Summary: After the Battle of Blackwater Bay, Stannis Baratheon’s wife fears for the security of his claim. They have been married a year, yet she has yet to bear him an heir.
Notes: this is based off a long anon request- Anon, I’m sorry I couldn’t fit EVERYTHING in but I hope you enjoy!! Also this one focuses less on the smut and more on Stannis and R’s relationship <3
Content Warnings: discussions of war and death, canon-typical preference of sons over daughters, one mention of rape. Argument and discussion of infidelity. Fade-to-black smut.
GIF creds to owner.
“The Queen is without, Sire,”
“Show her in,”
As the guard held the heavy door open, Queen YN drifted into her husband’s solar. He was stood staring out of the window into the black of night, his hands behind his back. His squire, one of the Onion Knight’s sons, stood in the shadows, holding a flagon at the ready. It was for naught, she knew. Stannis would take no wine tonight.
The fire was roaring high in the hearth, the logs spitting and cracking, the flames almost licking the Red Priestess’s fingers. YN wondered if she foresaw the defeat on Blackwater Bay, and if she had, why hadn’t she urged Stannis to hang back?
YN often wondered if the priestess saw anything in the flames, or if red R’hllor had hidden Himself completely from His humble servant.
“Leave us,” murmured the Queen, her fingers twitching towards the seven-pointed star that adorned her girdle. The Onion Knight’s boy set down the flagon of wine and bowed, before scurrying away. The Red Priestess remained in her spot, though she had turned to face YN, her ruby necklace pulsing at her throat. Unlike Stannis’s first queen, YN was not a staunch worshipper of the Red God, and a gaze from Melisandre’s pale, heart-shaped face would not sway her. “I would have a moment with my husband, my lady,” YN said, not without courtesy. “I bid you a pleasant evening,” YN smiled pleasantly as she stepped back and gestured towards to door, and was almost pleased to see that the King barely acknowledged her leaving.
“Why are you here?” Stannis said, his voice a disgruntled rumble. He was still gazing out of the window, but YN knew he was gritting his teeth.
“I had to see with mine own eyes that you had survived,” YN said, moving away from the hearth. “So many have not returned-”
“And many have turned cloak,” Stannis snapped.
The queen did not flinch at the iron of his tone. She might have once, when she was merely a Lady, but a Queen did not cower; a Queen knew how to cull her King’s dark mood.
“Many have turned cloak, aye,” she agreed, taking a step closer. “And many have not returned,” she repeated. “And I thank the Seven above that you are not one of them,” His head turned slightly, his jaw tightening when he sensed the icy steel in his wife’s voice. She arched her brows at his movement, at this barest suggestion that he was even listening to her. “Would you rather I thank Red R’hllor?” She asked.
“It matters not to me which gods you thank,” he said sharply.
“Well, it is not by your own virtue you remain on this mortal plain,” she snapped, her temper rising. “From what I hear, you had to be dragged back by your own men to the Lysene galleys. You are not Robert-”
“Careful, woman,” he said darkly, turning to face her fully. His jaw was hard set, the hollows under his eyes dark. He had not slept since the battle. “Do not presume to tell me how to fight my battles,”
“I will, when your life and your very claim is at risk!” YN burst, glaring up at her stubborn husband. “What do you think would have happened had the Lannisters taken you, hm?”
“If I die, you are no longer queen, is that what you mean?” He said dismissively.
YN felt her temper rising at his flippant tone. He was treating her like a child, as if he thought she cared only for finery and title.
“Yes,” she hissed. “If you are slain, I am no longer Queen. But do you think that would satisfy Tywin Lannister? Cersei? Joffrey? Do you think they would not send some cutthroat after me? Aye, I would not be queen- but upon your death I would be raped and tortured and killed for treason,” he made no response, but his jaw worked as he began to grind his teeth. “And what of your daughter?” YN said softly. “Do you think they would spare Shireen? No, my love, her pretty head would be dashed against the stones of this very keep, her body wrapped in a Lannister cloak to hide the blood. Tywin Lannister is not above murdering children,”
“Enough,” he said gruffly.
“No,” she persisted, stepping closer. “No, I will not be silenced. Should you fall, your claim is all but vanquished. Your men will all desert the cause- you have no heir,”
“Shireen is my heir,”
“They will not follow her, and you know it. The lords of Westeros will not come to her aid,” she took a breath. “Andal law puts sons before daughters,” she murmured. “If you were slain, your son could still rise…”
“I do not have a son,” he gritted.
YN threw up her hands in frustration. “And for complete want of trying!” She exclaimed. “Have you any idea what must occur between a man and woman for there to be a child? Surely you must, you’ve managed it at least once before!”
“Silence,” Stannis grabbed her wrists, his large hands pressing into her skin.
“No!” She exclaimed, pulling against his grasp, but he was all lean muscle and sinew, and his grip held firm. He frowned down at her, a deep line furrowing his brow. It was so rare, he thought, to see his wife in such a temper. Through the silk of her sleeves, she burned hotter than the flames of the Red Woman, her breast heaving. But beneath her fury was fear. He saw it in the wideness of her eyes, the dark circles beneath them, and in the welling tears that threatened to fall.
She struggled against him, turning her face away to hide the shame of her tears. “Shadows will not hold your throne, sons will!” She gasped, wrenching free of his grasp and glaring up at him. “And yet you have shared your bed with the fire woman more times in the past year than you have your own lady wife! You shun me for not giving you a son, yet you provide me no chance to do so- how am I meant to conceive if you will not play your part? Battles and council meetings are your duty, aye, but you must sire an heir!”
Stannis stared at her, his jaw working as he ground his teeth fervently. He had no argument for her, and his silence only served to embolden her. She took a steadying breath and returned her expression to her usual one of placidness. “Goodnight, my love,” she said stiffly. “Sleep well,”
***
“Your Grace,”
YN looked over her shoulder and paused in her walk along the battlements. The scarlet of Melisandre’s robes stood stark against the harsh stones of Dragonstone.
“My lady,” she responded, when the priestess was near enough to hear. “Leave us,” she instructed her guards, who nodded, bowed, and strode away, exchanging puzzled glances. “Walk with me,” she invited, and the two women fell in step.
“Your Grace has little love for me,” Melisandre said after a pause.
YN was silent for a moment, considering her words. “You think my gods are false, My Lady,” she said. “I think the same of yours. Men have gone to war for less,” she smiled slightly. “I am aware that the queen before me was a faithful convert, and I am sorry you have not found that same faith in me,” she paused and turned to the Red Priestess. “That does not mean I have any malice towards you,” she said. “If my husband needs a spiritual advisor alongside his council, then so be it. But I will not abandon my faith for yours, and I would not expect you to do the same for the Seven,”
“My Queen is kind to say,” Melisandre replied, and they resumed their walk. “I saw you in the flames,” she said after a beat. “Sweating and bloody, yet giving suck to a babe,” YN’s lips pressed into a thin line as she remembered the argument from a few nights past. “Your Grace need not believe in R’hllor to appear in His revelations,” Melisandre murmured. “I’ll leave you to your walk,” she said, dipping ever so slightly into a curtsey before she walked away.
***
That evening, while she was engaged in her embroidery, YN’s guard entered the room. “The King is without, Your Grace,” he said.
“He may enter,” she replied, hardly looking up from her stitches.
The door closed, and the sound of Stannis’s boots was all that indicated his presence. She made no move to greet him, though she gripped her embroidery hoop a little tighter.
“It grows dark in here,” he said after a while. “You will strain your eyes,”
YN huffed out a little laugh. This was the first they had spoken since their row. She supposed his statement reflected an element of care, in his own stubborn way.
“The hour is late, your Grace,” she said, poking her needle into the fabric and setting down her sewing. She looked up at him expectantly- had the Red Priestess shared her vision with Stannis? YN pushed the thought to the back of her mind. She wasn’t entirely sure how much stock she gave to visions in the flames. “How may I serve you?”
Stannis stared at her for a moment, his jaw ticking slightly. “I have come to ask your forgiveness, my lady,” he said.
YN’s brows quirked up slightly in surprise. “Oh?” She asked. “Whatever for?”
Stannis frowned slightly. Had she forgotten their argument? Or was she feigning ignorance to force his admittance of wrong. “You came to me, expressing worry for my safety and that of my daughter,” he said. “And I responded to your concern cruelty and anger. For that I am sorry,”
She stood, reaching up tentatively to cup his cheek, her thumb stroking his clenched jaw until it slackened. He seemed to deflate at her touch, his eyes closing and his frown relaxing as he leaned into her touch. “You are forgiven,” she murmured, her other hand reaching to cradle the back of his head, her fingers curling in the wiry black hair there. “Let me kiss you,” she whispered.
“Please,” he murmured, his voice a little strained, as if the words had gotten stuck in his throat.
She nodded, shushing him gently as she reached up, closing her lips over his, her fingers still stroking his face and hair as his hands came to rest on her hips, his thumbs splaying up into the soft flesh of her waist. They kissed until YN felt weak at the knees, and when he finally pulled back a few millimetres, her hands searched for his. Slowly, she pulled him from her solar to the adjoining bedchamber. He did not resist; he did not set his jaw as if he were marching to battle. Instead he followed her gentle tugging, and watched as she lit some more candles in the dimly lit chamber. It seemed alien to him, and the fact he was not familiar with his wife’s most private chamber filled him with a sense of shame. As she shook the spill to extinguish the flame, he grasped her wrist, pulling her body to his. She gasped slightly, but relaxed into his touch when he pressed his lips to hers once more, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips. She could not remember the last time they had exchanged more than a chaste kiss, but the slightly unfamiliar feelings of arousal she had last felt months ago flooded her senses, and she moaned against his mouth.
“I need you,” he grunted against her lips, one hand tangling in her hair.
“I am your wife,” she murmured. “You have me entirely.”
The weight of the Seven’s judgment had never felt like this, like the seam of Baelor’s velvet breeches dragging against your soaked cunt, slow, while his pale fingers dug crescents into your hips.
He was being mean, oh so mean.
“Such a wanton creature” he murmured, voice honeyed and cruel, as you shuddered atop his thigh. His other hand tilted your chin up toward the crystal prism catching candlelight. “Grinding on me like a needy whore in heat”
You whimpered, rolling your hips again. The friction was maddening, not enough, yet too much. Baelor’s lips brushed your ear, so soft compared to how mean he was being.
“Look at you” he breathed, thumb pressing the corner of your mouth. “Desperate. Begging without words. And so beautiful”
A tear slipped down your cheek, shame, or need, you could no longer tell. He caught it on his fingertip, then touched it to his tongue.
“Again” he commanded. His thigh lifted slightly, the pressure made your clit catch the perfect friction against his breeches. “Weep for me.”
And when you shattered, crying out against his robes, Baelor smiled and held you tighter.
“Shh” he soothed, stroking your hair as you trembled. “I have you”
To wake up in a pretty nightgown and watch Prince Maekar prepare for the day, already muttering about lords, knights, courtiers, and the general inconvenience of humanity. To hear him complain that he hates people while looking at you like you’re the sole exception. While being full of his seed from the night before and five minutes earlier, and having him hear you casually announce, with the confidence of someone who has accomplished absolutely nothing and is somehow exhausted anyway, say, “I’m going to take a nap before waking up!”
─ summary: After seeing his brother have his way with you, the wife he has been neglecting, Maekar realises just how much he wants you.
─ pairing: Maekar Targaryen x wife!reader, Baelor Targaryen x reader
─ content: 18+ MDNI | loss of virginity | voyeurism | exhibitionism | technically this was all a threesome... | smut | no plot | word count ~1.5k
─ a/n: To be between the hammer and the anvil, a girl (or man) can dream. The girl is of course me and I am assuming all of you. The much awaited continuation of Shall I Continue.Thank you always for reading, commenting, reblogging, and requesting. 🖤
The air in the bedchamber was thick, charged with the scent of your arousal and the heavy, oppressive weight of the men staring at you. Baelor had just stepped back, his challenge hanging in the silence, asking if Maekar was finally capable of doing his duty. The question seemed to snap something inside Maekar.
He moved with a sudden, violent urgency, all but shoving Baelor aside, his shoulder connecting with his brother's chest, forcing the taller man back a step. Maekar didn't even seem to register the contact. His violet eyes, usually so cold and distant, were burning now, fixed entirely on you. The indifference of the past months had evaporated, replaced by a hunger that was terrifying and thrilling all at once. He loomed over the edge of the bed, his chest heaving, staring down at your naked, exposed form as if he were seeing a star fall from the sky.
You looked up at him, your heart hammering against your ribs, legs still parted from Baelor's attentions. You felt incredibly vulnerable, yet the power you held over him in this moment was undeniable. He was mesmerised. The man who had ignored your existence for weeks was now unable to tear his gaze away.
"How do you want me, husband?" you asked, your voice trembling but audible in the quiet room.
The word husband seemed to undo him. A low, ragged sound tore from his throat, half-groan, half-growl. He leaned down, bracing a hand on the mattress beside your head, and captured your lips.
It was nothing like the dry, perfunctory peck he had given you at the wedding altar. This was a conquest. His mouth was hot and demanding, his beard scraping against your sensitive skin in a way that made you shiver. He kissed you deeply, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, tasting you, stealing the breath from your lungs. You gasped into his mouth, your hands coming up to clutch at his shoulders as you felt the hard muscle beneath the fabric of his tunic.
He broke the kiss only to strip you of the last barrier between you. His hands were rough, impatient, hooking into the fabric of your shift and yanking it down your arms. You lifted your hips to help him, and within seconds, the linen was discarded on the floor. You were entirely naked, bared to the flickering candlelight and the hungry eyes of both men.
Baelor, having recovered from the shove, stepped closer to the bed. His gaze moved over you slowly, a deliberate, appreciative perusal that started at your flushed face and traced down the curve of your neck, over the heave of your breasts, and settled on the damp heat between your thighs. He reached out, his hand sliding up your ribs, his palm warm and slightly calloused. He brushed his thumb over the swell of your breast.
"Look at her," Baelor said, his voice low and rough. "Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?"
Maekar watched his brother's hand on you, and instead of the anger you might have expected, he let out a groan of agreement, his own hand coming to rest on your hip, gripping you hard.
He descended upon you, and took your nipple into his mouth. The sensation was sharp and wet. He licked the tight peak, his tongue swirling around before sucking hard, drawing a cry from your lips. He didn't linger there long, his need was too great. He kissed a trail down your stomach until he reached the apex of your thighs, leaned in and gave your clit a few quick, firm licks, tasting the wetness Baelor had drawn from you. The touch was fleeting but intense, sending a jolt of pleasure through your nerves that made your back arch off the mattress.
Then he rose up, his hands moving to the laces of his breeches. He worked them frantically, his cock springing forth, thick and heavy and flushed with blood.
He paused then, his hand wrapping around the base of his shaft and looked you in the eye, his violet gaze searching yours, checking, making sure you actually wanted this despite the circumstances, despite the audience. The stern, judgmental mask was gone, leaving only a man desperate for connection.
You nodded. "Please," you whispered.
Maekar positioned himself between your legs, spreading your thighs wider with his knees, and guided the head of his cock to your entrance, pushing forward slowly. The stretch was immediate and intense. He was big, thicker than you had imagined, and your body, though wet, resisted the intrusion.
He entered you inch by inch, his jaw clenched tight with the effort of holding back. There was a lot of discomfort, a burning sting as your body adjusted to the sudden invasion. You gasped, your hands gripping the sheets beneath you, your eyes squeezing shut.
Baelor's hand moved to your face, his thumb stroking your cheek with a tenderness that belied the raw scene. He watched your expression shift as Maekar filled you, cataloguing every wince and flutter of your lashes.
"There you are," Baelor murmured. "You are alright. Just breathe for him."
Maekar seated himself fully inside you, his hips flush against yours, and stilled. He seemed overwhelmed, his body trembling slightly as he fought for control. The initial sting began to fade, replaced by a dull, heavy ache that throbbed in time with your heartbeat.
He began to move. At first, his thrusts were shallow, experimental. The friction was strange, but as he found a rhythm, the discomfort began to recede, melting into something else. It started to feel good. The fullness, the drag of his cock against your inner walls, the weight of him pressing you into the mattress, it was overwhelming in the best possible way.
Maekar truly could not believe he had denied himself this for so long. You were perfect. You felt incredible, tight and hot and wet, gripping him like a velvet fist. He had been a fool to sleep in the cold when he could have been in your warmth.
"Do you like how that feels?" Baelor asked from his perch on the side of the bed. His eyes were locked on the place where you and Maekar were joined.
You nodded frantically, unable to form words, your breath coming in short pants.
"Tell him," Baelor commanded, his voice firm.
"Yes," your voice breaking on a moan as Maekar rolled his hips. "So good, Maekar."
"Good girl," Baelor praised. He sat back and watched, a dark, satisfied figure in the corner of your vision, while Maekar fucked you.
Maekar, however, did not like where your attention lay. He was moving faster now, properly fucking you, the bed creaking rhythmically beneath you. Your moans and screams were filling the room, driving him crazy, but he wanted them for himself.
With a growl, he reached up and turned your face away from Baelor with one hand, gripping your chin firmly and pulling your attention back to him. He forced you to look into his violet eyes, to see only him.
"Mine," he grunted, the word punched out of him with a sharp thrust. "You are mine. I was a fool, a stupid, stubborn fool, but I am here now."
He began to whisper nasty things to you, filth that shocked your ears but inflamed your blood. He apologised for neglecting you in the same breath that he praised your sweet cunt, telling you how tight you were, how good you felt milking his cock, how he was going to fuck you every night to make up for lost time.
He grabbed your leg, hooking your knee and pushing it up toward his shoulder. The new position folded you nearly in half, changing the angle of his penetration. He slid so incredibly deep that you cried out, a mewling sound that was half-pleasure, half-pain. He was hitting a spot inside you that made you see stars, a place that felt too sensitive to be touched.
"Come on," Maekar urged, his voice ragged. "Give it to me. Let me feel you."
The pressure built to a breaking point. The coil in your belly tightened until it snapped. Your inner walls clamped down around him, rippling and fluttering as waves of pleasure crashed over you.
Maekar followed you shortly after. You felt him pulse inside you, his cock jerking as he spilled his seed deep into your womb, filling you with heat. He thrust through his release, riding out the aftershocks, marking you.
You were exhausted.
Maekar removed himself from you slowly. He leaned over you, placing a gentle, almost reverent kiss on your forehead before lying down beside you with a groan. He didn't bother to cover himself or tuck himself away, leaving his cock to lay against his thigh, still glistening with your combined fluids.
You lay there with your eyes closed, trying to catch your breath, your body humming with the aftershocks of the most intense experience of your life.
Then a shadow fell over you.
You opened your eyes, blinking against the dim light. Baelor was standing over you. He had unlaced his breeches while you were recovering, and he was stroking himself slowly, his eyes locked on yours. There was no hesitation in him, only a dark, expectant demand.
Maekar sat up, propping himself on his elbow. He looked at his brother with an expression that was somewhere between disbelief and exhaustion.
Baelor did not look at him, his gaze was only for you.
"Surely," he said, his voice smooth and dangerous, "you would not allow me to go unsatisfied."
Ive had a thought, and I just need to share it with someone- Maekar #1 biggest fan of his partner having bush 😩 like imagine his reaction when one day BOOM, bush has been removed, I just know he’d hate it
ɢᴏɴᴇ | ᴍᴀᴇᴋᴀʀ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ
─ summary: You do something new for your husband. He kinda hates it for a little but only for a little bit.
─ pairing: Maekar Targaryen x reader
─ content: 18+ MDNI | smut | p in v | no plot | fluff if you squint
─ a/n: I was giggling writing this. Thank you for your patience…we are slowly working through this inbox. 🖤
This week had been a slow-moving torture of missed connections. Maekar would stumble into your shared chambers long after the moon had reached its zenith, his face etched with the day's battles, only to find you deep in an exhausted sleep. When you woke, the space beside you was cold, his scent a fading ghost on the pillows. It was a chasm of silence and solitude, and you had grown tired of it. That morning, you had summoned Maekar's steward. "You will tell my husband," you instructed, your voice leaving no room for argument, "that his work ends today at the seventh hour. He will join me for dinner. He will not be late." The steward, a man who had seen the your husband’s frustrations at the constant near-misses, simply bowed. "Of course, my lady."
You spent the afternoon orchestrating the evening. The kitchens were a hive of activity, preparing everything Maekar favoured. You wanted to care for him, to wash the week's exhaustion from his bones with food and wine and quiet affection.
Dinner was a success. The tension in his shoulders finally unwound, and the lines around his pale violet eyes softened as he spoke of his day, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the table. He fed you from his own fork, his fingers lingering on your lips, a silent promise of what was to come. When you finally retired to your bedchamber, the air was thick with unspoken need. The week of abstinence had been a strain on you both; your life together was a passionate, physical one, and this dry spell had left an ache.
"You have missed your husband, I think," he teased, his voice a low growl as he pulled you into his arms. His silver-blond hair brushed against your cheek, and the faint, coarse scratch of his beard was a familiar, thrilling sensation against your skin.
You wound your arms around his neck, pressing your body against his. "And you, my lord," you murmured against his mouth, "have you missed your wife?" His answer was a kiss, deep and hungry. He backed you toward the bed, his hands roaming possessively over your curves, undressing you as he went, his touch igniting a fire low in your belly. You fell onto the soft furs, a tangle of limbs and growing urgency. His mouth moved from yours to your throat, nipping and sucking, and you arched against him, a soft moan escaping your lips.
"Maekar," you breathed, your fingers tangling in the hair at his nape. "I did something… for you."
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his violet eyes dark with lust and curiosity. A slow smile spread across his lips. "Did you now?" he rumbled. "Show me."
You sat up and gripped the hem of your silky shift. In one fluid motion you pulled it over your head and cast it aside. The firelight kissed your skin, and you watched his face, your own breath held tight in your chest. His smile faltered. His eyes, which had been filled with a hungry heat, widened slightly. The look on his face was a flash of pure, unadulterated dismay.
"What is this?" He pushed himself up on one elbow, his gaze fixed on the juncture of your thighs. "Who did this to you?"
A knot of anxiety tightened in your stomach. "You… you do not like it?" you asked, your voice smaller than you intended.
The sound of your voice seemed to break him from his stupor. He saw the uncertainty in your eyes, the slight tremble in your lower lip, and his expression immediately softened. He reached out, his large hand cupping your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin. "No," he said quickly, then corrected himself. "I mean, yes. You are beautiful, perfection, as always."He sat up fully, his muscular torso bathed in firelight. "But I love the look of you, all of you."
You could not help the small pout that formed on your lips.
He saw your disappointment and leaned in, pressing a soft, apologetic kiss to your mouth. "You are spectacular," he insisted, his voice a low, earnest murmur against your lips. "But please, do not let that butcher touch you again."
A small, watery laugh escaped you at his dramatic choice of words. The tension in the room broke, replaced by something more complex, a mixture of your lingering disappointment and his overwhelming affection. He pulled you back down onto the furs, his mouth finding yours again. The kiss was different now, less frantic, more apologetic and tender. But the week of built-up need was a powerful force. His hands began to roam again, rediscovering your body, and the heat between you began to rebuild, slowly at first, then with a sudden, ferocious intensity. He rolled on top of you, and when he entered you it was with a groan of pure relief.
He began to move, his strokes deep and punishing, and as he took you, as he watched his thick, glistening cock disappear into your body, something shifted in him. He had been dismayed, yes, but now he was transfixed. Without the soft, neat curls he could see everything. He could see how the perfect, swollen folds of your cunt spread around his length, see how utterly soaked you were for him, your slickness coating him, shining in the firelight. The visual was filthy, intimate, and undeniably erotic. He could see every detail of your body's response to him, and it drove him wild with a possessive lust.
"Gods," he grunted, his rhythm growing faster, harder. He gripped your hips, pulling you onto him with each thrust, the sound of your bodies meeting echoing in the quiet chamber. "How long," he panted, his gaze locked on where you were joined, "until it grows back?"
"Four moons or so," you gasped, your hands clutching at his powerful shoulders, your body arching to meet his brutal pace.
A rough, breathless laugh escaped him. "Well, there is no point in waiting around." He drove into you, his hips snapping hard against yours. "We might as well make the most of this." The sheer, unexpected amusement in his voice, mixed with the power of his thrusts, sent you over the edge, and you cried out his name as your release tore through you. He followed you moments later with a hoarse shout, burying himself deep inside you and spending inside you, marking you as his.
As you lay tangled together, panting in the firelight, you could not help but laugh, a deep, satisfied sound. He was an impossible man.
Anon hate is shitty and you shouldn’t do it of course but it’s also the funniest and least effective kind of hate
For starters the blogger can just delete and ignore it. And given tumblr’s penchant for eating asks I think it would drive some hate senders a little insane if they keep checking back in wondering if their ask got eaten.
For second the anon ask format guarantees the blogger gets the last word in every time. Even if anon sends a follow up message they will never get the last word. And tumblr for better or for worse seems to run on this currency of “whoever expressed the last opinion in a post is the one we’re supporting”
For third, this publishes the hate directly to the blogger’s own followers, i.e. the people MOST likely to take the blogger’s side. Home court advantage by design.
#I call for an audience with the king. After waiting in line I stand in front of his throne #(dressed in a huge white bedsheet like a cartoon ghost so as to hide my identity) #I call the king a bitch. I insult his policies all of which were made with the guidance of his court who r also all here #the king ignores me. I say it again in case he didn't hear. The king ignores me #I leave in shame (via @septimus-heap)
The funniest part of anon hate is, if the person opts to block you, it'll be an IP block. So even if you decide to log into another account, you'll still be unable to send them any more asks.
Maekar seeing how well you do with his kids and wanting to add another Maekarling
and you don’t need much convincing
18+ (smut, breeding duhhh)
he watches you from across the courtyard where you sit on a low stone bench, surrounded by blooming spring flowers and a gaggle of excitable children that are not made of your blood. but someone of lesser understanding would not have known that.
the deep crimson of your skirts pool out around you, an unfurling magnolia with velvet petals, as you perch on the seat with rhae curled in your lap, head tucked beneath your chin. aemon sits beside you, his head on your shoulder as he reads softly aloud, and daella sits at your feet, fingers running up and down the smooth expanse of your skirts. aegon stands on his toes behind you, pushing yet another small flower into your hair.
maekar pauses in the doorway, leaning against the stone arch as he observes. his children speak kindly to you, and you speak to them much the same, and as you soothe rhae with one hand, pet daella’s hair with the other, whilst listening to aemon’s muttering and allowing aegon to turn your hair into a garden, maekar realises something. he realises he wants this life with you.
and when he corners you that evening, his children put to bed and tucked out of sight, he realises you want the same thing.
he’s not gentle.
it had started gentle, as it usually did, but after pulling you apart on the flat of his tongue, followed by the stretch of two thick fingers, he knew exactly what he wanted and how he was going to get it. good thing you liked it like that.
maekar curls you over the edge of the bed, your body completely bare as you bend and lay amongst the silks and furs. a strong, calloused hand holds the back of your neck, anchoring you to the feathered mattress as he stretches your pussy open around the thick of his cock.
he groans, feeling your pussy pull tight around him as he ruts in. silk walls draw inwards, heavy against the ridges along his shaft and the vein, pumping hot with blood, that runs along the underside. his other hand is a vice on your hip, dimpling the flesh as he forces you back onto him, the slapping sounds of skin-on-skin loud in the evening silence of your chambers.
you mewl into the sheets beneath you, a string of saliva already catching out the side of your mouth as your husband thrusts into you, the movements deep and far-reaching. heavy balls nudge against the swollen pearl of your clit, and you mewl again, startled, when the head of his cock punches up towards the plug of your cervix.
“don’t fuss,” maekar grumbles, rutting into you, eyes trailing down the line of your spine and over the curve of your arse as he holds you down by the nape. your pussy drools around him, his flushed shaft slick as he pulls out, then shoves back in. he groans, “fuck, you always take me so well, don’t you?”
he doesn’t really want a response when he questions you like this, cock splitting you open as he pins you to your shared bed. you gape, breathy moans falling free of your throat as your fingers tangle in the silken sheets and sweat builds tacky down your back and thighs. he listens to you gasp and mewl, a crooked smile on his face as he kneads the fat at your hip.
“how many times…” maekar begins, sentence breaking momentarily as the wet squelch of your cunt becomes audible in the flame-soaked silence, the open hearth flickering nearby. you whimper, and your husband groans. “will i have to spill in this tight cunt before you’re full, huh? how many times will she have to take me before you’re round with my child?”
you let out a pathetic sound, some mix of a gasp and a moan, the syllables showing some semblance of his name, but it’s lost in the heat of your pleasure. a third orgasm sparks at the ends of your nerves, flames flickering across the walls of your womb, deep in your pelvis.
maekar grunts, strands of white hair falling loose over his forehead, cheeks hued with pink beneath the candlelight. he palms the flesh of your arse now as the hand on your neck pushes you deeper against the bed.
“is that what you want, little dove?” he asks as his hips rock, the leaking head of his cock pushing right up against that perfect spot inside you. your back arches and you cry out his name, pussy fluttering as heat fills the base of your tummy. he grunts, continuing as you squirm. “you want me to fill you? spill deep inside this tight cunt ‘til she makes a right mess of herself, yeah?”
“maekar,” you manage out, and it’s low and tense and strung across a high-pitched moan. you fist the silks and furs for support as he rocks against you, bed creaking.
“i’m right here,” he whispers, barely audible over his hips slamming against your arse. the fingers on your neck give you a gentle squeeze, and you suck in a shallow breath. then, he groans, the thick of his cock sucked in tight as your pussy flutters around him. “oh, she wants it, little dove. wants me to fill her—wants me to make you a mother.”
you cry out at his words, your release strung taut across your sparking nerves. it’s right there, your entire body growing rigid beneath him as he spears you apart on his cock. you grow hot, and hotter still, tension deep through the lines of your pelvis as you angle your hips to meet his thrusts, heartbeat heavy in your clit.
maekar huffs and grunts behind you, his voice breaking across a poorly hidden whine. “fuck, fu-uh-ck, oh, little dove, here we go, here we go…”
he coaxes you through your orgasm as it ignites and overwhelms you. your body shakes, trembles like a picked flower, as heat bursts through your pelvis and the depths of your womb, your pussy squeezing tight around him. you moan, his name and his title up in the air around you, as stars burst behind your lowering lids and your legs threaten to give out.
but he’s not far behind you—as you come, he groans his praises, guiding you through the fissuring of pleasure with “that’s it, there we go” and “good girl, just like that” as he ruts his cock towards the base of your womb. with each thrust into you, slick dribbles out around his shaft, and he feels it along the seam of his balls as they draw up, visions of you fat with his child at the forefront of his mind.
maekar groans loudly. “gods, you’ll look perfect round with my child—fuck, i’ll be good to you, little dove, an’ i’ll keep you full all—the—fucking—time—” thrust, thrust, thrust, with each word, before he’s letting out a hoarse moan of your name and shoving himself to the hilt inside you.
he rolls his hips, sliding against you in lazy movements as he spills right against your cervix. still fizzling down from your own orgasm, you let out a shaky moan as he fills you, seed too warm in the base of your pelvis. his cock twitches, jerks inside you as your walls flutter, then pull him in even tighter as his seed fills you, fills you still, then settles.
he doesn’t pull out, but he collapses half way on top of you—the hand on your neck moving to bracket your head. you shift a little, panting as he plants a wet kiss to the corner of your mouth. you whine, turning your head to slide your lips to his. he grunts into your mouth as your tongues meet, and you taste yourself on him as your heart begins to slow beneath your ribs. he pulls away, resting his dewy forehead against your temple.
“it’ll take,” he says like he’s sure of it. like he knows it will.
“and if it doesn’t?” you counter through a mumble, limbs lax as you melt into the silks and furs, his body a firm press atop yours.
maekar chuckles. it’s a deep, low sound that vibrates through his chest, and it makes a little whine slip past your lips.
“then we keep trying,” he mutters, rolling his hips and nudging his cock deeper. you whimper, a shudder racking through you in response. he kisses your warm cheek. “i’ll fill you again and again, every fucking night, until you’re too full to even move… understood?”
you nod, words evading you as he noses your cheekbone, kissing you softly there too as his cock twitches where it sits deep, plugging you full of him.
when you show up to the met gala you should immediately be faced with a panel of fashion experts and art historians before you even get to the red carpet and you have to explain your outfit choice and why it is on theme for that year’s event like you are defending a phd and if you can’t produce a coherent defence they turn you away at the door and the people of manhattan are allowed and encouraged to throw rotten produce at you as you get back into your car in shame
easy to forget but book jon snow is great actually. he gets so drunk he cries in his first chapter. he's 16 years old and laser focused on loan negotiation. he keeps getting promoted against his will. he's the chosen fantasy protagonist with the worst genre awareness ever. he implements pro immigration social reforms. he has a giant albino pet wolf. he cuts a guy's head off. he thinks he invented cunnilingus. he's been dead for 15 years.
I love this cunty little velvet number Daeron wears in the first scene he's in, needed more targs in pretty clothes since HotD disappointed. Gosh, his little waist and the belt? Salivating.
I have a request please, reader’s family feels sorry that she has to marry Maekar, who everyone has heard is unloving and kids who are wild. In reality he is very caring, just in ways most people don’t see. And the kids just need a bit of love and understanding. So when reader’s family visits they’re surprised to see reader so happy, a husband who seems at peace, and kids who love their step-mother because she takes time for them and supports them.
Thanks you 💗
Not So Terrible
18+ MDNI
Maekar Targaryen x f!Reader
AN: I wrote this while watching the first two shrek movies and it actually kills me the similarities (obviously he is shrek lol) also if you read the note in the Dunk alphabet I just posted this is not the fic I was talking about I’ve just been working on this one longer <3
Warnings: Smut, insecurity, family drama, drinking
3.9k Words
Your mother had fallen to her knees, screaming out in agony when your father had made the announcement. You were to be wed to a Prince, one known for his merciless brutality, a cold cruelty turned on all who were forced to be around him. Not to mention his brood of wild children, vile, loud, monstrous, creatures. There was no doubt his skills and strength had protected your family, and so many others, but your mother’s wails still echoed out through the grand hall of your father’s keep.
You’d rolled your eyes at her theatrics. The King decreed you to be a worthy wife for his youngest son, no amount of shouting about it would change anything. It was you who had to marry him, anyway. You believed the best thing you could hope for was a distance, a callous indifference from him that would keep him away from you and your bed.
How wrong you’d been.
Where you thought there would be pain, there was only a gentleness. Where you thought there would be indifference, there was intensity. Where you thought there would only be the cold, hardened heart of a warrior, you found a broken man, desperate and wanting.
Maekar had not displayed his affections at first, fighting tooth and nail for some semblance of apathy, but you had met him where he was; a tired Prince, worn from years of battle and loneliness, and loved him anyway.
The older Prince did not become warm and welcoming as he fell for you; he was still callous, disagreeable, fractious, he did not write you sonnets or sing to you songs of his devotion, but he was a lover nonetheless. You had grown enraptured in his embrace, and Summerhall once again became a palace of contentment, rather than misery.
The children were the same, each their own difficulty, but within that, their own joy. You came to love each one, not as an extension of their father, but as their own individual people. You often took tea in the gardens with Daella and Rhae. They were the first to enjoy your company, but over time, each of the Princes joined the fold. Daeron with a bottle in hand, sure, and Aerion and Aegon could not sit beside one another. The girls would fight over who got to sit beside you, and Aemon usually read the whole time. Maekar was strangely delighted the first time he went to fetch you, only to find his army of children laughing, and arguing, all sitting together because you were there.
After the outburst at the announcement of your betrothal, you sought to bring your family to light, inviting them to stay with you and see how content your new husband and children were. Maekar was not pleased, and had no problem voicing this opinion, but it had not stopped you. He claimed the savagery his children brought with them, wherever they went, was enough to have your parents snatching you up and bringing you home. You’d rolled your eyes, but you knew deep down he was far more nervous of their thoughts on a brutal, aging Prince.
You were staunchly determined to prove them all wrong.
*****
You’d set out to have tea with your mother in the gardens of Summerhall. The scent of lilies surrounded you as you sat, somewhat awkwardly, in the pavilion. It was abundantly clear your mother thought something was amiss, someone was watching, maybe even your husband sending someone to listen to his wife and mother-in-law chat- as if a Prince didn’t have better things to do.
“Tell me darling, how- how are you, really?” She bit out, a strained smile on her face. Your eyes widened with the chance to change her mind about your newfound family.
“Oh! Life here is lovely, mother. I could not have asked for a better situation.”
You made to grab her hands, a gesture of comfort, but she made an exasperated face, her hand coming up to rest over her heart. She leaned in close, as if to keep someone from listening, and whispered loudly:
“Really? My dear, we are alone, you can be truthful with me. I cannot begin to tell you how I’ve agonized over you, how I married my poor daughter off to this wicked family.”
You fought to stop yourself from saying something rude. She didn’t know any better, other than the ruthless rumors about the Targaryens.
She didn’t know that Maekar only ever looked at you with softened eyes, how his touch brought nothing but comfort and warmth, that despite his hardened exterior, he was entirely devoted to you.
You sat up a little straighter to answer.
“Do not forget, they are my family now, and they have welcomed me into their home in their own way. I have wanted for nothing. My dear husband has seen to my comfort here every possible way.”
Your lady mother did not look convinced.
“But everyone says Prince Maekar is so cruel, so vicious, that he would hurt you so!”
“My husband has been nothing but gentle to me, mother. I know you think him beastly, but I could not imagine marrying anyone else,” You almost laughed, imagining the look on Maekar’s face if you even mentioned another man, “We may not have the romantic tale you wished for me, but I love him, and he loves me.” You let out, heart beating. Your mother slowly nodded, taking a long sip of her tea before responding.
“And what of the children? Nightmares, I heard, each and every one. Would you not have rather had your own?”
She’d been most distraught about the children; a man with six already, four of them sons, could not possibly want another. What would you have to occupy yourself with but his wild brood?
You shook your head.
“Six children are a handful, to be sure, but I love them as my own, mother, really.”
Before she could give you an incredulous answer, you heard a rustling from the shrubbery. You smiled at the little face peeking out at you, and waved the little boy over to the table with an exaggerated sigh. Your mother looked horrified, as if her suspicions of spies had been correct.
“Come here, Egg, no more snooping.”
The young Prince climbed out of the bush, grinning as he stepped up to you, dirt on his trousers and across his cheek. He held his hands behind his back, giggling.
“I have something for you.”
“Oh? For me? That's very sweet of you, dearest.”
He stuck his arm out, fist full of lilies crushed in his hand. You stood, taking the bouquet from his fingers and bringing it to your nose.
“Mmmm, these are lovely. Thank you darling.”
You pressed a kiss to his silver hair, brushing it out of his face. He wiggled from your grasp, stepping back and laughing.
“Stop! My hair is fine!”
You made to fix him again, straightening his collar and wiping the dirt from his face. He was really laughing now, doubling over as you chased him. Your mother looked fondly at you, playing with your little boy. You finally grabbed him, pulling him into your arms to kiss his cheek.
“I think your knight is probably looking for you Egg, you run off now.”
He wrapped his skinny arms around your waist, squeezing tight before ducking back through the bushes, not before swiping a lemon cake from the table. You watched him fondly as he went.
You turned when mother hummed, a bewildered smile on her face.
“Well, it certainly seems your life is lively here.”
You plopped back into your chair, huffing out a breath and a grin.
“Oh, never a dull moment here.”
With that, you set your flowers into the glass on the table. The rest of the afternoon, your mother continued to ask questions, picking through everything she’d missed, but her tone was a little warmer than before and her face had lost its fear of someone listening.
*****
Dinner was a tense affair. Maekar had wanted it to go so well. He hadn’t voiced his apprehensions, far too proud to say he might be intimidated by meeting your family, but you’d known from the tension in his shoulders and the furrow of his brow that he was trying very hard to make things perfect.
He lectured each of the children on how important it was to make a good impression, to show the grace and dignity befitting of the Targaryen name. He’d lined them up before entering the dining room, each face watching their father pace before them.
“You will not embarrass your stepmother, you will not embarrass me, you will not embarrass our house, understood?”
Despite six nods in affirmation, you’d watched the affair fighting a smile. You loved each and every one of them, more than anything, but you knew there was no way they’d be behaving.
You sat between Daeron and your husband. The oldest boy alternating between sipping wine and whispering slurred jokes to you and your father, who seemed amused by the young Prince. Aerion sat on Maekar’s other side, a futile attempt to keep the boy in check. He was far too busy asking your younger sister questions to notice the lavender glare in his direction.
“So,” Aerion started, leaning forward in his seat, “Are you pleased with Summerhall, fair lady? I may be the lord here one day you know.”
He smirked, probably intending to look seductive but gave his face a boyish appearance. Daeron leaned over in his seat to look at his brother.
“No you won’t, idiot, you’re only second in line.”
The younger prince whipped his head around.
“Not with the rate of your drinking, I’ll be lord sooner or later.”
Maekar intervened, gruffer than he intended:
“Enough, or neither of you will be heir to this place.”
The room was silent. Your father’s eyes widened, your mother’s hand came over her mouth, even your sister looked surprised, as everyone turned to eye your husband. You could see his ears going red from the staring, and you reached over to cover his hand with yours.
“Darling, let them talk. We have many years yet before anyone else rules Summerhall. With luck I'll outlive you, and you can give it to me instead.”
Both boys began to laugh at your words, or maybe it was the look on their father’s face. It didn’t matter, the tension broke as your family nervously joined in. You kept your in Maekar’s, unclenching his fist to weave your fingers together. He slowly eased a little as your thumb dragged over his knuckles. You spoke low to him:
“Really, my love, it is alright.”
Maekar gave you a stiff nod, though you knew he didn’t mean it.
“Those two will be my ruin.” Your husband’s voice came close to your ear, quiet enough to be only for you.
“As it sounds now: me, Egg and the girls will live our lives happily without the torment of you three.”
You shot him a wink, and you could see the man fight a sneer. Or was it a smile? Who could tell with him. It did not stop you from smiling back, or pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. If his face had a pinkish tint before, it was now creeping close to red.
You caught your mother’s smile at you as she snuck a glance at the tender moment.
*****
Finally, after a grueling day of convincing your mother you weren't a hostage and sitting though dinner with all of your children at one table, you could sit down and do what you’d wanted to since the moment your family arrived.
Your sister followed you through the dim hallways of the keep, your arm wrapped around hers. You’d knocked quietly on her door after your parents had retired, flask of Dornish red in hand and a grin on your lips. The pair of you snuck down a flight of stairs, ducking into an alcove when a patrolling guard passed by. It was a little ridiculous; you were the lady of Summerhall, you could go where you pleased without anyone questioning you, but the thrill of sneaking around made it too tempting.
Moonlight poured into the small courtyard you’d found. You hastily made for the bench, plopping down in a way ladies were only allowed to do with their sisters. She took the flask from you and drank, before passing it back.
“So, what is life really like here?”
You sighed, smiling and rolling your eyes.
“I wasn’t lying when I told mother I loved it here, and that I’m loved back. I am sure she told you what I said already.”
“Oh of course, though not without claiming that she knew you were hiding something, and that she- oh how did she put it- knew you better than you knew yourself.”
You groaned as your sister laughed, taking a deep swig of the wine before responding.
“Unless she wanted to learn of my husband’s lovemaking prowess, I can assure you she knows the truth of what happens here.”
Your sister balked, eyes wide, before erupting into giggles. You followed, grabbing at each other as you laughed. She made to catch her breath, clutching her chest, and choking out a remark:
“Oh, I can only pray to the Mother that you find a man capable of what Maekar does to me.”
Your sister paused, before quietly asking:
“And what is it that he does to you?”
You sat up quickly, wine sloshing in the glass as your eyes widened.
“Oh no, no! Fuck, mother will be so cross with me. Forget I said anything.” You gasped out. Your face felt warm, and you knew she’d be able to weasel the information she wanted out of you.
“Wow! Debauched by a man, and swearing like a sailor, who have you turned into? Don’t worry, sister, I have read many books on the subject, I am well aware of what happens in a marriage bed.”
She snatched the flask back, taking a large glug of the liquid before coughing, red dribbling out of the corner of her mouth.
“Here’s my question:”
Her hands came up palms facing each other and holding them apart at where, you assumed, she thought the length of your husband was. It had to have been more than a foot. You let out a startled shriek, burying your face in your hands as you laughed.
“What? This book about a princess falling in love with her sworn sword said that it felt good if it was that big.”
You looked up at her, eyes wide.
“Gods, girl, that would hurt.”
She was not pleased with how much you were now laughing at her. You grabbed her hands, which she had balled into fists, and gently held them up at the appropriate length.
“Huh. I guess I thought it’d be bigger, seeing the way he stands all haughty.”
You rolled your eyes.
“That is big, trust me, and it's not all about that you know.”
She scooted forward, leaning in to hear the wise words of an older sister.
“He is… romantic-”
“Really?”
You narrowed your eyes.
“Yes- don’t interrupt me. He's caring and gentle and has never said a cross word to me in all the time I’ve known him. I’ll admit, I had my trepidations about him, certainly, but he isn’t like that, not to me.”
Your sister nodded thoughtfully.
“So you really love him?”
“Yes.”
“Even though he’s not very handsome?”
You sighed.
“That's not everything, you know. And I happen to think he’s very handsome indeed.”
She made a face like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“He’s also a mighty fine kisser.”
“Do you think Prince Aerion would be a fine kisser?”
The conversation changed rather quickly after that.
*****
Slowly, you pressed the door to your chambers open. The hour wasn’t late enough that Maekar would be asleep, but it had been a trying evening and you wouldn’t want to startle him.
You quickly found him, boots, swordbelt, and doublet discarded, laying across the chase by the fire. He had his feet up on the arm rest, and he was rubbing his face. Immediately, your mind went from trying not to agitate him, to finding the best way to disturb the small peace he seemed to have found. You slid your slippers off, padding across the cool stone until you came up beside him. Your hands extended as you leaned over him, intent to grab at him.
“Don’t you dare, woman.”
His voice was hoarse, and you giggled at his demand. You grabbed him anyway, pulling his hands from his face and leaning further to place a kiss on the bridge of his long nose.
Maekar groaned in mock-annoyance, but allowed you to kiss over his cheeks and forehead with his eyes shut.
“How was your evening, my dearest husband?”
He let out a groan.
“Oh? Didn’t enjoy my family then?”
“You know that's not what I meant.”
You gave his broad shoulders a squeeze.
“I know, I know. Do not fret, my love. You were the very picture of chivalry. No parent could want anything more in a son-in-law.”
Maekar huffed, but you knew it was more a sound of contentment than of displeasure.
“And the laughing?”
You paused, asking:
“...What laughing do you speak of?” Almost sure of the answer.
“The courtyard you think is so secretive, is only a stone's throw from the window of my solar. Imagine my surprise to think my sweet little wife is off abed, only to find her drinking and giggling like a girl.”
You fought a smirk.
“Oh, my sister was curious of our relationship, husband. I only sought to enlighten her. She is soon to the marriage mart, you know, it is important for a girl to know what to look for.” You said coyly, walking back to the end of the chase. Maekar’s eyes remained closed, and you slowly tugged at the ties of your thin gown.
“It sounds like I’ll have something else to apologize to your father for come morning.” He grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. You hummed, shimmying out of your shift.
“She can keep a secret far better than I can, though I imagine her ladies maids may hear about it on her return.” You crept back to him, sliding a hand down his chest before stopping above his pelvis. Maekar shivered. It was a movement he only ever let himself do when he was alone with you. Your grin widened and you hitched a leg over his abdomen to straddle him.
“She was certainly curious about your cock.”
The Prince’s eyes flew open, and you were delighted with a look of surprise you seldom saw on his hardened face. His hands found your hips immediately, fingers digging into the fat at your waist as he tried to pull you closer. Your hands pressed against his chest, and you smirked.
“Gods, woman, warn a man.” He rasped out, lavender eyes wide as they roamed your naked body above him.
“I cannot deny, husband, that I am most curious about your cock.”
You gave him one grind of your hips before you were leaning down to kiss him. Soft, fingers gripping his chin, and then you lay your head against his chest. You heard, and felt, the contented sigh the man let out as you snuggled up against him. He slid a hand up your back, wrapping it snuggly around the back of your neck to hold you to him, as if you’d ever move.
“I was wrong, earlier. I reckon it’ll be my own wife who will be my undoing.”
The words were sharp, but they were said against your hair and ended with a firm kiss pressed to your crown. You laughed softly.
“Does that mean I don’t get Summerhall?”
Maekar snorted.
“You already have all of me, and everything of mine.”
Gently, you began to rock your hips back and forth against him. Slow, enough to feel every inch of his hard length pressing against your cunt, which was rapidly slickening. He let out a groan against your hair, his hand tightening on your neck. Your clit dragged against the leather of his trousers, making your spine arch and a delightful mewl leave your lips.
“Still curious about my cock, then?” Maekar teased, though it came out lower and slower than he meant. He reached down your body, stretching to grab the front of his leather and tug it down enough to free himself. You moaned when you felt the heat of his cock bounce up and slap against your pussy. He shifted his hips, rutting up against you. Your thighs slid together, keeping him close so that the head of his cock would press through your folds with each thrust. Your hands gripped the linen of his shirt, attempting to find some purchase to hold on to. The silver hair you loved so much, nestled around his length, tickled against your clit as he rolled his hips.
“Maekar, please, no more. I need you, fully, now.”
“As my lady commands.”
His hand slid from your hip, over your bottom to grab at his cock. He positioned himself at your opening, notching his head into the dripping hole before slowly rocking up into you. Your body arched against his chest, reeling at the feeling of being so full of him. He groped at your ass as he thrust, bouncing you gently on his lap. He kept his other hand on your neck, tilting your head up to kiss your whimpering lips. His tongue penetrated your mouth, warm and wet, before sucking your bottom lip between his teeth. You let out a sound that you were certain had only ever been heard before on the street of silk.
His cock bullied up into your pussy, a languid pace but a brutal strength behind it.
You knew if he weren't so exhausted, he’d be bruising your hips and pressing your feet behind your head. As much as you adored him fucking you with the same brutality he brought to everything, you charished the nights where he took you softer, rocking his hips against yours and kissing you tenderly. You felt yourself clench around him, and he let out a wanton moan against your mouth.
“Fuck, my woman, my heart. You will be my ruin.”
You bit the flesh of his lip, and the thrust he gave you in response sent you teetering over the edge. His name choked out from your lips, eyes squeezing shut at the sensation of stretching around him, and the grind of your clit against his pelvis. Your walls fluttering delicately around him gave way to his own orgasam. He came with a groan, sinking you down onto his cock as he unloaded into your warmth.
Maekar’s arms came around your back, one holding you firmly against him as he filled you, the other clutching the back of your head. You let out a choked sob at the feeling of him being everywhere; around you, in you, taking up the whole room as he grunted out.
Gradually, you began to come down. He lazily thrust up into you, shallow but no less potent. You knew he was trying to fuck his spend back into you, eager not to lose a drop.
You kept holding onto him, content to bask in his warmth as he stroked your back.
“My woman, you always know how to console me, don't you?” He said softly, pressing another kiss to your hairline. You nodded, sliding a hand up to cup the side of his scarred face, running your fingertips through the silver of his beard.
“Mmmm, it helps when the consolation benefits me too.”
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