Tech gives you a massage, what else could possibly happen?
warnings: NSFW, 18+ only. Explicit Sexual Content and Language. Oral Sex ie blowjob, Fingering, P in V Sex, Nudity, Dirty Talk, Soft!Dom Tech, Breeding Kink, Size Kink, Petnames, Oil Massage, Consensual Sex, Mutual Pining, Fluff, Kissing, Multiple Positions, Slightly Rough Sex, Spanking, Teasing, Flirting, Cum Denial, Creampie, Slight Possessive Tech, Not Proof Read, a bit Messy.
A/N: Total self indulge fic and tech has a big [REDACTED]
Reblog to support content creators. 🫧🌊
“What is so amusing?”
The Marauder hummed softly in the background as the team sat around, recuperating after a somewhat successful mission. Hunter, Echo, Wrecker, and Tech were sharing tactics and strategies and Tech was detailing the mission’s success. More to the point of explaining how his calculations had been spot on. But, you couldn’t help but chuckle, grabbing his attention.
“I’m just saying, Tech, your calculations might be great, but sometimes you overlook the obvious,” you teased.
Tech raised an eyebrow. “I hardly think that is the case. My assessments are thorough.”
“Oh really?” you challenged, stepping closer with a smirk. He gazes up at you from his spot, slightly wide-eyed. “I am sorry to tell you that you missed the part where the droids’ power cells were defective, which is why they were so easy to defeat.”
Tech frowned, his mind already processing your claim. “I accounted for their reduced efficiency due to age of creation, but… I didn’t specifically check for defective power cells.” He recalls quietly, pinching his chin.
Hunter and the others watched with amusement as the debate unfolded. “Sounds like a bet’s brewing,” Hunter said with a grin, leaning back in his seat.
You grinned back. “Alright, Tech, let’s make it interesting. If I’m right, you owe me a favour. And if you’re right, I’ll help with the repairs to the Marauder for a week.”
Tech considered this, the prospect of additional help appealing, especially from you, though he was confident in his calculations. “Very well, it’s a bet.”
Wrecker chuckled. “This is gonna be good.”
Tech pulled up the data on his datapad, scrolling through the information with practiced ease like he’s done this a million times before. You stand behind him, arms crossed and truthfully quite smugly-confident. After a few moments, you watch as his face fell. “It appears you are correct. The power cells were indeed defective.”
Echo clapped Tech on the shoulder. “Looks like you owe her, Tech.”
Tech simply nodded. “It seems so. I will fulfill my end of the bet.” He swivels in his chair to face you. “What is it you require?”
You ponder for a moment, not really thinking that far forward. “Undecided. But I’ll get back to you.” You say with a wink before walking away.
Tech watches you leave, swallowing hard but refusing to let the strange strain of his emotions show in front of the others.
If only you knew how you make him feel. Then again, perhaps you would be able to tell him how you are making him feel. Fluttering in the stomach when your name is mentioned in passing? Clammy hands when you talk to him? A small wave of arousal just when you’re near?
But surprisingly welcome.
It was new.
A few hours later, the others had dispersed to do their own thing whether to go to Cid’s or a walk which left just you and Tech alone.
Tech approached you after staring at you silently for the last minute or so, his usual confidence tinged with a hint of awkwardness. “Have you decided yet?”
You jumped a little, not hearing him approach initially but smile at him as you face him. “I was only teasing Tech, you don’t have to do anything for me.”
“On the contrary. You asked for something from me after proving me wrong which is a rarity, so I will do what you ask.”
As he was speaking, you felt a slight pain in your shoulder that had been bugging you for a few days now which spurred on an idea. “Well… there is something you can do for me.” You say sheepishly, taking a step towards him.
The proximity suddenly made him clam up, his fists tightening behind his back as your eyes and the smell of you captivated him. Your lips are moving but he isn’t processing what you’re really saying. “Sorry,” he clears his throat, “what did you say?”
“I said you could maybe give me a massage?” You say quickly, realising how personal that sounded. “Only if you feel comfortable. It’s just I have a few knots that I feel like you could tend to.”
Tech hesitates, giving massages was definitely not his forte or something he spent researching but for you? He felt like he would do anything these days. “If i can help relieve your pain I shall do it. Albeit I can not promise groundbreaking results.”
You giggle, eyes creasing at the corners and nose scrunching. Tech had never described anything as ‘cute’ before and probably never will; however, your laughter was something he always found rather endearing and admittedly… cute.
“Really? That’d be great. Do you want to do it now since the others aren’t here?”
“That is fine with me, let me get prepared and I’ll come find you.” Tech confirms, reaching for his device to do a quick research on techniques to massages.
After doing his frantic search, Tech set up a fold-away table that was typically used for emergency medical purposes and called you over. You emerge, now having changed into some shorts and tank top and look at the table in surprise.
“Please, lie down,” he instructed.
“Gettin’ the full treatment, am I? I feel special.” You tease, hopping onto the table as you watch Tech move about.
“If you require a calming and thorough massage it is only right that I do it properly.” He says simply but hopes the slight waver of nerves in his tone didn’t show as he turns to face you, holding a bottle of what looked to be body oil. “I found this among Echo’s things. I thought it might enhance the experience.”
You raised an eyebrow, amused and quite excited. “Echo’s, huh? Do you think he will mind?”
“I was not going to plan on telling him.” Tech announced as he poured some of the oil into his bare hands, warming it before you lay down, head on a small pillow made out of the boy's spare tops.
You positioned yourself comfortably, lying face up and watch as Tech’s hands hovered over your body, as if he was unsure where to start.
“You can start with my shoulders,” you suggested gently, easing him into it.
Tech nodded, placing his hands on your shoulders and beginning to knead the tension of both this situation and your ache away. His touch was non-surprisingly gentle yet firm, and you couldn’t help but let out a soft moan as he worked on a particularly tight knot.
“You do appear very tense,” Tech observed, his voice tinged with modest concern.
The sensation of his hands on your skin was both soothing and electrifying. The oil, scented of lavender, made your skin glisten under the dim lighting of the ship. Each stroke, knead, sent waves of relaxation through your body, yet you couldn’t help but wonder if there was an underlying current of something more intimate and exciting afoot. You try to push the lewd thoughts away and focus back on Tech.
“Yeah, missions for Cid usually do that to a person,” you replied, your voice slightly breathless.
As the massage continued, you felt your muscles relaxing under Tech’s skilled hands. He moved down to your arms, taking his time to work out every knot and kink and even took his time on each of your hands, adding more oil to your skin which feels dry.
“You’ve done this before, I refuse to believe otherwise.” You sigh, eyes still closed and occasionally, you let out soft sounds of pleasure, unable to help yourself.
You don’t hear or see it but Tech’s breath hitched slightly each time you made a sound, and he could sense his growing arousal pressing against his pants.
After a few minutes or so, his mind doesn’t process like it usually does because out of nowhere he says, “If you are comfortable, you can remove your clothes.”
Your eyes open quickly, looking directly up into his, squinting to see his reaction behind his goggles. “Remove my clothes?”
“I…I only meant…” you watch him as he struggles to force out an answer but you take pity on him because you couldn’t deny, the idea did slightly turn you on.
Tech was adorably sweet in your eyes and you knew - also thanks to the other boys teasing - he felt something for you. You didn’t believe it at first because he was always the same around you. Though the more you paid attention, the more it clicked together like a puzzle piece. When does Tech ever stumble over his words? When is he ever usually wrong? When has he ever offered to give someone a nude, oily massage?
Naturally, you felt something for him too. You were just a bit better at hiding it than he was.
“Will you place a towel over my, you know?”
“Yes, of course. It is just for a more in-depth massage.” He clears his throat, finding his voice again and genuinely surprised you were going to go ahead with this.
You flushed but nodded, trusting him. You wait until he turns around before you remove your clothes, lying back down as Tech passed you a towel which you draped over yourself. “May I proceed?”
“Sure,” you nod as you close your eyes, allowing his hands to resume their work and starting with your legs. He is certainly a quick learner because his fingers knead the muscles with precision and as he glides higher towards your thighs, you feel his touch become more deliberate.
You take a peek at him with one eye, watching him secretly and you were certain he was looking at you with a look you had never witnessed before.
He looked starved. Tempted. Lustful.
Ever so discreetly, you part your legs just an inch, allowing his hands to work on the inner sides of your thighs. You try to control your breathing but the slight rush of wind that hits your core as his hands zoom past was hard to ignore.
He climbed higher and higher until you comfortably moved your legs further open, the towel still giving you your dignity yet you were sure it was about to roll off the table and down the gangplank.
The side of his hands were just inches away from touching your pussy and you waited with bated breath, wondering if he dared to cross the line… but he never did.
You peek at him again, watching him shake his head at himself as if he was scolding himself for thinking of doing something.
“Tech,” you breathed out, closing your eyes fully so he didn’t catch you looking at him, “you can massage my br- torso. You can massage my torso if you want.”
He moves round the table, standing at your side. Looking at the towel that covered your nude body, he feels a burn in his own as his mouth starts to salivate. “Will you be comfortable with me removing your towel in that case?”
With a mumble of clarification, Tech’s hands trembled slightly as he moved the towel aside. His gaze looked at your face first, analysing your reaction and was relieved to see that you didn’t seem to mind what was happening.
He looks away from you for a moment, grabbing the bottle of oil again and then gazes upon your chest, most notably your breasts.
He bites on his tongue to stop from making a noise as he slowly pours the oil over your hardening nipples before his fingers begin tracing the curves of your breasts, rubbing the oil in.
His touch was gentle this time, yet it sent waves of pleasure through your body. He stands behind your head, leaning over you as his hands caress and respectfully fondle your tits but his eyes? They were on your face, watching your reactions intently.
You couldn’t help it but your breathing gets heavier, your fingers gripping onto the edge of the either side of the table as his thumbs briefly kiss your nipples, the heat between your legs throbbing with an intensity that you wanted to whimper his name.
“Your skin is incredibly soft,” Tech murmured, his voice husky with arousal as he cups your breasts together, kneading gently into them.
You arched into his touch, your breathing ragged. “Tech… please, don’t stop.”
Your reaction nearly makes his knees buckle, he recognised this behaviour from many porn holovids he watched in secret. You were turned on and he was the reason for it.
He continued just like you wanted, not letting his ego explode, his hands exploring your body further with growing confidence. The massage was easily becoming increasingly steamy, your soft moans of enjoyment encouraging him further that the tent in his pants was starting to hurt.
Skillfully, his hands moved lower, exploring the expanse of your stomach, then to your hips, and finally to your inner soft and pillowy thighs. “You’re so good at this.” You whisper, biting your lip.
“Turn over, please,” Tech instructed, his voice a low and husky command.
You complied, turning onto your stomach. Tech again has to suppress his wanton noises as his eyes land on your arse. You could feel his gaze linger which silently makes you smirk. There’s a mix of admiration and professionalism in his eyes and he doesn’t know how to function for a moment. “Any pain in your back I should be aware of?” He asks, oiling his hands up once again.
“I get a small ache in my lower back sometimes.” You reply, speech slightly muffled as you lay your head flat on its side.
“Hopefully I can help with that.” He whispers, his hands landing on the area you said and gives you slow and purposeful strokes.
The sensation of his hands on your bare skin was incredibly intimate, and you felt yourself growing damp with arousal. Tech's touch was almost reverent, as if he was in awe of your body. It’s not long until his hands move to your arse, massaging you perfectly.
Your lip almost bleeds with how many times you bite down onto it but you couldn’t help the shivers that tingles your body. His professionalism was evident, but the effect he was having on you was undeniable. “Do you like this?”
“I’m definitely not going to say no,” you utter with a soft laugh, soon groaning as both of his hands knead at your left cheek.
As Tech moved around the table to work at your body at a different angle, you caught a glimpse of the clear arousal pitched in his pants.
The sight sent a thrill through you, knowing that your reactions and your body were affecting him just as much. Despite his aching erection, he maintained his composure, focusing on giving you the best massage possible and for that you were immensely grateful for. Though, you wouldn’t mind the latter.
His hands moved to your thighs one more, working their magic as he massages up and down each leg with a slow, intricate touch that makes you breathe out soft moans of delight. “Those are some rather seductive sounds you’re making, I have to say.”
Did he just flirt with you? Or was he just stating the obvious as usual? Perhaps it was both.
“Sorry, I can’t help it,” you say softly, propping yourself up on your elbows and look back at him, “you’re good with your hands.”
He stills, meeting your flirtatious gaze and has to fight every willpower he has not to palm himself infront of you, the ache in his pants throbbing and begging for release. “There is no need to apologise,” he says slowly. His hands are inching their way up your legs and ever so gently begins to spread your cheeks.
Your lips part, watching him as he locks eyes with your glistening pussy and you felt a surge of arousal as he uses two fingers to brush up between them, his touch feather-light and teasing.
“T-Tech,” you rasp, fingers gripping onto the table as he runs his fingers up and down your slicked entrance.
“Can I massage you here? I am positive there is quite a lot of tension that needs to be released.”
You nod fervently, biting your lip before you let out the most sinful cry of pleasure.
He paused for a moment to get your answer, then slowly, deliberately, he hooked a finger inside you.
The wet sounds of his fingers moving inside you filled the room, a mix of slick and rhythmic. His movements were slow at first, teasing, then gradually quickened, each thrust making your body shiver. Your arse jiggled slightly with each movement, adding to the allure of him finger-fucking you.
“You’re incredibly wet,” Tech remarked, his voice a mix of awe and satisfaction. “It’s pleasing to know you’re enjoying this.”
You could barely form a coherent response, your body trembling with desire as you buried your head into the table. “Tech… please, more.”
His fingers began to explore you more deeply, each movement, twisting, curling and pumping inside you. You moaned louder, your hands gripping the edges of the table as he brought you to the brink of ecstasy of one of many orgasms.
Tech moved to your side, and you seized the opportunity, reaching out to grab his cock through his pants. “Maker you feel so big,” you gasp in pleasant surprise, massaging it through the fabric, feeling its hardness and the heat radiating from it. His breath hitched, and he groaned softly.
“You may have the pleasure of having a look and a taste if that would satisfy you.”
With a swift motion, you pulled down his pants, freeing his cock without a second thought. You had to move your head back slightly so it didn’t slap you in your face and gaze at his member in awe.
“Looks so good…” you moan to yourself as you bring his tip to your mouth, teasing it with your tongue before taking him in. Tech’s fingers never stopped their rhythm inside you, and he began to thrust gently into your mouth, his cock moving in and out with a steady pace.
You slurp and suck on his cock like a woman starved, your hand gripping the shaft as you pump it back and forth while he rocks into your mouth.
“You look so cock-hungry. Has your pretty mouth and pussy been neglected for so long?” You never thought you’d hear these words pour out of his mouth but here you both were, you with his aching cock between your lips and his fingers deep and wet inside you. “Have your needs been met?”
The sensation was intoxicating, his fingers moving inside you while his cock filled your mouth, your reply a muffled and spit covered ‘yes’. You could feel him trembling, his control slipping as he thrust deeper, the corner of your lips stretching with a pleasurable pull.
You moved back onto your back, positioning yourself with your head tilted to the side so you could continue sucking his cock. Tech’s hands were everywhere, one playing with your oiled nipples, rolling and pinching them lightly, while the other massaged your clit. The dual sensation was overwhelming, and you felt yourself building to another climax as stars blur your vision.
Tech’s pace quickened, his thrusts becoming more urgent. He groaned your name, panting like a whore, his voice filled with desire. “I can’t… I’m going to…”
Before he could finish, he pulled out of your mouth with urgency, his eyes dark with lust. “I have to have you,” he murmured, his voice dripping with need.
You watched with wide and lusting eyes as he moved to the bottom of the table, his hands gripping your thighs firmly. In one swift motion, he pulled you close to him, your legs dangling off the edge. His cock, hard and throbbing, pressed against your exposed entrance. The anticipation was electric, your body quivering with need.
“Tech, please,” you whispered, your voice burning with desperation.
He needed no further encouragement. He grabs his cock, slipping it up and down between your folds, tapping it against your clit to watch your desperate whimpers of want before he pushes into you, filling you completely.
“Oh fuck! Tech!” You cried out in pleasure, your body arching against him as your head fell back. The sensation of his cock stretching you was overwhelming, and you gripped his arms, your fingers digging into the fabric of his sleeves because after all, he wasn’t even naked himself.
“Maker, your cunt is so tight,” Tech groaned, his voice strained with pleasure, “do not worry darling, you will adjust.”
He began to move, each thrust deep and powerful, slamming into you with an urgency that left you panting with breath. He pushes his goggles up to rest against his forehead, having steamed up from the erotic heat and then watched intently, eyes glued to the sight of his cock disappearing into you with each thrust.
“I do not think I will fit inside you completely,” he chuckles, “but I’ll make do.” his voice was husky and he looked you in the eyes.”
“You are mine,” he groans, his hands running up and down your thighs as he stills inside you, keeping his cock warm. “Stars, I have been wanting to see how you look whilst getting wonderfully fucked by my cock.”
Your eyes locked onto his, the intensity of the moment binding you together. “Tech… it’s so big,” you moaned, your voice barely more than a whisper.
“I know. But you are doing exceptionally well my dear… tell me how good it feels,” he demanded, his pace quickening. “I want to hear you say it.”
“Fuck, it’s so deep,” you cried out, your voice breaking as he begins to move his hips again. “It feels so good baby,”
Tech let out a loud groan at the pet name, legs like jelly. “I could get used to you calling me that.”
“Your body is incredible,” Tech groaned, his hands gripping your fleshy thighs tighter. “It should be cherished. Your pussy is perfect. I’ve imagined you wedged on my cock for a long time. And now you’re mine. My brothers will never get the chance to fuck you as good as I do.”
“I’ll only want you, Tech,” you gasped, your body trembling with pleasure. “I’ve always wanted you.”
Tech’s hands move to your waist, his grip almost bruising as he pounded into you. “I am going to fill you up,” he moaned, his voice low and feral as his deep-rooted kink for breeding you surfaces. “I’m going to spill my seed inside you, and you’re going to take it all.”
The thought sent a shiver of pure pleasure through your body, and you felt your orgasm building, the tension coiling tighter and tighter as your pussy gets pounded. “Yes, Tech! please, I need your hot cum so badly.” you begged, voice a desperate plea as sweat drips down your body.
Tech’s thrusts became erratic, his control slipping as he neared his own high. His fingers moved to your clit, pinching and flicking it in time with his thrusts. The added sensation made you sob with pleasure, your body trembling uncontrollably. “Shit oh - holy - fuck,” you’re mewling pathetically, watching half of his cock disappear inside of you.
He leaned over you, pinning you to the table, his face inches from yours. “Kiss me,” he ordered, his voice rough with need. You comply without a second thought, your lips crashing together in a desperate, hot kiss. He lets go of you, hands holding on the table as it rocked back and forth as he buries himself in and out of you.
Just as you were about to fall over into blissful release, Tech pulled out, making you whimper at the loss. “N-no, no why?”
You watch with hazy eyes as he starts to stroke himself, trying to stave off his orgasm. “Beg for my cock,” he commanded, his eyes heavy with hunger. “Tell me how much you need it.”
“Please, baby, Tech, I need you,” you pleaded, your voice desperate. “I need your cock inside me. Fuck me again, please.”
Satisfied, Tech pulled you off the table and turned you around, bending you over. He lifted one of your legs to rest on the table, angling your body perfectly. “This position will allow for deeper penetration,” he explained, his voice tinged with anticipation. “I shall be able to hit that sweet spot inside you perfectly.”
With that, he thrust back into you, his cock driving deep and hitting just the right spot. You gasp out in pleasure, your hands gripping the edge of the table for support. “Yes, Tech, right there,” you moaned. “It feels so good.”
“Good girl,” Tech groaned, his pace relentless. “Take it all my darling.”
His large, veiny cock buried deep inside you, hitting every sensitive spot. He reached forward to spank your arse, making it bounce with every thrust. “So receptive.”
Just as you thought you couldn’t take any more, Tech flipped you onto your back again, lifting your legs to dangle off his shoulders. He pounded into you with renewed vigor, his pace becoming erratic as he felt himself ready to give you everything.
“I’m going to cum,” he growled, his voice low and feral. “You will be so full.”
“Yes, Tech, do it,” you urged, your voice breathless as you move your hand between your legs, rubbing your clit to match him. “I need it so much.”
With a final, loud thrust, Tech buried himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he came. The sensation pushed you into another orgasm, your body trembling with pleasure.
For a moment, the galaxy seemed to stand still, the only sounds were the heavy breathing and soft moans of pleasure. As Tech slowly pulled out, you felt his warm cum slip out of you and you watch in awe as he collected it on his fingers and, with a possessive look, pushed it back inside you.
“I want every drop to stay inside you,” he murmured, his voice filled with satisfaction. “I want you to remember this.”
The sensation of his fingers inside you, combined with the aftershocks of your orgasm, made you shiver. “I won’t forget,” you whispered.
Tech leaned down, capturing your lips in a soft, tender kiss. “You are incredible,” he murmured against your lips. “I never imagined…”
“Me neither,” you replied, a smile tugging at your lips. “But I’m glad it happened.”
Tech pulled you into a gentle embrace, the intimacy of the moment leaving you both feeling connected in a way you hadn’t before. “I… I hope I did not hurt you.”
“No, not at all.” You reply with a comforting smile, “I’m just dazed.”
He smiles, pulling his goggles back down after wiping them clear. “As you could probably tell, I always had feelings for you,” he admitted softly, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I just didn’t know how to express them.”
You looked up at him, your heart swelling with affection. “I feel the same way, Tech. And not going to lie, I think I’ve always known.”
something i’ve been thinking about based on some posts i saw earlier today:
wrecker is definitely the brother that makes his siblings hug after a fight. prime example right here-
think about it. he’s definitely the most emotionally mature out of the batch. he’s also the only one that really goes out of his way to hug anyone (for the most part) in pretty much the entire show. dude is definitely a hugger. and he thinks everyone else should be too lmao
whenever any of his brothers fight, he makes them hug after. he will keep telling them over and over until they give up and do it. if they’re being really stubborn (because crosshair absolutely would be) push them into it with his brute strength. when he forces them to hug, they can’t get out of it. most of the time it just ends up with them hugging wrecker because he’s smushing them together with his arms. “there there were hugging big guy can you let go of me now?” type shit.
the others would definitely not hug after fights unless wrecker made them. they won’t admit it but it does actually help
Warnings: Oral sex, explicit content, Hunter is a feral dilf
Summary: Looking after Omega was an enjoyable task, one you’re happy to do. You just wish her father-figure wouldn’t disappear every time you enter the room.
AO3
“You’re good with her.”
You glanced over your shoulder, eyeing the man leaning against the wall between your living room and the front door. He never seemed comfortable in your home, perhaps he wasn’t used to domestic settings, but he was at ease at the moment.
When he realized you were staring, Hunter gave one of his soft smiles that turned up one corner of his mouth. You quickly looked away, back to the subject of your conversation. Omega was currently using your desk to finish the painting she’d been working on since dawn. She was determined when she put her mind to it, just like the clone who watched over her like a father.
“She’s easy to look after,” you responded, keeping your voice low so as not to disturb her. “Smart, observant, quiet.”
A little too observant from the looks she sent between you and Hunter far too often.
“Yeah,” Hunter said in his usual taciturn manner, but his voice was gentle. “Thanks for doing this.”
“Of course. I’ve always wanted to have a little sister.”
I’ve always wanted to have a daughter is what you didn’t say. It would put you on the same co-parenting level as the man across from you, and that might reveal some truths you wished to remain buried deep.
Oh good lord, this was delicious! I loved everything about it!
I’m going to apologize right now, because this reblog…these comments..are UNHINGED!!! I am unhinged at this moment. And maybe I should be embarrassed, but I’m not. I’m gonna lay it all out there, how much I loved this fic, how fucking hot I found it!!!
Whew, man! I need to collect myself.
I’ll start off slow and sweet…
The clones hadn’t only rescued you, they’d given you a new life. Now you had your own place, a stable job, and a group of odd but wonderful people you could count on.
It was a shame one of them consumed your thoughts day and night, and he, in turn, always seemed to be looking for the nearest exit if he spent more than thirty seconds in your general vicinity.
Oh Hunter…
And the adorableness of Omega noticing something happening between Hunter and the reader.
“She’s easy to look after,” you responded, keeping your voice low so as not to disturb her. “Smart, observant, quiet.”
A little too observant from the looks she sent between you and Hunter far too often.
And a little later:
Omega was looking between the two of you with a funny expression. You were positive she could see right through you, and you wondered why, with all of his enhanced abilities, Hunter failed to do the same.
A/N: I am absolutely in love with @idksmtms's fics of Maekar having a young wife whom Dunk confuses with his daughter, and I just kept thinking about how Baelor would react if it happened to him 😭 so I wrote this. Special thanks to @vhagars-dementia for constantly blessing this fandom with her ideas!!! I dedicate this to you <3 And to all my Baelor enthusiasts.
— summary: ser duncan the tall thinks you're just a beautiful girl close to his own age, but his innocence is his undoing when he mistakes you for just another targaryen cousin. the only problem? you are actually the lady of dragonstone and baelor’s wife.
— pairing: baelor targaryen x wife!reader
— word count: 2k
— content: controversial young wife!reader, age gap, humor, mentions of reader's hair length, jealous!baelor, implicit sexual references, pda.
The hedge knight spends more time than ever with the family, forever trailing after Aegon like a loyal hound, laughing, jesting, and, above all, eating.
It was only to be expected that the prince would invite his dear friend to the feast held at Dragonstone for the celebration of your name day. Your husband, Baelor, had prepared a banquet worthy of you, with an enormous cake and hundreds of servants rushing frantically through the castle, adorning the halls with flowers and colors chosen to your liking. He knew you exceptionally well, so it had been easy for him to decorate precisely how you'd like.
You had told him, of course, that such splendor was unnecessary, that a small supper with the family would have more than sufficed. Yet Baelor delighted in spoiling you, for you were the finest blessing he had been granted in a lot of time.
Whenever Ser Duncan the Tall found himself in your presence, he devoted most of his time to watch you from afar—seeing you laugh beside Baelor, play with Egg, or even speak comfortably with Prince Aerion. Your presence was nothing short of glorious, a magnet for eyes and devotion wherever you went. Your nature was exquisite—kind, gentle, and so unbearably sweet that at times Dunk thought you could scarce be of the same blood as the rest of them.
And your beauty… that was another matter entirely. You were the loveliest sight the humble eyes of a hedge knight had ever beheld. Your form was wondrous, your face celestial, your long hair falling over your shoulders like a silken cascade, and your smile... it stole the very breath from his chest every time. Each time you entered his sight, a sigh would just escape out of him, soft and helpless, like a boy hopelessly in love.
“Do not even think it, Dunk,” Egg warns him, as he had more than once before, quick to notice the besotted look upon his big friend’s face as they sat together at the table. “That's out of your power to reach, Ser.”
But Dunk does not answer. He is far too intent upon you as you appear in the great hall’s doorway.
Today you wear a gown of red, dazzling, adorned with pearls and white embroidery that spreads across your bodice, climbs your shoulders, and trails down the length of your spine, where darker crimson stitching forms the likeness of dragon scales. Your hair lies loose down your back, softly waved, gleaming in the candlelight.
All rise at your entrance.
Dunk is the last. He nearly stumbles over his chair in his haste, its legs scraping loudly against the stone floor as he shoves it back. That alone—and you—turn him red as a summer apple.
Valarr, seated at his other side, watches his brutish motion with poorly hidden amusement.
“My love,” Baelor calls first, his face gentle as drifting clouds, fondness curving his lips as he comes to greet you properly. “Happy name day.”
You accept his embrace, smiling as he presses a tender kiss to your hair.
After him, the others come in turn, forming a line to offer their wishes, their thanks, their gifts—small tokens and letters placed into your hands.
Egg flings himself into your arms, making you laugh and sway back a step beneath the force of him. Baelor, standing close at your side, smiles at the sight. Ever tender are you with the younglings, and for that, he loves you all the more. You shower his children with a devotion so maternal and steadfast that one would never guess they did not spring from your own womb.
“Thank you, my sweet Aegon,” you tell him, stroking the fine, pale silver-gold hair already sprouting upon his head. The boy had even brought you a flower—one of those you cherished most, a silent token of his affection.
Duncan feels painfully out of place when his turn comes. Standing empty-handed while his stomach twists into a tight, miserable knot.
He is already flushed when you lift your gaze to him, your eyes sparkling with amusement at the familiar effect you have upon him—his trembling hands, his stammer, his shy smiles. He's so cute!
“Ser Duncan. I hope you would be here,” you greet him warmly, you know well the bond he shares with Aegon; to have him present is a comfort to your heart. “Aegon speaks wonders of you. It does not surprise me to see you have become each other's shadow.”
“My lady,” Dunk answers you, his voice no louder than a mouse’s squeak. His gaze, much against his better judgment, betrays him, making a swift, helpless journey over the length of your body.
And Baelor notices, of course; his smile fades, slow and certain, as he watches the knight’s every movement like a hawk perched upon your shoulder. A single brow lifts slightly, and a deep, thoughtful furrow begins to cloud his brow.
Duncan clears his throat and casts your husband an apologetic glance before daring to look at you again. “I— I beg your pardon. I would not wish to be an intrusion upon your name day. Your father was kind enough to grant me to attend.”
The hall falls into sepulchral silence. The small conversations that bloom among the Targaryens die at once when Dunk’s words echo through the great chamber, their meaning plain, their offense unmistakable and unashamed. Even the youngest cease their play, and the servants stand frozen right where they are.
All turn to stare at Duncan now, and they look upon him with mortified eyes, as though none dare breathe.
Somewhere, someone fails to smother a laugh—most likely Aerion.
Egg’s mouth falls open in mortification. He looks up at his friend, his expression stricken, willing him to understand—to see—that what he has just said is wrong. Very wrong.
Duncan looks down at him when his small squire gives his shin a furtive kick, meant to draw his notice without the others seeing. He frowns, bewildered, not understanding what offense he has given now to deserve such a blow.
And when he looks back to the grown folk, he finds you watching him with an expression poised in perfect balance between horror and amusement. There is even the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of your lips, one you must press away when you turn your head toward your prince.
Baelor does not look pleased as you do.
His face is uncommonly stern, his brow drawn tight, his lips pressed into a hard, unforgiving line, he is trying to gather every shred of his restraint to keep from striking the foolish knight upon your name day.
“She is my wife, Ser Duncan,” he clarifies, his patience stretched thin, drawn so taut it borders upon offense. His hand comes to curl around your waist as you lean into him, lifting one hand to his chest in quiet reassurance.
You are still trying to hide that treacherous, amused smile.
“Oh—Seven—” Dunk breathes, realization striking him at last. He drops at once to his knees, bowing his head in reverence and shame. “I beg your forgiveness, Your Grace. I—I did not know. My manners are poor—you must understand, I never m–meant offense.”
“Of course not, Ser,” you reply kindly, looking down at him, still leaning against your husband’s chest. He lets out a soft sigh beneath your touch, your hand rising and falling with the steady motion of his breath.
Baelor makes a sharp, dismissive gesture for him to rise. “See that it does not happen again.”
“Of course!” Dunk scrambles to his feet at once, his face burning red with shame. “I only meant that she is so young and beautiful, and you—”
His frantic blue eyes fall upon Valarr, standing just behind his father. The prince shakes his head swiftly, his mismatched eyes widening in urgent warning, bidding him to hold his tongue.
Dunk obeys at once and his jaw snaps shut so hard it almost snaps apart.
“You witless boy,” Maekar rebukes him, his face twisted with disgust and disdain when the hedge knight dares glance his way, standing at your side like some old, ill-tempered hound. “That should cost you your fucking tongue.”
Your soft laughter breaks through the tension of the moment, and all turn to look at you, the heavy air easing when they all realize this offends you not half so deeply as it does them.
“I am certain Ser Duncan meant no malice, Maekar,” you say, seeking to soothe them—most of all your husband. “And I should not like to see any tongues torn out upon my name day, please.”
Baelor’s gaze remains fixed upon the mortified knight, his hand coming to rest upon the pommel of his sword—a blade he carries in quiet defiance of your pleas to remain unarmed this day. He thinks, perhaps, that he shall have a use for it against Ser Duncan.
“... shall we eat at last, then?” Comes Daeron’s unmistakable voice from somewhere within the hall. “I am hungry. And thirsty.”
“Of that, none have any doubt,” Maekar mutters, rolling his eyes as he returns to the table.
The others follow in his wake, granting you and your husband a moment alone.
Ser Duncan gives you another quick, apologetic bow before hastening out from beneath your husband’s gaze.
You cannot hold it any longer.
A breath of laughter escapes you, soft and bright, and you turn in Baelor’s arms to face him fully.
He is still watching the place where Duncan stood, his jaw tight, his shoulders rigid beneath your touch, as if the insult lingers in the air like a foul smell.
Your fingers curl more firmly into the front of his doublet to call for his attention.
“My prince,” you whisper with a smile when his two-toned eyes finally meet yours. “My heart...”
You rise onto your toes and press a gentle kiss to his cheek, his beard tickling against your skin. His body noticeably softens beneath your warm affection.
Another kiss follows, softer still, at the corner of his mouth.
And one more, sweet and lingering, upon his lips.
“Peace,” you plead humorously against his mouth, your fingers toying idly with the Hand of the King’s badge on his chest. “You look as though you mean to challenge the poor knight to single combat over a slip of the tongue, my love.”
“I am not amused,” he manifests, his tone remarkably sullen, yet you press another loving kiss to his lips to chase away his pettish little pout.
“No?” You lean closer, your voice drops into something more playful and teasing, “is it because he thinks you're old, husband?”
His lips tremble at your words, holding back an ironic smile, and his hands tighten at your waist, pulling you closer against him.
Baelor clicks his tongue, and your gaze falls to his lips as he does. “I am not old.”
“Well, considering my own age... truthfully, you are a bit older,” you continue to tease him, biting back a small laugh at his startled reaction. “Should I begin calling you father now, hm?”
His beautiful eyes narrow.
You grin—and steal another quick kiss before he can protest.
“Do not push your luck, wife,” he warns all the same, a playful little smile curving his lips. His hand slides down to the small of your back before he delivers a sharp, scolding swat to your backside, making you jolt lightly against him.
His brow arches slightly. “You are the only one left breathless and trembling like some frail, ancient little thing. Or must I remind you how you clung to me the other night and begged me to—?”
Your hand flies to his mouth, covering it before he can utter another word.
“My prince,” you hiss under your breath, though laughter trembles in your voice, your eyes wide with scandalized amusement. “You grow bold. We are in a hall full of eyes, and your sons sit but a stone's throw away.”
His lips move against your palm, pressing a lingering, heated kiss there that sends a shiver down your spine. Baelor gently pulls your hand away, though he does not let go of your fingers, his thumb stroking your knuckles with a slow, possessive rhythm, grazing your betrothal ring.
“Let them look,” he dismisses, leaning into you to kiss your lips properly, claiming them. And claiming you.
The heated kiss, at last, forces Duncan’s eyes away from you, and Baelor smiles against your mouth as he watches him behind you, finally closing his own eyes to savor the honeyed sweetness of your kiss.
Plot Summary: After witnessing Prince Aerion’s cruel tilt, you slip away from the stands to help the injured knight in the healers’ tent only to be joined by Prince Baelor Targaryen. Far from prying eyes, quiet conversation, shared wine, the future king lets himself be seen as only a man for the night.
Warnings: NSFW. 18+ only. explicit sexual content, consensual outdoor sex, penetrative sex (multiple positions: cowgirl + missionary), slow & intimate, praise, soft dom vibes from Baelor, thigh-holding / pinning open, external ejaculation, light power imbalance (prince x lady) , references to tourney violence & injury, wine drinking, aftercare, sorta strangers to lovers, not proofread.
Authors note: me and my girl love our husband @itsjml. It’s been along time since I have written anything from the Westeros universe. What better way to come back than for the heir to the iron throne.
Please reblog to support fellow writers ❤️
Another fine day as the sun hung high over Ashford Meadow, as you, a Lady of House Willum, sat among the lesser nobility in the stands. You're close enough to feel the thunder of hooves but far from the royal pavilions where the true power watched.
The joust between Prince Aerion Targaryen and Ser Humfrey Hardyng drew every eye. Ser Humfrey was a crowd favourite, a knight who'd already unhorsed a dozen men that day.
The charge came. Lances leveled.
Then the unthinkable: Aerion's lance dipped low and definitely deliberately as he pierced the neck of Ser Humfrey's mount instead of the shield.
Disgust rose in your throat like bile. The stands erupted, some in cheers for the prince's "victory," others in murmurs of outrage. But you could not sit idle and watch Ser Humfrey cry out in pain any longer as he’s dragged away. Slipping from your seat, you gathered your skirts and hurried toward the healers' tents at the edge of the field.
Inside the pavilion, the air smelled of blood, sweat, and milk of the poppy. Ser Humfrey had been laid on a low pallet, his face pale and slick with sweat from being in pain.
You inwardly cringe as you spotted that his leg was grotesquely swollen beneath his torn breeches. A maester knelt, probing the break with careful fingers while another prepared splints.
You approached without hesitation, you'd tended the sick in Willowbrook's villages since girlhood and now was no different.
"May I assist?" you asked the nearest maester, rolling up your sleeves. He glanced at your fine gown, then at your steady hands, and nodded.
You worked quickly: fetching clean linens, holding the leg steady as the maester set the bone with a sickening grind that drew a choked cry from the Ser.
You murmured soothing words, pressing a damp cloth to his brow and offering what comfort you could. "The Seven will see you through this, Ser. Breathe slow." Your voice was calm, though your heart pounded with anger at the prince who'd caused this cruelty.
Suddenly, a shadow fell across the tent flap. You looked up and froze.
Prince Baelor Targaryen stood there, his olive skin gleamed in the lantern light, dark eyes shadowed with concern. He'd watched the tilt from the royal stand; everyone had seen his jaw tighten at Aerion's dishonour. Now he stepped inside, broad shoulders filling the space,
"How fares Ser Humfrey?" he asked the maester,
his presence commanding yet gentle.
"Badly broken, my prince. He'll live, but the leg... it may never bear him fully again."
Baelor's gaze shifted to you then, lingering. Recognition flickered. Perhaps it was from the feast nights before, when your laughter had caught his ear across the hall. "My lady of Willum," he starts, "You lend your hands where others turn away."
Heat rose to your cheeks. "It is no more than duty, my prince. House Willum has always aided where we may. And this..." You glanced at the suffering knight. "This should not have happened."
He nodded, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "Aerion's lance found the wrong target. I saw it plainly." He knelt beside the pallet, placing a hand on Ser Humfrey's shoulder. "You fought honorably, ser. Rest now. The crown will see to your care."
Ser Humfrey only managed a weak nod.
Baelor rose, offering you his hand to help you stand from where you’d knelt in the dirt. His palm was warm and steady. “Walk with me a moment, my lady? The air outsid is fresher.”
You accepted, letting him guide you from the tent into the cooling evening. Stars began to prick the sky as you walked in silence for a few paces, the grass whispering against your skirts.
“I wanted to thank you properly,” he said, voice low. “For what you did in there. Ser Humfrey was in agony, and most would have averted their eyes or offered empty platitudes from a safe distance. That kind of mercy… it is not common,” he looks at you, fondness in his eyes, “even among the highborn.”
“It was nothing more than what anyone with a heart would do,” you murmured. “He suffered needlessly. Cruelty like that—”
You broke off, the words turning bitter on your tongue before you could stop them.
“Like Aerion’s,” you finished, the name slipping out sharp. “He struck the horse on purpose. I saw it. Everyone saw it. He laughed while a good man screamed beneath a dying beast. How can anyone call that knighthood? How can—”
You caught yourself, cheeks burning now with embarrassment as much as anger. You looked away, toward the darkening horizon as you quickly realise who yoh were standing with.
“Forgive me, my prince,” you say quickly, “I spoke out of turn. Aerion is your nephew. Your brother’s son. I should not have said anything.”
Baelor stopped walking.
He turned to face you fully and he did not look offended. If anything, his expression was one of weary understanding. “No apology is needed,” he hums quietly. “You spoke the truth. I saw the same thing you did and I felt the same disgust rise in me.” He picks a wildflower close by, twirling it between his fingers.
“He is my nephew, yes. But blood does not absolve dishonour, and it does not blind me to it.” He exhaled slowly, as though the admission cost him a great deal of coin. “I have spent years trying to guide him, to show him what our house should stand for rather than what it could destroy. Some days I wonder if the fire in him will ever bend to reason.”
The silence that followed was heavy, but not uncomfortable. “Here…” he speaks soft, taking your hand and pressing the flower into your palm. His thumb brushed once, almost absently, across the back of your hand.
“My lady, would you accompany me for a drink? Alone. Somewhere quiet, away from the noise and the eyes.”
Your heart gave an unsteady thud but you met his eyes. “Yes. I would like that very much, my prince.”
A small, genuine smile curved Baelor’s lips.. He offered his arm again, and you took it gracefully. You suppress a surprise gasp as you feel that his forearm was solid beneath the linen sleeve.
Together you left the clamour of the tourney grounds behind, slipping past the last row of pavilions and into the open meadow that bordered Ashford’s lists. The grass was already damp with evening dew and beautifully silvered by the rising moon. For a while neither of you spoke, content simply to walk side by side.
Eventually Baelor broke it. “Aerion has always preferred spectacle to honour. I fear he will never understand the difference.”
You walked on a few paces before answering. “My father used to say that true strength is measured not by how hard a man can strike, but by how gently he can hold back when he could destroy.”
Baelor looked at you then, really looked. “Your father sounds like a wise man.”
“He was,” you begin softly. “He died three winters past. Fever took him quickly. After that, it fell to me to look after Willowbrook’s people as best I could. The river floods some years, the harvests fail others.”
You look up to the moon, smiling to yourself. “You learn quickly that a lord or lady cannot sit above suffering and still call themselves worthy.”
He nodded slowly. “I envy you that clarity. The throne room is far removed from such truths. One forgets, sometimes, what the realm truly needs.” There’s a small frown on his face so you offer him a smile and an ever so light nudge.
“And yet here you are, walking in a meadow instead of feasting with the highborn.”
“Feasts grow tiresome when the conversation is all flattery and veiled threats.” He gave a quiet laugh. “Besides, the company is better out here.”
Heat crept into your cheeks again “You flatter me, my prince.”
“No,” he said simply. “I speak plainly. You are kind in a way that costs you nothing and everything at once. That is rare.”
The meadow sloped gently downward toward a small copse of willows and alders.
A low fire already burned in a shallow pit. It was clear that it was someone’s forgotten camp. A wineskin and two battered tin cups had been left beside the flames, along with a folded cloak. Baelor paused, glancing at you.
“Shall we?”
You nodded, and he led you to the fireside. He spread the cloak on the grass for you to sit, then settled beside you.
Your eyes open wide as he sits close enough that your shoulders nearly brushed. He doesn’t seem to mind however as he he uncorked the wineskin, poured dark red into both cups, and handed one to you.
You clinked your cup lightly against his. “To kinder days,” you smile.
“To kinder days,” he echoed.
The first sips were quiet, warming. The fire crackled softly, sending sparks spiraling upward into the night. Gradually the conversation drifted. You both spoke about the tilts from today and about which knight had ridden the finest that day. He would comment about how the Reach’s golden fields would look amazing from dragonback (he wished desperately that the dragons didn’t die out before his time).
Then he asked about Willowbrook. It surprised you that he wanted to know about your humble life but he listened as though every detail mattered, asking gentle questions that showed he truly wanted to know.
At length the fire had burned lower, the wine warmer in your veins. You shifted closer without quite meaning to, drawn by his warmth against the night chill. Fortunately, he did not move away.
You looked into the flames for a moment, gathering courage, then turned to him.
“I have never met a Targaryen like you,” you told him truthfully. “The stories speak of fire and blood, of ambition that burns kingdoms down. But you…” You searched his face, the sharp lines softened by firelight. “You are kind.”
Baelor regarded you for a long moment, expression unreadable. Then he set his cup aside and reached out, brushing the backs of his fingers lightly along your cheek. The touch was feather-soft, almost hesitant.
“Kindness is not the legacy my house is known for,” he murmured. Your eyes softly close as his thumb traced the curve of your lower lip. “Most days I feel the weight of what we are supposed to be more than what I wish to be.”
His gaze dropped to your mouth, “It has been… a long while since I allowed myself anything like this,” he admitted quietly, the confession sounding almost surprised, as though he had not meant to speak it aloud. “Since I let anyone close enough. Since I let myself want.”
The admission hung in the air, raw and unguarded. You felt your own breath catch.
“Then let yourself want now,” you whispered.
He leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away.
You met him halfway.
The first press of his lips was careful, tasting of Arbor red and woodsmoke. You sighed into it, parting for him, and he deepened the kiss with a quiet groan that vibrated against your mouth. His hand slid to cradle the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair; the other found your waist, drawing you closer across the folded cloak until you were half in his lap.
He kissed like a man who had forgotten how good it could feel; like every brush of tongue, every soft nip at your lower lip, was something he had denied himself for years. Your hands slide up his chest, feeling the steady thunder of his heart beneath. When you tugged lightly at the laces of his tunic, he helped you without breaking the kiss, shrugging the garment off.
You broke apart only long enough to breathe, foreheads resting together.
“You tremble,” he murmured against your lips, one hand smoothing down your back in a soothing stroke.
“So do you,” you answered, smiling a little.
He huffed a soft laugh, the sound almost disbelieving. “I suppose I do.”
His mouth found your neck then with open kisses and gentle scrapes of teeth that made you arch against him. You felt him harden beneath you, the evidence of his want pressing insistently against your thigh through his breeches. Your own body answered with a rush of heat, a slick ache building low in your belly.
“Baelor…” His name came out half plea, half wonder.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes searching. “Tell me to stop if it is too much,” he said, voice thick. “Or tell me what you want.”
You cupped his face, thumbs brushing the faint stubble along his jaw. “I want you,” you reply simply. “All of you. Here... Now.”
Something fierce and tender flashed across his features. He kissed you again with hunger and began to work the ties of your gown. Layer by layer the fabric fell away until you knelt bare before him in the firelight, skin prickling with both chill and anticipation.
He looked at you like you were something holy.
“Gods,” he breathed. “You are…”
He did not finish the sentence. Instead he pulled you down with him onto the cloak, rolling so you straddled his hips. His hands roamed over your breasts, your waist, your thighs… he was learning you with slow, worshipful touches.
When you reached between you to free him from his breeches, he groaned low in his throat at the first stroke of your hand along his length.
You pump his cock slowly before you guide him to your entrance, slick and ready, and sink down slowly and stretch around him.
You both stilled for a moment when he was fully sheathed, breathing hard, foreheads pressed together again.
He whimpered, utterly undone and the sound sent a fresh wave of heat through you.
You began to move with a slow roll of your hips, grinding down in languid circles that made him gasp against your mouth. His hands gripped your thighs as though you were the only thing anchoring him to the world. Every downward motion drew another quiet, helpless sound from him; his head tipped back, throat working, dark eyes half-lidded and gleaming with pleasure.
“You feel…” he managed, voice wrecked. “So perfect… so good…”
You leaned down to kiss him again, swallowing the next soft whimper as you circled your hips just right. His hands slid up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing your nipples in time with your rhythm, sending sparks straight to where you were joined.
The pace stayed slow, torturously intimate. He wanted you to feel every inch of him, and wanted him to feel every flutter and clench around him.
Sweat gleamed on his skin in the firelight. He looked up at you with something like awe, lips parted on ragged breaths, utterly lost in the sensation of you moving above him.
After a while, the need shifted.
“Lie back,” he whispered. “Let me feel you like this.”
With a low groan he rolled you both until you lay beneath him on the cloak, legs parting to cradle his hips. He settled between your thighs, bracing on his forearms so his weight rested mostly on his elbows, keeping you sheltered from the cool air. His eyes never left yours as he guided himself back inside you in one slow, smooth glide.
You both moaned at the new deeper angle, every inch of his cock pressing against places that made stars burst behind your eyelids.
He began to move in long thrusts, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in with a planned slowness. Each stroke dragged against your walls, building heat in lazy, rolling waves. His forehead pressed to yours; his breath fanned hot across your lips.
“So beautiful,” he whispered between thrusts. “So warm and tight around me… my lady…”
You wrapped your legs around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back to bury him deeper. Your hands roamed his shoulders, his back, feeling the flex of muscle with every slow roll of his hips. Soft whimpers escaped you each time he bottomed out.
As the pace built ever so slightly, he slides one hand down to grip your thigh, fingers splaying wide and firm to hold you open, pinning your leg back against the cloak. The angle opened you further, letting him sink even deeper, his cock dragging perfectly against that sensitive spot inside you with every thrust. The new position made the sounds louder. Wet, filthy slaps echoing in the quiet night as he fucked into your pussy with, each one hitting harder and better, drawing keening cries from your throat.
“Like that,” he rasped, eyes locked on yours, watching every flutter of pleasure across your face. “Take me… gods, the way you sound… moaning for me…”
His mouth found yours again in messy, open-mouthed kisses; then across your breasts until your back arched and you cried out softly.
When the pleasure coiled unbearably tight, you clutched at him, nails pressing marks into his shoulders.
“Baelor…please…”
“I’ve got you,” he rasped, thrusts growing just a fraction deeper and a fraction harder. “Come for me… let me feel you…”
The words tipped you over. You shattered around him with a broken cry, walls fluttering and clenching tight. He groaned your name, hips stuttering as your release pulled him along.
At the last moment he pulled out, hand wrapping around his slick length. Hot pulses spilled across your belly in thick, warm streaks, painting your skin as he shuddered through it, head bowed, breath harsh and uneven.
For a long moment he simply rested above you, weight carefully braced, chest heaving. Then he shifted to the side, lying beside you and drawing you into his arms. One hand reached for the edge of the cloak, using a clean corner to wipe you clean with tender strokes.
He kissed your temple, your cheek and then the corner of your mouth. “You’re shivering,” he murmured, pulling the cloak fully over both of you and tucking you against his chest.
“Only a little,” you whispered, curling into his warmth. He held you tighter, fingers tracing lazy circles along your spine. “Rest now,” he said softly, pressing another kiss to your hair. “I’ve got you. All night if you’ll let me.”
You smiled against his skin, already drifting in the cocoon of his arms and the quiet crackle of the dying fire.
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