’m so, so sorry…”

You pull away from her immediately, too abruptly. When you look at her again, you see tears streaming down her face with no shame.

“No… Sherry, don’t say that…”

Your daughter looks at both of you, then at her little sister, still asleep on the couch.

“Say what, mom? Sherry: dad’s okay, right?”

“Leon…” Sherry begins cautiously. “The FBI agent, Grace, was in danger…”

She forces herself to stop.

She can’t do it. She can’t say it.

“No…” you repeat in disbelief, though the truth is slowly sinking in.

“Where’s he?”

You glance at your daughter and see desperation taking over her more and more. You don’t know what feels worse, her truly believing Leon is alive, or knowing you’re going to have to tell her that he—

You feel a wave of dizziness. You close your eyes, trying to steady the nausea rising in your stomach.

“Sherry…”

She looks at you and, then, at your daughter.

“Sweetheart… your father didn’t… Your father didn’t make it.”

Your mind refuses to process the meaning behind those words even you force yourself to. You hear your daughter’s breathing grow fast and uneven, and you feel like the worst mother in the world because you can’t do anything to comfort her.

You’re in shock. You don’t know what to do.

You want to scream, to cry, to grab the gun you keep in your nightstand and shoot yourself in the head just to end this nightmare.

You feel the urge, but you can’t.

You need to keep going for them.

They had just lost their father. You couldn’t take away the only thing they had left in this world.

You.

And Leon… You know he would’ve wanted you to keep going and not having those thoughts he dealt with as well for many, many years.

“No,” your eldest says suddenly, almost shouting, making you turn back to her and Sherry. “That’s not true.”

“Sweetheart, I—”

“Sherry, damn it, you’re wrong!”

Instinctively, you glance toward the couch, hoping your youngest’s still asleep, but you’re not surprised to see her awake, rubbing her eyes as she slowly sits up.

“Mommy?”

A knot tightens in your throat, making it hard to breathe, but you rush to her, pulling her into an embrace that catches her completely off guard.

“No,” you hear your eldest repeating just a few steps away. “No. No. He promised us. He promised he’d come back.”

“Mommy? What’s wrong?” your little one asks in your arms, her eyes moving between you and her sister.

You can’t answer her because you don’t know how to tell her, but neither Sherry nor your eldest daughter seem able to either.

You see as the blonde wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, shyly, as if she was ashamed of grieving the man who was like a father to her.

“Things got pretty bad, so there wasn’t much we could do,” Sherry continues, speaking to your eldest. “Your dad… thinking about what might happen… he just wanted to save that FBI agent, Grace…”

You can’t keep listening.

You feel your body give out as you collapse to the floor, dropping to your knees. Your youngest kneels beside you immediately, bursting into uncontrollable tears as she asks what’s wrong. 

You can’t tell her. 

You can’t.

Your inability to breathe is joined by a growing pain in your chest. A broken scream escapes your throat, and you’re not even aware of what you’re saying.

As your eldest and Sherry rush to join you and your youngest, memories crash over you all at once.

Leon laughing because the pancake batter he’d promised to make for your daughters on a Sunday morning slipped from his hands and fell to the floor.

Leon cradling your daughters when they were babies, and how he’d kept the habit of reading them a story, no matter how old they got, before bed.

Leon promising all of you that he’d come back, that he’d take you all to Disneyland before your eldest left for college the following year.

Your whole body begins to tremble with spasms to the point it genuinely frightens you.

“That’s not… That’s not possible, Sherry…” you whisper, denial taking all over you.

Sherry cups your face, forcing you to look at her.

“I heard gunshots. And Grace told me how—”

You grab her coat and start shaking her angrily, not being able to think straight.

“If you knew he was in danger, you should’ve told him to leave!” your voice breaks. “You should’ve warned him he could die! You should’ve reminded him he promised us he’d come back!”

Your eldest stands up and goes to her sister, who’s beyond confused but from just hearing the conversation she’s beginning to understand what’s happening.

“Mommy?” your youngest asks, though your eldest starts stroking her hair, asking her to give you a moment. “Mommy? Are you okay?”

“Get out of here.”

“But, mommy—”

“Fuck, get the fuck out of here!”

Your youngest flinches, her eyes instantly filling with tears.

“I want daddy to come back…”

Those words shatter what little composure you had left. All you can do is cry harder and let the grief finally take over.

Your eldest can’t take it anymore either. She ends up beside you again, hugging you the way she used to when she was little.

“Dad said he’d come back,” she sobs. “He promised us, mum…”

Sherry covers her mouth to muffle her crying as she watches you, wrapping an arm around your youngest.

“Did daddy die?”

The youngest Kennedy’s question hangs in the air while you, at least you, try to figure out how to tell her that yes, that her father’s dead and he’s not coming back… not even his body, probably.

Your eldest, however, immediately shakes her head.

“No. Dad’s coming back any minute…”

Your vision blurs as you look at her, while your ears fixate on how she tries to convince her sister and herself that he’s just in the hospital and it’s only a matter of days before he comes back home.

Your youngest’s wearing one of Leon’s hoodies, the same one he last wore when you talked about adopting a dog once he got back.

You can’t help letting out a bittersweet laugh.

“Yes.”

The word slips from your lips at the same moment a broken sob escapes hers. 

Your youngest throws herself into your arms, crying that she wants Leon back. You hold her tightly, desperate, rocking her as you cry into her hair while stroking it.

“I know…” you whisper, trying to stay calm, though your voice breaks. “I know, sweetheart. I know…”

Your eldest joins you, wrapping her arms around both of you. You feel her whole body trembling.

Sherry clears her throat, and you force yourself to pull yourself together. You want to stay there, on the floor, crying, but once again you remind yourself that you have to be strong for your daughters.

You stand up, gently separating from them, straightening your clothes and your hair, and wiping your tears, though you know it’s useless.

“Leon… He gave me something before all this happened,” Sherry tells you.

“What…?”

“In fact, now that he’s gone…” she closes her eyes and shakes her head after saying it. “Every time he went on a mission, he’d give me one of these in case something happened to him. I kept them, because obviously he always came back to you… but now that he’s not… I’ll find them and bring them to you…”

She pulls a black USB flash drive from her jacket pocket, its edges slightly worn.

You stare at it, then at Sherry, who doesn’t seem able to hand it to you, as if doing so would make Leon’s death even more real.

“What is it?”

You carefully reach out and take it from her open palm, handling it with care.

“I have no idea,” a knot tightens in your stomach as she says that. “Every time he gave me one, he told me that, no matter what happened… not to open it. You know what Leon was like.”

Was.

You feel your daughters move closer to you, still clinging to each other. You turn slightly to look at them. Your eldest can’t stop staring at the USB drive in your hand, clearly wanting to take it and put it into the computer herself. Your youngest just tugs at your sleeve to get your attention.

“Is that really from daddy?” she asks.

“Yeah, looks like it.”

“Is it… like a message?” she asks again, now looking directly at Sherry. “Is it a secret he didn’t tell us? Is he going to tell us there that he’s hiding because bad people are chasing him and that he’s not really dead?”

Dead.

You can see Sherry’s discomfort, and you understand it.

“I should go,” she says quietly. “There’s… a lot to do. Figuring out how we’re going to fix this—” she lifts her hand, darker than the last time you saw it. “And you… I guess you’ll have to start preparing… you know…”

You nod, though the truth is you don’t even know where to begin, or even if you’re even capable to begin preparing his funeral and everything that comes with his death.

Above all, you don’t know how to go on with your life without Leon after nearly thirty years.

You walk Sherry to the door. Before leaving, she hugs each of you and tells you that if you need anything, you go and call her no matter what it is, and no matter the time.

“Leon never stopped talking about coming home,” Sherry says, a little more composed now, offering a sad smile. “He loved you three. Don’t forget that.”

Your eyes burn, but you force yourself not to cry and, like her, you manage to fake a faint smile.

You end up placing the USB drive on the kitchen table, next to your eldest daughter’s unfinished homework, and run your hands over your face, desperate. Now that it’s just the three of you, reality is finally hitting you all at once.

Leon isn’t coming back.

Leon’s dead.

“Are you going to see what’s on it?”

You feel your youngest take your hand, and you hug her instinctively. Your eldest is gathering her homework, though her eyes never leave the USB drive.

You don’t answer, and you don’t dare say anything else the next few hours either. The only thing you do is make several calls, mostly to your relatives and some of Leon’s friends so they know what happened.

You don’t bother calling a funeral home because, without a body, you don’t even know if it’s worth having a traditional funeral. At least, that’s how you feel at that moment, but maybe in a few days…

You don’t know exactly when the girls fall asleep, both of them on the couch, clinging to Leon’s hoodie. You’re grateful they did because you know that’s the only way they can rest, even if their dreams will still torment them with their father’s death.

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting in one of the kitchen chairs, staring at the USB drive still lying on the table.

You want so badly to grab your laptop and see what’s on it but, at the same time… you know this is it.

This will be all that’s left of your husband.

You won’t have anything else about him except what’s stored on USB drives from years ago.

“Okay… Guess it’s time to see what you put in here, Leon…”

You sigh and finally decide to stand up, though you move as if you’re afraid. You approach the table carefully, trying to make as little noise as possible so you don’t wake the girls. You pick up the USB drive with extreme care and, just as quietly, head for the stairs and go up to your bedroom.

You sit on your side of the bed and take the laptop from Leon’s side, unlocking it by entering your wedding date while avoiding looking at the wallpaper, where the four of you are smiling at Claire, who took the picture.

You insert the USB drive, and within seconds a single folder appears.

For them.

A knot tightens in your throat, and you feel unable to go on—but you do anyway.

You click on the folder. There’s only one video inside, though you can’t tell what it is—the thumbnail is just a black image.

You can’t click on it.

You’re not ready for a final goodbye, specially not one like this, but at the same time you know that, if you wait any longer, you might never be able to watch it.

You don’t think about it anymore.

You click on it and there’s Leon, sitting exactly where you are now, playing with his hands, nervous, avoiding the camera for the first few seconds.

You notice that even though he’s tired, even though he knows what might happen and why he’s recording that, he’s still smiling.

Your breath catches when you realize that, there, he was still alive, but now…

Leon leans forward, adjusting the camera before sitting back again and finally looking straight into the lens.

At you.

Your Leon, looking at you, as if nothing happened.

“Well…”

He lets out a soft sigh, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable.

“So… if you’re watching this… things probably didn’t go the way I hoped.”

Your vision blurs again. You cover your mouth to stifle a sob.

Leon exhales slowly, glancing from side to side as if he was looking for the right words.

“This isn’t something they taught me how to do when I worked for the government, you know?” he says, rubbing his hands together nervously again, letting out a small laugh. “How are you supposed to record a goodbye video without it sounding like a goodbye?” he sighs again. “There’s no happy way to do it, that’s for sure…”

He leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees.

The nausea returns the moment he smiles at you.

“Hi. Hey, love.”

Those words break you even more, and this time you can’t hold back the tears. They start falling down your face quite quick.

You see his eyes linger on the camera, as if he’s imagining you there with him.

“I know you probably hate that I did this,” he continues softly. “Yeah, I know, you always say I prepare for the worst, and yeah, you’re right… but this mission’s different. And I think you know it as much as I do.”

You’re forced to set the laptop down on the bed, gripping your hands as they tremble uncontrollably.

“Yeah… I know,” he says quietly after a few seconds. “I know I promised I’d come back, and I meant it.”

Meant.

He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated.

“The truth is, right now… Yeah, today, fucking September 30th, while I’m recording this, I still believe that. But, if something happens… if this doesn’t go the way we expect…” his voice shakes. “I didn’t want you to be left without anything from me, even if it’s just this stupid goodbye video.”

“Leon…” you whisper, shaking your head through tears.

You watch as he lowers his gaze and reaches out.

You stifle a broken cry when you see the photo in his hand, the one of the four of you from last summer at the lake.

You’re sitting in a chair with your youngest on your lap, your eldest behind you, hugging you both. Leon is right beside you, his arms wrapped around all three of you.

The Leon in the video stares at the picture for a long time, his eyes shining. It breaks your heart to realize he’s holding back tears.

“This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” another sob escapes your lips. Any composure you had left disappears. “I know I don’t usually say things like this because… well, you know I’m not great at expressing my feelings. And emotional speeches aren’t really my thing either,” he carefully sets the photo on the bed and looks back at the camera. “But I think that today, of all days, you should know something: you saved my life.”

You can’t help reaching out to touch the screen, as if somehow you could comfort the Leon from the past.

“You made everything way easier for me.”

A tear slips down his cheek, and he doesn’t bother wiping it away.

“You gave me a home. You gave me two incredible daughters, and you can’t deny it… they’re my copies, so I’m glad you have two little ones that are exactly like me now that I’ll be gone,” he lets out a faint, tearful laugh. Your breathing falters even more. “I know that by the time you’re watching this, you three might be far from okay, but tell them a few things for me, or show them this video. Tell our oldest to stop pretending she’s strong and that she doesn’t have to carry everything on her own. And to our little one… tell her to keep bringing that joy like she always has. Oh, and let her keep my hoodies, we won’t have to fight over them anymore,” he laughs softly through tears. “Tell them that even I’m not there anymore…dDad will still be with them. Always.”

Leon falls silent again, though his expression shifts slightly.

“And, hey… of course I haven’t forgotten about you…” his voice softens. “I wish I could tell you this in person, but… I’m so sorry. I know you never wanted this kind of life, and that it was hard for you at first… and, still, you chose not just to stay with me, but to build a life with me. You know, I’ve never been afraid of dying, but what scares me most about all this is the thought of leaving you behind,” he exhales. “And, listen…” he sighs, and you find yourself doing the same. “Just letting you know that, no matter what, I’d choose you again. Every single time. Because you made my life worth living.”

You lower your gaze, crying, unable to stop.

On the screen, Leon reaches out his hand, as if he was trying to touch you. You can’t help but to the same as him, really feeling him in some way you can’t explain to yourself. 

“Take care of our girls, okay? And try to be happy again someday… for them, for me, and specially, for yourself.”

Leon sighs, then leans closer to the camera and presses a kiss to it.

“I love you. And I’ll always love you. See you in our next life, love.”

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! Feedback, as well as comments and/or reblogs, are very much appreciated! My inbox is also open in case you want to make a request or talk to me! 💖

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[disgustinggf]

[julymist]

Positive Reinforcement

Puppy Hybrid!Leon x S.T.A.R.S. Captain!Reader Smut & Fluff 🥀🌻

❌18+ MDNI❌

hiii i'm so excited to post this! this is supposed to be my 300 follower milestone fic but we're actually already at 400 and i feel so emo from all the support i've received ever since i've started writing. so again, from the bottom of my heart, i would like to express a sincere thank you to every person that has shown appreciation for my silly fics. may you all have wet dreams of leon kennedy mwah 🫶

word count: 7.3k of just leon incessantly cumming

CW: subby!leon, soft dom!reader, non-BOW AU, office sex, age gap (up to interpretation), power dynamics, co-workers, masturbation, scent kink, cum play, PIV, nipple play, barebacking, knotting, breeding kink.

[“Kennedy?!” 

You gasp out, eyes wide with shock as you take in the view of the hybrid man before you. 

It’s safe to say you’ve never seen him like this. Cheeks flushed, hair messy, dick in hand, and with a pair of pants laying on his chest and wait—are those your pants?? You’d recognize that coffee stain on the left thigh anywhere!]

Leon feels like the luckiest and unluckiest bastard tonight, and the reasons for that are quite simple.

He is terribly unlucky for going into heat in the middle of the station, mid night shift. He doesn't even know how this happened, though, he suspects he’s missed a couple of doses of his suppressing pills due to his busy schedule. 

It’s not easy being a rookie cop, there's so much to do, and everyone dumps their workload on him like the office’s new bitch—and yes, he’s fully aware of the irony of that term.

Now, he is lucky tonight, however, because not only is the S.T.A.R.S. office empty, but he also managed to get a hold of your old uniform. The RPD rolled out new outfits for their star (pun intended) team, and protocol dictates that the old ones be gathered and destroyed to avoid misuse. 

So if he grabbed yours to keep him company for the night before it gets shredded tomorrow, it wouldn't even be that big of a deal. It’s discarded trash. It’s not like you’d even be mad or anything. Right? Right.

He has to admit even to his heat dazed self, though, that you’d probably be mad if you saw him bury his face in your unwashed pants, right at the crotch seam, while he strokes his leaking cock, sprawled on your office leather chair.

Fuck, he’s officially lost it.

He’d never normally do this. Not even as a teen during those early, brutal ruts did he ever do something so unhingedly creepy. But damn it, he has a massive crush on you and he simply can't help it. Just the thought of you—so beautiful, so strong—makes him whine pathetically into the rough fabric of your uniform while his tail thumps repeatedly against the armrest.

He’d give anything to make it into S.T.A.R.S. Not only because it would be extremely fucking cool and boost his career like nothing else, but he’d also get to work under you, the team’s captain, and the idea of that drives him insane.

The way you’d order him around, praise him for doing a good job, maybe even pat his head if he’s lucky—fuck, he’d freaking die from excitement.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts when his furry ears perk up at the sound of shuffling steps. He internally curses himself for only shutting the outer door of the open-plan department, and not the one leading into the captain’s corner office, a.k.a your office.

Right as he makes the wise decision to turn off the banker’s lamp on the desk illuminating the small room so he’s no longer visible, a hand flicks up the switch on the wall, turning on the stark, overhead, white light and exposing him completely into view.

“Kennedy?!” 

You gasp out, eyes wide with shock as you take in the view of the hybrid man before you. 

It’s safe to say you’ve never seen him like this. Cheeks flushed, hair messy, dick in hand, and with a pair of pants laying on his chest and wait—are those your pants?? You’d recognize that coffee stain on the left thigh anywhere!

“Shit!” Leon hisses, scrambling to hide his exposed self with your clothes for a modicum of modesty.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, this can not be happening to him.

“What are you— Why do you have my pants?!”

“I-I was— I was just—”

Words fail him, there is nothing he could say that could even remotely justify his behavior, and all he can do is stammer as his ears flatten on his head in shame and his tail goes rigid. 

You sigh deeply, taking a calming breath to process the peculiar situation before placing your hands on your hips with a huff.

“Are you jerking off in my office, rookie?”

He can’t meet your eyes, his cheeks growing redder and redder until his whole face glows from mortification.

“...I’m so sorry, Captain.”

The shame-filled, barely audible whisper makes you soften slightly, though you’re still feeling a mix of disbelief and irritation.

“Let me guess… You’re in heat?”

“Yes…”

“This is what we get from hiring a puppy,” you scoff and immediately regret your words when you see the distraught expression on his face.

“Shit— Kennedy, I didn't mean it like that.”

“No, no, I get it.” 

He waves a dismissive hand and fiddles with his (unfortunately) still hard cock to place it back in his pants under the cover of your clothes.

“No, Leon, I shouldn't have said it like that. That was wrong.”

“So is this,” he gestures to himself with a grimace, wishing he could disappear into thin air.

You exhale through your nose and walk closer until your hip rests on the edge of the ornate, wooden desk—an old relic from the station’s museum days.

“Look, I understand hybrids have intense ruts, but, uh, couldn't you have done this in a bathroom? And again, why do you have my old uniform?”

Leon’s breathing quickens at your proximity and he hesitates to answer, but in the end, he figures it’s better to say it how it is than to dig himself deeper by telling some stupid lie.

“I kind of, well, um… Like you.”

You frown in confusion, your eyes roaming his blushing face.

“What?”

“Look, I-I have a big crush on you and I don't know what's wrong with me to do this here, but I promise this is the first and last time. I’ll never, ever cause trouble like this again, I swear. I’m so sorry, ma’am, I really am!”

“Okay, okay!” you try to calm down his panicking. He must no doubt think he’s in trouble or that his job is jeopardized, and logically that should be the case, but you can't help but feel for the guy, as guilty as he may be. “It’s… fine. Kind of flattering, I suppose.”

“Flattering?” Leon chokes on his own spit.

“Well, aren't you like the local heartthrob?” you shrug nonchalantly.

His heart skips a beat but he deflects the compliment, not in the mood to accept any praise.

“More like the local fool… Nobody takes me seriously around here. Everyone just treats me like a puppy, and I guess I technically am one, but still…”

Your chest tightens from his words, making you feel even guiltier.

“Leon… I really didn't mean what I said before. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I’m a creep, I deserve it.”

“You’re not a creep, you’re just… needy, and that's okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

You scoff at his stubbornness, and you decide to put on your ‘captain voice’—the one you use when you give out orders to your subordinates.

“Rookie, stop arguing with me.”

Leon’s eyes widen at your tone and he feels his cock twitch in his half zipped pants.

“Y-yes, ma’am.”

Satisfied with his obedient answer, and all too aware of the effect your command had on him, you find yourself growing more curious.

“So… You were using my clothes and my office to get off?”

He doesn't know how, but his face somehow grows even hotter. 

“Y-yeah… Your scent…”

You tilt your head quizzically, “my scent? You mean that I smell good?”

“Really, really good. So good it makes my head spin.”

A chuckle leaves your lips at his candid response and you cross your arms.

“Wow, I didn't know my perfume was that potent.”

“No, no, not your perfume. You,” he corrects immediately with a head shake, tail thumping once in protest.

“Oh.”

“Yeah…”

You let the words register before asking more, “how long have you, um, liked me?”

He sighs, his eyes darting away—not that he could maintain eye contact for long anyway. 

“It’s gonna sound cheesy, but, uh, from the moment I first saw you.”

That earns him a dismissive laugh, “yeah, okay. Sweet talking yourself out of trouble now?”

“I’m not joking. I mean it. From the moment I met you, and you shook my hand, and wished me good luck on the job, I-I felt like my brain was melting.”

You were not expecting that, and it makes you feel a mix of pride and guilt, the conflicting emotions warring inside you.

“Leon, that’s… You’re so young, you should be interested in girls your age.”

He whines—actually whines—in response, “but you're so pretty.” His eyes widen when the realization of what he just said hits him and he quickly starts to apologize, “shit, I’m sorry, I didn—”

“How pretty?”

His tail involuntarily wags at that same commanding tone from before, and he wills it to stop before answering.

“S-so pretty, I can barely think…”

Hearing him praise you so earnestly, despite the fact it's anything but professional, only serves to boost your ego.

“Yeah? What else?” you coax, shifting your weight from one leg to the other, wanting to hear more.

Leon swallows hard, his eyes darting to your thighs briefly before he looks back up.

“You're so— you’re so smart, a-and strong, and such a good leader—everyone always praises your team. I dream of becoming a part of it one day… I dream of you being my captain.”

That makes heat pool in your gut. He’s adorable.

“That's… really sweet.”

“Yeah, like a little kid saying they wanna grow up to be president,” he grumbles, his fluffy ears dropping.

“No, Leon. It’s sweet like an ambitious, talented rookie that’s already caught my attention with his hard work for a while now.”

“Wait, what?”

You step closer, standing right over him while keeping your arms crossed.

“You’re good at what you do, and with a bit more training and experience, I could see you joining S.T.A.R.S.”

“Holy shit.” 

Leon doesn't even know what to say or how to act. You’re so close, you smell so good, and you just told him you’ve noticed him? He might as well be dreaming.

“Are you that surprised?” you raise an eyebrow, voice dropping to a husky timber.

He curses himself internally when his cock jumps in his pants again, his tail starting to wag mindlessly no matter how much he tries to focus on keeping it still.

“It’s just that I can’t believe you really said that, especially after what I just did.”

“Hm… I don't know, I don’t think it's that big of a deal. If anything, the more I think about it, the more I think it’s kinda cute,” you smirk playfully.

The whine that comes out of him is instantaneous, like he couldn't stop it if he tried. 

“D-don’t say that.”

You step closer and lean down, placing a hand on the chair’s armrest to trap him.

“Why not? Are you getting flustered?” 

“I’m in heat, please don't praise me, ma’am… I’ll lose my fucking m-mind.”

His pathetic pleas are ignored when you lean to whisper into his sensitive, blonde, furry ears.

“But you're so cute, Kennedy. You might be the cutest puppy I’ve ever met.”

He sucks in a sharp breath, tightening his grip on your old uniform as his hips involuntarily buck into it outside of his control.

“Please, please…” 

Taking in his pathetic state, you choose to be bold and reach a hand slowly to thread through his soft hair, eliciting a moan out of him as his body shivers. He closes his eyes, leaning into your touch like it's giving him life, while his body continues to gyrate against your garments.

“All this over an old uniform…” you whisper, scratching behind his ears and making him whimper louder. “I can't imagine what you’d do if you had something a little more worn in.”

“W-what?”

“Maybe I could give you a little present, rookie.”

He opens his eyes at that, his mouth parted and his cheeks red when he watches you step back just to close the door and lock it with a definitive click.

Oh, fuck.

Leon is not sure what saint he was in a previous life to deserve this, but his brain can barely function while he watches you undo the first two buttons of your shirt.

The S.T.A.R.S. badge pinned to your top glimmers under the overhead light as you part your collar, now loosened, to reveal a nude colored bra that matches your skin tone. It’s wire free, meant for comfort and long working hours. But to the rookie before you, it might as well be a forbidden doggy treat considering he’s nearly shaking at the sight of it, hands trembling, tail wagging so quick it’s a blur.

You don't break eye contact when you untuck your shirt to slide your hands underneath and reach behind your back, unclasping your bra. It takes you five seconds to then slide the straps through the sleeves like you’ve done countless times as soon as you come home exhausted from work.

Fishing out the prized undergarment from your open collar, you hold it out for him like a trophy, and if his dick wasn't covered by your clothes right now, you would've witnessed it leaking out a generous spurt of precum.

“Well?” you raise an expectant eyebrow, a teasing lilt to your voice, “are you not gonna take it?”

Leon trips over himself to get off the chair, sending it wheeling back against the cabinet behind him from the force, before he quickly reaches for your offering with a shaky hand. “T-thank you, ma’am!”

Just as he’s about to grab the bra, you reel it back, making him pause with an expression caught between confusion and embarrassment.

“I’ll give it to you, and you can use it all you want, but I have one condition…”

He swallows hard, already dreading what you're about to say. “Condition?”

“Whatever it is you choose to do with it… I want you to do it here while I watch.”

Yes, your demand is bold and rather explicit, but you’re not the one who decided to blur professional lines by being caught dick in hand. He started it, and now, to your great satisfaction, he’s going to deal with the consequences.

You watch in amusement his eyes grow comically wide, choking on his own saliva as he tries to stammer a coherent response.

“Y-you mean like— you wanna like— a-are you sure? Right here?”

“Right here.”

“Fuck.”

You chuckle when you see him nod after a pause and reach again for the bra, wordlessly agreeing to your term.

“Sit back down.”

He obeys as soon as the order is spoken, clutching the undergarment along your old clothing on his lap. He looks like he’s about to go do laundry at this point.

You decide to sit on the desk to watch him properly, pushing aside a stack of folders that squeak as they slide across the wooden surface. Once in position, you cross your arms and legs in a nonchalant manner, eyeing him up and down.

Leon feels like he’s about to faint when he finally speaks, “do I just… do it?”

“Yes, rookie. Touch yourself.”

With shaky hands, he finally uncovers his crotch by placing your clothes on the armrest, only to reveal a straining bulge with a big wet patch.

Shit, he looks like he’s pissed himself.

Pushing aside his embarrassment, he finally unzips and lowers his pants enough to free his leaking cock, your gaze on him feeling like it’s burning his skin.

He starts to spread his generous precum all over his length, trying to keep his composure but finds it hard to keep eye contact for long.

Finally, he takes your bra and lifts it to his nose, inhaling deeply into the fabric like he’s taking the hardest hit of the most addicting of drugs.

Then, when a moan escapes him, he doesn't notice the way you bite your lip, but he does notice the way your scent becomes stronger, more potent.

“Captain…”

Your eyes don't look away from his veiny dick as you respond, “yes?”

“Can I a-ask for a favor?”

You raise an eyebrow, finally meeting his eyes again, “do you think you deserve to be getting any favors right now?”

“No…” he answers in shame, head bowed.

You snort at that, finding his guilt-ridden face adorable, “I’m listening.”

There's a sudden hope that glimmers in Leon’s eyes when he finally dares to make his request.

“Will you spread your legs?”

You frown at that, looking down at your crossed legs, before looking up at him again where he’s steadily pumping his throbbing cock.

“Why?”

“So I can, um, smell you better… if you don't mind.”

“Smell me better? You mean you can smell me from your seat?”

The surprised tone in your voice tells him you’re not very familiar with hybrid quirks, or at least not how a rut can affect them. He suddenly feels nervous about your opinion of all the symptoms he’s subjected to whenever he’s like this.

“I can smell pretty well, especially when I’m like this… I can tell if a girl—a woman—is, uh, turned on.”

His words leave you both bewildered and incredibly aroused, and you can't help but ask explicitly, “are you saying you can smell if I’m wet, rookie?”

There’s a sudden buck of his hips into his fist—something instinctual more than anything else.

“Pretty much…”

At that, you part your legs like he asked and watch him visibly react with a pathetic whimper and another thrust. He’s so reactive, you wonder how he’s ever kept the professional front for so long.

“How wet am I right now?”

Leon swallows hard, still nervous, but seeing—and smelling—the way your scent grows sickly sweet, a clear indicator of your arousal, he decides to be up front.

“Soaking.”

Your breath hitches, and before you know it, you're pushing off the desk to stand right over him, unable to resist getting closer. 

You keep your arms crossed and watch as he pumps his cock faster, your bra forgotten where it hangs over his shoulder now that he has the real deal right in front of him.

“Are you close already?” you tilt your head, eyes fixated on the mouth water pre that continuously leaks out of him.

“Y-yes, ma’am.” His sounds strained, and the way he’s clearly about to lose it just from watching you, smelling you, feels like the biggest ego boost ever.

Feeling charitable, you decide to unbutton your top completely, parting it open to flash him with your tits to push him over the edge.

“Then cum.”

As if on cue, Leon’s orgasm crashes down on him like a thunderbolt, his cock spurting white streaks of hot semen so forcefully some of it lands on his own chin. Not that he cares now that he’s completely hypnotized by the sight of your breasts, as if they hold the answer to every one of his questions.

He’s panting, cheeks flushed and hair sweaty when you loom over him, causing him to lean back in the chair in submission.

You reach a single finger to collect the droplet of sticky cum staining his dimpled chin, the contact making him gasp, and you take that as an opportunity to push your index past his parted lips to make him taste himself.

His eyes are wide and wild when he closes his mouth around your digit, sucking greedily as his tongue collects every trace of himself off your finger. He’s never done anything like this before, and he feels like every passing minute in your company only serves to make him lose more of his sanity.

“Good?” you ask with a smirk and he answers with an eager nod.

Leon wonders if this had been some kind of philanthropic exercise on your part, because he still can't believe you’re letting him get away with any of this.

But just when he thinks you’ll ask him to leave as you retreat your finger, he chokes on his saliva when you put that same finger in your mouth, your eyes trailing down where his seed has stained his hand, his clothes, and your outdated uniform.

“I think I’ve only ever seen this much cum in porn, Kennedy. Is this a hybrid thing or a you thing?” you tease with a smirk.

“Um, both…”

He’s barely focused enough to answer as his attention is still fully captured by your exposed chest, wetting his lips subconsciously at the sight while his tail wags incessantly. 

The movement of his cock twitching suddenly makes you aware that he’s still hard as if he didn’t just climax, which only further increases your hunger for him.

“You can touch. I won't bite.”

Leon officially loses his mind when you say that while gesturing to your breasts with your chin. The moment he has your permission, he doesn't hesitate to haul you onto his lap, one hand on your waist, the other already sliding up to fondle your left tit greedily.

“Holy fuck, am I dreaming?” he whispers incredulously, his hand ministrations causing you to moan.

You decide to prove to him he is in fact not dreaming by cupping his face and pressing your lips to his, catching him off guard.

He thought you were indulging him, letting him have his fun while getting off on the high of being desired so badly. But he didn't think you actually wanted him. Not in the way you’re kissing him right now that’s making him dizzy.

Your hands slide up his hair to reach for his twitchy ears, scratching behind them mid-kiss and making him whine into your mouth like you’ve never heard a man whine before.

“You’re so cute, Leon,” you murmur against his lips and he pulls back just to start trailing kisses down your neck.

“Feels s-so good, Captain.”

Taking note of the positive feedback, you keep stroking behind his fluffy ears and he starts rutting against you, his cum covered dick staining you with thick semen.

A devious idea comes to mind and you reach down to collect his creamy, white spend with your fingers, only to spread it on your breasts like your new favorite lotion.

Leon gasps like he’s just witnessed a heavenly miracle, and he instantly latches onto a nipple to suckle greedily, his own taste mixing with the deliciousness of your skin.

“Fuck, rookie!” you moan, throwing your head back in pleasure, and in response he wraps both arms around your waist in a secure hug and continues lapping at your skin.

“You’re perfect, ma’am. Perfect tits, love’em so much—always wanted to suck on them,” he rasps against your flesh, his voice strained, his face wet.

He keeps rutting faster and faster while showering your breasts in attention, rendering you a whining mess on top of him. Your pants and underwear are soaked at this point, both from your own slick and his mix of semen and pre. You’ve never been this horny before, and it makes you wonder if his hybrid pheromones are having an effect on you. 

The arousing thoughts swirling in your head are interrupted when he whines under you, “gonna cum again—” 

His words are barely out when suddenly he’s spurting all over you, keeping you in place while incessantly humping.

“Leon!” you chastise when you see the mess. His second cum load is somehow still as abundant and thick as the first one, showing no signs of diminishing.

“Sorry, ma’am, I-I couldn't stop—shit—I’ll pay for the cleaners, I promise!”

“That is not the damn problem, rookie.”

Your stern voice has his ears flattening on his head, the wagging of his tail coming to pause. He looks up at you with his big blue eyes and pink cheeks, looking like the picture of innocence if it wasn't for his still twitching dick under you.

“I wanted to ride you.”

If his brain was melted before, it might as well have dissolved into nothing now.

“Y-you…” he takes a shaky breath to speak intelligibly and not just in a string of moans, “you still can.”

“Yeah? You can keep going?”

“When I’m like this… I can keep going forever.”

Your eyes flicker down to see the evidence of his claim, and sure enough, he’s still as hard as a rock.

“Good. Are you clean?”

His eyes widen when he realizes what you’re implying, and it’s all he can do not to mount you right then.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Perfect.”

That is all the answer you give him before you’re starting to unbuckle your belt, ready to shed your clothes, but his hand stops you midway through and you give him a quizzical look.

“Are these replaceable?” he asks shyly, his fingers hooking onto one of your belt loops, though there's an unmistakable heat in his eyes.

You immediately catch his intentions, and with your bottom lip caught between your teeth you nod your head ‘yes’ to his immense delight.

The sound of fabric tearing makes you moan when he rips your pants at the seam, exposing your sopping panties that he pushes to the side without hesitation to reveal your glistening cunt.

“Holy fuck…”

He’s trembling at this point, his tail wagging fast enough for it to repeatedly tap against the leather chair. You give him an approving look and he takes it as permission to press the pads of his fingers on your puffy clit.

“Kennedy…” you whine, bucking into his hand, “no more waiting. I want you to fuck me until I cum on your cock.”

Leon is certain if he hadn't just orgasmed five minutes ago he would've again at hearing your filthy demand. 

He nods eagerly, no words needed to express his feverish want, and with a shaky hand, he brushes the tip of his cock on your drippy hole. He doesn't push in though—he somehow still has enough brain capacity to let you guide him inside yourself so as not to overwhelm you.

Adjusting to gain move leverage in your perched position on top of him, you notch his fat tip into the opening of your cunt, and slowly, you start to sink down on him, letting yourself adjust gradually to his big size.

Moans erupt from you both in unison, his hands moving to your waist to steady you as you lower yourself, until you’re fully sat on his dick.

“I-I think I’m gonna die.”

That makes you laugh despite your breathless state, impossibly stretched around him.

“Maybe let me finish first?”

“Yes, Captain.”

You start moving your hips, slow at first and then onto a steady pace. The sight of him under you looking at you like you’re some kind of ethereal being gracing him with your magic pussy makes you grin, and you lean to kiss him again, slow and tongue-filled.

Leon returns your sloppy kiss ardently, pathetic whine after pathetic whine leaving his mouth and swallowed by yours. He doesn't think he’ll last long, not with your heat sucking him in hungrily.

When you speed up the pace some more, bouncing up and down with obscenely slick noises, he reaches both hands to fondle your cum-slippery tits roughly like they're his personal stress balls.

“Didn't you know you had such a big dick, rookie—ngh—s’this why everyone’s all over you? Or is that just because of your pretty face?”

“Shit, p-please don't talk like that, I’m gonna cum again.”

You laugh and speed up some more, making him whimper with every rebound of your hips.

“I thought you said you can keep going? It shouldn't be a problem then, right?”

“Y-yeah but I’m worried I’ll do it inside—” he’s gasping, squeezing your breasts so hard it hurts—but you like it.

“Do it. Cum inside me. I wanna see how much I can wring out of you until you’re depleted.”

“Fuck—fuck— a-are you on the pill?”

You grin at his question, threading your hands through his hair to scratch his ears again.

“Isn't the point of a rut to make pups?”

Leon feels his orgasm hit him like a freight train at your words, thrusting up to meet your movements with loud grunts and moans as he shoots his load deep inside your greedy pussy. 

You don't stop moving on top of him, milking him thoroughly, and the feel of his semen filling you so much it's already leaking out makes you delirious with pleasure. 

With a hand reaching down to give your clit the few rubs it needs to tip you over the edge, you finally climax on top of him, eyes rolling back and mouth agape with screams of pleasure.

Your walls pulsate around him until every drop is squeezed out of him, and he looks up at you, panting, as he slowly comes down from the high.

Post nut clarity suddenly hits him when he realizes what he’d just done, and as much as the idea of impregnating you makes the animal inside him revel, he’s still human enough to remember that would be a massive fucking disaster for you both.

“Shit, Captain, I-I didn't mean— I didn't want to do that, I swear!”

His panic is answered by a calming kiss to his pouty lips, and you ruffle his hair at the same time with a reassuring smile.

“I was just fucking with you, Kennedy, I’m on the pill. There's no need to worry.”

“Oh.”

The surprised look on his face makes you feel guilty despite the small, relieved smile he gives you afterwards.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I didn't think you’d actually cum that fast before I told you it was a joke.”

Leon shakes his head, causing his hair to flop around when he wraps his arms around you.

“Don’t worry about it… If anything, it was really hot.”

“Hmm, but I still feel bad... Maybe I can make it up to you?”

That instantly makes his fluffy ears perk up, his tail starting to wag again like a puppy eager for a treat.

“Yeah?”

“Just tell me what you want. Tell me what you’ve always wanted to do to me but never got the chance.”

You watch him licks his lips as he thinks of the answer, but you can tell he already has something in mind—he’s just debating whether or not to say it.

“There's this one thing that all hybrids want…”

“What is it?”

“I, uh… I wanna knot you, Captain.”

You blink. His words travel from your ears directly down to your pussy and you clench around his still throbbing cock inside you.

“I thought that was reserved for mates only?”

His hips twitch at hearing the word ‘mates’ coming out of your mouth. “It is…”

“Leon…”

“It doesn't have to be like that! It doesn't mean you’ll be stuck with me or anything… It just means I like you a lot.”

You lean forward until your chest is pressed to his, cupping his face gently.

“It sounds like a little more than that, baby.”

The moan that he lets out at the pet name makes you start to fold, but it's when he begins to beg that you know there's no way you could deny him.

“Please, please, Captain, I promise I won't make it weird or anything! It’s just a one time thing. If we do it, then we never have to talk about it again… Please, ma’am, i-it’ll be so good, I swear—”

“Okay, okay! We’ll do it!” 

As soon as you say that, he smiles wide, all giddy and excited with his shaking tail. He can't help himself from hugging you tight and licking your face eagerly in response.

He would never do this normally as he tries to keep his puppy side in control under usual circumstances, especially at work or around cool people, i.e you. But he’s so happy, he can't even help himself as he laps up at your cheek while you giggle at his antics.

“Thank you! Thank you! It’ll be so nice! I’ll make it so good, I promise!”

Only when the wet attack of his tongue ceases do you catch your breath from laughing at the ticklish feeling.

“Alright, baby. Tell me how this works.”

Leon smiles, playful, his eyes twinkling, “I have to mount you.” His voice is more stable now, any nervousness he had replaced with the immeasurable high of getting to give you his knot.

You bite your lip at the thought of being taken like an animal and nod in agreement, getting off his lap with a wet sound when his cock slips out of you. 

Looking up at you with a smile, Leon then stands up too and gives you a quick peck on the cheek before spinning you around, and bending you over the desk swiftly, catching you off guard.

The next thing you hear is more fabric tearing—his hands stretching the ripped seam of your pants to expose your ass to the sex-smelling air of the office.

At the sight of you bent over, sweaty, messy, clothes ripped and with his cum leaking out of your cunt, he can't help but dive face-first between your folds to lick his own spend off you, no matter how eager he is to be inside you again.

“Rookie…” you moan when he laps at your opening hungrily, his hands gripping your ass cheeks firmly to spread them and give him better access.

“This is so much better than what I ever fantasized,” he groans against your skin, sending electric currents of pleasure through your body.

His neglected cock is leaking on the floor in splats while he eats you out like he’ll die if he ever stops. His tongue travels from your hole to your needy clit, giving it kitten licks that have you sobbing in your palm. He then moves on to suckle your sensitive bud, his nose nudging against your hole at the same time. Then, greedily, he spreads you more with his hands and pulls back just enough to spit into your clenching entrance.

“Fucking hell, Captain, you’ve got the prettiest pussy in the world. I mean it.”

The bold wording of his claim makes your face grow hotter and your hips buck back against him subconsciously. In return, he holds you in place to tongue-fuck you some more, collecting every bit of sticky semen he may have missed. 

“Leon, I-I wanna cum on your cock, not like this,” you whine, already missing the fullness you felt moments ago even though you’re enjoying the feel of his mouth.

“Please, just let me have this… You taste so good, I think I’m going crazy.”

You want to protest again but a nibble at your nether lips has you whimpering, and he takes that as an opportunity to continue detaining you there while he devours you.

Encircling his strong arms around your thighs, you have no way of escaping his maddening assault. You’re not even sure which one of you is more far gone at this point. Especially when he pushes his face deeper—no doubt suffocating between your folds—just to shake his head from side to side to effectively motorboat your pussy with a groan.

“Fuck, Captain, I’d do anything to taste your perfect cunt every day. I’ll fucking worship it if you’ll let me.”

Your thighs begin to tremble while he keeps alternating between tongue-fucking your hole, sucking your clit, and biting your lips just hard enough to make you jerk but not enough to hurt. 

With yet another wet pull of teeth to your bundle of nerves, you tip over the edge, your orgasm crashing on you so hard your vision whites out.

Leon, too far gone on the high of getting to eat your pussy after months of daydreaming, doesn't stop his mouth ministrations even as you sob and squirm. You’re forced to reach a hand behind you to pull at his hair, pushing him away from your glistening heat and looking back at him with pleading eyes.

“Rookie… Please, I need you inside me.”

He never thought there could even be a possible universe where you would be begging for his cock, and the fact this is his reality now makes him go feral.

With a final bite to your labia, he straightens back up. But instead of fucking you on the desk like he’d initially intended, he picks you up by wrapping his arms around your waist and placing you on the floor like a light package.

You gasp from the sudden position change, finding yourself on all fours on your office floor.

 

“Leon?”

He kneels behind you, his dick bobbing from the movement, and leans over you in a perfect mounting position.

“This okay?” 

Meeting his eyes past your shoulder makes your heart flutter and you nod, pressing your ass back into him to feel more of his hardened length.

That's all the permission he needs before reaching to grab the base of his cock and guiding it until it’s breaching your opening again. The glide is even slipperier than before with the load of cum already inside you, so he doesn't waste too much time letting you adjust before he’s rutting his hips fast, the animal within him thriving in ecstasy.

“Shit—you’re so deep,” you grunt, feeling the more intense depth of the accurately named doggy style.

“Feels so fucking good. I can't believe you’re letting me do this…” he whispers in your ear, burying his face in your hair.

Every thrust feels like it’s hitting deeper, to the point you can sense his cockhead brushing your cervix with every pump, making you feverish from pleasure-pain.

He settles more of his weight on you, forcing your chest to rest on the floor in a face down, ass up position, and all you can hear is his incessant moaning coupled with the obscene, wet slapping of skin on skin that makes you crave another thick creampie.

“Leon, want your cum… Never felt so full before, fuck— want all your cum.”

“Shit, you’re so perfect, I’ll give it to you all, I swear. I’ll knot you so good—ngh—keep your tight pussy locked around my cock until you take all of it.”

Sure enough, it doesn't take much longer before the base of his dick is swelling, stretching you to the point you wonder if you’ll actually be able to take it.

“Gonna pump you s-so full you’ll leak of me for days, Captain.”

Leon’s voice grows strained, whinier, more desperate, as he steadily nears the point of no return. 

He reaches a hand to wipe your hair out of your sweaty forehead, and then keeps it in place to act as a headband to prevent any more of your strands to annoyingly stick to your sweat-slick face.

As a thank you or maybe just because of your cockdrunk state, you want to make him finish hard. So, you don't hesitate to tell him exactly what he wants to hear, even if factually untrue due to contraception.

“Are you gonna breed me, Leon? I want you to.”

That makes him jerk, his tail wagging faster behind him in a blur.

“Y-yes… Yes, ma’am. Gonna fill you up with my pups—fuck—fill your little womb and breed you good.”

“Fuck, yes…”

His muscly arm is wrapped around you tight enough it's getting hard to breathe, but the constrictive feeling makes you needier. Every gasp you make causes him to grow rougher, his fingers tightening on your crown.

“You’re gonna take it, Captain—my puppy cum—gonna make your belly swell with my babies, make you mine forever—”

“Leon… Leon!” your voice gets louder when you feel the knot fully form inside you, knocking the wind out of you as your cunt struggles to adjust.

“I’m so close, fucking hell, I’m gonna lose it—”

You’re on the brink of orgasm with your body trembling under him. You don't care if it's too much, if he’s rearranging your insides with his fat cock, or if your pussy is not equipped to take a hybrid’s knot. You just want everything he has to give.

“D-do it. Fuck me hard. Breed me. Make me into your little bitch in heat, Leon, come on!”

“Holy shit—” his voice breaks to let out a drawn out moan, stilling his hips as he buries himself to the hilt.

His cock shoots spurt after spurt of thick puppy cum, every drop of him emptied now that the swelling at his base is holding you in place to pump you full. 

You’re shaking underneath him, feeling so much it's not even fullness anymore—you're saturated with semen. 

Only when his breathing stabilizes enough for him to think does he reach down to rub tight circles on your clit to push you to the finish line, your orgasm launching you through the gates of heaven.

Once your body calms down from screaming and spasming like you’ve undergone an exorcism, he kisses your nape softly, releasing the grip on your hair.

“Y-you okay?” his breathless voice is muffled in your neck as he inhales your scent deeply.

“I think so.”

“It’s gonna stay like this for a while… Hold on.”

He readjusts you so you’re no longer crushed by weight and sat on his lap instead as he leans against the wall. 

You feel yourself slowly relax in his arms and you melt back into his chest, sighing at the feel of his gentle hands running up and down your sides and his soft tail brushing your leg.

Turning to look at his flushed face, you smile gently, reaching a hand to cup his cheek. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. More than okay, actually. I just don't know how to even begin to thank you… I still think I might be dreaming.”

“You’re too sweet,” you giggle and he smiles sheepishly.

Your attention turns to register the absolute biohazard your office has turned into, with stains of cum on the chair, the desk, and the poor, poor tiles. You need a wet floor sign at this point.

When you look down at yourself to assess the damage, you can't help but laugh at the sight of your torn pants and shiny stickiness everywhere, with your cunt still held hostage by his knot. 

“I hope I don't have to write a report on this,” Leon jokes when he sees you chuckle.

“We’ll just say it was a work accident.”

He grins at your response, and leans in to kiss your cheek softly. “Seriously, though. Thank you.”

“Well, if you insist on thanking me, maybe you could do that by taking me out to dinner? How does that sound?”

“You mean like a date? With me?”

His eyes widen as if the fact you just let him spend the past hour covering and filling you in ungodly amounts of cum isn't enough of an indicator you like him.

You snort at his reaction and boop his nose, “yes, rookie, a date. You and me. Unless you don't want to?”

“Of course I do! Hell yes, please.”

Your laugh is interrupted by his lips crashing on yours in a desperate kiss, his tail tapping the floor with each wag. You give his ears another scratch that has him sighing into your mouth in bliss.

The knot inside you then slowly deflates and you feel his spend seeping out of you like a faucet now that it's no longer plugged in place. You still can't get over just how much there is of it, and you’re already looking forward to his next rut if this is how it goes every time.

“You know, this was actually very educational when it comes to my knowledge of hybrids,” you murmur against his lips with a grin, teasing. “Don’t tell me you bark too.”

“I normally don’t, but I can bark for you if you want. Woof woof?” Leon chuckles, his eyes glinting with adoration.

“Good boy.”

[be-xkyy]

I really have a type 👀

(Handsome men who scream "daddy" vibes and are lethal 😏)

[bullseyegoon]

[valarrswife]

Some more AKOTSK memes for you because you seemed to like the previous batch.

[weirdogirl404]

𝐑𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚𝐤𝐨𝐭𝐬𝐤/𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐢𝐚𝐟 𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭

𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎?!?! ( 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐭𝐨 @art_by_crazytom on Twitter)

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 I 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐮𝐩 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐬𝐧𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲. 𝐈 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐢𝐡, 𝐢𝐟 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐤𝐨𝐭𝐬𝐤

[sundoll777]

[padmespetal]

WELCOME TO THE FAMILY ! modern targaryen au fanfic

moodboard. playlist.

one. two. three. four. five. six.

[sundoll777]

this is the best thing i’ve ever read