I think part of getting better is complete ego death. Like you’re not above setting a timer for 5 minutes and focusing on a task. You’re not above doing a very simple 3 minute workout to start. You’re not above reading for 10 minutes a day when you first get out of your reading slump, even if you used to read for hours. You’re not above starting slow and then building up to where you want to be/where you once were. What you are above is total inertia. Doing something really is better than doing nothing. Radically accept where you are, radically accept your limits, and go from there. Don’t let your ego get in the way.
cw: smut (+18, MDNI!). canon divergence, modern!au, age difference (baelor is in his late 40s and reader in her late 20s), erectile dysfunction, oral (female!receiving), pussy pronouns, pussy worship, spanking, slight anal play, outercourse. | wc: 1633
modern!baelor targaryen x female!reader.
part one.
i just can't stop thinking about how BAELOR is older than the men you usually date, and the way he'd have you gripping the bedframe as he circles the tip of his tongue across your needy, throbbing, swollen clit.
it would be morning—the sun has barely risen and he's lying in bed, with your clothes thrown carelessly around the vintage frame and his arms circled around your thighs. sunlight, warm and golden, would seep in through the blinds, bleeding across the wooden floor little by little, occupying the space as a clock, somewhere nearby, ticks, and ticks, and ticks.
it had rained the night before: not too violently, not for too long, just hard enough for a faint chill to remain whenever the wind blew in through a set of wooden blinds that were left open half-way. it makes the beams creak and the walls whistle, and it brings a shiver up your spine.
it is, after all, the beginning of summer.
BAELOR’s hands, however, feel hot against your skin. his fingers are splayed along the expanse of your thighs, digits pressing into the plush skin as he circles them in a caress. and his tongue, running along your puffy, glistening folds, feels the warmest of all.
"look at how pretty she is," he murmurs, pointing his words with a lick. "how she throbs and leaks, begging for my touch. tastes so sweet, too. could just—mhm, could just lick her for hours, pretty girl."
he just about has been.
he’d started just as you were waking up, dragging his fingers along your slit under your sleeping shorts, sucking them into his mouth before asking you to ride his face instead. and how were you supposed to refuse?
"no, no," he hums, sucking your clit into his mouth as he pulls you down lower against his face. "i didn't say hover, pretty girl. i said sit."
a moan rips through your lips as his tongue enters your hole, and he circles it around as he revels in the sound. he gulps, savoring your taste, feasting on your slick, whimpering against your skin at the way you begin to move your hips over his head. he sucks around your hole as he kneads at the bottom of your ass, working his lips in tandem with his tongue.
his hands move again, making you gasp, making your teeth sink into your bottom lip the moment he uses them to land a spank just over the place he was kneading. and, as if feeding off of your response, as if growing only from your pleasure, does it again the moment you begin to move faster.
"that's right. mhm, take what you need. yeah, just take what you need," he moans against your skin, moving his face upwards to rest his tongue beneath your throbbing clit. he lays it flat, feeling you move against it, your cunt dripping down his chin.
and there’s a part of him that’s still ashamed. there’s a part of him that still whispers and grumbles in the back of his head, telling him that he’s too old for you, that you deserve better, that you should want better—
you quiet it, moaning over him. he puts it to rest, willing it away if only for a moment, nibbling on your clit as he treads a hand between your folds, collecting moisture with his fingers.
he moves his thumb back, digit dripping with your slick, and circles it, softly, tenderly, along your asshole. he hears you gasp, feels you tremble, and tongues at your clit as he applies more pressure with his finger. the tight, puckered ring of muscle clenches under his digit, and he presses in, and a moan, broken and hoarse, echoes across the room.
yours. or his?
BAELOR laps at your cunt, moving his finger in slow, delicate motions, accompanying your moans with the wet, debauched sounds of his sucking.
“i’m so—BAELOR, i’m—”
“gonna cum, pretty girl?” he groans, moving his finger in deeper, sucking your clit in harder. “soak my face, yeah? gonna do that for me?”
you want to answer. you try to.
but then BAELOR’s tongue flicks along your pearl once more, and you’re weightless, and you’re sinking down, and you’re soaring up. your hands grip the headboard so tight your knuckles begin to hurt, and you’re seeing blue, and pink, and white, and all the colors of the rainbow on the back of your eyelids as you move faster against his face, riding out the bliss.
your orgasm ripples through you in a way that has him all but feeling his, almost succumbing to it, almost coming untouched.
he’s careful when he pulls his finger out of your hole, caressing it once more when it starts to clench at the loss.
his cock rests over his stomach, soft and heavy, bright red and leaking. you lean back, opening your mouth as you spit on your palm, and he groans into your clit. your head is fuzzy with want when you take reach back and him in your hand, hot, throbbing, wet against your palm as you grip on his base.
“can i ride it?”
BAELOR stops. he halts in his movements at your question, his brain trying to make sense of the words as he tastes you on his lips.
“pretty girl, i can’t—”
“i know,” you say, noticing the way he moves his hand back up so they both rest on your hips. “i saw something online, and i want to try—you don’t have to be hard. and i’ll stop if it doesn’t feel good for you, i promise.”
there’s a pause.
seconds trickle by raindrops on his skin, and he feels them drip, drip, drip away as the voice, speaking louder, being meaner, pops back inside his head. you shouldn’t have to settle. he should be able to make you feel good, his cock should be—
“please. i really want to try it.”
and then, there’s that. there’s you, quieting it again, almost as if sensing his shame before he can let it fester. before he can let it burrow.
"alright,” BAELOR says, parting from your cunt so he can speak, breath hot against your tender skin. “try whatever you want, love.”
he presses one last kiss upon your clit, smiling when it throbs, and he knows he would have given in either way. you take in a breath, deep, and stretch your back to move down against his figure.
your fingers map down your descent: kissing his clavicles, feeling the mat of hair on his chest. they trail down his stomach, caressing his belly, following the path set by a graying happy trail.
and then, with your eyes set on his, you let yourself hover over his lap for a brief, fleeting minute. your skin is still buzzing in the aftershocks of your orgasm, charged with electricity, eager for more.
"go on, pretty girl. rub yourself off on my cock. make yourself cum on it again," a pause. he takes in a breath, moving an arm to have it rest under his head.
there is something he doesn't say—he does not need to. it lingers between you, restless, charged, and you lower your cunt onto his cock, your lips glistening with his spit, his cock covered in yours, and feel the head of it come in contact with your clit.
you don't need him to be hard get him off. it feels just as good, just as he is.
"that's it. that's my girl. rub that perfect pussy all the way along my cock. cum on my—fuck, cum on my cock."
it throbs under you, twitching as your clit runs all the way down from the base to his sensitive tip. you move your hips in a slow, circling motion, putting down pressure, and a moan catches in his throat. you move your hips back, rubbing yourself faster against him, and it breaks free.
and there’s no shame in this moment. he doesn’t overthink. he doesn’t let himself stray away from the way your tits move with each and every one of your movements. he doesn’t let himself stray away from the sound of your moans, soft and melodic, loud and violent, each and every one existing as a response to him.
he doesn’t let himself stray away from the way your folds, dripping and puffy, swallow the humiliation whole as they take on his cock.
he is not feeble. he does not fade away.
he watches as another orgasm rips through your body: making you shake, making you shiver, making you rut down against his cock in fast, desperate motions that have him choking on air. you look beautiful like this. otherworldly. he decides to treasure the sight for as long as he lives.
and he cums like that. you’re hunched over, stiff nipples pressing down against his chest, hips still moving down against his cock as he begins to spill. white messy ribbons paint the outside of your cunt, and you don’t stop moving, and he feels like he’s on fire.
your hands find his over the mattress.
a sound is born somewhere along the bottom of his stomach, traveling upwards, ripping past his lips as a breathless moan. he doesn't close his eyes, doesn't dare to miss a moment—just stares at you as he pants.
he looks at you, lost in your pleasure, with your eyes closed and your head laid to rest over his figure. his cock is soft, beating with a pulse, resting between your slit the way a heart would inside a ribcage. he still smells like you. his cum is smeared across the inside of your legs, warm and thick, and his fingers close in around yours, tight and sure.
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.”
My liege im sorry to break it to you but your advisor that's actually evil and wants you dead turned out to be straight. I know you really wanted to have an enemies to lovers situation with him. Yeah I'm afraid the poisoning didn't hold any romantic intent behind it. The king of the enemy kingdom is bisexual though, I could send him a letter? Yes, I'll make sure to include multiple threats of homoerotic nature. You will have your toxic yaoi, my liege
I really did like the ending of the Backrooms 2026, actually. The twist that the Backrooms is a space that you can physically exit but a part of you mentally will always be trapped in is a great subversion and really effectively inverts the concept. The main scientist character looks directly into the camera and reveals he is still caught in the same nostalgia trap that Clark was, stuck in a repetitive motion and going nowhere. Mary got out but she's still in there. You can leave but you can never escape
Hear me out! Modern au where foreigner!reader gets a once in a lifetime chance to be a maid for Targaryen family not knowing that after six months of working for them they will take her passport, lock her in their old family house (castle like mansion where Maekar and Baelor were raised) forcing her into the role of their sex slave as they fuck her bloody whenever they want, alone or together as a group/pair.
cw: non con. dub con. incestuous sharing. smut. kidnapping. captive reader. stockholm syndrome. smut. mdni. 18+
a/n: yes, yes and again yes. put me in a house with them where they all pass me around... it's awful but i want to be passed around like a joint by them. also cut all the younger siblings out becauce just wanted them to have a quarters where they fucked reader all day.
it's baelor's idea to begin with, hiring a personal maid for the house. yes they have maids and cooks, but not one so personal to tend to them personally in their quarters. that's where he brings his brother maekar in on the idea, maybe someone that can see to more delicate matters that others have never been able to tend to. someone that won't be able to go to the press to leek the stories.
baelor finds you after weeks of searching, twenty something year old that came over to study. but those dreams are being pushed to the side for next year, you need money and strangely this ad for maid offers a lot of it.
maekar that runs all the checks, that takes your passport to process your job application properly. who shows you to your rooms in their quarters, that introduces you to the family, and to the job role it entails. you'll be tending to baelor, maekar, daeron, valarr and aerion.
baelor and maekar that don't let the boys come home for the first week, they're on some private holiday. really they don't want to scare you, they know what their sons can be like and they still have things to get in order.
you like your new job, both maekar and baelor are easy to tend to. they don't ask for much, and you find yourself dusting the same shelves or standing by the door while in their company.
you get along with the boys when they arrive as well, it's more work cut out for you but you like being kept busy. they're all so sweet, especially daeron and valarr who ask you about your life.
you love your job so much that when aerion first gropes your ass, you make a joke of it. you even let him fondle a bit when you bend over to serve him his tea in his room, just giving him a small smile after your done.
when you catch daeron sniffing your dirty laundry you laugh that off as well, telling him you need to clean it. you ignore the fact he's got a pair hanging out of his jeans' pocket.
there's a lot of things you ignore, because of how much money that's piling up in your bank for college and how much money you're able to send home. like the lingering looks you get from the older men or the way valarr likes to oddly pet you at times.
you swallow your pride down and that gut feeling when baelor asks you to duties topless one night, offering you more money. none of them will touch you, that's not in the contract. him and maekar will be sure of it.
you who unbuttons your top from now on letting your tits spill free, who ignores the looks as best as you can as you serve them their tea with shaky hands, or when you have to bend over the table to get to one of them.
you who suspects aerion will be the one to break the rule but it's maekar that corners you, telling you that it'll be your little secret as he fondles your tits and strokes his hard cock against your outfit.
you bite down tears when baelor offers you more money and only for you to wear the apron, thong and the knee high socks of course.
you aren't surprised about how the younger boys react, valarr and daeron dragging you into their rooms one day. one of them fondling your tits and sucking on them, while the other kisses you through your panties. they keep the outfit on you, they've been kept under very strict instructions.
aerion can't be left out of course, but he isn't really one to share. he prefers to make you squirm and what better way is to spank that ass red raw and stroke his cock to the sight of it.
you who eventually confesses to baelor but instead of the promises he made in your contract, he offers you more money to solve the issue. oh and a new clause in the contract, the panties come off. but you can keep the apron and the socks.
baelor who keeps you in his study after you sign the new contract, who gets you to take the panties off in front of him and for being such a good girl offers you more money and a special treat. but you have to sit up on his desk and spread those legs for him just so he can lick that pretty pussy of yours.
you who feels embarrassed more and more every day, being told you missed a spot so aerion can watch you bend over and show him that pretty cunt again. or letting daeron eat biscuits of your tits, and valarr lick cream out of your cunt. or the fact maekar likes to pull you over to where him and baelor are talking, take his leaking cock out and get you stroke it.
you who finally realises you've got more than enough for university, who thanks them for the opportunity and tries to put in your resignation but your contract clause says five years and you just can't break a contract.
you who can't find your passport, did maekar ever give it back to you? you who finds every door to these quarters locked, you who finds your phones and devices taken.
you who's told if you stay you can have your privileges back but until then you need to prove them. that's your phones and your one day off a week (not night as well though, don't be stupid)
all of them who are done getting you to clean their rooms or tend to their meals, they have other maids for that. you have other tasks now, like cleaning their cocks with your mouth or your pussy, like letting them play with your clit when they're bored, like keeping their bed warm.
you who doesn't remember the last time you slept in your own room, you fall asleep in a different room most nights and wake up in another's. at times you find yourself being spit roasted by maekar and baelor, only to be woken up with daeron's head between your thighs and valarr's cock rubbing across your lips.
most of the time you'll be spending the day with them, which usually entails being sat on one of their laps across breakfast, being cock warmed by which ever one was fast enough to pull you into his lap, usually aerion.
sometimes you'll be tied down to their family table, while they all use different sex toys on you, watching you sob from pleasure, cry as they use your abused cunt again and again.
a/n: im not well... the fact im so horny after this.
Catch me being a modern-day cyberpirate screaming up alongside you on the 405 in my mad max car with half a bitcoin farm's worth of RAM in the backseat as I hack your Bitchless Towyota™ device and steal the boat you're towing right off the back bumper of the tesla your dad bought you
As i roar into the sunset you have to swerve* to avoid the small flotilla of hacked Towyota devices trailing behind me
(*in fact you do not swerve because you're on hands-free driving to go along with your hitch-free towing so you can only watch helplessly as your tesla mistakes your stolen booty for a small child and accelerates crashing into it and killing you instantly)
Rehearsals for Othello don't start for at least a month. Sam Spruell and Thalissa Teixeira, who are playing Iago and Emilia, are, however, raring to go. For Spruell it is, in some senses, a return to his professional role on stage. 'I came out of drama school and started doing film and telly so when I got to play Othello with Andy Serkis as Iago -- I was playing Rodrigo -- I was very happy.' It's not new to him, 'I can remember bits of the play from then. It was a good production.' He adds, with typical dry playfulness, 'So, hopefully I'll be able to nick stuff off him.' For Teixeria it's a return to the Sam Wanamaker Playhouse. She played Diaphanta in Dominic Dromgoole's production of The Changeling in 2015.
For Teixiera, the Playhouse is a very different proposition from a normal stage. 'You see absolutely everyone and everyone sees you. There's something about being able to see people's eyes twinkling in the candlelight, about the utter involvement of everybody, that's extraordinary.' This will be Spruell's first time on the Playhouse stage. Fortunately he has been discussing it with other actors, 'Someone told me that it's one of the quietest theatres they've worked in. Lights make a lot of noise, the mechanics make a lot of noise and this person said the Playhouse was just unbelievably quiet.' This fact seems to be a mixed blessing. Spruell thinks 'that's sometimes quite a frightening place to perform because it literally means there is no distraction from you.' It comes, however, with it benefits, 'I think it's got to be liberating as well, where you don't have to work too hard to make people hear you.' Teixeira finds that there are other distributions of labour that differ from contemporary stage. 'The audience have to work quite hard too and I think that's quite fun. There's a lot they have to concentrate on. First they go into that space and they're taking in the most beautiful spectacle as it is, you don't need to put in any set or costume or actors even. They have to absorb all of that and then suddenly they have all these characters coming in from everywhere and I think they have to work quite hard as an audience, which is really useful, because then you're all, actors and audience, performing together in a way.'
That coming together is crucial to Spruell. 'I think,' he says, 'that it makes sense of Shakespeare. When there's a fourth wall it makes less sense to me. When there's a proper interaction and a bit of rowdiness, a bit of conversation going on between the performers and the audience, that makes more sense of Shakespeare to me.' The meeting of the beauty of the playhouse with a different sensibility seems to be at the centre of their thinking, 'I imagine Ellen [McDougall, the director] is interested in the collision between the classical and the modern,' says Spruell.
Collision seems a particularly striking way to describe what might happen on stage. It is a violence that is congruent with where they are heading in their explorations of these 400-year-old characters. 'Iago is an interesting and damaged person I wanted to explore.' But for Spruell the damage extends beyond the individual, 'Reading it now, the play is also about a damaged community which turns in on itself and, re-reading it in the context of a Brexit or a Trump world, I found that much more present than I'd understood before.' At a time when every newspaper is asking about the cohesion of different communities, it lends a potency to the work that Spruell and Teixeira are thinking about. 'The world seems like a less friendly place than it was maybe size months ago,' says Spruell. 'It's probably exactly the same but there's ill-feeling that's been given a voice, a kind of legitimate voice, in the same way in the play. If we get it right it will really speak to a modern audience and we won't be thinking about the world 400 years ago, we'll be thinking about the world now. Even though it's a beautiful wood-panelled candlelit place it has to find relevance.' Teixeira develops this thought, 'That beauty can be reversed. It can feel quite claustrophobic if you make it an uncomfortable place to hear things that are being said. There's definitely a massive shift recently in terms of the way that people can openly speak about subjects that are really quite controversial -- especially about race and borders.' With those two words Teixeira opens up the themes of Othello to the conversation about political feeling today and you can see why they both think this play is so important to put on now. 'People are horribly racist or guarding their plot,' Teixeira continues, 'is exactly how people are talking in this play.' It is close to the heart of this tragedy. For Spruell, 'People are letting rip. They think they're being set free to express themselves but actually they're being set free to be horrible.'
This confusion about where people are from, what the boundaries are, what is OK to say, is evident in casting Teixeria. As she herself says, 'It's really interesting that Ellen [McDougall] has cast a mixed-race Emilia, especially towards the end where Emilia is being opening racist towards Othello. Where does that come from? I've not figured this out yet but does it come from a complete mind-washing, where she's just been brainwashed in how to speak to people who are different and she doesn't see herself in that construct? Or does it come from a point where she's saying, "Stop letting our team down, proving them right, these stereotypes that are being given out" and gettin angry and upset with him? I don't know yet but I do think it's really interesting.'
This openness and readiness to explore is, of course, part of the actor's process. Before rehearsals begin things are open for them but it is, equally, a time of fruitful work. Spruell is approaching Iago slightly differently from other parts, 'I certainly have lots of thoughts around the themes of the play, or of the individual character I'm playing, but I think for this one, because Iago's such a big part, I'll definitely be learning lines before I start.' This is not usual. 'I like to be as loose as possible and I sometimes feel that learning lines beforehand closes my mind. You start making decisions, so with this one I'll maybe learn a chunk, or chunks, and try to stay open for the rest of it.' Again his dry self-deprecation comes into play, 'Actually, maybe I can be just as open and have learned some lines. Maybe I've just been lazy before.' Teixeira's process is a little different, 'I reckon as soon as you get a part, everything that you talk about and everything that you see has a relevance to what you're doing. It fits in perfectly and maybe it didn't before you got the part. So that's the kind of preparation I do. It's just hyper-listening to everything that's going on around me, and reading.'
Coming back to the play has, unsurprisingly, changed the way Spruell thinks about it. 'When I first did Othello I always thought it was about two people and then some kind of add-on women, but actually it does feel like it's a community.' Teixeira immediately picks up on this idea of women in the play, 'In terms of the women, it does feel like they're an add-on until you look at the huge shift between Emilia and Desdemona. Desdemona at the start is, "I'll take no bullshit and I'll just marry who I want whoever he is" and she's a really strong role model for Emilia. Then Emilia sees a slow decline: "Go where you're told to go, stay at home when you're told to stay at home" and she realises that's her and does the complete opposite, branches out. I love that about her.'
These themes, which seem so graspable, attain a further refinement in the language of Shakespeare, especially when it comes to speaking in verse. The idea that this is a not a challenge is quickly dismissed by Spruell, 'It's absolutely ridiculous if you say it's not.' Teixeira agrees, 'It's impossibly hard and you have to do a lot of work at it. I always find it really irritating when people say it's easy. I mean, obviously, it's a completely different way of expressing yourself that you never get to do in the day to day. It feels beautiful to do once you've grasped it.' Spruell then says something that seems to apply to both his and Teixeira's thoughts about this production as a whole and, perhaps, beyond that to the very community we all live in; 'Despite all the experts who tell you how to speak verse it will either sound truthful or it won't. That's my yardstick.'
"How embarrassing it was, a grown man, a prince, touching himself to the thought of a woman looking at him."
Summary: Your husband can't seem to stand spending a moment with you, despite your need for him. One straying hand causes a release of feelings pent up from the night you wed.
Warnings: Graphic sex, some manhandling, maybe a tiny bit oc
4k words
AN: Wrote this wine drunk as hell (Daeron slay) and god that old man is sexy af love him
*****
Your marriage had not started the way you’d hoped. You were old enough to understand that the fairytales your Septa read to you as a child were nothing more than silly wishes. The reality of married life was complicated. A second bride, your husband was well equipped with heirs, and the Prince spent his time practicing in the yard, sending sharp words to those unfortunate enough to be caught in his path, and brooding.
The night of your wedding left something to be desired. You’d been so excited. A new, silvery white gown, Targaryen jewels fit for a princess, and a man at the altar waiting for you. True, he was older, wed before with enough children to prove it, but there was something about him that drew you in.
Imagine your surprise when he barely looked at you all night. Kissing you chastely in the Sept and leading you back to the feast in your honor. He barely spoke, doing his duty as a husband but no more.
Maekar had been gentle but cold that evening, diligent in his work but seemed to take little pleasure in it. Truthfully, it was over before you knew it had begun. You’d laid your head on the silken pillow as you watched your new husband don his finery and slip from your chambers.
He had not touched you since.
It wasn’t for the lack of trying. Brushing him in the hallways, low cut gowns, etiquette fit for the Lady of Summerhall. Maekar ignored all of it. His face remained the very picture of stoic displeasure. You wouldn’t have expected a warm, gooey husband in the Anvil, but he barely acknowledged you except when he was made to. He never refused your invitations- tea and breakfast, rides on horseback and watching the children in the yard- but he stayed the same, hard man you’d seen in the Sept.
Once, you’d tried to kiss him, but chickened out from his lips and pressed gently against his cheek. You wouldn’t forget the look on his face when you pulled away, the bewilderment evident. So rarely you’d seen him without a sneer that his confusion felt like a gift.
In the evening, you’d lay back in your soft sheets, pulling your nightgown up over your hips to clumsily touch yourself to the thought of that evening. What could have happened if you’d had the courage to kiss him like a wife kisses her husband? Would he have gently taken you in his arms and carried you to bed, laying you out to make love to you?
No, not him.
The Maekar in your imagination would grab you, throwing you down on the dinner table and thrusting into you without a second thought. How warm you felt, picturing his hands on you. Your sensitive body would writhe in your bed at the hope of him one day falling for you, taking you, touching you the way you touched yourself.
*****
Maekar found it difficult to understand why such a young thing would be interested in him at all. He supposed he was a prince, though only the fourth son. He was tall and strong, but older than his new wife by many years. He’d proved himself a great warrior in battle, but was now riddled with scars, including those across his jaw. He was stubborn, brash, had shown you little warmth, and yet you still reached out to him.
When you passed him in the halls, he received a smile and a curtsy. At feasts, you daintily clung to his arm, speaking on his behalf when he’d grown tired of responding to droll lords. Invitations to dine with you, insisting on strolling through the gardens arm and arm, asking him personal questions, it was almost too much for Maekar to bear.
There was no mistaking the tug in his chest when you rushed to greet him after a long day in the council room. The gentle brush of your fingers across his arm was enough to cause his whole body to flare up in agonizing heat. It had taken many moons for him to admit, even to himself, that he actually liked when you fussed over him. Straightening his surcoat, pouring his wine, once you even kissed his marred jaw when you’d got up to leave him at the dining table.
Maekar had come back to that moment several times.
Mostly late at night.
There was no end to the shame he felt in leering at a woman only a few years older than Daeron, nevermind that you were wed. He’d picture the way you grinned at him when you laughed at your own joke, or when you’d brush a feather off the shoulder of his doublet, and fist his cock. How embarrassing it was, a grown man, a prince, touching himself to the thought of a woman looking at him. He’d only seen you bare the one time, but he forced himself to keep those memories at bay. There was no telling the mortification he’d feel if he pictured your breasts and finished immediately. No, the Prince could only handle small smiles and gentle carasses.
Feasts were particularly difficult for Maekar to get through. Before, there was only the loud music and shouts of drunken courtiers, the dreadfully boring lords who dare ask for an audience, and the hours of his time wasted watching over a room of people he disdained from the high table. Now, he was forced to watch his wife, the very picture of loveliness, greet guests, laugh loudly, and spin in the arms of any man stupid enough to ask for the hand of the Prince’s woman.
Not that he had asked you to dance, there was no way he could make it through a set without a familiar firmness forming in his trousers. Instead, he watched as some knight whose name he did not care to learn gently moved you across the floor. Maekar’s first instinct was to outlaw any man from asking, but this knight seemed respectable enough, keeping his body a distance from you, and his hands at a place Maekar assumed was appropriate. In reality, the only place he thought a man's hands should be were far away from his wife, but you seemed so happy, how could he take that feeling away from you?
“Father, if you glare any harder, you may bore a hole into the poor girl’s head.”
Maekar turned, facing his oldest son in a way that still gave him a view of the dance floor. Daeron was smirking, clean and dressed well for once, but a glass of wine still hung from his fingers. Maekar narrowed his eyes.
“I’m not glaring, can’t a man keep an eye on his wife?”
The boy’s grin grew wider as he chuckled.
“True, but she may very well be happy where she is.”
The older Prince growled at the very notion and shook his head.. His son laughed at him again.
“Well it's not like you ask her to dance, father, I mean a girl likes to be wooed every once in a while. Is your age finally getting the better of you?”
Maekar slammed his fist on the table as his son leaned forward in drunken amusement. The courtiers loitering around the high table jumped at the prince’s outburst. There was no telling the trouble angering the Prince would cause. He grabbed Daeron, hauling him back into his seat.
“Stop your hysterics, it's unbecoming.”
Daeron wiped his eyes, leaning back as he took a deep breath. Mekar’s jaw was clenched hard, nostrils flaring, as he narrowed his eyes at his son. The boy shook his head, still huffing a laugh, looking back out into the thrall of the crowd. His face fell, and his brow furrowed as he leaned forward.
“You may want to take care of that, father.”
Maekar followed his son’s eyes out the floor. The music had changed, the knight gone, replaced with another prince. Aerion. He was leaning down, whispering to you, closer than a boy should be to his stepmother. Guests gave you a wide birth, more due to the Prince than to you. Your face was turned away from him, only Aerion’s in view, but it didn’t matter. All Maekar could see was red.
The Anvil rose slowly, making his way around the table to the floor. Drunken knights and twirling ladies parted for him, as if sensing the heat radiating off him. The pair of you were before him, only a few feet now, when he saw his son’s hand run up your arm, fingertips tracing over your clavicle as he touched your neck. You stepped back, trying to escape the young man, your back pressing against a hard wall of muscle.
You let out a breath of relief when you felt your husband’s grip on your elbow. Aerion’s hand still hung in the air where he’d caressed your throat. The young Prince’s eyes were wide as he met his father’s gaze over your shoulder. He opened his mouth to speak, but you missed whatever he would’ve said, as you were quickly spun.
“I’ve had enough of you dancing tonight, wife.”
You couldn’t deny the warmth in your stomach as Maekar slid his fingers around your waist, gripping your hip. He took your other hand as he led you from the hall, out of the commotion. His touch was firm enough to press you forward, and you realized this was the most he’d touched you since your wedding night. You found yourself in an alcove off the hall, far enough that you could hear him over the music. He turned you again, wrapping an arm around your waist to keep you from moving. His heavy gaze was enough to make you squirm. Though you were glad of the reprieve from his son, you couldn’t understand why Makear would cause such a scene. To stomp through the celebration, grabbing you from the boy and dragging you away.
“What the fuck was that?”
You looked up at him, confused.
“Excuse me?”
You managed to sputter out, pressing your hands against his chest. He wouldn't let you go.
“Am I not enough for you? You have to seek out a man's touch elsewhere? And with him?” Maekar bit out, growling as he leaned forward. His nose brushed yours and you could feel his breath against your lips as he awaited your answer.
You slowly shook your head.
“He- He touched me, I swear. I would not seek Aerion out if he’d been my husband instead of you.”
Despite your objections, you’d clearly hit a nerve, as the Prince gripped your waist and pulled you impossibly closer, whispering in your ear:
“Do not ever speak those words again. You are my fucking wife. Mine.”
You could not even take a breath before he hauled you over his shoulder, arm wrapping around your thighs to keep you in place as he stalked down the corridor. It did not go unnoticed that despite his anger, despite his belief that you’d taken his own son as a lover over him, he had not once laid a cross hand on you. Even his firm grip across your legs was more to keep you close than to cause you pain. Servants and maids ducked out of the way as he passed, turning their heads so as not to look upon their Prince’s debauchery.
You could tell where he was heading.
*****
“My wife and I are not to be disturbed under any circumstance.” Maekar barked at the guards stationed outside his door. Maekar kicked it closed behind you before moving to your bed in great strides. He threw you down on the silken sheets, and your hand flew to your chest as you tried desperately to catch your breath. The Prince stood above you, eyes hard, broad chest heaving in the candlelight.
He’d lost some of the rage in his eyes from when he first caught sight of you and Aerion. Now he was only huffing out, broad chest rising and falling as he looked down upon you.
This was the moment you’d been dreaming about since the day you wed. your handsome husband above you, taking you, taking his time with you.
You had to seize the moment.
Wordlessly, you slid your hands to the back of your gown, fingers shaking as you struggled to undo the many buttons. Your husband stared down at you a moment longer before leaning down to brush your hands out of the way. Your spine straightened and you let out a strangled breath as he pressed his long nose behind your ear. Maekar fiddled with the buttons himself before grabbing the fabric, tearing the silk from your body. You let out a yelp as you were suddenly made bare for him.
“Maekar-”
“Hush now, woman.”
He pulled back, arms bracing on either side of your body. His brows knit together as he took in the sight of you.
“If another man lays a hand on you again, I will kill him.”
You gave him a small smile.
“He’s your son.”
Maekar let out a huff.
“My son,” He sneered, “Will be dealt with.” He took your face in his large hand, stroking his thumb against your cheek.
“If I see some foolish cunt touch you again, dancing with you, I will drag him away by his collar and slit his throat.”
As violent as his words were, you couldn’t help the wetness dribbling from your core. He finally pulled his eyes from your face, sliding down your body. Hot, intense longing in his eyes.
“Look at you, how long I’ve wanted you spread out here before me, my lovely wife.” Maekar breathed out, trailing his fingers from your cheek down your sternum, cupping a breast in his hand with a reverence you'd never seen from him before.
“Oh how beautiful you are.” He breathed out, the air hitting your neck. You arched up into him, your chest pressing into his palm.
Maekar kissed you, then, with a fierceness only found in a dragon. He pressed you down to the bed, arms winding underneath you to pull your body flush against his. You held on to his shoulders as he tugged you closer. The scratch of his beard rubbed against your chin as his teeth sunk into your bottom lip. You whispered softly, and were rewarded with a roll of his clothed hips against your heat. The Prince kissed your cheek, and then your jaw, trailing down to your neck. He licked a stripe up the column, gently digging his teeth into the flesh. Your head hung back, and you slid a hand from its perch on his shoulder to the back of his head. The warmth of his mouth laved over the mark he left on your skin. Later, you would chastise him for carelessly leaving such a thing, but now all you could think about was the wet kisses he was trailing down your sternum.
His mouth found your nipple, already hardened from the fervor of his lips. He sucked hard, lavender eyes locked onto your face as you writhed under him. You moved your hips desperately, trying to search for any friction that could ease your torment. Maekar smiled against your skin, gently scraping the nipple with his teeth before giving it a gentle kiss. He then moved to the other breast, keeping one arm firmly around you, his other hand came up to roughly fondle the flesh. You bucked your hips up again to meet his when he gave the taut flesh a hard swipe from his tongue, followed by a soft circling of his thumb.
You were already breathing heavily when he made it down to your dripping core. The sheets under your bottom were damp, and Maekar pressed your thighs up to your chest to admire the mess.
“I wish I’d known how much you wanted this, I’d’ve been licking your pussy every night.” Maekar grumbled out, more to himself than to you. Keeping your legs spread, he leaned down, pressing his nose to your opening and inhaling deeply. He let out a broken groan, before beginning his onslaught of wet open-mouthed kisses, hard licks, and noises so vulgar it made your toes curl. The sounds coming from your own mouth were no better, whines and shrieks of pleasure as he lapped at your sweet cunt. Your fingers were buried in his hair, typically so impeccably placed, now a mess as you tugged on the silver strands.
You choked out a gasp as his fingers circled your opening, one long digit slowly entering. He kept an eye on your reactions, moving his finger in and out as you got used to the feeling. His tongue continued to work your clit, small circular motions as he slid another finger inside you. It had been months since you were first together, and he’d be damned if you weren't soaking and stretched for his cock. Your hips rocked up off the bed as he curled his fingers, gently rubbing up inside where he’d found a familiar roughness. Your thighs shook as you came, wetness flooding his beard. The slippery sounds were obscene, the Prince continuing to lap at your quivering folds.
Gradually, he slowed, as your intense grip on the hair at the base of his skull relaxed. Maekar gently slid his fingers from you, earning him a slight groan at the emptiness. He kissed your cunt one last time, before leaning up to press a kiss to your lips. A kiss that was over too soon for your liking, as he pulled away to stand.
Immediately you were met with the feeling of shame, last felt on the night of your wedding when your new husband left you in bed without so much as a kiss. This time, however, he was removing his clothes, instead of dressing. You watched as he peeled his leather doublet off before tugging his linen shirt, damp with sweat, over his head. His boots were next, followed by his trousers, before he was left bare to you.
It was true what they said, that Targaryen’s were closer to gods than men.
Maekar towered above you, moonlight silhouetting him in the dim room. The glow reflected off the hard planes of his body, silvery scars hatching across his torso and arms. Your eyes traced the dusting of white hair that trailed from his chest, down his solid stomach to his cock, an angry, leaking thing you didn’t remember being as big as it was. You looked back up to meet his eyes, and were surprised by the faint color in his cheeks, half hidden by his beard. You also noticed how hard he’d balled his fists at his sides, nails surely digging into the flesh of his palm.
All at once, it hit you. The avoidance, the coldness, the strange behavior on your wedding night.
Maekar was giving you a choice.
To be his wife in name only, to be under his protection without the need to repay him. He was allowing you to live, without the obligations of a married woman.
You reached a hand out to him, and Maekar let out a shuddering breath as he stepped into your touch. His knees hit the bed as he sunk down, your fingers gracing his marred cheek, then down his neck. Slowly, you mapped his skin, tracing the hairline scars and jagged marks. The prince’s eyes were squeezed shut as he nudged his sharp nose into your cheek.
“Oh, Maekar- my husband.” You whispered out, pressing a kiss to the side of his mouth. Your hands slid up his back, pressing into the firm muscles of his shoulders. He grabbed your hips, and you could feel his desperation at the grip.
“Maekar please, I want you, I need you. Take me please.” You practically begged against his neck. Tenderly, so tenderly, he laid you back against the blankets. His lips brushed yours as he whispered to you:
“I will take care of you, my darling wife.”
Your Prince spread your thighs, gooey wetness exposed for him again.
“Look at you, open and ready for me.”
He rubbed his thumb against your clit, before pressing it against your opening.
“Poor thing, all this time, you just wanted your husband to pleasure you.” He mumbled, more to himself than to you. You kept your eyes on his cock as he pressed the spongy head to your cunt. He let out a choked groan.
“Gods, how did I keep from you for so long?”
Maekar rubbed his tip against your folds, pressing to your clit before moving back to your hole and dipping in. You arched against the silken blankets, moving your hips in hopes of impaling yourself on his cock. He huffed out what sounded a lot like a laugh.
“Hold still, patience is a virtue men look for in wives, you know.”
You began to answer, but his large hand pressed down on your abdomen as he slid farther into you. A guttural sound released from deep in your chest. Maekar pressed his face to your neck, pressing his tongue wide against your pulse.
“I- I’m already your wife.” You choked out. He bit down on the flesh of your throat as he seated himself fully into your heat. Stars flitted across your vision as his pelvis pressed against your clit. Your fingers found a place in his silver hair again, and he pulled his cock out enough that when he slammed back into your cunt, the bed rattled beneath you.
Maekar set a brutal pace, thrusting into you with a force hard enough to bruise. His hands, however, were gentle, cradling your head in one large hand while his other arm held your pelvis down. You held on for dear life, fingers twisting in his silver locks. You moaned out his name, over and over, until it was the only thought in your head. He stopped your mumbling with his lips, sliding his tongue past your teeth and licking up against the roof of your mouth. The slap of skin and the wet squelching of your joining bodies rang out through your chambers.
“Fuck, I’ve needed this, needed you, you’ll never be rid of me now.”
A thumb slid down to your clit, furiously rubbing circles against the nub as you arched against him, breasts bouncing against his chest.
“Maekar, oh my sweet Prince Maekar.” You whined out as your climax found you. Warm wetness flooded around his cock, and he roared. His come filled your cunt, so hot you felt it might burn. It wouldn’t’ve mattered, he remained fully seated inside you as he finished. Your thighs crushed against his hips, holding him against you as you came down from your high. His mouth pressed to your ear, licking and sucking on the lobe.
Maekar was the most relaxed you’d ever seen him. Gone was the tightly wound anger and tension weighing on his shoulders, burdens of the day gone in the warmth of your arms. You pet his hair, smoothing the tangles your fingers caused. He growled low against your throat.
“Do not think we will go back to the way things were before, woman. Now that I’ve had you, I’m not letting you go.” He grumbled, but the usual edge to his voice was gone. You smiled and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek.
“Do not fret, my love, you’ve had me. Though you may want to let me up.”
Maekar turned his head to kiss you firmly, before tightening his arms around you.
