The hair genetical family tree of the targs. The actual, correct one!cuz grrm was trying to snub genetics away but i (just learned mendel's theory) had a free period and lazyness so. Fixed version of it i guess.
Have yall ever wanted to rip your history notebook over your teacher's head? Who am i asking, ofc yall have. I have a test tomorrow and i probably dont know half of it. Do i care? Yes! Do i give a fuck? I dont really know! Like omg! WW2, cold war, the collapse of ussr, the korean war and the fight of independence in my country happened in the last century, okay??!?!? I know its important but god damn, what the fuck is wrong with this woman to have EVERY ONE OF THOSE TOPICS IN THE SAME TEST. AND ITS NOT EVEN THE QUESTIONS KIND, WE HAVE TO WRITE PARAGRAPHS OF THOSE SHITS. THERE ARE 10 TOPICS, 2 VARIANTS, ONE DOMINANT HAND THAT WRITES AND NOT ENOUGH FUCKING TIME!
So, fuck history and fuck every single man in the ass because they were the most of the people in here. Seriously, there was not a single woman i learned about in the past months in my history class. Im missing them.
So much momson daerion but what about dadson daerion? Daeron has daddy issues + Aerion looks/acts the most like their dad
I wonder if Aerion would lean into it and be turned on by it the first time Daeron accidentally moans Father while they're fucking or would he be weirded out...
Who am I kidding. It's Aerion. Of course he'd be into it. He would take advantage of it so much too. Be soooo smug about it
We're getting freaky in here. Ever since I watched AKOTSK I had this impending need of writing this piece (so it's very kind of self-indulging).
How would Baelor and Maekar react to you having a size kink?
Includes: Baelor Targaryen and Maekar Targaryen x f!lady in waiting!reader
Warning(s): size kink (you have it), kind of suggestive but not NSFW just yet, lots of feelings.
Baelor realized something was wrong with you long before you intended him to.
Or perhaps not wrong. Simply dangerous.
Because lately, every time he came too close to you, your entire body betrayed you in increasingly humiliating ways.
You noticed the breadth of him constantly now. The size of his hands when he passed scrolls across council tables. The way his shoulders filled doorways. The warmth of him whenever he stood behind you, large enough that his presence alone seemed to crowd the air from your lungs.
And Gods, when he touched you, even casually, you felt it everywhere. And, tragically for you, once Baelor noticed it, he could not stop noticing.
The realization had settled slowly over weeks. You liked how large he was. Not merely admired it, enjoyed it; craved it. And, perhaps, the most devastating part was just how innocent your reactions seemed at first, as though you did not fully realize how transparent you became around him.
Like now.
The Queen’s solar had emptied for the evening, leaving only soft firelight and drifting silence behind. Queen Myriah had retired already, and you sat curled sideways upon one of the chairs, sorting correspondence while Prince Baelor stood nearby reviewing council reports.
Or pretending to, because he had caught you staring at his hands three separate times in the last several minutes.
Your gaze kept lingering where his fingers wrapped around parchment, broad palms flexing absently as he turned pages. You looked up at precisely the wrong moment, because Baelor was rolling his sleeves slowly, exposing strong forearms corded subtly with muscle from years of swordsmanship despite the duties that now kept him behind council tables more often than battlefields.
Your throat went dry instantly. Unfortunately for your dignity, he looked up and caught you staring directly at his forearms.
Silence stretched, and then one dark brow lifted slightly. “You are distracted tonight.”
Heat climbed into your face immediately. “I am not.”
Baelor’s mouth softened faintly at the corners, though his eyes remained terribly observant.
“I am sure you have read the same document three times.”
You looked quickly back down at the parchment in your lap despite retaining absolutely none of it. “That proves nothing.”
A quiet breath of amusement escaped him. Heat continued spreading through your face. Baelor noticed that too. His mouth softened faintly at the corners before he set his own parchment aside and crossed the room toward you.
And gods, there it was again, that impossible awareness the moment he approached.
Baelor moved quietly for such a large man, but his presence still filled the space around you effortlessly. Broad shoulders blocked firelight as he stopped beside you, one hand resting lightly against the carved wood of the back of your chair that rose above your head.
You had to tilt your chin upward to look at him properly. That alone sent warmth curling low through your stomach.
Baelor saw the reaction immediately, his eyes darkened slightly.
“Ah,” he said softly.
Your heartbeat stumbled. “Ah, what?”
“You truly do like this.”
Gods. You wanted the floor to swallow you whole.
“I do not know what you mean.”
“You do.” His voice remained maddeningly calm. “You become very quiet whenever I stand over you like this.”
Your pulse turned traitorous beneath your skin. Because he was right.
The sheer size of him this close affected you in ways you struggled to explain even to yourself: the breadth of his chest, the quiet, gentle steadiness of his strength, the feeling of being surrounded completely by someone capable of overwhelming force who nevertheless handled you with unbearable softness.
Safe. You felt safe. And perhaps he understood that now.
Baelor’s expression softened visibly at whatever he saw in your face. Then, slowly, he crouched before you. Even kneeling, he remained large enough to make your breath catch.
“You should have told me,” he murmured.
“There was nothing to tell.”
A quiet laugh escaped him at that. “So, this means nothing?”
Before you could answer, his hands settled carefully around your waist. Warm and broad and completely spanning you.
The breath left your lungs instantly, Baelor felt it happen.
You saw the realization move through him all at once: the visible understanding, the dangerous tenderness entering his gaze, the sudden awareness of how deeply this affected you.
His thumbs brushed lightly against your sides. “You like when I touch you like this,” he said softly.
Heat climbed higher into your face and Baelor looked devastatingly pleased by that, something dangerously close in resemblance to smugness dancing in his eyes. Because underneath the teasing calm, you could see what truly affected him: that you trusted him, that you relaxed beneath his frame instead of shrinking away.
“You make me feel very small,” you admitted finally, voice quieter now. The words shattered something visible in him.
Baelor inhaled slowly, eyes softening almost painfully. Hands tightening faintly around your waist before loosening again with deliberate care. No one had ever looked at you like that before, like your vulnerability was precious.
His forehead lowered slowly against the crook of your neck, pressing against it with utter tenderness. The intimacy of the gesture nearly stole your breath.
“You have no idea,” he murmured softly against you, “what that does to me.”
Your fingers slipped instinctively into his dark silvered hair and Baelor exhaled shakily, his warm breath sending shivers against the soft skin of where your neck met your chest . Then, before you could fully gather yourself again, he rose smoothly to his feet and lifted you with him.
Effortlessly. Completely effortlessly. A startled sound escaped you immediately.
Baelor held you securely against his chest as though your weight meant nothing at all, one arm beneath your thighs while the other supported your back.
The room tilted slightly with the sudden movement. Your hands grabbed instinctively at his shoulders. And gods, the look on his face afterward nearly ruined you entirely.
No longer smugness. Wonder. Like he could physically feel how much you loved this.
“You should see yourself right now,” he murmured.
“You are enjoying this far too much.”
“Yes,” he admitted softly. “Because you are looking at me as though I have hung the moon.” He smiled tenderly, the tip of his sharp canines showing.
You hid your face briefly against his shoulder in embarrassment and Baelor laughed quietly beneath his breath before setting you again safely on the chair. His arms remained firm around you, body surrounding yours entirely in warmth and impossible steadiness alike.
You could feel how carefully he handled you despite all that strength and that was the worst part by far. Not merely that he was large enough to overwhelm you easily, but that he chose gentleness anyway.
The armoury always smelled like steel and oil and smoke. You liked it more than you probably should have, perhaps because it carried traces of him everywhere.
Prince Maekar spent more time here than he did in half the rooms assigned to him in the Red Keep. The space suited him too well —dim torchlight glinting off blades and armour, stone walls holding the lingering warmth of exertion, the air thick with the sharp scent of metal and sweat alike.
It felt honest, and so did he. At least here.
You found him exactly where you expected: near the long wooden table at the centre of the room, still dressed in training leathers darkened slightly with sweat, one large hand braced against the edge of the table while the other adjusted the leather wrapping at his wrist.
Gods, the sight alone nearly sent warmth through your entire body. Maekar looked enormous beneath the low torchlight.
Broad shoulders stretched tight beneath dark fabric, white hair damp from exertion and half-loosened from his usual tidied placement, pale strands sticking faintly to scarred skin and beard alike. Every movement carried heavy controlled strength, the kind that made lesser men instinctively move aside when he entered rooms.
And unfortunately for your dignity, you liked it far too much.
You had tried not to, you really had, but the first time Maekar absentmindedly lifted you above a table in the middle of a conversation just because you had not wanted to look him in the eyes and that movement left you at the perfect height for him, something in your brain was forever altered.
Now every little thing affected you: the size of his hands, the breadth of his chest, the way he crowded close without realizing how overwhelming he felt physically.
And recently, gods help you, you thought he had started noticing.
You leaned lightly against the doorway. “You are avoiding dinner again.”
Maekar glanced over immediately, then paused. That always happened now too, that tiny hesitation the moment he saw you. Like some instinct in him shifted instantly toward you before the rest of him caught up.
“I was occupied,” he answered.
“With trying to bludgeon innocent training dummies into submission?”
“They lost.”
You laughed softly and noticed how the sound visibly affected him. His eyes darkened slightly while something warmer flickered briefly beneath the usual severity of his expression.
Then his gaze lowered, straight to the way your hands gripped the doorway while looking at him, and suddenly you realized, much too late, that you had been staring again.
At his arms. At his shoulders. At the sheer impossible size of him beneath torchlight.
Heat crept into your face immediately. Maekar went very still.
“You are doing it again,” he said quietly.
Your heartbeat stumbled. “Doing what?”
“Looking at me like that.”
Oh, no.
You tried for innocence. “I do not know what you mean.”
Maekar stared at you for one long moment, then slowly, deliberately, he straightened to his full height.
Seven hells. It should have been illegal for one man to look like that.
The movement only emphasized the terrifying breadth of him, heavy muscle beneath dark fabric, towering height, the raw physicality of someone built more like a warhorse than a prince.
And the worst part? He was watching your reaction now. Carefully.
Your pulse fluttered traitorously beneath your skin and Maekar noticed immediately in the way you faltered. The realization moved visibly through him. Not arrogance, but rather something similar to shock. Like he genuinely had not expected this.
“You like it,” he said quietly. The words landed directly in your stomach.
You crossed your arms instinctively. “You are imagining things.”
“No.” He stepped closer. “I am not.”
Gods. Every step of his felt unfair.
The armoury suddenly seemed much smaller with him crossing it toward you, torchlight catching sharply against pale hair and violet eyes alike while his sheer size crowded warmth and tension into the air around you.
You held your ground anyway. Mostly because your knees might have failed if you attempted retreat.
Maekar stopped directly before you, close enough that you had to tilt your head back fully to maintain eye contact. And gods, that was part of it too: the feeling of being small beside him. Of being physically surrounded by someone so much larger and stronger while knowing with absolute certainty he would never hurt you.
Your breath caught softly and, unfortunately for you, Maekar heard it. The look that crossed his face afterward nearly ruined you. Slow understanding. Heat. Something dangerously close to hunger.
“You truly do,” he murmured.
His hand settled against your waist then. And gods, just one hand. One massive hand spanning nearly the entirety of your waist through the fabric of your gown.
Your entire body reacted instantly. Maekar felt it happen. You saw the exact second realization struck him fully: the widening of his pupils, the deeper pull of breath into his lungs, the way his fingers tightened instinctively before loosening again with visible restraint.
“You become nervous when I stand close,” he said softly.
“I do not.”
“You stop breathing properly.”
Your face burned hotter and Maekar looked devastatingly affected by that. Not smug, more like emotionally overwhelmed. Like the knowledge that you desired him this way genuinely unsettled him somewhere deep beneath the ribs.
His other hand came up slowly until both palms rested at your waist now, entirely surrounding you. The contrast nearly made your head spin: you looked tiny beneath him. Maekar noticed you realizing it too. And gods, something in him snapped quietly at the sight.
Before you could fully gather your thoughts, he lifted you. Effortlessly.
A startled breath escaped you as your back met cool stone beside the doorway a second later, Maekar settling you easily atop one of the lower storage tables built into the wall.
The movement had been so casual. So easy. Like your weight meant absolutely nothing to him. And gods, that affected you embarrassingly much.
Maekar stepped between your knees immediately afterward, large hands still firm at your waist while his chest pressed close enough for warmth to radiate through your clothes.
You could feel every inch of how much larger he was like this. The breadth of him. The weight of him. The sheer, overwhelming presence surrounding you entirely.
Your fingers caught instinctively against his shoulders. Solid, broad, immovable. Maekar looked at you then with an expression so raw it nearly stole your breath entirely.
“You like when I handle you,” he said hoarsely.
The vulnerability hidden beneath the observation shattered something soft inside your chest.
“Yes,” you finally admitted quietly.
He closed his eyes briefly, like the answer physically affected him.
When he looked at you again, something darker had entered his gaze now —unadulterated hunger tangled tightly with emotion.
His forehead lowered slowly against yours.
“You have no idea,” he murmured roughly, hands tightening carefully at your waist, “what that just did to me.”
It is the first time I am writing something this suggestive and I really don't know how it turned out. What do you think?
cw: arranged marriage, shameless headstrong reader!!, enemies to lovers (they're enemies in maekar's head), bickering!!!, tension, bedding ceremony!!, non-consensual touching(not by maekar), grumpy maekar, jealousy, over protectiveness, possessiveness, body worship(m!receiving), prone bone!!, manhandling, nose riding, spitting, pussy sniffing, spanking!!, fingering(f!receiving), oral(f!receiving), p in v, dirty talk!!, slight breath play, headlock!!, biting, degradation, praise, hate fucking for one sec, a sprinkle of angst, insecurities, self worth issues, (8.9kw)
a/n: english is not my first language so i'm sorry for mistakes/repeating words!! im nervous to put out a bigger piece than usual aaaa. i will do maybe two to three parts!! this will be an au! so if you have any questions or requests about this pairing, let me know muehehe! i love them so much lol
credits: gif @/goodsirs divider @/feimingo
“i did not believe you wished for witnesses to our coupling, your grace.”
“it is tradition—”
“oh, so it is. a tradition in which half the court will see your wife bare as the day she was born. does that excite you?”
“excite—”
maekar took a deep, steadying breath, trying very hard not to snap at his newly betrothed. or throttle her. was it truly too late to call the arrangement off? a prince of the realm could do as he pleased, after all.
“it excites me in the same measure as a court meeting about grain taxes does, wife,” he grunted, fingers tightening onto the half-empty goblet of wine in his hand. he would need way more than that for what was to come in a few moments. maekar would drown himself in numerous barrels if it would spare him from having to pretend to fuck his wife in front of tens of courtiers and ladies in waiting. oh, and a maester. how could he have forgotten? the gods also needed to be witnesses to such a sacred arrangement. the more people see the proof of his virility, the better. they should invite the whole realm if they are so eager to see him perform his husbandry duties.
“grain taxes,” was heard from his right, your voice deadpan as you sneaked a glance towards him, a huff falling from your lips. “it pleases me that my lord husband would associate us having a moment of unbridled passion with the ever ardent intricacies of grain taxes,” your lips twitched, a little smile in the corner, cheeky.
he could feel the vein in his temple pulsing. a headache was on the way. and even then, it couldn’t even come close to the one that was already in his presence. he could’ve asked all the healers in the seven kingdoms, and none of them would be able to cure him of the ever-lasting migraine that was his wife.
a wound without a cure. a curse without benediction. a grueling fate without end, at least for now.
“unbridled passion?” he almost bristled at the words. the assumption that there will be anything but a poor attempt at make-believe on his part grated on his nerves. “i would have hoped that you would not delude yourself into believing we shall be doing more than a farce of this, wife.”
maekar was not about to engage in any intimate endeavors with his new wife. the court should be more than pleased that he was even willing to go along with this to begin with. having sycophants linger near their royal chambers while they were supposed to get lost in the throes of passion was unnerving enough. he will have to make it seem like the consummation happened, like he was on the other side of the door, pleasing his wife and proving the realm he was still a man in his prime, capable of desire. figures.
“a farce?” you probed, eyebrow raised, the arch of your mouth thinning in displeasure. “you would make a sham of our consummation?” the tone of your voice seemed almost… offended, as if you couldn’t believe your husband would even go to such lengths to avoid bedding you.
that timbre of your voice made his brows furrow, lifting the goblet of wine to his lips to stall his response, glancing to the side over the rim of the cup. he allowed himself a furtive glance towards you, enough to notice the slight narrowing of your eyes. you were opposing him, just as you have been doing since ink touched scroll a fortnight ago, when both of your fates were tied by duty and vow.
“not a sham,” he corrected, although he was not sure it held much truth. “i am sparing both of us of the dreadful act of having to touch one another more than necessary, which i was of the impression would please you. not make you look like a scorned child.”
there was a long, tense silence before you spoke again, voice barely above a whisper. “you would think it dreadful to touch one another?”
maekar paused for a moment, taken aback by the note of disbelief underlying your words, making him turn to look at you fully now, needing to see why you would have that reaction to such a simple truth. “by the looks of it, wife, you do not seem to share my sentiment?”
there was a sharp glint in your eyes now, the poise in your posture faltering for a moment, giving way to tension, before you gathered yourself. “not in the slightest. i deem it preposterous that you would even think of it in such a manner,” you retorted, chin lifting, proud. “or, is it perhaps a ploy to conceal your dignity, my lord husband?”
“my dignity?” his voice dipped low, almost cautionary, making it clear that your next words should be chosen very carefully, lest you wish to start something maekar was not sure you had the wits about you to see through.
but you did not seem frightened in the slightest by his attempt to dissuade you.
“yes,” you reinforced, head tilting just so to the side, feigning innocence. “are you so unassured in your virility that you would devise such schemes to keep it from being questioned? i reckon it is normal for a man of your station to care so deeply about these things, but such lengths are truly ridicu—”
your words were cut off by rough, calloused fingers pressing into your cheeks, hard enough to stall your speech as maekar leaned into your space. he was gripping your face, keeping your gaze on his, not giving you an inch of room to even tilt your head one side or the other.
“one more word out of you, and i swear to all the seven,” he snarled, purple eyes slanted in a glare so scathing it could burn you whole, like dragon-fire. he felt the moment your breath hitched, the short puff of air brushing his fingers. “i will throttle you right here, in front of all these good-for-nothing lickspittles.”
he was expecting your demeanor to change. for fear to cloud your vision and reason to come back to you. for apologies to tumble unbidden from your mouth, hoping to appease and coax him into being merciful.
no wife, no woman of his will look him in the eye with so much fervor, insulting one of the qualities he was boastful about. his virility? maekar had sired six children. a feat worthy of praise. a testament to the strength of his seed, to the potency of it. to how easy it was for it to take root in a fertile womb and conceive heirs for him.
his newly betrothed had some nerve trying to undermine the one thing the whole realm knew to be true.
with that same nerve, you looked maekar in the eyes and smiled. a quirk of your lips, eyes lowering as the pressure of his fingers rose, half—lidded with something akin to satisfaction, as if you wanted this to happen, waiting for your husband to lose control and exert that temper you knew flared at the slightest provocation. too quick now, after a fortnight of constant instigation from you, feeling like his fuse grew shorter and shorter, and now it was only a matter of time before all hell broke loose, inevitably.
your tone was soft, but the challenge beneath it was unmistakable. “did i perhaps touch a nerve, my lord husband? is it truly so easy to have you rattled? enough to grasp me like a brute, where anyone can see? and at our wedding feast, no less.” the more you talked, the more honey weaved through your words. but it wasn’t sweet, not in the slightest. it burned. “have manners been forgotten by a prince of the realm? i would've thought you more courteous than this.”
you were toying with him, like a cat would a mouse. and maekar targaryen had never been faced with such a thing, with a woman who dared bare her teeth back at him after he showed his. it made the ancient blood that flowed through his veins sear under his skin, hackles raising as if he was a dragon in human form, ready to breathe fire onto its enemies and leave smoke and ash behind.
the gods knew to take dragons away, for if they were still roaming around them now, maekar wouldn’t have hesitated to feed his novel betrothed to his own and watch from the sidelines, not missing a moment.
the thought made his fingers dig even harder into her cheeks, the soft skin dimpling under his blunt nails. your lips were pursed because of the pressure, and maekar will not admit to himself how his scathing glare flitted to the way they formed a pout, glistening still with the wine you were drinking prior. you looked ridiculous. that’s why his eyes lingered before returning to hold your gaze.
“you don’t deserve my manners,” he downright growled, a sound so deep and rumbly, like a dragon made flesh, leaning in until your noses almost touched, but he won’t allow more contact between you two than what he was willing to offer. “you don’t deserve anything that i have to give,” he almost spat, his broad chest heaving slightly, as if restraint was becoming hard to grasp. “i do not want to give you anything, you insufferable wench.”
your eyes widened for a moment at his words, but yet again, there was no fear, no offense, not even a sliver of rebuttal. only pure delight, as if his harsh words were music to your ears.
maekar did not understand. why were you not cowering? why were you not mellowing out? why in gods name were you tipping your head forward, close enough for your breaths to mingle.
“but you will, my lord husband,” came your whisper, brushing against his rough lips, as if you wanted him to taste the resolve in your words, the defiance in your tone. “i am your lady wife. what is yours, is mine.” another twitch of your lips, now higher, more pleased, like a cat that got the cream. “and i shall have it, even if i need to take it from you by any means necessary.”
“you know not of what you speak—”
“and neither do you,” you interjected, firmer this time, your gaze lowering to his lips for just a moment, as if pondering a secret only known by you, before lifting to make eye contact again. “your riches do not interest me. the crown i could do without. your name is nothing but an ancient thing that binds me to you,” you had his attention, to his absolute dismay, and it visibly pleased you.
“what i want,” a pause, leaning in enough to let your lips brush his, making him recoil, before he stubbornly held his place, not wanting to show how much the contact unnerved him. “is you, my lord husband.”
you must’ve had too much to drink, maekar thought. what you were saying made no sense to him, sounding like a lie the simpering women would whisper into one’s ear when they wanted to climb into their beds and rut on their cocks to solidify their station. it must be a ploy to try and soften him, to make him pliant and susceptible to future indulgences of yours.
you wanting him? why in gods name would that interest you in the slightest, when many other things should garner your attention, those which were mentioned by you. it should’ve been his gold, his station, his name, his connections.
not him. never him.
“do not think yourself so clever,” he spat, feeling his frustration mount, underlined with a begrudging sense of confusion, which he chose to ignore. “to believe that i shall fall for these empty words of sentiment,” maekar continued, fingertips squishing more of your now flushed cheeks, but not enough to bruise. he was not a brute to mar a woman, let alone one tied to him by marriage, contrary to rumors and whispers. “so do not waste your breath, my lady. it will do you no good, and i am not inclined to listen further.”
he thought that would be sufficient to shut you up, to make you see reason for once since you wed, and stop you from pushing nonsensical notions like they were fact. but you didn’t. his words seemed to only fuel the fire in your eyes, and he could feel the way your jaw clenched just so under his grip, resolve surging.
“i will prove it to you,” fell from your lips, solid and resolute, as if there was not an ounce of apprehension beneath your tongue. “one day, you will see that i speak truth,” a deep, steadying breath passing between your mouths, as if you were holding back something of great weight. “you will rid yourself of this meaningless whim of yours and accept what i am willing to give.” you spoke it as if the future was as you saw fit, and he had no say in it. it enraged and perturbed him in equal measure. “or you won’t have a sliver of peace in my presence.”
as if that was any different from how things have been since the papers were signed. maekar has not had any modicum of repose since he was cursed with a bothersome woman like you. the gods must jest at his expense now more than ever for the hand he was dealt.
“you have a lot of nerve for a—”
“and now, as the night grows near, we shall encourage the lord and lady towards what they surely are most expectant of! their bedding!”
the words boomed among the feast, ripping them apart from one another as every pair of eyes in the hall turned towards them, more attentive than ever.
maekar almost winced. he hated bedding ceremonies, for he would rather walk on glass barefoot than be subjected to such foolish nonsense. but alas, the court demanded it in fear of maekar showing reluctance towards another bride after many years of being a widower. so, he relented, kicking and screaming internally when it was brought to his attention, but anything to shut the mouths of courtiers and realm alike.
maekar did not look to his side. something in his chest pulled him away from meeting your gaze after the charged conversation you had. he hated that your words had been enough to unsettle him, even the tiniest bit.
instead, his eyes followed a group of way too eager lords who were rounding their high table to hoist you up and out of your seat. had they no shame in being so zealous? to let their hands grip at you, lifting you above their shoulders, fingers too rough against the fine silk of your wedding gown. where had decorum gone?
the sight made irritation spark in his gut, especially when he could hear your squeals of delight and the lilting sound of laughter that spilled unbridled from your lips as you were carried away to the royal chambers. it’s like you reveled in this whole travesty. in men touching you so shamelessly while hooting and hollering ribald jokes, one more salacious than the other.
in his case, being tugged on by simpering ladies was nothing but a nightmare come to life, but he had to bite his tongue and go along for the sake of tradition. maekar would’ve rather your hands on him, trying to rid him of his ceremonial cloak and vest, than a bunch of unknown women with too much nerve and too little propriety. he knew you better than he did these squealing birds.
your mirth was ever present when maekar made it to the chambers, his eyes narrowing to slits as he saw the way one of the lords was handling you, too ambitious in the way his fingers were nearly ripping your gown to the floor, leaving you clad in only a thin chemise. and he wasn’t the only one. the rest of the mindless, idiotic sycophants even dared to let their grubby palms smooth down your curves as they hollered more japes.
the ladies tending to him were more reserved, probably sensing maekar’s prickly nature, his body language so stiff they could barely get his tunic off, now half open, letting the broad expanse of his chest peek through, smattered with fine white hairs.
“a sword needs its sheath, don’t it, my lady?” exclaimed one of the men as his rugged fingers jerked your chemise down your shoulders, exposing the soft mounds of your breasts to the air, nipples hardening into dusky peaks. maekar’s breath stalled for a moment at the sight.
and like a beacon, every lord in the room had no shame in taking it all in, mouths open like panting bulls, some even licking their lips as if wanting to taste, making maekar’s restraint thin.
“gods, i wish my mother hadn’t weaned me, for your breasts are a sight to behold, my—”
“that’s enough,” slipped from maekar’s mouth, regretting it for a moment, before he pressed on. “keep your hands and your words to yourself if you wish to still draw breath where you stand.”
his tone was sharp, brooking no argument, if the people in attendance were smart. enough to cut every single jest, straightening the backs of every man in the room like clockwork, their mouths shut so tight their jaws trembled.
“y—your grace—”
“get the fuck out of the room before i decide to turn my wedding night crimson with the blood of the lot of you,” he barked, taking one step closer to where they stood, and it was sufficient to make them scramble, almost tripping over themselves to stand on the other side of the door.
the ladies remaining were uncertain of what to do, how to proceed. they haven’t undressed the prince like they meant to, hovering near maekar, almost trembling themselves.
“ah, ladies, do not fret,” you lilted, sweet like honeysuckle, stepping towards maekar, one hand lifting to press against the opening of his shirt, fingers spreading, brushing through the fine chest hairs. “i shall have the pleasure of undressing my husband myself. these muscles will know my touch alone.”
and for all the bravado he showed earlier, maekar could barely breathe under the bold touch of your hand, soft fingers brushing through the smattering of white onto his skin, reverent, as if you liked the sensation. and your words, spoken so saccharine, but he could tell it pleased you. having him to yourself. gods, what was wrong with you?
“now, off you go,” you continued, leaning into maekar’s space, pressing your bare breasts against his arm, his bicep cushioned between them. “my husband is ever eager to consummate our marriage, and i do not have the heart to make him wait any longer.”
maekar’s breath left him in one fell swoop, half from the feeling of your lush flesh pressing against his arm, and half from your words. you were a temptress, and the want to throttle you was coming back full force now, just as it was at the feast.
the door closed no long after, leaving you alone in the shared room, but not without company, for the lords and ladies, accompanied by one maester, had to hover on the other side, awaiting no doubt sounds of pleasure to waft through the mahogany wood.
“i’m pretty certain one of them was drooling while looking at my breasts,” you whispered, as if it was a secret, as if maekar hadn’t seen the hunger in their eyes and wanted to rip out each eyeball from their sockets with his bare hands.
“that does not concern me,” came his response, narrowed gaze dropping to where your hand still caressed his chest.
“mhm,” a pause, before your chin lifted, peering at him, a quirk to your lips. “i’m also certain one of them was eager enough to grope at them. i felt it.”
“which one?”
he hated the way he bristled, eyes traveling even lower now, to where your breasts were pushed up against his bicep, cushioning the corded muscle. god, but you had nice tits. they looked good squished against him, but he didn’t give that thought too much attention. he just liked tits a lot, is all. yours held no significance than, let’s say, a whore’s would.
the smile you gave him as soon as the inquiry left his mouth was so self-gratifying, he almost took his words back.
“i thought it did not concern you, my lord husband,” you reminded him, pressing even closer, the hand onto his chest drifting down, deft fingers slowly popping open the buttons on his tunic. “why the sudden interests, hm?”
maekar’s hand shot up to stop yours, halting your progress in undressing him, chest heaving slightly as he grit out, feeling tense as a coiled spring now that you two were alone and so, so close.
“stop it. we are not going to—”
and his words dissolve into a punched out groan as your hand trailed down to his crotch, where you seemed delighted to find him half—hard, and have no shame to press the heel of your palm into the growing thickness, rubbing in a slow downward motion.
“no?” you breathe, and the smile you give him is syrupy. he swears he can taste it, your words almost mocking him for his weakness, for the reaction his body had to… all of this. “then why are you hard, my lord husband? was the touch of all those ladies so satisfactory that it aroused you?”
and maekar wants to say that, yes, he got hard from those stupid court ladies feeling him up and tugging at his clothes, and not from the sight of your breasts pressed up against him, pebbled nipples brushing against the satin of his tunic. and definitely not from thinking how well his mouth could fit around one of them to suckle and lap at like a dog.
these feverish thoughts were just a result of not having seen a woman half—bare in years, and his body was betraying him by plaguing his mind with debauched scenarios that would never happen. that should never happen. he couldn't let himself show intimacy in such a way.
“because you keep touching me,” he snapped, harsher than he would have wanted, but he was so tense, and your hand felt too good, a fact which would never reach your ears. “even though i expressed no desire to want such a thing.”
your hand did not stop, whatsoever, continuing to rub slowly over the now fully hard cock in his breeches, making his breathing come in short, angry puffs against your cheek.
“then stop me,” you offered, only leaning closer, as if goading him into trying. “you’re a strong man. i reckon you could overpower a lady if you wanted,” then your lips pursued, thoughtful, and you continued. “unless… the stories i’ve heard about the anvil’s prowess were only tales for sleeping children?”
maekar knew what you were doing, playing him like a fiddle, making him lose all reason and succumb to your whims against his will, as if he were a weak man. as if he couldn’t discern between what he wanted to do and what you wanted him to do.
and still, he was powerless when challenged, like you knew his visceral need to prove himself to you, or anyone else. the gnawing ache in his chest whenever someone dared question him in any aspect of his life.
but more so, when his strength was disputed. undermined.
it did not even take a blink of an eye until he had grabbed you by the arm, hauling you over to the bed, pushing you backwards until you fell, sprawled against the furs and pelts, which cushioned the fall.
his weight pressed you into the mattress like the anvil itself, his knees bracketing your hips, holding you where he wanted you, wide-eyed and breasts jiggling with every breath. for a moment, he reveled in the surprise etched onto your face, before it turned into a cheeky smirk as your hands wasted no time before brushing down his chest again, seeking to undress him.
“so eager, my lord husband,” she whispered, still a bit breathless from the rough manhandling, but delighted beyond measure. “do not tell me that you’ve been secretly aching for this?”
maekar scoffed, scowling down at her from above, even as his breath hitched. gods, no one had touched him like this in so long. not with this teasing familiarity, and not on a night meant to be cold and ceremonial, even if they had never lain together. hell, even stood next to each other for more than duty demanded in the last fortnight.
your hands were warm, picking at the buttons like you had all the time in the world, and it grated on his nerves, even more so when he saw the smirk on your plush lips widening the more skin you uncovered.
he caught your wrist, firm enough to stop your exploration, holding it over his chest for a tense moment, before releasing it, brushing it to the side so he could take over, undoing the buttons himself. maekar rationalized that it was because you were agonizingly slow, and your touch annoyed him, the feeling of your fingertips brushing his skin prickling, leaving gooseflesh behind.
the tunic fell away swiftly, leaving him bare-chested, a mountain of corded muscle and sinew, veins traveling along his forearms and down his throat from how tense he was. your eyes drank him in, mouth parting in a sigh, overly pleased, as if the sight of him alone unraveled you.
it did not take long for your hands to follow the same path your gaze did, pawing shamelessly at the broad expanse of scarred skin, brushing over the smattering of thin white hairs onto his chest and down his navel.
maekar’s skin prickled further under your touch. he could feel your fingers over every scar. the one from dragonstone’s training yard when he was still a boy, the thin line across his ribs from a valyrian steel sword graze, now traced by curious, gentle fingers. but equally desirous.
the low rumble from his throat slipped without his permission as you continued, now groping at the thick muscles of his biceps and pectorals, sighing while you did it, breathy and satisfied, as if the feel of his muscles pleased you. being audacious enough to sink your fingers into the skin, to squeeze and feel every inch you could get under your palms. and he couldn’t do anything but watch you, feeling his breath hitch as he saw you lick your lips, slow and habitual, as if you didn’t realize you did it while feeling him up.
the prince could not get his bearings anymore. his breath came faster now—shallow, uneven. each one of your touches burned like fire, leaving behind a scorching trail. your hands were not those of a shy, hesitant maiden. no, they felt like a claim, like you were worshiping his body with shameless delight, exploring every hard ridge and dense muscle as if you’d been starved for it, as if you’d been waiting to do it.
“gods, husband,” slipped from your mouth as he felt a particularly lingering touch down his abdomen, your nails scraping along the skin, making the muscles ripple. “but you are a sight to behold,” you almost moaned, gaze half—lidded with nothing but unrelenting hunger. “you look delicious enough to eat,” you continued, downright purring now, like a feline playing with your food, daring to brush your hands down his shoulders, and along his arms, nails prickling at the protruding veins along the way. “so big and strong.”
you must’ve had way too much to drink. there was no other explanation as to why such words would come out of your mouth, why your palms touched him like you wanted him. that could not be. no one wanted him. no one should’ve wanted him. he was a hardened warrior, a widower, a father of six, a man who didn’t need—
gods above… delicious? how could you call him something so absurdly ridiculous? as if he were a feast laid out for your personal consumption. as if his body was made to be admired—devoured in its entirety—by her shameless gaze and persistent hands.
“how come no lady pounced on you sooner, hm?” you had the nerve to question—still touching him, mapping out his body like it was yours alone to do with as you pleased—as if there was a line out the door of ladies wanting nothing more but to jump on his cock and have their way with him. what preposterous notions had you in that head of yours? you must’ve hit it when you were a child, to think such perceptions.
his jaw tightened, trying to regain some sort of upper hand against you. “no lady is as impudent as you,” he reproached, his lip lifting in a half snarl, like a beast held at bay. “as adamant to touch something that isn’t yours—”
“isn’t?” you interjected, nails digging into the meat of his abdomen, hard enough to leave red crescent moons behind. a mark of yours, as if punishing him for even daring to say such a thing, when he knew you were bound by vow beneath the old gods and the new. it made maekar hiss, like a dragon challenged, ready to retaliate. “you are mine, by law and by vow,” you firmly stated, nails biting at skin anew, scraping down, painting red indent lines along ivory. “just as i am yours,” maekar had half a mind to snap, to bite, to do anything to stop the words coming out of your mouth, but you did not waver. “yours to have, yours to take, yours to touch.”
a beat, your chest heaving now, too, just like his was, only softer. “so touch me, husband,” provocation again, in your tone, in your gaze, in every single inch of your body. “unless you do not know how? has your prowess deserted you in the years of widowing?” maekar was moments away from strangling you, his fingers twitching with the urge to just wrap them around your throat and squeeze until not even breath slipped past your lips. but he had no such luck, for your next words stalled him, unmoving.
“shall i scream for all those court vipers to hear?” you incited, eyes narrowed, nails still deep into his skin, but he could barely feel the sting over the pounding in his ears over your goading. “shall i let the whole realm know that my lord husband is incapable of even touching his lady wife? of being man enough to make her feel good? instead of standing there gaping at a pair of tits like a green boy in his first whorehouse, incapable of—”
maekar’s eyes flashed—anger. humiliation. and something he couldn’t name, but it burned in his gut, spreading all the way down to his cock, hard enough to split stone now. it was surely the adrenaline of it all, his nerves on high alert, heart pounding so hard in his chest he could taste it in his mouth. nothing else. it couldn’t be anything else. not with you.
you were baiting him again. mocking his hesitation and reluctance to touch you, tone biting, just as your nails have been on his skin. words spoken like a commoner, not even close to the speech of a highborn lady, now wife of a prince of the realm. a targaryen.
he couldn’t continue like this. not with your hands on him, with your eyes watching him like you wanted him, like you desired him. with your—gods, with your tits bouncing with every breath, enticing him to forget all about your insolence and dip down to mouth and slobber all over them like a fucking dog until you moaned and arched against his tongue and teeth and—
his hands were rough, not enough to bruise, but firm as he grabbed your hips, holding onto the fat there and flipping you in one swift motion. not gently, not romantically.
dominant, like he had no doubt you would stay where he put you, where he wanted you, face down into the furs and pelts, hips angled backwards by his steady grip, bare breasts squished against the mattress, as was your tummy.
“m—maekar—,” you shrieked, surprised and muffled into the bed now, but he didn’t want to hear a word from you now, one palm dipping towards your shoulders, pressing down, keeping you in place. a silent command—stay there or else.
he was breathing hard, like a bull after a good run, nostrils flaring, broad chest heaving, eyes trained on the way your body looked beneath him now, arched, at his mercy, under his strong hands, held in place exactly as he pleased. no longer playing by your whims, no longer unnerved by your gaze or touches. no longer making him question things he was not ready to untangle.
his face was hot, hotter now, as his eyes traced the curves of you, the way your chemise hiked up your thighs, letting him get a peek at your rear. gods, what were you doing to him? maekar wished he could forget the way your ardent gaze devoured him whole, as if he were a god among men, as your tone dipped into sweet honey, sultry and purred.
nothing could unnerve him anymore. he was no longer shackled by—
a whine. pitched and demanding, slipped from your lips as your hips wiggled in his grip, pushing your rear back against him, brushing against the bulge in his breeches, ample flesh jiggling from side to side, catching his gaze like a beacon. “d—do something, you useless brute!” you demanded, back arching with the grace of a feline, pleading for attention without much preamble. still shameless, still without an ounce of decorum.
maekar’s breath left him sharply at the sight. your hips swaying, arse sticking out in unabashed invitation, like you were a cat begging to be scratched, petted—or worse, claimed. how dare you? he thought, incredulous as to how a woman could be this unashamed in her desires—in her want for… him. for this brute, as you called him so brazenly.
a brute, was he?
well, if he were such a brute, then he would act like one, and put you in your damn place once and for all, solidifying his place in this marriage and proving you wrong.
slowly, akin to a predator stalking his prey, his hand moved back towards the fat of your hip to join the other, thumbs digging slightly into the curve where waist met ass, feeling the warmth of you through the silk. you were burning, and he barely touched you yet. what a debauched creature you were.
and then, because you begged with that wiggle and sway, he answered. no longer useless, as his hands slid lower over plush cheeks, palm flattening over one rounded backside, and gave a sharp, resounding smack, making the silken flesh jiggle from the impact.
maekar expected a yelp, a rebuke. not a loud, pleasured moan, like a woman possessed, mouth parting against the pelt under your cushioned cheek, eyelashes fluttering, as if savoring the sting of the strike.
“gods, yes, yes,” you sighed, already pushing your arse back towards his palm, wanting more, like a greedy little thing.
his eyes darkened, the purple obscured by the black now, a flush crawling up his throat at the way you sounded, as if he offered you salvation and damnation both. like you’ve been waiting for this very moment since the wedding feast—his hand smacking your ass like a fucking degenerate commoner. and now you want more.
he didn’t hesitate.
smack. another sharp spank landed, not harsh enough to hurt deeply, but firm and stinging through the fabric of your thin chemise.
“look at you,” he grit out, mocking but reverent in equal measure as he hiked up your chemise to your hips, revealing the heated skin of your arse, where his palm smacked, marking you with ardor. it gave him a thrill like no other to see the labor of his punishment on you.
“arching and begging for it like a fucking cat in heat,” he continued, palm smoothing down the flush of your skin, but not to soothe. just to feel the heated pulse of the flesh there beneath his fingers.
it made his cock twitch in his breeches.
even more when he realized you weren’t wearing any small clothes, as a lady should. like a bride would on her wedding night.
gods, you were audacious beyond measure. he didn’t know if it angered him more than it thrilled him.
“no smallclothes,” he noted, tilting his head, as if assessing the expanse of bare flesh now at his disposal. maekar could even see a peek of the folds of your cunt as you continued to arch into his touches. and you were wet, almost dripping onto your thighs, onto the bedding underneath. his spanks have gotten you aroused. “not even a commoner would be this immodest.”
“don’t need them,” you retorted, only trying to push backwards more, relentless and needy. “they’ll only get in the way of you putting your cock in me.”
all the gods above, that mouth on you was lethal.
the words made a ragged, bitten-off curse fall from his mouth as his fingers moved to spread the globes of your rear enough to expose your pussy better to his gaze.
“drenched,” maekar breathed—still hang up on the way you mentioned his cock in such a raunchy manner, unbefitting of a lady—not being able to tear his eyes away from how soaked you were, and only dripping more, your hole clenching around nothing, as if already taunting him inside. “making a mess all over yourself, like you belong on streets of silk than in the bed of a prince.”
he couldn’t help but lean down, but not towards where you were softest. not yet. his rough lips pressed to the warmth now seared onto your arse, only hovering for a moment, before he pulled back his lips to bite, sinking his teeth into the ardent flesh. gently at first, just a slight press of canines. a dragon claiming what he marked.
then he kissed it. a hot, open—mouthed press that warmed the aching skin even more. no finesses, no romance. just raw possession now, letting you know with teeth and tongue that you belonged to him entirely now, and not the other way around. gods and vows aside. he was not yours. but you were his.
you couldn’t help the soft sounds falling from your lips, every touch from your husband burning. a true dragon’s claim on his hoard. no longer distant, no longer resisting that primal instinct you knew lay dormant within him, just waiting to be taunted out.
“a—ah, you could always move your mouth lower, my lord husband.”
lower.
said in such a sultry, daring way, as if you thought he wouldn't, as if you needed to coax him towards your cunt.
maekar exhaled slowly, the flush on his throat only blooming more insistent with every word from you, each more sweltering than the other. he even forgot about the courtiers lingering on the other side of the door. the thought only made his flush deepen, traveling all the way to the tips of his ears, reddening his cheeks along the way. he’s sure they heard the spanks. gods, they’re gonna think him a barbarian who slaps his wife around for pleasure. and it was only your fault for goading him into such things.
he couldn’t let shame burn too hotly in his gut, choosing to distract himself by slowly peppering kisses up your thighs, tongue laving across the skin, pulling more breathy sounds out of you. every press of lips was deliberate, each one slower than the last, inching where you wanted him most, where you smelled strongest. tangy, musky, and just a bit of sweetness, all dripping out of you, the more attention he gave.
for a prince of the realm, the way he comported himself tonight should’ve been shameful, but he couldn’t think about propriety and etiquette as his nose brushed along your folds, inhaling deeply, searing your scent to the back of his throat as he groaned aloud. fuck, fuck, fuck.
it felt perverted to trail the tip of his nose along your drooly folds, spreading them just so, nudging them apart, coating himself in your juices, mouth dropping open in a near growl.
the sound that got out of you was more like a yelped moan than anything, but you pressed your hips back, as if itching to hump your pussy against the bridge of his nose. and maybe one day, he would let you do just that, but today he had other plans, as he let the tip of his nose bump against your chubby clit, brushing against the silky skin.
“yes, yes, yes, right there,” you whined like a mantra, having no qualms in moving your hips, grinding down helplessly in hopes of pressing the tip of your husband’s nose more firmly against the bundle of nerves at the top of your pussy. “feels good, husband, gods—”
just this. just you humping his nose like a fevered whore, getting him soaked with your slick, enough for it to drip onto his reddened cheeks and even down to his lips, urging him to lick at them, tasting you on his tongue.
that was enough to urge him to stick his tongue out and lave at your pussy, a broad, firm flick of it, greedily soaking up all the wetness he could. maekar would drink from you if he could. if such a thing as the nectar of the gods existed, he was sure it wouldn’t come close to the taste of your cunt on his tongue.
your moan was loud, pulled from deep within your chest, melting you from head to toe as your husband continued to lap at you with a greed rivaling a thief's, stealing the sweetest sounds from your throat, the combination of his nose bumping into your clit and his tongue parting your folds almost making you go cross eyed from pleasure. “don’t stop, don’t—fuck, maekar, don’t stop licking.”
even like this, you were demanding and bossy.
“y’taste good, wife,” came muffled from between your thighs, accompanied by wet, slurping sounds, so lewd and arousing, it only made you drip onto his awaiting tongue more. “if i knew this was all i needed to do to keep your mouth shut,” a suck against your quivering hole, obscene enough to make even you flush. “i would’ve had you spread open right after we signed the papers,” a huff against your wetness, before he nudged his nose against your clit anew, grinding it in slow circular motions, making you shake. “it would’ve saved me a fortnight of peace.”
his words only made you seek his touch more, hips grinding with more fervor, seeking as much pleasure as he could give. “you should’ve,” you retorted, airy and soft, molded around a mewl as his tongue replaced the tip of his nose, circling your clit firmly, your eyes almost rolling back into your head from how good it felt. “should’ve taken me, too. put your cock to good use and render me speechless.”
as always, you were relentless. here he was, drowning in your pussy, and you wanted more. he should’ve left you like that, a sprawled mess onto the bed, aching and whining, showing you the importance of patience. of gratitude. of restraint.
but, alas, he has lost the will to make you suffer, to want to see you crumple, and now only desired this version of you. needy and pliant and pleading for every inch of him like a good wife would.
and even then, he couldn’t forget all the lip you gave him, all those jabs and ceaseless fussing.
your husband was not going to give you everything you wanted when you wanted it. not on your terms.
maekar drew back from between your folds, your juices smeared over the bottom half of his face, coating his beard, glistening in the candlelight, and twirled his tongue around his mouth for a few moments, before spitting right onto your quivering hole, thumb following to spread the wetness around. it was vulgar, but it made you whine louder. so he did it again, a bigger glob of saliva this time, dripping from your entrance to your clit, before trailing down onto the bedding.
“filthy,” he rebuked, as if he wasn’t the one dirtying you with such unabashed lewdness. two thick, calloused fingers swiped through the mixture of slick and spit, gathering it generously before feeding it into your hole, slow and methodical, all the way up to the second knuckle.
and curled, brushing against spongy walls.
“gods—,” you cried out, clenching around his fingers, as if sucking them deeper. it made your husband growl, punishing your greed by curling the digits again, dragging the rough pads along those spots which made your pitch higher, your thighs quiver. “more, maekar,” you pleaded, pushing your hips back, grinding onto his fingers, ass jiggling from the way maekar’s wrist slapped against the bottom of your rear. “need more, ah, need your cock. p—put your cock in me already, you brute—” you tried again, but he ignored you, only adding a third finger, stuffing you more full, placating you. but teasing you in equal measure, like the brute he was.
that seemed to frustrate you more, whine gurgling from your throat, hips gyrating with more insistence. “n—not enough!” you gritted, so, so impatient, focused on getting the only thing you truly wanted. “a true husband would’ve had his cock in me by now! a—are you, ah, fuck,” a harsh flick of his wrist interrupted your protests, deterring you for a moment, before you continued, brows furrowing. “does your prick not work anymore, my lord husband? are you afraid i won’t be satisfied?” the words tumbled out of your mouth unbidden, throwing every taunt at him in hopes of him biting.
“is it so small that it’ll leave me asking for your fingers again or—”
silence.
before a weight settled over your back like a blanket, so warm and sturdy, pinning your upper body onto the pelts ruthlessly, stealing the breath from your lungs, leaving you winded for a few moments.
“shut up,” was growled against your ear, so low and vicious it made your now empty hole quiver and drip even more slick. gods, where had his fingers gone? “you insufferable, wanton wench,” his words dripped with so much venom it made a delicious shiver run down your spine, more than delighted to have him pressed along your back, shoulders to hips, feeling the hard length of his cock press along the folds of your pussy through his breeches.
one of his hands fumbled with the fastenings, pulling himself out, thick and girthy, guiding the head towards your folds, smearing his precum all over the silky flesh as he panted against your ear. “you don’t deserve this,” he rumbled, gliding the cock-head slowly along the wetness, before slapping it against your clit. once, twice, like small love taps, barely giving you any stimulation. “but i’ll give it to you anyway,” he inched back towards your entrance, repeating the lewd motion, precum coating the throbbing hole with each slap of the head against it.
his arms moved, one settling by your head, elbow pressed into the mattress so he can curl all that muscle and sinew against your neck, cradling your head between his forearm and bicep, the crook of his elbow pressing softly against your throat, making you gasp, choked and whiny. your husband had you in a headlock, squeezing just so, just enough for you to feel his strength and what he could do with it, if he wished.
it made you moan shamelessly, palms coming to curl around the muscle there, nails digging in, making maekar hiss, and flex just a bit more in retaliation, before relaxing the squeeze.
“please, husband,” you pleaded, a little breathless from the hold of his arm, pushing your hips back against him. “take me, fuck me, have me.”
music to maekar’s ears. having you so desperate, begging for him so sweetly, letting him place you how he wanted and keep you there, his weight keeping you pressed to the bedding, your hips tilted up by his other hand, which now slowly pushed the head of his cock into your glistening hole, still careful, even with all the pent-up frustration and arousal. he never meant to hurt you, no matter how much you infuriated him.
a loud, suffering groan brushed your ear as he bottomed out, feeling how tight you were, how wet and warm and gods—he could die in your cunt. in this greedy, hungry thing, which pulsed and throbbed and squeezed around him like it wanted him deeper.
you were no better, practically drooling over his bicep, shameless moans spilling freely, loud enough to be heard by the courtiers, perhaps the whole castle. pleasure overtook you, urging you to babble, fingers gripping at his muscles like a lifeline. “have me, husband,” you repeated those salacious words, clenching around him tightly. “t—take me like a real man, not a green boy who—”
the hand that guided his cock inside snapped upwards, clamping over your mouth, thick fingers pressing into the flush of your skin, rendering any more comments to silence.
“shut,” he ground out, dragging his hips back before snapping them forward, thrusting inside you. “your insolent mouth, woman,” rasped against your cheek now, as he set a firm, ruthless pace, navel slapping against the flesh of your ass, making it jiggle, the sound echoing through the room.
your sounds of pleasure were muffled by his hands, slobbering all over the inside of his palm from how much you were drooling, moans and cries barely making it past the rough fingers pressed to your lips. maekar could’ve winced at the feeling of wetness, but it only thrilled him more to have you like this, mindless with bliss from how deep his cock reached, the tip hitting that one spot inside your gummy walls that made your nails scratch at his bicep and your tongue lolling out, pressing against his palm, even daring to lick.
every thrust brought him closer to the edge, feeling the telltale sign of heat at the base of his spine, spreading into the pit of his stomach. and by the way your sounds could barely be silenced anymore, so were you.
his pace quickened, hips snapping against your ass harder, rutting into you with fervor, close to snarling against your ear from how good it felt. gods, your pussy was made for this. for him. coating his cock, making tendrils of slick stick to his navel and the backs of your thighs from how wet you were, the sounds squelching and filthy. “pussy so good, wife,” maekar rumbled, the praise slipping from his mouth. “so good for your husband’s cock.”
his wife was getting close, he could tell; her hands now clawing at the one of his onto her mouth, making him slacken it just enough for her to cry out, garbled and supplicating.
“spend in me,” you mewled, little ah, ah, ah sounds muffling against the inside of his palm, now coated with your drool. “give me your seed, maekar,” the pleading continued, making his thrusts falter minutely. “let me have your seed, husband.”
you sounded so desperate, so… earnest, as if all that happened led to this, to you asking for something a husband should give freely, without a shroud of doubt. like a future where you might end up round and full with his child was something you would be pleased with. it was too much for him. he won’t be made to believe that such a forthcoming was meant to be sound, especially when you were overcome with pleasure.
maekar found himself shaking his head, palms pressing back against your mouth to silence any more begging, to cease such ramblings from a woman who didn’t mean what she was saying, even if your words almost made him cum inside of you moments ago.
“i—i can’t,” he groaned, low and shaky, as if pained. “i won’t, wife.”
sam spruell in those backstage photos with the maekar hair and beard where he’s pulling those faces, i say this with my whole heart i genuinely think that is the hottest a man has ever looked
first time the term "mother cuntress" has been applicable for a man
Hi, how about Aerion has a seemingly submissive and quiet wife. One day, in anger (maybe because Valarr is getting praised or his siblings are favoring Daeron), he says cruel words to her, and she just snaps. She goes, ‘Who are you, this incompetent, that you get offended even by a lizard just because it dares to resemble a dragon?’ and just starts saying really mean things to him. Maybe she even slaps him in rage, and it just turns him on, and he forgets what this was all about.
-🦚
hey 🦚 anon!!!!!!!
this eats, because he would spend so long thinking he has the upper hand on you. that he has a wife that will submit to his word, his hand, will do as he says and asks of her.
and you do. you hold your tongue when he acts irrational, give him sweet affection when you know he needs it. and most of the time, it would work. he would soon calm, take your hand and hold it in contained silence. but as of late, it stopped taking effect. he would maintain his clenched jaw, his harsh whispers about others wrongdoings.
and everyone around him enabled his spoilt attitude, it seemed only you had right to correct it.
his uncle baelor, and his two sons, had visited summerhall for a luncheon to welcome summer. where better than the targaryen summer castle?
you played the part of a good wife, stood at aerion's side to welcome his family, let him keep his iron grip on your waist. but it had not been enough, for his witness to your far-too-fond conversation with valarr had him storming over to you.
"do you forget yourself, wife? you are mine, after all." he would hiss, valarr taking a step back as to not irritate his cousin further. he did not want for you to be on the receiving end of scrutiny because of him.
"i was simply talking with your cousin on the tourney next moon." you responded, but it had not been sufficient enough for him.
"did i grant you to take leave of my side?" he urged, his kin now stood still to witness his berating of you.
"no." you simply spoke, preparing to hold your tongue as you always had.
but once he had reached for your arm, you had snapped. your image of the perfect princess had faltered for all to bear witness, though you were not embarrassed. anger overcame you, as he jolted your wrist to follow him, you raised your other arm to strike him across his face.
the realm fell silent. not a soul moved, for they did not know what to do. they feared the cruel prince's retaliation to his lady wife striking him. but you did not. you did not care, you were weary of his attitude.
aerion had not moved, only turned his face back to you at an achingly slow rate. you swallowed to anticipate being struck back, with a firmer hand than your own. but aerion smirked, a wicked smirk, one that had you befuddled.
it had befuddled the targaryen house to witness aerion charge at his wife, hands cradling your face, in a firm kiss. no public embarrassment, no scolding, no physical correction of your behaviour. but affection, for he had finally met his match.
maekar targaryen x second wife!reader, grumpy maekar, reader objectifies maekar!!.
a/n: since maekar won the wip poll, here's a small snippet!! more tags will be added to the final work!! and yes, there will be eventual smut and a lot of bickering!!
maekar’s eye twitched, his patience already worn thin. a warrior, he was. a prince. a targaryen. a dragon.
how could you just stand there, appraising him like this, your chin lifted as your eyes glittered with something uncomfortably close to… interest?
maekar was going to be sick. what in the gods' name was this whole farce you were putting on?
“i do not have time for these—”
you tilt your head, pursing your lips, and hum, interrupting him. “you are so… large, my lord husband. broad.”
the prince cannot help but blink, words suddenly escaping him, statue still, needing moments to recover, ready to bite and chew you out like he always did.
but you seem relentless in your conquest of his speech, your eyes doing a slow once-over along his body, slower as you pass his crotch, pointedly looking, before meeting his gaze again.
“are you large everywhere, husband?”
maekar’s breath hitched. imperceptible to anyone else but keen on your eyes, making the corner of your lips twitch, pleased.
no one had ever looked at him like that, with such unashamed boldness, such… impudent attention, as if you were undressing him with your eyes, layer by layer.
you didn’t cower, didn’t simper, didn’t lower your eyes to the ground with murmurs of “yes, my prince”, like any other lady of the court would in his presence.
for a man so tightly wound up, so used to steel and blood and order all his life, this gave him pause.
you were drinking him in with your gaze, as if he were some prized stallion made for breeding, auctioned for the highest bidder.
maekar found himself very aware of every inch of himself: the broad width of his shoulders, the thick corded muscles and sinew in his arms, and… yes—the heavy weight between his legs that you so brazenly inquired about.
he exhaled through flared nostrils akin to a dragon preparing to breathe fire, voice a low, gravelly rumble. “cease this at once,” was all he could say, chest heaving under his fine tunic, words no longer coming easy to him in the face of such abnormality. a woman finding him… desirable? his wife finding him desirable? a bunch of tomfoolery he wanted nothing to do with. he would not be foolish enough to be caught in such a web of lies and deceit.
his rebuke only seemed to light the fire in you, the curl of your lips lifting into a full smile now.
“am i not allowed such things?” you jutted your chin up, the challenge wrapped around your words crystal clear. “you are my lord husband. i shall look my fill whenever i so please.”
your lord husband. the title dripped from your lips with no reverence at all, no fearful deference he would expect from a newly betrothed wife shackled to a prince of the realm.
the prince’s breath came out in a harsh scoff, brows furrowing. he would rather be in an open field with a hundred men marching towards him at once with intent to kill, than have to stand in front of you in this very moment, feeling more like a boy than he has in decades.
and yet, you were not wrong. he was your husband now, has been for over a moon past, bound by crown and vow, whether he favored it or not.
maekar could feel a slow heat creep up the back of his nape, flushing all the way to the tips of his ears. it was out of anger. it had to be. he was absurdly displeased with the words that were coming out of your mouth, and his body reacted accordingly.
“you must’ve taken leave of your senses to speak in such manner to a prince of the realm—”
“to my husband,” you corrected, firm, eyes narrowing in rebuke, but your smile was intact, if only widening. “i am speaking in such a manner to my husband, who happens to be a prince of the realm.”
The reader here is not reacting correctly, if it were me there, i wouldve ripped my clothes off and his clothes off and throw both of us on a bed and bo escape till a week ends.
hbo was fucking weak for - not making dany bald, or have a short hair after literally burning alive and coming out of the fire; not photoshopping the valyrians to have purple eyes ; not making dany's dragons very distinctive colours of black, green, and golden white; removing the agency of rhaenyra and making her out to be the second coming of ghandi.
lets all hate on hbo for this. i know theres more, like RUINING THE ENDING OF GAME OF THRONES, but these are the mostly minor changes which i hate.
mf appeared at random (nor really random but eh), served cunt with his armor and his normal clothing and started preaching about religious propaganda... Ormund hightower, excuse me because i did not know your cuntserving abilities.
the whole point of the Kingsguard is that they’re unbelievably fucking washed like zero heroic deeds on the board just morning noon night overtime fraud aura farming. Complicit in every act of patriarchal violence of the monarchy. Not even that good at fighting. Hypothetical victories only. Like “noooo Arthur Dayne would’ve—” except Arthur Dayne lay down his life to stop a pregnant 15 year-old dying in childbirth from seeing her big brother on her deathbed and then got fucking hosed by teenage Ned Stark and his gay best friend who does not hit 5 foot two. “Ohhhhhh aemon the dragonknight” kept his sister in that damn cage for decades and then died in the service of his brother which is dickrider behavior. Bystanderan Selmy? Washed.
i really hope that eye redness thing is going to follow him forever. because if he shows up once again on my screen with that reddish eye... yall will have to sedate me because i would jump on this man and the rest would be history that even mushroom from F&B wouldn't record.
