I just found out Oscar Morgan who plays Valarr Targaryen is gay and once again men won. This is giving me flashbacks to when I discovered that Jonathan Bailey and Lee Pace are gay like…men keep winning and I keep acting surprised 😔 Thank you universe
(just to be clear: zero judgment here, only love. love them exactly as they are 🫶)
i don’t care what anybody says, sam winchester is a freak in bed
i’m talking about putting you in a chokehold, your face suffocating in his biceps and drooling on it mindlessly from the backshots he was giving you, his hips ruthlessly snapping to yours while your back gave him that beautiful arch he loved so much
his bicep would be covered by your saliva, red bite marks and hickeys bright and evident on his skin.
“uh huh” sam panted, eyes pinned down on yours and examining your expression— a fucked up, lewd expression squished by his bicep— a sight to behold. “keep that back arched for me, mmm”
i’m talking about gripping your hair whenever you were straddling him, the slight tug making you moan in the hungry, passionate kiss and giving him enough space for his tongue to slide in your mouth
and because of that, there was no way to hide that beautiful face of yours from him. even when your face was buried in his shoulder as you rode his cock, breathless gasps of “sam! mph- sam” leaving your lips. it made his hand—that was already buried in your hair— lift your head up by your hair to lock your lips into a messy, open-mouthed kiss
“don’t hide from me” sam murmured in your mouth, his other hand pulling your leg closer to bury his cock more into your cunt. “wanna see your face when you make a mess all over me”
the drag of his length in and out was stretching out your poor, fluttering walls. enough for your hips to slightly jerk back and a small sound leave your lips, only for it to be swallowed by sam and easily hold your hips in place with one hand, the other still buried and gripping onto the locks of your hair
and i’m talking about his large, large hand around your neck as he has you pinned under him in missionary, hovering on top of you and whispering filthy things in your ear to add onto the wet, slaps of his cock in your needy cunt
“thaaaats it. youre doing so so good f’me, baby”
“god, you look so good like this”
your throat would bob in his palm and his thumb would brush under your jaw, a subtle gesture so soft it felt almost out of place from how eager sam was for you, how starved he was
a moan left his lips when the veins on his length were brushed perfectly, biting your shoulder to swallow back his sounds as he kept murmuring on your skin without a thought. “fuck, you have no idea how you drive me crazy”
Poetry professor Declan O’Hara, who you have a meeting with every Friday at 4pm to discuss your dissertation.
Poetry professor Declan O’Hara, who’s always stern and precise and too sure of himself. And demanding, so demanding. He doesn’t let you breathe sometimes. He sets rigorous standards and pushes you towards them.
Poetry professor Declan O’Hara, tall and charismatic, with broad shoulders and dark striking eyes.
Poetry professor Declan O’Hara who cares about you and your work. You know he does, because you can hear the genuine pride in his voice every time he praises your latest research path, smart girl I knew you wouldn’t let me down.
Poetry professor Declan O’Hara who you see jogging around campus on Sundays, his brown curls sticking to his damp forehead, his polo shirt clinging to his body.
Poetry professor Declan O’Hara and the wedding ring he never takes off even though you’ve heard the rumours – how he hasn’t seen his wife in the last few months and everything.
Poetry professor Declan O’Hara who sometimes finds you in your dreams and has you waking up flushed, alone and achingly waiting for Friday.
i was wondering if you could do a fic where it’s like angst and like declan knows he shouldn’t bc he’s married and the age difference but can’t keep his hands off you🤗🤗🤗
so wrong it’s right.
you’re convinced it’ll end in disaster. and yet here you are, once again.
declan o’hara x female reader
warnings - smut. cursing. implied cheating.
a.n - this is a shorter one, but I just couldn’t resist. always thinking about that man and his moustache. you asked for angst… here’s a ton of it. thanks for this request !! <3
masterlist. inbox.
“Tell me to stop.”
He’s breathing his words into your mouth, tongues tangled together as he speaks.
“This is wrong and you know it. Tell me to stop.”
His voice is all whiny as he begs, fingers digging into your hips as he internally pleads with himself to find some self control.
He’s got you pushed up against the wall out the back of Bar Sinister, hidden from view by the darkness. Both of you know it’s risky - stupid, even - and yet here you are, unable to stop.
“Would it make a difference?” you mumble against his lips. “We said we’d stop weeks ago.”
“We didn’t say we’d stop,” he corrects impatiently. “We said we’d stop meeting like this.”
“In public places.”
“Where anyone could walk out and see us.”
You nod, tangling a hand into his hair like you just can’t resist.
“It turns ya on though, doesn’t it?”
“Hmm?”
You’re gazing at him like he’s the centre of your universe, eyes glazed over and love drunk down to your bones.
“The thrill of it all, the risk, the chase… you love this shit, don’t cha?”
You shake your head so unconvincingly that you both chuckle, knowing the truth deep down.
“You dragged me out here, may I remind you,” you whisper.
“Didn’t even try to stop me though, did ya?”
“You’re so irritating.”
You can’t help but roll your eyes, tugging on his hair to help prove your point.
“You love it.”
He dives back into your mouth, tongue running across your teeth as if he knows your anatomy from sheer memory alone.
You’ve hiked a leg up and around his hip to try and pull him closer to you, Declan willingly leaning in. His entire body weight is pressing you into the wall, the rough brick no doubt scratching your back.
He’s pulling your skirt up just enough to nudge your underwear to the side and slide a finger in, both of you groaning at what you feel. Your head drops forward onto his shoulder, inhaling deeply out of habit. He smells like whiskey and smoke and his woody aftershave. He smells like sneaking around and overthinking and worrying about getting caught. He smells like everything you want and more.
Declan crooks his fingers towards him, making your knees buckle as he does it. You’re about to beg him for more, for anything, when a voice comes echoing through the darkness, cutting through your intimate moment.
“Declan? Are you out here?”
The two of you jump apart, trying to make a last ditch attempt to look half decent in the face of debauchery.
“Answer him,” you whisper as low as you can, pulling your skirt down and smoothing out your hair.
“Yeah, I’m here,” he croaks, a little rougher than he would have liked.
“What are you doing standing in the dark like a maniac?” Rupert asks as he appears in front of you, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and tie long abandoned.
“Smoking.”
“We both had the genius idea of trying to sneak off to somewhere quiet for five minutes. Great minds think alike and all that,” you bluff with practised precision.
“Oh, hi darling. I didn’t see you there.”
“Hi Rupert. Everything alright?”
“Just fine. Or at least it will be. Come and find me when you’re finished, Declan. I need to have a quick chat with you - Venturer business.”
“Of course. I’ll be in in a few minutes.”
Rupert mock salutes you both as he leaves, never one to overstay his welcome.
“Well that was fucking close,” the Irishman breathes when his friend is safely out of earshot. “Shit.”
“Yeah. Too fucking close, Declan. I almost just had a heart attack.”
You feel a sudden wave of what you think is rage wash over you, uninvited and surprising.
“It’s not fine, actually. I’m not doing that again. No fucking chance. Imagine the absolute outrage if he’d walked out five minutes earlier, or if he hadn’t announced himself. It’d be chaos, Declan. The kind of chaos that ruins careers, that ruins livelihoods.”
“I wouldn’t let that happen.”
“You wouldn’t have a choice! Don’t you understand? You can’t control situations like these. They run their own course and you cannot stop them.”
“Where’s this change of tune come from, huh? We were fine two minutes ago!”
“I’m sick of my heart beating out of my chest whenever someone so much as coughs from a hundred metres away! I am so worried about getting caught, about getting us both in trouble, that it’s taken over everything. It’s not worth the stress, Declan. And you know that.”
“Don’t tell me what I know.”
He’s never taken this tone with you before - the to the point, no frills, blunt tone that you usually only hear in business meetings. On one hand, you’re glad he’s taking this conversation seriously. On the other hand, it’s breaking your heart.
He takes several steps towards you, fingers reaching out to tangle themselves with yours. You can’t help but squeeze his hand, old habits dying hard.
“We’ll be more careful,” he whispers. “We’ll put a stop to the stupid stuff.”
“It’s going to end in disaster,” you reply lowly. “You and I both know that this doesn’t have a happy ending.”
“It could.”
“It doesn’t.”
“You’re not usually a pessimist like this,” he mutters.
“It’s realism, not pessimism.”
“Sounds the same to me.”
“I’m trying to make sure we aren’t living in a fantasy world.”
“I’m under no illusions of what this is, sweetheart. Trust me. I am very aware of the fact that I am married, and you are half my age. Don’t you think I know how wrong this is? How much trouble we’d be in if we were found out?”
You dare to meet his eyes, his gaze piercing into your soul. His fingers tighten around yours, as if he’s frightened you’ll disappear in front of his face.
“I’m scared,” you dare to admit, as quietly as you can. “I’m terrified, Declan. I feel like we’re a ticking time bomb, just waiting to ruin everything.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” he breathes, cradling your face with those huge, calloused hands. “I will never, ever, let anything bad happen to you. I’ll protect you until my last day on this goddamn planet.”
“I know that,” you almost whimper, voice wobbling with the threat of tears. “Of course I know that.”
“There’s a world where this works, you know. It’ll take time, and a hell of a lot of patience… but we can do it. I know we can.”
“I don’t want to ruin your life over a… fling.”
“A fling?” he flinches, looking at you so seriously that it worries you.
“I just-”
“My darlin’, you are not a fling. You are everything.”
Now you feel guilty for ever doubting him, the feeling washing over you in dark, heavy waves.
“I’m sorry.”
Your bottom lip is trembling, words stuck in your throat. There’s so much you want to say, but you just can’t seem to form the right sentences.
“You have nothing to apologise for, alright? I know you’re trying to be realistic to stop either of us getting hurt. But I am in this. With every single fibre of my being. It’s you, sweetheart. You’re all I want.”
“Promise?”
“With my entire heart, I promise.”
You surge up to kiss him with all the passion you can muster, bodies crashing into each other. Declan wraps his arms around your back, pulling you into him as closely as he possibly can as you tangle your fingers into his hair. You’re not sure where you end and he begins. You don’t want to know.
The two of you could stay like this forever, intertwined and completely oblivious to the outside world. Just you and the love of your life, obstacles be damned.
You break apart for air eventually, breathing each other in as deep as you can. Declan cradles your face once again, looking intently into your eyes.
“We’ll figure this out, yeah? Me and you. Always.”
You nod, gazing up at him like he’s the moon and all of her stars.
“Me and you. Always.”
You’re about to kiss him when you hear a familiar voice echo through the darkness once again.
“Declan? Have you finished your cigarette? We’ve got some urgent Venturer business happening inside that we really need you for.”
The Irishman gives you a look that says, wait for me. This isn’t finished. You give him a look in return that says, I’ll find you. Always.
The two of you are floating on air, carried through your days by the promise of a future together.
It’s a shame neither of you noticed Rupert when he reappeared outside five minutes ago.
ryland grace calls you baby around the ship, which is another cultural thing he has to explain to rocky. when grace needs to find you, "baby" has replaced your name, and he never thought much about it. but rocky was curious. "what is baby question?" grace looks over his shoulder at rocky and chuckles as you come over. "it's a nickname," he explains. "it's a sweet way you talk about your, uh..." and he gets shy, avoiding your gaze. "your mate." "baby is common name on earth?" "no, no. i mean, yeah, sort of. when humans are born, they're babies. then they grow up." this baffles rocky and he starts waving his "hands" around in confusion. "but not baby. is grown adult exclamation!" so, ryland walks over and pulls you in close, then starts up the baby voice as you laugh and cringe. "it's just a term of endearment! it means that she's just a little baby, yes, she is." "oh my god, grace, stop!"
ryland grace calls you baby when he gets cuteness aggression from seeing you. you could be doing the most boring thing in the world: checking coordinates, updating travel time and fuel necessities, cleaning, or cooking the weird astronaut packets they gave you. he'll watch you for a moment in complete awe because look at you! you're just a sweetheart doing your little chores! and when you spot him, he holds his arms out and you just roll his eyes. the guy is nothing but a big, mushy mess. "aren't you the cutest little baby in the world?" he pinches your cheeks, and you complain. "grace, i'm trying to work!" but he doesn't stop. "i know, but look at you! how are you just walking around looking so cute? cutest little baby i ever did see—!" and on and on and on he goes. you'll have to find another time for chores.
ryland grace calls you baby in small whispers when you're trying to sleep. rocky and him are talking quietly about something, who knows. you're trying to get some shut-eye. but just as you're about to doze off, you hear, "baby. hey, psst. sorry, didn't mean to wake you. um, how do you explain a merry-go-round?" you let out a quiet sigh and reply. "it's a bunch of... horse statues you sit on. you pretend you're riding them. and they go... around. in a circle." there. you readjust onto your side and close your eyes again, but it's much too soon when you hear, "sorry, baby. do you know their history or anything?" "honey, i don't know. for all i know, it's war propaganda. tryna get kids to wanna charge onto the battlefield." and then it's quiet. you think, great. it's finally over. rocky and grace have fallen back into their own conversation with just the two of them. vague, colorful pictures begin crossing over your eyes and a scene forms behind your eyelids... "baby?" "jesus christ."
ryland grace calls you baby when he has no idea what's going on. if he's alone in the laboratory, doing calculations, and suddenly the lights turn red and an alarm starts blaring throughout the ship, he shrieks like a child and immediately drops everything he's doing. and the first thing he does is call out for you. "baby! baby, what's going on, where are you?" this godforsaken ship, he'll never be an expert on its layout. he'll never be an expert about space in general! it seems that there's always something else he doesn't know about (but that's the life of a scientist). when he does find you, he's more than relieved, but before the two of you start pillaging to find out what the problem is this time, he always hugs you or gives you a quick kiss: an acknowledgement that he's grateful you're here, and that you two will always be safe as long as you have each other.
ryland grace calls you baby after the long days and sleepless nights, when you, him, and rocky finally break through on something. you three have been slaving away for weeks, running the same tests over and over and over again, each time changing something miniscule in your work to salvage what little calculations are correct and to be as thorough as possible. none of you thought that the work you'd have to do up here could be this meticulous. space is a whole different playing field. but after weeks of work, the glass tube turns the right color and suddenly you're a whole lot more awake, waving at rocky and shaking grace on the shoulder to snap both of them out of their dazes. "what? what is it...?" rocky notices first and his musical cheers ring out, waving his "hands." grace then looks over and sees you holding the tube, and he springs out of his chair and tackles you, laughing with absolute glee. "we did it! what'd you change? oh, baby, you're a genius!" you all know you'll do this same song and dance in a month or so, but three brains are better than one. you'll keep trudging onwards for as long as you need to.
notes: guys i finally wrote for project hail mary, they were gonna get me soon enough. aughhhh grace my wife grace my love. haven't stopped thinking about this movie since i saw it. i'd be happy to write more for the gosling verse in general, so we'll see! requests are open so feel free to drop any request, headcanons, or if you just wanna geek out with me
Humiliation and bladder control with Soldier boy..
warnings: suggestive content, dead dove do not eat, thigh humping, controlling ben, harsh and mean ben, watersports (bladder control, wetting)
Soldier boy being so controlling; he needs to decide everything for you. You need to ask him permission for everything, including when you use the bathroom
He’s making you drink a shit ton of water all day to test your limits, and when you swear you cannot hold it anymore, he makes you take your pants off and dry hump his thigh about it.
You whine and beg him to let you go, but he’s only guiding your hips faster on his clothed thigh, saying, "Come on, stop being a fucking crybaby, and hold it. You’re not a fucking toddler. Deal with it, doll.”
“Ben—please—" You literally tear up from the painful ache below your abdomen as you rut your hips against the fabric of his clothed thigh.
“Shut up,” he warns you, as his big, rough hands guide your hips back and forth. You let out soft sniffles and sobs as you try to hold back. You try your best not to make a mess of yourself and utterly embarrass yourself.
You clench your hole shut, trying your best to hold on, but that doesn’t last long. Ben is a sadistic piece of shit, and he knew he wasn’t going to let you go. This was always the outcome. You gasp as you lose control and feel urine seeping through the cotton fabric of your panties. Golden liquid soaking on the fabric of his pants. You feel your cheeks burn hot, and you bury your face into his shoulder in utter embarrassment.
Ben’s sadistic ass just laughs. Oh, how he loves humiliating you. “Look at you, pissing yourself like a fucking baby.” His voice is rough and cocky. “You call yourself an adult when you have the bladder of a fucking toddler?” He laughs.
You can’t help but cry in response, after all you have not had something like this happen since you were a child. He just loves to fuck around with you. The trickle finally starts slowing down and eventually comes to a stop.
“Stop with the fucking waterworks. Go clean yourself up. Next time fucking hold it. Or do I need to fucking potty train you? Yeah, I don’t think so.”
You wipe your tears off your face, soft sobbing sounds and sniffles still escaping.
“Aww you gonna keep crying doll? You wanna make sure the whole seven knows of this? Then stop it.”
Ben somehow always wins you over after putting you through shit like this though…
Holy fuck if my irl’s even find my tumblr I can guarantee you I’m gonna kms
summary: stuck in traffic in the blazing heat of california. with cliff next to you, cooling down seems near impossible. but you get an idea on how to pass the time and finally - give into the heat.
warnings: nsfw, language, pet names, implied age gap, body worship, finger sucking, oral (male receiving), swallowing
words: 1484
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Cliff liked listening to the radio whenever he was driving, mostly music but he would occasionally switch to the news channel. It was the hottest day of the year according to the newscaster. You weren’t surprised. Sitting in your tube top and denim shorts, your skin glistened in the sun. A mix of cocoa butter and sweat.
You tried to follow the newscaster's voice but he was talking so quickly and you were quite distracted. Could anyone blame you? Cliff was looking ravishing. Maybe it was the result of heat radiating through the metal of the cadillac but damn, you felt hot. Even though the windows were rolled down and fresh air streamed inside, it could not be described as anything other than scorching.
You could see a faint layer of sweat on his skin as well. He was wearing his infamous yellow hawaiian shirt, his chest exposed just enough to make your mouth water but not enough to be considered indecent in public. A drop of sweat had collected at his brow, threatening to roll off his temple, slowly, teasingly.
You tried to look out the opened window, to take in the view, concentrate on anything else but Cliff’s hands pulled you back into heat like a vortex. He was driving with one hand on the wheel, his other arm propped on the window sill. His veins popped out deliciously. Just like they do when he fingers you into oblivion. You just wanted to lick up and down his arms and -
“You good, sweetheart?” Shit. Cliff had noticed your staring and uneasy energy, his lips curled up into a slight smirk. “I’m fine, just…a little hot.” You shuffled restlessly in your seat, eventually sticking your arm outside the window in the hopes of catching a cooling breeze.
He chuckled, knowing exactly what type of heat you were experiencing. It wasn’t the first time you had spaced out looking at him while he was driving. Usually that meant you would jump at him the moment you both arrived home and closed the door to his trailer. But this time something felt…different. More desparate.
“How long until we arrive home?” you ask, clenching your thighs together, secretly hoping he notices. “About 20 minutes. If we’re lucky. The way this line moves we might be stuck for a while.” He replies while looking at the long line of cars in front of you. You pause internally and contemplate on what to do. You need him. So bad. Right. Now. What if-
Your breath hitches and you turn your body towards him, staring at him seductively. His head turns to you, displaying a raised brow. The drop of sweat has now finally started its descent down his handsome face. His expression is a mix of confusion and daring you to go on.
“You want me to suck your cock?”
Silence. For a short moment you regret asking but the thought quickly fades as he chuckles, turning his head away from you. Was he blushing? He turned towards you again, this time studying your face. After breathing in and out deeply, he says:
”Knock yourself out, sweetheart.”
Grinning from ear to ear he shifts his hips forward, making himself more comfortable for the upcoming event. You smile and bite your lip enticingly. Your gaze shifts from his beautiful eyes down to his chest. Your hand slowly makes its way underneath his hawaiian shirt, across his pecs, playing a little with his silver blond hair.
His ribcage moves up and down slighlty more intensely than usual. Satisfied your fingers head down his biceps. Ellbow. Forearm. Eventually reaching the steady hand he has on the wheel. He loosens his grip slightly upon your touch and you gently tug on his fingers. He gets the hint and replaces his steering arm with the other, letting you take his hand. You lead it to your mouth slowly but surely.
You take his index finger in your mouth, keeping eye contact with the rugged man sitting next to you. He can’t help but smile at you, excitement for whats to come coursing through his veins.
The air is thick. Humid. Tension high. By now you are sucking on two fingers like an ice lollipop. Holding onto his muscular forearm, you feel every callous in your mouth. A sign of Cliff’s dedication to his craft. Stunt work requires blood sweat and tears, a real commitment physically and mentally. The thought stirs something deep inside you and you decide to spend some extra love on each callous with your tounge.
Cliff keeps his eyes on the road, looking as cool as ever, as your tounge licks down the protruding veins on his forearm.
“I know you think I’m smoking hot, but you said you wanted to suck my dick, not my fingers.”
Your lips part from his skin and you let out a mischievous smile. Your panty is completely soaked already from all the work you have been doing on his muscular upper body.
“Patience. I am just getting started” you said, biting your lip while caressing his thighs. Both your hands move over his jeans, deliberately avoiding the area he wanted touched the most. His already hard thighs were even more tense than usual.
“Sweetheart, I'm too old to get teased like that.” He bucks his hips upwards exhaling slowly, a bit of impatience escaping his chill facade. You try to hide a succesful smile and move your hands towards his belt. One trained motion and the buckle was open.
It was hard to say who was more excited: you or him.
His cock springs free once you pull it out of his boxers. Veiny, girthy, perfect. A little drop of white had already collected at his reddened tip from the teasingly long wait.
Keeping your eyes locked onto his, you dive down and with one lick of your tongue the white drop disappears in your mounth. You can hear the squeaking sound of leather as Cliff tightens his grip on the wheel.
You take him into your mouth, bobbing up and down, taking him deeper inch by inch. With every bob you can feel his body relax and melt into the seat of the car. If he didn't have to keep his eyes on the road he would have closed them to revel in the sensation.
Spit drips down his shaft, making wet sounds with the guiding motions of your hands. The sounds were competing with the newscaster on the radio.
One hand still on the wheel, Cliff's other hand reaches down to support your head. He looks down endearingly at you. A look you don't see, too busy sucking his cock like it was your last day on earth.
You change your rhythm now and then, alternating between slow and fast. Sucking, licking, kissing. Using your lips to their fullest capabilities.
Honestly, you have no idea how long you've been down there, neither does Cliff. All you can think about is making him feel good and enjoying every bit of the process.
You have to moan when you take him as deep as you possibly can. The vibrations making your eyes turn to the back of your head.
“Shit.” Cliff says.
“I won't last much longer, sweetheart”.
You just hum in response, his shaft never leaving your mouth. You start twisting your hands, rotating them into opposite directions.
Cliff grunts, his body tensing up. His hips thrust upwards, making you moan in return. You continue your rhythm despite his slowly collapsing facade. He starts pushing your head down, firmly but not forcefully. And you anticipate what is coming next.
With an strained grunt and a tight grip on your hair, he spills into your mouth. You still your movements, looking at his face, with his mouth slightly open.
Once his raggard breathing has calmed down and you swallowed all of him, you find your lips locked onto his. Who initiated the kiss is hard to determine.
His tounge makes a distinct swipe in your mouth, with the mission to taste himself and make sure that everything has been swallowed.
Parting your lips, you lean back and pull your knees to your chest. A triumphant smile on your face.
“And? You cooled down a little?” Cliff asks visibly more relaxed than before. His hair slightly tousled. You loved this. The effect you have on him.
You shake your head. “Not even a little bit.”
He has to laugh at that and switches the radio to another channel. Music fills the car and you look out the window, daydreaming about the things he will do to cool you down once you arrive home.
A/N: This was my first ever fic and I am a little nervous putting it out there, so please be kind :) Thanks for reading. I hope you have a lovely day, angels ♡
how would ben feel about spitting? like i think there's something really gross and possessive about it that he would prob love. but i think he would also love the idea that he's fucked you up so bad that you don't see it any different to a kiss? will fully tell you to 'say ah' in public and spit in your mouth. and like everyone is HORRIFIED and you don't understand why
Honestly was bored in the first half of this ask but holy shit did it take a turn. Ben... training you to see spitting as the same thing as a kiss... yes please. This is actually genius the idea of him telling you to open up in public is fucking foul and I am so here for it.
Thinking about Ben saying 'say ah' in that deep ass voice of his is also doing things to me. He'd grip your jaw with his thumb and forefinger, the rest draping down to rest on your throat. You'd open for him immediately, obviously, looking up at him with wide, expectant eyes. You're absolutely enamored, but to everyone else who can see you they think something absolutely foul is going on, and honestly they'd be right. The only thing they'd be wrong about is that you don't like it; you love that shit. The look of pride in his eyes after you take him makes you willing to do anything just so he looks at you in that same way again. You always hold your tongue out for an extra second so he can admire how he looks on you, before closing your mouth and fucking savoring the flavor and feeling before proudly swallowing it and showing Ben the proof. 'Daddy's girl, huh?' he says, treating you to that low drawl of his while he praises you. You nod, still feeling a little dazed from the way he yanked you out of the real world and into the space where all you have to do is listen and he treats you to the opportunity to feel small.
summary. you felt pretty lost when your father died. so you seeked comfort in one of the most important persons in his life.
warnings. explicit sexual content, 18+ mdni, age gap because fathers best friend, mentions of parent loss, mentions of cheating, unprotected sex, fingering, dirty talk, slight orgasm denial, table sex, ed is also a warning for himself ig
word count. 2.1K
vanilla speaks. thank you patrick, for blessing us by portraying ed warren. there will be no one else like you, ever. this is for all the ed/patrick girls out there. <3 images not mine!! divider credit: @uzmacchiato
You didn't notice how your hands were shaking when you pulled up in front of the old house.
It was only when you reached for the door to get out of the car that you noticed, and sank back into your seat.
What the hell were you doing here? Thinking it was a good idea to seek out the only person who had any connection to your father.
You haven’t seen Ed in more than ten years since you lived your own life now.
The last time was shortly after your mother died, when he and his family came to the funeral. And then again a few weeks ago at your father's funeral where he had taken you in his arms after he had expressed his condolences to you.
He had given you so much comfort, was the only person in your father's life who had really meant anything to him—apart from you.
And now you were here to find that very person—that very feeling—again.
The cold autumn air blew in your face as you finally got out of the car. Even if you had changed your mind, it was already far too late to turn back.
You stopped in front of the red door of the house and closed your eyes. One last deep breath, then you pressed the doorbell.
It took a few seconds for the door to open and for you to find yourself face to face with Ed. He looked at you in surprise for a moment before he managed to open his mouth. “Y/N?”
“Hi,” you greeted him with a smile and shoved your hands in the pockets of the long skirt that you were wearing.
“What are you doing here? Come in,” he said warmly and stepped to the side to let you inside the house. Almost instantly, you were surrounded by a familiar scent that reminded you of incense with a slight note of cinnamon.
“Sorry for not calling ahead. But I was in town and thought I'd drop by,” you said with a smile and turned to him as he closed the door behind you.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. Lorraine and Judy are in town, I think they said something about grocery shopping.” A pause. “Why don’t you sit down, I can make us coffee?” You felt Ed’s hand on your back as he guided you further into the house.
“That sounds lovely, thank you,” you answered, suppressing the shiver his touch sent down your spine.
You and your father had been close—there had been nothing you couldn’t tell him. Well, unless one thing: you had always been in love with Ed Warren. He was the hero of your childhood—from all the stories your father told you about.
And it didn’t matter that he was more than twenty years older than you.
“How are you holding up?” His question snapped you out of your thoughts and you cleared your throat softly while you sat down on one of the chairs in the kitchen.
“I’m fine. Most of the time. But then there are also times when I’m not… I guess that’s part of processing the grief,” you answered him, surprised about your honesty.
Ed, who was just pouring the coffee, turned around to look at you. “You’re very strong, you know that?” he asked before setting the pot back on the counter and taking the two cups in his hands.
“Not everyone can handle the death of a family member as well as you do. As you did twice.” He stopped in front of you and handed you the cup.
When you took it, your fingers brushed against his and your breath hitched at the tingling sensation that the touch sent through your body.
“Sometimes I wish I was a little less stronger,” you murmured more to yourself but—of course—Ed had heard it.
He reached over the table slowly to take your hand, and brushed his thumb over the back of it. There were no words needed, you knew what he wanted to say.
That you didn’t have to be strong when he was around.
And when he was crouching down in front of you, looking into your eyes with such softness, you couldn’t help yourself.
You fell into his arms, feeling them around your body as he pressed you close against him—little sobs escaping your lips. His hand rubbed in soft circles up and down your back, comforting you as much as he could.
After a few minutes—or longer, you didn’t know—you pulled away from him again, only a little so you could look into his eyes.
You were so close to him you could feel his breath on your skin, drying away the wet strands the tears left behind.
That was when he raised his hands, cupping your face and brushing the tears away from your cheeks with his thumbs. “You’re not alone, sweetheart,” he whispered with such intensity in his eyes that it made your heart flutter in your chest.
You closed your eyes halfway, leaning a little closer so your lips were almost touching his—but unlike you expected, he didn’t pull away. He just continued brushing over your cheek, further down until he reached your lips.
“We… shouldn’t…” you whispered when he grazed your lips with his finger—his touch so tender that you leaned your head longingly into it.
Then he closed the remaining distance and kissed you gently. His lips moved against yours in a perfect way that made you melt against him with a sigh.
He took the opportunity to push his tongue into your mouth, brushing it over your own, eliciting a soft moan from you and—he pulled away.
“You have no idea… how bad I wanted to do this since the last time I saw you,” he muttered, his voice hoarse.
“Ed…” you began but he silenced you with another kiss, stopping the next words to come out of your mouth. “Shhh. Don’t say anything. Just…” Another kiss. “…let it happen.”
With that you wrapped your arms around his neck as your lips met again and he got back to his feet. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you up and turning around so he was the one who was sitting and you stood right before him.
He leaned forward, taking the hem of your skirt between his fingers and pulled it up so you could straddle his lap.
His hands settled on your hips, sliding down to grip your ass, pushing you closer against his body, and you gasped as he pressed his hips up to meet yours—letting you feel how badly he wanted you.
“Oh god, Ed,” you breathed against his mouth and that was all he needed. His grip on you tightened and he stood up, placing you onto the table—positioning himself between your legs.
You felt his hand grazing the inside of your thigh, moving dangerously close to where to wanted him most. And when he finally touched you—one of his fingers gliding through slick heat—you let your head fall back into your neck as you gasped for air.
“You’re so wet” Ed’s lips were on your neck, his hot breath making you shiver and you arched against him. “So wet for me,” he added and let his finger dip between your folds a second time before slowly pushing it inside.
Your fingers found his biceps, trying desperately to find hold on them as he moved the digit inside your pussy and made you moan his name.
His lips were on your neck, sucking at the thin skin right above your pulse point while adding another finger to the first.
You felt your insides clenching when he curled them, hitting your sweet spot. “Fuck, Ed,” you gasped and felt him smile against your skin.
“That’s the plan, sweetheart.” His voice was only a low growl, that rumbled through your body and your hips jerked instinctively up to meet his fingers.
The other hand, that was placed on your hip, found your clit and he rubbed his thumb over it in slow circles.
But that was all you needed.
“I’m gonna…” you started as you felt your orgasm building. But before you could fall over that edge of pure bliss, he withdrew his hands from you, making you whine in disagreement.
“You won’t cum,” Ed said, trying to keep his voice steady while he started to work his pants down. “Not as long as I wasn’t in you.”
You couldn’t protest—even if you wanted to—because he was already pushing your knees further apart. He lined his cock up with your entrance, lips finding yours as he pushed your back onto the table with the weight of his body.
Then, with one rough push of his hips, he buried himself inside your pussy with a sound that almost sounded like a groan while a breathless scream was pressed out of your lungs.
“Fuck…” he hissed against your lips, sucking your bottom lip hungrily into his mouth. “You’re so damn tight.”
You could do nothing more than whimper, the feeling of him stretching your inner walls making you completely senseless beneath him. “Please…”
That was all you could get out of your mouth. And another whimper when he started to move slowly.
“Please, what, sweetheart. Use your words,” he nearly purred, voice dripping with lust and he continued to move so slow, it made your head spin.
“Please, fuck me,” you tried again and that was all he wanted to hear. “Good girl,” he praised and began to move faster.
His hands took yours, pulling them up over your head, and holding them in place on your wrists while he was pounding into you.
The sound of the table, screeching over the tiles, was muted by the moans he elicited from you and you hoped desperately that Lorraine and Judy weren’t coming home by now.
But Ed’s lips crashing against yours made you forget these thoughts and you let out another moan. “Fuck, you’re taking me so well, sweetheart,” he growled into your mouth, the sound of it almost enough to make you cum.
He pushed himself up, gripping your hips with such bruising force that you hissed in pain. But it turned into a desperate whine, when his finger touched your clit again, circling it with such precision that you couldn’t hold back longer.
“Ed, I’m gonna… I’m gonna…” you tossed your head to the side as the orgasm hit you with such force that you saw white stars behind your closed eyes, your hips moving mindlessly against his.
“Fuck, sweetheart… yeah, cum for me. Looking so pretty when you fall apart only for me…” Ed talked you through it before pushing inside you one last time, and released his hot seed in you with a groan that came from deep down his chest.
Breathing heavily, he sank down on your body, completely exhausted, holding you against him for a few moments longer while you came down from your highs.
If that was what heaven felt like, you’d never get enough of its taste.
None of you said a word when he pulled out of you and put his pants back on. Still nothing when he reached out his hands for you, pulling you up but before you could look at him—you woke up from your dream.
You found yourself alone in your bed, trying to control your breathing as the dream was still in your mind, making you press your thighs together.
Your visit at the Warren’s house yesterday was not such a good idea after all—even if it felt good to be around them.
With a heavy sigh you sank back against the pillows and stared at the ceiling.
Some time later you managed to get out of bed and stood in the kitchen of your dad’s house, sipping coffee—completely lost in your thoughts. That dream would definitely not leave your mind so fast.
Only when the sudden sound of your doorbell sounded, you were snapped out of your fantasies. “Coming!” you yelled, making your way to the front door.
You opened the door—maybe with a little too much force—and forgot to breathe for a moment when you saw who your early visitor was.
“Hey,” Ed smiled softly at you. “I was in the neighborhood, thought I’d drop by. I hope you’re not busy?”
And when you let him in, inviting him for a cup of coffee, it felt like you got a little taste of heaven after all.
warning: +18, smut, p in v (mating press), afab!reader, targcest, age gap, yearning, slow burn, body worship, teasing, biting, slight degradation, hurt/comfort, fluff, implied obsession/posessive, alcohol abuse, no use of Y/n
Summary: Her brother Daeron was more of a drunken fool than a prince, but with the command of the crown that even her father could not oppose, she would marry him. Nothing could stand in the way of pure dragon blood; she had to fulfil her duty. It slowly dawned on the princess that her nightmare might never end, but in her grief she was embraced by the caring fire of a man who would give her everything she asked for – her father Maekar.
The blood of the dragon had existed since old Valyria, a family that was small and almost insignificant at the time, whose most famous member, Aegon the Conqueror, became the first king.
The blood of the Conqueror flowed in his heirs, each generation descended from the Conqueror and his two sisters, originating from the three dragons, the symbol of House Targaryen.
So it was in the year of the conquest, and now, more than two hundred years later, the blood of the dragon flowed in the family of King Daeron II, the blood of dragonriders, conquerors and rulers.
White-haired, violet-eyed beauties, called gods by some and tyrants by others, yet just as mortal as all their subjects.
The crown was under a lucky star, all four sons of the king long married, good matches, true love blossoming in some that went far beyond duty.
Baelor, Aerys, Rhaegal and Maekar all seemed to have a future...a future that would bring numerous children.
Numerous princes and a few princesses, the joy of the kingdom grew with each child, seeing the innocent newborns slowly become children and, after years, adults brought hope to the kingdom.
Princes who, in righteousness and forgiveness, were equal to their fathers and grandfather, at least so it seemed to Valarr and Matarys, the heirs of the heir, the perfect knightly image.
Skilled with the sword and a favourite at every tournament, respectful even to the peasantry when the crown made a procession, Baelor's heir Valarr seemed perfect in every way.
But the fourth head of the dragon, Maekar's own blood, seemed to lack these very qualities.
His firstborn son, Daeron, showed promise in his early childhood, but soon after became nothing but a disappointment to his father.
The blond boy shunned sword and horse training whenever he could, gave up as soon as possible, and at tournaments he seemed even less popular than the hedge knights, as no one could expect any entertainment from him.
His brother Aerion was equally incapable of providing entertainment, and his reputation for madness and cruelty was known throughout the realm.
With Aegon still too young to fight and Aemon safely practising in the citadel, that left the three daughters of the fourth son.
Daella and Rhae, two lovely girls a few years older than Aegon, young princesses whose joy lay in games, cats and occasional mischief with their brother, were the image of innocence for the crown.
It was their older sister, born only a few months after Aerion, who seemed to combine the best of her parents' features.
The joy of the kingdom was conveyed to the little girl when knights threw flowers at the young princess to gain favour with the crown – but what does a child understand of such things?
For her, the flowers were the most beautiful thing, red roses, yellow tulips, pink violets; the more she got, the happier she seemed.
“Here, Father, look!” she proudly showed her father the 'gifts' at the time, not understanding why his gaze was so displeased, why he rejected the flowers, why he didn't seem to share her joy, “These bloody knights are not worthy of you” was all he replied.
Words she didn't understand at the time, but understood all the more today.
Frivolous hope and disappointment breed jealousy thought the princess, her gaze from her room falling on the courtyard, the large square not big enough for a tournament like in the past, but today big enough to watch the practice fight between Valarr and Aerion.
Both equally skilled, equally strong, but there was more vigour in her cousin's movements.
He truly took after his father and would never fight with such arrogance and cruelty as her brother did. Aerion was the reason she hardly ever attended tournaments and fights anymore.
Every time she was there, he killed the horse and its rider, leaving behind a bloody, loud and ugly scene.
It was even worse when he asked for her blessing, something he didn't need at all, but in order to fulfil her own duty and for the sake of her father's approving gaze, she granted her brother this.
After she had given Aerion flowers or her handkerchief, forced a smile, praised him for his courage and returned to her seat, Maekar's hand rested on hers.
Warm and rough, larger than hers, he held her for a moment, their eyes met and her sorrow seemed less in his presence.
He truly seemed to be the protector she had always heard about in the old bedtime stories she told her siblings, she read books with fantastic magical adventures to Aegon, Daella and Rhae.
Her voice was soft and calm, lulling the children to sleep while her own thoughts were lost in the words. “If only it were that easy” she murmured, looking at the embroidered cloth in her fingers, red velvety fabric with her initials in golden thread that she was supposed to embroider herself.
It was a request from her grandfather, who had asked her to make two.
She enjoyed spending time with him, quiet conversations, memories of another time, but she could see that his health was failing.
It was the least she could do to fulfil his request as quickly as possible, even if the reason remained unknown to her.
She passed the needles through the fabric one last time and tied a knot before cutting the remaining gold thread with a heavy heart.
She looked at her work, a small smile of satisfaction on her lips, Grandfather will be pleased she thought to herself, and was just about to look out of the window again when there was a knock and one of her maids entered.
“My princess, the king would like you to come to the council chamber” she announced, delivering a message to which her questions received no answers.
Questions of why and what for were ignored as she sent the maid away and made her way alone to the familiar room, still clutching the two cloths in her hands as she wandered through the corridors.
The timing was unusual, as the afternoon was not yet over, the sun was shining like liquid gold and the castle was illuminating the night for as long as possible.
The two royal guards opened the large door for her as she entered the relatively large room and found her grandfather at the end of the table, not alone.
“Grandfather, uncle Baelor and dear father, what is all this about?” she asked, slightly puzzled, when she saw Baelor and Maekar sitting in the chairs near the head of the table.
Normally, both of them would have been busy with other matters, but it was the silence, the fact that something was in the room, that disturbed her.
The golden crown on Daeron's head glinted in the golden sunlight as the eldest gestured for her to sit down. “Forgive the confusion, but it had to be discreet...as you know, you are a princess of the realm with your own duties” Daeron began, gesturing slightly with his hand as if to help her better understand his words.
“I am well aware of that, Grandfather, and I do fulfil my duties” she replied with a nod from Baelor, who could only agree.
Every task and duty assigned to her with each passing name day, she did well, very well indeed... making up for her brothers’ mistakes.
“My brother is especially grateful for that, but what Father wants to say is that you must now turn your attention to other duties” Baelor continued, his fingers intertwined, but she did not miss the nervous playing with his ring.
She knew her uncle well enough to recognise when he was carefully considering what to say and do. “Other duties? I can hardly take my brothers' place in the tournament” she laughed weakly, her amusement waning as her own spirits sank.
A look to her father for help told her that Maekar did not find this amusing at all, the white-haired man was even quieter than usual, a harsh sigh escaping his lips.
“It may come as a shock and seem unprepared, but you will marry Daeron before the Ashford Tournament” he said what no one else wanted to say.
Silence filled the room, the words hanging between the four of them, words she wished she had misheard, a bitter, tasteless joke as she looked back and forth between the three men in disbelief.
No one laughed, none of the three objected, “No! I-I know my duty as a princess…as a woman, but I beg you grandfather, not Daeron” she rose from her seat, the cloth still clenched tightly in her fingers as she slowly approached the king.
Still not completely losing faith in help, her pained gaze met with rejection, “Daeron is a good match” the king began, trying to appease her by placing his hand on hers, but she pulled away.
Her gaze fell on the cloths, which she contemptuously threw to the floor. “You had me make them for him! He is drunk almost every hour of the day, he is an embarrassment. Shall I hold my dress over him and spare you the taste of his failure?” her disbelief turning to anger.
Daeron, even though he was her brother and she loved him like all her siblings, was far from having any qualities as a knight or a prince.
Aegon surpassed him in horsemanship, and even Aemon was better with a swordm “Uncle, please, what about Matarys?” she asked desperately, clinging to his arm.
The heir to the throne who always had an answer for everything, the perfect son with two perfect sons, “Matarys is still too young” was more lie than truth; his second son, though somewhat younger than Valarr, would have been just as suitable as a marriage partner.
Aerys had no children with his wife, and Rhaegal's twins were already married. It slowly dawned on her, and a dry laugh escaped her.
“The eldest princess, keeping the dragon’s blood pure, but then giving my sisters away to some lord? Father, please, is there no other way?” she now turned to Maekar, who had remained silent the whole time.
Rarely did he seem to be in such conflict, so torn, as when his gaze met hers as she approached him.
Her hand reached for his, seeking support, seeking help and protection from her beloved father, before whom she fell to her knees, “What should I do? Aegon is still too young, and don't think I'll let Aerion make you his wife” his words harsh but sincere.
Maekar was right, Aegon still needed years before he was a man, Aemon was gone, Matarys had to remain as a replacement heir, and the blood of the dragon had to be continued nonetheless.
With Aerion, however, she would be broken by his cruelty; the entire realm knew what the prince was capable of.
Maekar's hand held hers firmly, brought it to his lips and placed a gentle kiss on it.
Her father was one of the king's sons, but even he was ultimately powerless against the word of the crown, “Forgive me, daughter, but it has been decided” he robbed her of her last spark of hope as she freed herself from him, her eyes veiled in tears.
His hand held hers, brushing her cheek in an attempt to comfort her, but at that moment, the princess seemed to prefer to be by herself.
Holding back her tears as best she could, she avoided the gaze of the three as she shamefully picked up the two handkerchiefs again.
She knew she would truly need them, a bitter truth as her fingers held the soft fabric.
Composing herself as much as she could in the face of the decision, she curtsied, “If it is the king's command...I will do my duty” she said before hurrying out of the room and closing the doors, tears running down her cheeks.
That night, the princess remained alone in her chambers, eating dinner by herself. The cherry tart for dessert was a feeble attempt to cheer her up, but nothing could lift her spirits in the face of what was to come.
Prince Daeron, her brother, who was already nicknamed 'the Drunken' had few qualities that spoke in his favour, either as a prince or as a husband.
His love was for drinking, and she was familiar with his dreams, having heard him talk about them countless times. She had cared for him and felt pity for him – but no love.
She loved him as a brother, yes, but it was not the love that the twins Aelor and Aelora had for each other.
No, it would be duty that stood between them, duty to be a good couple, dragonblood that should be passed on to an heir.
~~~~~~~~~~
A wedding was announced shortly afterwards, the whole empire was informed and everything seemed to be in a state of excitement, as a wedding always meant great festivities, especially when it came from the crown.
The preparations had been underway for weeks, everything had to be decorated and designed in accordance with tradition and symbolism, adorned and refined, and everything was made ready in the capital.
They came from near and far, the castle courtyard filled with lords and ladies from the highest houses to attend the upcoming celebration, a celebration that everyone except the soon-to-be married couple was looking forward to.
The arranged meetings, as if they did not know each other, were rather embarrassing for the siblings. Dressed in fine clothes, the first event was an outing to the garden, where she was to hold lightly onto Daeron's arm.
The blond man was supposed to impress his soon-to-be wife with his knowledge of flora and fauna, “You've never been particularly good with memories, don't worry, I can entertain us” she said, quickly reassuring Daeron, whose thoughts still seemed slightly clouded by the night.
The black fabric suited him, showing off his hair to good effect, but in his eyes she saw the confusion about it all.
“You’ve always been better at remembering things, dear sister” he replied, and both of them at least smiled as they sat down on a bench and immediately pulled away from each other.
Sitting side by side, exchanging only a few silent sentences, it became more than clear to her that this would not be a simple marriage, let alone a fulfilment of duty.
Daeron, although nice and always trying hard, repeatedly failed to show up for arranged meetings, only to be found drunk in a pub, an embarrassment so close to the wedding that even her jokes at her own expense were not found funny by the distinguished guests.
The horse ride, during which he was supposed to give her flowers and impress her with his bow and arrow, turned into a disaster when she had been waiting in the courtyard for several minutes.
The closest guests wanted to congratulate the soon-to-be couple and were all still waiting for the prince, “Father, please tell me he’s coming” she whispered to Maekar, who was becoming more tense with every breath.
He pressed her hand gently, once again feeling warmth and protection, wishing he could hold her longer as the courtyard door opened and the applause died down somewhat.
Daeron was finally there, but the buttons of his shirt were not properly fastened, and he held a broken arrow in his hand, “There she is, my princess!” he announced, taking her hand, his kiss almost missed as she supported him.
She did her best to quickly button his shirt properly and play the happy princess in front of her handsome prince, but Maekar was quicker, grabbing his son and pushing him towards the horse.
“Pull yourself together!” the father snapped at his son, full of anger, as the lady did her best to assure him that everything was fine.
Daeron could barely stay in the saddle, however, and the trip to the forest just outside the city came to an abrupt halt so that he could vomit, and the two simply waited an hour before turning back.
He apologised and pressed a single daisy into her hand, “My prince is trying his best” her words offering as much hope as she could muster as she presented the single flower back at the castle – no one seemed quite sure how to respond.
When she returned to her chamber that evening, she found a bouquet of fresh blue winter roses in a dark glass vase.
The pretty blue blossoms were slightly open, exuding a sweet scent as she saw the small piece of paper with the words May your beauty be honoured written in fine dark ink.
Running her fingers gently over the blossoms, the princess was well aware that night that the flowers symbolised forbidden love, among other things.
Almost all of their meetings were unsuccessful, and the only time the young couple looked picturesque was once again in the garden.
She sat on the bench with Daeron's head resting on her lap, dozing lightly as he listened to her stories, the only thing that seemed to calm his troubled mind.
A picture that finally reassured the guests, even though everyone knew that the blond man only had to drink too much to ruin the wedding.
A wedding that neither of them could postpone, a summery, actually pretty day that brightened everything.
Daeron was dressed by servants and apparently still spoke with his grandfather, while she herself was dressed by her maids.
Normally, her mother would have been present, another woman to comfort her, but with Dyanna's death a few years ago, she did not have that experience, a painful fate as she looked at herself in the mirror.
The dark dress with reddish accents, dragons and flames decorated with pearls and gold, a dress almost too much even for a princess, “You look like a queen now” she suddenly heard her father’s voice as he stood in the doorway.
With a wave of his hand, the other women left the room, closing the door behind them, “It could have been simpler” she replied as he came over to her and stood behind her.
She looked at him in the mirror, saw how he examined every single piece of fabric, one of the many gifts she would wear today.
Since receiving the news, her father had seemingly worked relentlessly to have things made for her, “Not for such a beauty. You outshine everyone today” Maekar’s hand slowly slid down her arm.
A shiver ran down her spine as he ran his hand over her skin, the dress not yet closed, his gaze captivating, careful and graceful as he looked at her.
She didn't dare speak, not wanting to interrupt the moment as he moved down and slowly began to close the dress, the fabric gradually fitting more tightly around her body.
The fact that he took on the intimate role of her actual mother, her closest person, the one for whom she would do anything and vice versa.
The moment was still suspended when he fastened the last button and turned her towards him, looking up at his gaze, which contained something other than affection.
“I have one last gift for you, I will always be there for you” Maekar said and reached into his pocket, bringing out a golden ring in his hand as a sigh of delight escaped her.
The finest Valyrian silver plated with gold, rose-like shapes engraved on the outer edge and the words ñuha prūmia engraved on the inside. She read the Valyrian words and felt the warmth on her cheeks.
Under any circumstances, it would be unnatural, even questionable, for Maekar to be so close to her, dressing her before the wedding and showering her with gifts, something that people in other roles should have done.
Today, Daeron was getting married, not Maekar, a thought that somehow made her feel sad inside.
“My heart” her father replied, gently taking her hand and placing the golden ring on her ring finger, then he suddenly moved a little closer to her, and she closed her eyes to feel his kiss on her cheek.
A little longer than it could have been affectionate, his hands held hers, and the blame fell on him as much as it did on her.
She had wished he would kiss her properly as he led her out of her chamber towards the Great Sept for the wedding.
The large dome-shaped building was festively decorated, and the common people were already standing on the steps cheering when the bride's dark carriage arrived. Inside, only she and her father were sitting next to each other, and she had not let go of his hand.
A hint of fear, defiance and injustice, as this was not what she had dreamed of, “I-I’m scared” she spoke the truth as the carriage came to a slight jolting halt in front of the steps.
Maekar's hands were rough and warm as he gently stroked her cheek. The princess thought he wanted to say something but held back.
Maekar held her as long as circumstances allowed, fatherly and protective, and she did not want to let go until she felt the kiss on her head.
Neither of them wanted to get out, but it was not up to them to decide.
The bells were already ringing and the crowd was waiting. Maekar got out first, holding her hand as he did so, and the cheering of the crowd grew louder.
Fulfilling her duty, she waved to them and said thank you as her father did not let go of her.
After a moment, they both walked up the stairs to the entrance of the Sept, the large doors opened as all those present rose to their feet.
With each step, her unease grew, each step bringing her closer to reality, and if it weren't for her beloved father, she would surely have run out again.
Maekar held her hand gently, stroking her fingers lightly, trying to comfort her as they walked down the aisle and paused for the last few steps to the altar.
There was dissatisfaction on his face, but his gaze was soft as his hands pressed hers affectionately.
The prince was not allowed to show such feelings in the face of the wedding, but when Maekar looked at Daeron, she thought she saw a flash of jealousy as the father left his children alone at the altar and joined his brother Baelor.
The old septon spoke the words of the Seven, words of loyalty, honour, duty and redemption, as her hands were held by Daeron, warm but not so rough, not completely enclosing hers as Maekar's had been.
His blond hair was tamed, his appearance handsome, but there was also unease in his face, an unease that even her best false gentle smile could not change.
Everyone present seemed to see the pain of the two as, with the end of the septon's words, the now-married couple kissed and turned to face those present.
~~~~~~~~~~
The wedding of the sad princesses and the drunken prince – a title that could have been the subject of a bitter song.
A day that should have been marked by love and joy was instead a sombre occasion.
Although the reception after the wedding was filled with numerous guests, delicious food and music, the bride and groom were still depressed.
Daeron led his wife by the hand into the large throne room, where there was enough space for everyone, and the applause was loud as the new couple was welcomed.
Before the dancing began, the best food was served, freshly prepared soups, meat from the finest animals, and fruit baked into tempting towers of cake.
It was a wedding that surpassed any in the kingdom... but for every thank you she expressed, for every attempt to engage with Daeron, he drank another cup
“Was it a dream? Or can you not even try anymore, husband?” she whispered to him, trying to fathom what was upsetting him even more.
Her hand wanted to rest on his, but he pulled away, “I dreamed of disappointment, a child with white hair and deceit” he replied, his breath sweet from the wine, his blond hair already falling lightly across his face.
Words of dreams that plagued him, words that made no sense to her as she sipped her cup. Most of them were too busy eating to notice, but her family, the ones closest to her, saw everything.
The cheerful music slowed as King Daeron raised a hand, “It is time for the newlyweds’ first dance” he announced, looking at his grandchildren.
Applause rang out as she set down her goblet, her dress brushing lightly against the floor, and rose, her heart beating faster than anyone else's as they looked at her and Daeron.
The prince seemed in no hurry; on the contrary, her husband slowly and relishfully emptied his goblet, and a glance at her father told her that Maekar was about to lose patience with his son.
Forcing himself to smile gently, Daeron finally took her hand, “Let’s dance” he mumbled, already slurring his words slightly as the wine continued to take effect, and the couple stepped onto the large floor.
A dragon dance, as had been danced by numerous ancestors before them, the music began and the two started.
Arms outstretched around each other, touching gently, but while their movements flowed smoothly into each other, it was Daeron who kept losing his way with every turn.
He drifted away from her due to his slightly impaired perception, and her attempts to follow him seemed rather embarrassing.
The two followed the steps differently, one faster, the other much too slow, and when they were supposed to bow after the turn, he stumbled forward and fell to the floor.
The music stopped and no one seemed to dare say anything, “Daeron, wait—let me help you” she said hurriedly, trying to pull her brother up, “No, let me...I’ll only make it worse” he replied, and she felt sorry for him as she slowly got him back on his feet.
Just as she was about to take his hand to dance a simple dance, wood scraped across the floor, eyes fixed on the royal row.
Prince Maekar had stood up, the wood of his chair scraping harshly on the stone as he circled the table and walked over to his children.
He would not curse, he would not shout on such a day, not in front of all the guests, but his grip on Daeron's shoulder was painful, “Sit down and sober up” he said, suppressing his anger as he pushed the blond boy back towards the chair.
Instead, the older man gently took her hand and placed his other on her hip, “We shouldn’t, the guests, my husband” she whispered looking up at him.
He was threatening to cross a line that would only make the wedding even more of a laughing stock, but as long as the king did nothing, nothing would happen.
But Maekar seemed unwilling to listen, glancing at the musicians who continued to play, “Let me be your husband for this dance” he replied to her as he began to lead her across the floor.
The two harmonised together, following the beat, holding each other gently, letting him lead her. It was like a dream. It didn't matter that no one spoke, that everyone looked at them in disbelief.
Whenever she looked at her grandfather or her husband, Maekar drew her gaze back to him with words of praise.
Every forward and backward, sideways and turning movement was perfect, and when he lifted her up for a moment, it was the first time that day that she felt love.
The two ended the dance with their arms outstretched, back to back, holding hands, a pose intended only for the married couple as the music faded and she gave Maekar her first real smile as he led her back to her seat.
If it hadn't been for the king announcing that everyone else could now dance, the hall would still have been shrouded in silence.
Her gaze left her father's as she looked at her husband, Daeron, who seemed to have fallen asleep leaning back in his chair, and he too seemed relieved for the first time – he seemed to have no dreams.
The celebrations continued late into the night, and after Daeron had been woken up, the couple was led to his bedchamber.
No sooner had the door closed than she tried to pull him towards her, perhaps hoping that a kiss would lead to more and save them from their wedding night.
He pushed her away, saying, “Too drunk for that” whether it was an excuse or not, he did not seem to feel any obligation.
“Daeron, we must...or they will force us and watch” she attempted to negotiate with him, to make him understand what would happen if no pregnancy was announced in the coming suns and moons.
It was only thanks to the kindness of their mutual grandfather that no one was present.
The blond man just gave her a somewhat indifferent look, “It will work itself out, my dear wife” the word foreign on his tongue as he simply lay down in bed and seemed to consider everything settled.
And she looked at the hot coals in the fireplace, down at the simple undergarment she wore, naked underneath, and then to the window where she could see the darkness before her gaze fell on her husband.
That night, it was her silent tears, dreams of white dragons and a wish that Maekar would dance with her forever that lulled her to sleep.
A night that should have been marked by lust and love remained unfulfilled; she woke up before him, put on her dress and went to her own room.
She had her maids dress her in something new and prepared her for the day, “A pleasant night” she murmured, lost in thought. If the servants all thought she had slept with her husband, the whispering in the corridors would not begin immediately.
Even at breakfast with the rest of her family, the mood was still heavy from yesterday, “Did my brother do his duty?” Aerion asked openly across the table.
Ignoring Maekar’s gaze, which looked as if he was about to lose his temper again so early in the morning.
The princess was glad that her younger siblings were not yet present, “I am not your wife, brother. It is a matter for me and my husband” she replied, averting her gaze as she looked at the eggs and bacon.
But the smirk had not escaped her, “Let’s see what Daeron has to say about that” he said under his breath, looking at the blond man, who was quite calm, even by his standards.
Looking up from a goblet of diluted wine so as not to be drunk again, he looked at her first.
There was something in his gaze that she couldn't read, “Don't worry, brother, you'll soon be an uncle” Daeron said and continued eating his breakfast.
A glance at Maekar, however, revealed that he didn't believe the lie; he knew full well that they hadn't consummated the night.
He did not seem to notice this and did not comment further on the fact that she and Daeron would soon have to sleep with each other.
There was no particular urgency behind it, as there would be for a royal couple, but as prince and princess, offspring were expected soon.
It wasn't that they didn't try, Daeron had drunk himself brave whenever they did.
The prince understood her thoughts, thoughts she could never express, thoughts that helped her endure it, otherwise she would have lain stiff and tense on the furs.
For every kiss Daeron gave her, no matter how short or long, she hoped it was someone else.
Each of his touches on her body was shy and brief, thinking she was someone else, not his sister, to help him at least get hard.
With the sweet wine on his lips, her own hands stroking her body, she knew that Daeron, in his state, would not understand the moaned name that came from her lips when she had to take care of her own pleasure.
They had slept together a handful of times in the early night, enough time to drink before and after, enough time to find sleep alone.
In the months that passed, none of their efforts seemed to bear fruit.
Neither with the potions of the Masters nor with attempts from ancient writings that demanded blood sacrifices as in ancient Valyria, the latter, if anything, taking away their desire.
With each passing day, the murmurs in the corridors and hallways grew louder.
Daeron and she swore they had done it, and even that one time when Baelor and the king were present in the first moments, the thin curtain barely enough and Daeron almost too drunk, no child sprang from this embarrassing, undignified encounter.
“The gods will be merciful... just keep trying” Baelor’s advice was kindly mean, but with each attempt, the bond between the siblings seemed to break down even more.
“The fucking gods are against this marriage” was her father’s comment, full of aversion and anger when she felt his jealousy again.
Little did she know that just one full moon later, as she prepared for another night, something would await her.
~~~~~~~~~~
It was later than usual when she stood in front of the mirror wearing only her thin nightgown.
Normally, Daeron would let her know when he was ready, a simple knock from a silent servant who disappeared into the shadows, and the princess would go to her husband.
However, the hours passed and soon it was the dead of night, relief and guilt rising within her.
Not sleeping with him is a blessing, but then there will be no heir she thought to herself and looked down at herself, for months and months there had been no sign of a child.
The whispers now spoke of her and Daeron's infertility, her broken heart being the reason and his drunkenness.
Whether this was true or not, the fact was that there was still no heir, and so when she heard the knock, she would go out again.
However, when she opened the door, she found herself face to face with Maekar, “Father, what are you doing here?” She immediately felt much too undressed, as if he could see into her mind and see all the sinful thoughts she had had during the night.
Without a word, she let him into the room and he closed the door, “Is it true that your heart loves someone other than your husband?” the question came calmly, but insisting on an answer, as she noticed that his coat had already been taken off.
It was a question to which he didn’t really need an answer, “The whole kingdom can see that I don’t truly love him...there is someone else” she replied, lowering her gaze to the fire in the warming fireplace, unable to bear to look him in the eye.
Maekar's footsteps seemed far too loud as he came over to her, his warmth and closeness felt as he stood behind her, a closeness she had longed for.
Maekar's hands gently moved from her shoulders, slowly and carefully, giving her the opportunity to pull away at any moment, and rested on her hips.
“Whose heart belongs to you?” he asked the question to which they both already knew the answer.
Her heart beat wildly in her chest, excitement flooded her, warmth rose as she turned to face him.
Her hands gently and carefully placed themselves on his chest, “My heart longs for you” she finally uttered the sinful truth for which the seven would punish them both.
Words that confirmed it, that finally gave him what he had wanted for so long but was not allowed to have.
Their eyes met, confirmation, understanding, as his rough hand held her cheek when he finally kissed her.
The kiss she had dreamed of, the love and closeness of the one she truly loved.
A kiss of desire as Maekars pressed her to him, a hunger as if he never wanted to let her go now that he had the princess, “If it weren’t for the bloody seven, I would have sought you out sooner” he confessed.
She understood that he was also in distress, aware that Valyrian traditions were highly controversial and that such an intimate union would result in punishment if it ever came to light.
It was a truth that had caused fear, but they were dragons, the royal family, and they could do whatever they wanted – they were closer to the gods than to humans.
She placed her hands on his cheeks, the scars on his cheeks never ugly to her, only making him more handsome.
“ñuha zaldrīzes” she praised him, his beauty which he did not seem to see, eliciting a grateful response from him as he pulled her into another kiss.
His rough hands were so much larger and stronger, exuding maturity and protection as he gradually untied the lacing of her nightgown.
Thoughts and deeds, words and messages, it became clear to her that everything that had happened to her, that every touch from him was always reciprocated.
The princess's hands slipped the shirt from his body as the nightgown clung to her body, “gevives” Maekar spoke as she placed his hand on her upper body.
A shiver ran through both of them as the warmth of his hand and rough fingers ran over her upper body while he looked at every inch of her skin with his eyes.
Her own eyes looked at him, her fingers running over the white chest hair of his muscular chest, a true prince, a defender of the kingdom and her heart.
In a skilful movement that elicited a smile from her, he gently lifted her up to carry her towards the bed, “Even the conqueror would not be worthy of your beauty” he flattered her, words meant only for her as he gently laid her down on the furs.
Her ears and cheeks flushed as she slid back slightly, waiting for him, making herself available to him as Maekar removed his trousers.
A surprised gasp escaped her when she saw his semi-erect cock, the base of which was covered in white hair, as he moved towards her on the bed.
“The anvil is more handsome than his son” she allowed herself to say, and Maekar’s puzzled expression turned into a smile as his lips found hers again.
Her hands held his cheeks lightly as he supported himself with one hand and moved the other to her breasts.
Experienced touches and caresses, something she had never known from Daeron.
Now, lying on the soft furs, feeling Maekar, knowing that he was there for her, a pleasant wave of arousal washed over her.
Her aroused expression was examined by the older man with a knowing look, “How often have you dreamed of being touched like this? Not by him, but by me” his voice opened her eyes and she felt ashamed as she avoided his gaze again.
But a hand on her jaw, gentle yet firm, made her look at her father again.
He stopped massaging her breasts, stopped pressing her sensitive nipples lightly, and the sweet excitement threatened to disappear.
Knowing that he punished Aerion and Daeron and would punish her too by waiting until all the heat had disappeared and they had to start all over again.
He teased her until his princess told him the truth, “Every time...every time we slept together” she stammered, and Maekar immediately touched her again.
The kiss and touch praise enough, “Then let me make your dreams come true” he replied maliciously, his lips pressing against her breast and biting it lightly.
Her body trembled with pleasure and pain, the realisation of what was possible with maturity.
His words contained the shameless truth that only fuelled her desire more when she was confronted with the truth.
Both looked into the mirror of truth, full of sin, the sin of ancient Valyria, dragon blood flowing within them, burning with desire for one another.
“Such beauty wasted on a drunkard” he said as he ran his fingers along her stomach, the tip of his nose almost tickling her as he looked at her, exploring her further, taking his time.
Her legs spread slightly, a feeling of rightness, “Shameful, spreading your legs like that, are you a whore?” the question brought her out of her foggy thoughts, a moan escaped her lips as his fingers traced her soft thighs.
She shook her head, no, she was a princess, but the thought, the thought transformed into images of lust and desire.
His hand caressed her cheek before she kissed the inside of it, pressing herself against his movement.
Her body shuddered again when she felt his fingers on her clitoris, his thumb running over the bundle of nerves as two thick fingers penetrated her.
Her hands sought support in the furs, lust took over as moans escaped her lips, “Love, please” she begged, the obscene sound as his fingers moved in and out of her.
The feeling of movement as he prepared her captivated her. Maekar looked as if he could see her wetness between his fingers in the light of the fire.
A whimper escaped her as he licked his fingers with relish before giving his cock a few strokes, positioning himself as she spread her legs a little further.
Maekar was captivating above her, the fire lighting him from behind, the shadow he cast over her as she noticed the scars on his skin.
Her fingers ran over the healed wounds as she gave him another kiss, a silent exchange as he held her hand when he finally thrust into her.
For a moment, breathless, she got used to his size and width, hearing him groan as they held each other for a moment.
Getting used to the feeling, Maekar leaned down towards her as her moans were muffled by his kisses.
His rough hand held onto the headboard with one hand and her hip with the other, his fingers pressing pleasantly hard against her skin.
“You take me so fucking well” he praised her, the tip of his nose brushing hers as he caressed her upper body again.
Kisses and licks marked her heated skin as he sucked on her neck, a sudden greed within him as they both finally had what they had wanted for so long.
A mark ran across her skin after another, her own fingers scratching his muscular back, muscles tense as the crackling of the wood and the licking of the flames were accompanied by the lustful sounds of the two.
The more they gave themselves to each other, marking what they were finally meant to be, the more they seemed to be drawn to each other.
Desire grew in both of them, the more she took him inside her, the light sweat on both their skin.
Her pleas grew louder and Maekar also approached his climax.
She was all the more confused when he withdrew from her, a shameful whimper when she no longer felt him, “What...what is it?” her question was confused, as lust and arousal were the only things between them at that moment.
Maekar’s hand rested on her stomach, “Gonna breed you, fill you up, give you the heir you deserve” he clarified, his voice thick with lust, sending a shiver down her spine.
The tip of his cock dripped precum as she gasped when Maekars pressed her legs closer and closer to her.
A position she had read about in the ancient Valyrian scriptures, a new position as he penetrated her again, deeper and further than before.
Her head buried in the pillows, her hands clutching the pillows and furs as shameless moans came from her when, after a few thrusts, one of his hands ran over her nerve bundle.
His warm body pressed so close to hers, her cunt taking him so well, “I'm the only one you need, who truly loves you” his breathless words, sweet nothings whispered to her, more obscene and shameless than the hiccuped moan that escaped her as lust overwhelmed the princess.
With her body trembling as she clung to Maekar, both climaxed with a grunt from the prince.
The feeling as he poured himself into her did not leave her as both lay there for a moment, breathing heavily, lingering.
Their exhausted but devoted gazes met, “I love you’’ she gasped as he withdrew from her after a few minutes, grabbing a blanket and laying it over her.
Maekar held her rough hand as he pulled her closer, “I love you too” he replied, pressing a gentle kiss on her temple as the fire in the fireplace slowly died down.
~~~~~~~~~~
It was something that perhaps should never have happened, something that perhaps should never have been, but no gods would separate the dragons, not after they had proven to each other how much they were meant for one another.
It was a relationship under the guise of a loving father and his good daughter...but for any valyrian views of the old gods, it was pure dragon love.
Blood had found blood in the truth of love as the pitch-black nights were filled with further encounters between the two.
And so it came to pass that, even before the next full moon, Prince Daeron joyfully announced that his sister was finally pregnant.
“The gods have finally been merciful to you, Baelor” he said as he congratulated his niece and nephew, giving them a warm embrace, and the others were also delighted that a child was finally on the way.
Daeron's hand on her back, a knowing look in his eyes, something questioning, but the fact that they had both fulfilled their duty reassured her, “I told you I dreamed of a baby” he said, words that made everyone smile.
Maekar came to congratulate his children, placing his hand on her still flat stomach for a moment, “You will have a worthy heir, my dear” he said, knowing full well that the child in her womb was his.
A child who was born nine months later, and bells rang everywhere when the crown had another dragon – another prince with snow-white hair.
It seemed as if the prince took after his grandfather Maekar; the gods could truly be mysterious.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
masterlist
info: Thank you @dreamfyrie for waking me up with the targcest, freaky ideas otherwise I would have never done this. Plus, there will be a similar version with Aerion instead of Daeron and different smut - I listened to Salvatore by Lana Del Rey while writing this and it explains a lot ;)
😛😛😛😛😛😛😛😛😛😛 CRAZY HOW IVE BEEN THINKING OF WRITING A BAELOR FIC LIKE THIS THEN CHECKED MY MENTIONS TO FIND THIS ABSOLUTE TREATTT 😛😛😛😛😛😛
“The eldest princess, keeping the dragon’s blood pure, but then giving my sisters away to some lord? Father, please, is there no other way?” she now turned to Maekar, who had remained silent the whole time.
💔💔💔💔💔 I feel bad for herrrrrr
Her hand wanted to rest on his, but he pulled away, “I dreamed of disappointment, a child with white hair and deceit” he replied, his breath sweet from the wine, his blond hair already falling lightly across his face.
And I oop 😬😬😬
But Maekar seemed unwilling to listen, glancing at the musicians who continued to play, “Let me be your husband for this dance” he replied to her as he began to lead her across the floor.
HES SO FUCKING MESSY FOR THAT NGLLL
Daeron and she swore they had done it, and even that one time when Baelor and the king were present in the first moments, the thin curtain barely enough and Daeron almost too drunk, no child sprang from this embarrassing, undignified encounter.
YALL ARE SOME KINKY ASS FREAKS WATCHING THEM FUCK TO MAKE SURE THEY DOIN IT RIGHT NGL JSJSJSJSKKWKSKW
The kiss and touch praise enough, “Then let me make your dreams come true” he replied maliciously, his lips pressing against her breast and biting it lightly.
Her legs spread slightly, a feeling of rightness, “Shameful, spreading your legs like that, are you a whore?” the question brought her out of her foggy thoughts, a moan escaped her lips as his fingers traced her soft thighs.
AHHHHHHH. also it's literally so not strange that her baby would look like Maekar regardless of incest LOL AHAHHAHAHAH THIS ATTEEE YUMMMMM Im so happy you thought to tag me 💓💓💓
dailybridgerton
turnnoffyourmind
romaincrisis
titsay
prguitarman
blakekathryn
tangentwithtanner
