fucked that you can’t fix other people especially when you really care about them. Oh so im just supposed to be there for you while you suffer. like a useless cunt gargoyle
The Targaryen Men (Baelor, Maekar, Daeron, Aerion, Valarr) from AKOTSK taking your virginity
And NSFW Alphabet for Daeron would be awesome <3
Targaryen men Taking your virginity
[18+ minors dni]
A/n: this was requested a WHILE ago so sorry to the person who requested it 🥹so here are little scenarios/preferences
➥ Maekar Targaryen -
“You should not be here” he said, voice low, but he didn’t order you to leave. He walked closer to you cupping your cheek gently “Yet i find i cannot send you away.”
He pulled you in for a slow kiss, while his fingers worked at the laces of your gown until the fabric fell at your feet ,and his eyes turned dark with hunger, “Gods, you’re beautiful ” he muttered before he lifted you effortlessly onto the large table, scattering maps and scrolls .
He took his time undressing, letting you see every inch of his body and to trace his old scars before he grabbed your wrist pinning it down on table ,settling between your thighs, his cock was thick already leaking at the tip ,resting against your untouched cunt.
“It will hurt” he warned, brushing strand of hair from your face. “But only for a moment, Breathe through it.”
You gasped as he pushed inside slowly, stretching you open. The pain of stretch burned so much that it filled your eyes up with tears.
Maekar stilled ,letting you adjust pressing his forehead to yours “Good girl,” he growled “taking me so well, that’s it” He didn’t move again until your whimpers turned to soft moans. Then he rocked into you deeper, one hand grasping your hip while the other stroked your hair.
When the pain finally turned into pleasure, he kissed the tears from your cheeks and whispered against your lips “ Now you are truly mine.”
➥ Baelor Targaryen -
“My sweet girl” he murmured, pressing soft kisses along your collarbone, your breasts, your stomach “I’m honored that you trust me with yourself”
He touched you gently his long fingers tracing your folds until you were wet and trembling, his tongue following soon after , circling around your clit until you were crying out his name. Only when you were shaking with need he got on top of you sliding off his robe , his body glowing in the candlelight.
He lined himself against you carefully, eyes never leaving yours “Look at me” he whispered “I want to see your pretty face when i make you mine.”
He pushed in carefully but stretch still stung making your wince . Baelor groaned softly, forehead dropping to your shoulder as your walls clenched around his length “Seven save me… so tight, so perfect.”
He held still, waiting for you to adjust to his size murmuring praises until the sting faded. Then he begun to move, moving his hips slowly, placing soft kisses on your lips each thrust, his hand grasping yours. When you finally orgasmed beneath him, he followed with low moan of your name, spilling his cum deep inside you .
He stayed inside you for a while, murmuring how beautiful you are, how perfect you felt and how much he adores you.
➥ Aerion Targaryen -
He had you pinned against the wall before you could even speak, his mouth crashed against yours, kissing you roughly“You will scream for me tonight” he purred as he teared the laces of your dress impatiently “and you will love every moment of it.”
Aerion was not gentle. He lifted you, wrapping your legs around his waist, and carried you to the bed.
His fingers moved to stretch you open first, two then three, until you were dripping and whimpering for him. When he finally pulled out his cock from his breeches, it was long, hard, and flushed as he rubbed the head against your wet folds, teasing.“Beg for it, sweet maid” he purred.And you did, whining and whimpering for it.
He thrust his cock fully inside not caring of your pain, making you arch and cry out, but Aerion only groaned in pleasure, hips snapping forward again and again. He fucked you hard and fast, silver hair falling across his face, whispering filthy praises as he claimed you. The sting slowly turned into pleasure and by the time he came deep inside you, you were clawing at his back and screaming his name. exactly as he promised.
➥ Daeron Targaryen -
“You’re so beautiful it hurts,” he laughed softly, nuzzling your neck. “And you chose me to be your first? seven hells, i must be dreaming.”
He made it fun, he kissed you until you were giggling between moans and poured you a cup of wine to share from his lips.
When he laid you down, he was patient taking his time undressing you, worshipping every inch of you with lazy kisses and nips on your skin. His fingers working you open making you moan and arch into his touch.
When he finally slid inside you, the stretch still burn, but Daeron distracted you with kisses and whispered jokes that made you laugh even through the discomfort.
“There we go… that’s my girl,” he murmured, voice husky. He rocked slowly, letting you set the pace until the pain faded into pleasure.
He kept his forehead against yours, eyes half-lidded murmuring sweet nothings between thrusts both orgasming together. holding you close after,caressing your skin.
➥ Valarr Targaryen-
He was nervous too, you could see it as his hands trembled when helped you out of your gown.
“I’ve dreamed of this” he confessed softly, cheeks flushed,”But I never imagined you’d be this perfect.”
He laid you down gently, covering your body with his own, kissing you softly. he slid inside you slowly, whispering “I’m sorry” every time you winced, until he was fully in.
Valarr stayed still for a moment, breathing hard, letting you get comfortable . Then he began to move thrusting carefully , going deeper and deeper as your whimpers turned to moans of pleasure.
His hand found yours, fingers lacing together as he rocked into you “I love you” he breathed against your lips right before you both came at the same time, his cum spilling deep as he collapsed against yours burying his face in your neck.
Tags: p*rn without plot, wedding night, first time, loss of virginity, oral sex (female receiving), p. in v. sex, Valarr is a caring lover
Wordcount: 2,835
Having heard the terrible rumors surrounding Prince Aerion, you are frightened that his cousin, your intended Prince Valarr, will be much the same. However, your wedding night proves you wrong.
Valarr Masterlist
Upon your birth the Gods had smiled down on you and blessed your future union, your family had said when you had been betrothed to Prince Valarr, the son and heir to Prince Baelor. Such a union was an honor, despite the tense political climate in the realm—marrying a Targaryen prince, the heir’s son no less, and providing him with an heir who would one day be king as well, was a greater fate than you had ever imagined for yourself.
One day, you would be the queen, standing alongside King Valarr and hopefully, ruling at his side if he was inclined to allow his wife her own opinions and agenda. That, you were less sure of.
Prince Valarr had seemed perfectly charming and princely during your short courtship, even though it had been too short to truly get to know and understand his character. Soon enough, the day of your union had come, and he had behaved in a proper way throughout the wedding feast as well—he had gladly danced with you, looking upon you with pride, however you knew men could be knights in the public eye, and beasts in their private chambers.
Rumors were not kind to his cousins, some of them vicious, and you feared that there was truth to them, as soon as your eyes had met Prince Aerion’s upon meeting the royal family. Never before had you seen such darkness in one’s gaze, and it made you fear what awaited you once you would be wed to Valarr.
“Some men like to do the beating behind closed doors. They give praise in public and hell in private,” a lady friend of yours had warned, and those words had lived in you ever since.
Despite your extensive education on ladylike comportment, you could not seem to soothe your nerves as the evening of your wedding went on, your fright taking over your body like a fever.
Valarr had seen you grow more and more preoccupied as the evening had progressed, and even the coming darkness and the forgiving lights of the torches and candles had not been enough to hide your sunken eyes and downturned mouth. It perplexed him rather, as he had believed the match to be a happy one.
You were a lady of noble birth and proper education, and upon setting eyes on you for the first time, he had been perfectly satisfied with your appearance. His father had made it clear that in his duty, marriage was of the utmost importance, and that the quality of a man could be found in the way he treated those gentler than him, and ladies were among those who necessitated more delicate treatment.
He was not the most gentle of young men—he did not fear to joust with his cousin Aerion, and never backed down from a challenge in the courtyard. He stood his ground and knew how to navigate difficult arguments much like his father. At times when it was needed, he knew how to be firm and asserting, but in his marriage, he aspired to be attentive and soft, if a softer touch was what his wife required.
Walking from the hall of Dragonstone towards Valarr’s chambers after the feast felt like walking to the gallows, your throat growing tighter until you knew you would not be able to speak a word to your husband. The door was barely closed behind you and Valarr before he cleared his throat and it startled you into action.
Valarr watched, increasingly worried, as you immediately stepped towards the bed, reaching for the laces of your gown—gone were the glimpses of your true character that he had seen during your courtship or earlier in the night. Instead you had become cold and silent, and dread settled in his stomach.
Taking a deep breath in, he attempted to remember what his father had told him of the wedding night. While he was no stranger to the touch of a woman, his bride certainly was pure and untouched, and it was his role as husband to guide her unto those new territories. If he played his cards well, this night could be the start of a most satisfying harmony in the marriage bed.
“I am aware we do not know each other, and it must not be a comfort to you to welcome a stranger into your chambers,” he tried, wincing at his own hesitance. “But I would not have you afraid of me.”
“I am not afraid of you, my prince,” you were quick to reply, unwilling to look at him over your shoulder, keeping your hands busy with your intricate gown.
“What of, then, if not of me?” he inquired, taking a few steps towards you.
When you did not answer, he decided upon offering patience instead of placating words. Instead, he came up behind you and assisted you in pulling the laces. You were shaking, your breathing growing even shallower under his hands, and his distress grew with it—he would take no pleasure in consummating with an unwilling bride, and yet it had to be done for security.
“Does the prospect of consummation frighten you so?” he asked softly, perhaps too bluntly.
Still, you did not look at him. He heard you swallow and take a shaky breath through your mouth. If his words could not appease you, then perhaps his touch would, he thought. As your gown loosened around your frame, he dipped his head and pressed a kiss at the back of your neck gently. He placed his hands on either side of your shoulders, hoping to ground you, but his endeavor failed, and your trembles turned into shudders.
“I will not mistreat you,” he assured, and to his horror, a silent sob wracked your trembling frame.
Valarr came to face you, his gentle hands settling on your waist, but you could not meet his eye nor acknowledge his kind words—every second that passed, you feared to unleash his frustration by your tears, but your instincts had taken over, and you could not calm yourself.
“You have nothing to fear from me. It might be uncomfortable, at first, but only for a moment,” he promised, carefully taking the hand that had been hiding your mouth in his grasp. “What have you been taught, to frighten you so?”
At that, you finally shook your head and your eyes rose to meet his worried gaze—his eyes were different colors, you had noticed upon your first meeting, one a dark brown and the other a striking blue, and there was warmth in them both. “Not so much what I was taught, my prince, but what I was told, about…” you started, but stopped yourself. “I do not wish to cause offense.”
Valarr pressed a firm kiss to the back of your hand, and it loosened some of the tension in the pit of your belly. “You may be honest with me. What sort of marriage would this be if we could not speak our mind to one another?”
His thumb drew circles on the back of your hand, settling your nerves long enough for the words to come out. “My cousin met your own cousin, Prince Aerion, at a tourney and—” but in the end, you could not bring yourself to say it.
Still, understanding spread over Valarr’s handsome face, along with a sad smile. “His reputation is a grim one indeed,” Valarr said. “I know you have no reason to believe me, but I vow to you, I am nothing like my cousin.”
Relieved that he had not taken offense, you gave your husband a small smile, and his answer nearly took your breath away—he dipped forward slowly but resolvedly, letting his nose slide alongside yours until his mouth was pressed to yours, firm and confident.
“Allow me to prove myself,” he said against your lips. “To show you the sort of husband I intend to be.”
Without a word, he hooked his fingers at the shoulders of your gown and brought it down, smoothly sliding to his knees to catch the fabric before it could pool at your feet. This time, your breathlessness was not due to nerves, but the caring and honorable gesture—for a second he remained there, a knee to the cold floor and his piercing eyes looking up at you with confidence.
Once you had stepped out of your gown and he had placed it on the back of a chair, he guided you, gently but firmly, with the sort of touch a husband should use while leading, to lay down on the bed. His eyes remained on you, warm and trusting, and he undressed. Warmth pooled in the pit of your stomach, shy and tentative, but present nonetheless.
Valarr cleared his throat, licking his lips before asking. “Do I please you?” he asked—and pleasing was perhaps not strong enough a word, in truth. Freed from his usual calf-length doublet, miles of creamy skin stretching over firm muscle were open for you to gaze at. Moles dotted his complexion here and there, from his broad shoulders down to his slimmer waist.
A breathless chuckle left your mouth. “Am I allowed to say?” you inquired. “Or to even think it?”
“I would like my wife to find me handsome, yes,” he replied, his hands finally reaching for the laces of his breeches, but after a second of hesitation, he decided on leaving them on for now. “Later,” he informed you, sounding rather embarrassed. “This moment is for you, first.”
The white strand fell into his face as he crawled up the bed, as gracefully as he had sunk to his knees before you, and it amazed you how a man could look so regal while doing it.
Eyes fluttering close, your hands curled into fists at your hips, you awaited the weight of your husband’s body atop yours, but it did not come. Instead, Valarr’s lips found the inside of your ankle, pressing a reverent kiss to it.
You looked down and watched, breathless, as he made his way between your parted legs, his mouth tracing a path from your ankle bone to the inside of your knee, making you shiver. His mouth lingered there, his hands paving the way—his palms were warm and a bit rough, confident as they pressed your thighs further apart.
The white strand of hair at the front of Valarr’s head fell into his eyes and he smiled, wide and honest. Your lingering fears melted away, replaced by a warm wave of trust and excitement.
“Lay back,” he said, a suggestion more than an order, a ripple of heat coursing through him when you complied. There were not many things headier in this world than the trust of a beautiful woman, and it filled him with determination.
Valarr pushed your cotton shift out of the way, pressing a grounding kiss to your hipbone. His smile grew when his lips grazed your most intimate place and you gasped, then arched your back under the gentle press of his mouth. One of your hands uncurled from your side only to tentatively find the crown of his hair, and a sigh that could have been his name left your mouth.
Slowly, he traced the seam between your folds with his tongue, trying a soft, then firmer pressure, curling the tip of it at your core. Your moans were shy at first, then breathier and loudier, and it got to his head faster than any strong wine. With each pass of his tongue your hips rocked back against his touch, and when he kissed your pearl you gasped aloud, the sound breaking whenever he followed it with a gentle suckle.
His jaw ached after a while, but he pushed through the discomfort for your sake, enjoying the reward that were your moans of pleasure, and your arching body under his hands.
Eventually, his tongue wandered lower, in search of the entrance into your body, and his thumb took over, drawing circles at your numb, spreading your wetness. He kissed the inside of your thighs again, gently nudging them apart so he could fit his shoulders more comfortably between them. He groaned when you hook your heel at his back, and he guided you to hook your knee over his shoulder.
Inside of his breeches, his own arousal was pulsing, hot and impatient, and he ground his hips into the mattress, hoping for some relief, but it only served to incense him further.
His tongue prodded past your wet folds, and finally found what he was most wanting for—the dip leading inside your body. The tip of his tongue pressed into it and you arched your back higher than before, his answering moan vibrating against your sensitive skin.
“Gods be good—” you cursed, your voice broken, and it spurred him on.
Your hand tightened in his hair, the sharp ache a necessary distraction from his restless hips. The friction of his cock on the hard bed through his breeches and the sheets was torture and ecstacy at the same time, and he yearned to get a hand around himself.
However he was determined to see through the task at hand—to have you find your please before he did.
Ignoring his own pulsing need, he pushed his tongue harder into the dip of your body, bringing it up between your folds until it met his thumb, still tracing regular, tight circles. Like he would practice the flit of a sword in the yard, he repeated the movement at the same pace, even when your back did not come back from its arch and your hips quivered in his grasp.
“Valarr, please keep—” came your ragged plea, and for a moment he feared you would bring him over the edge alongside you.
A pleasure, sharp and hot like you had never known, pierced through you—wave after wave crashing through your limbs, from your core to your toes, shivering up your back, with the force of a mast cracking under the pressure of the wind. After the intense peak had abated, a simmering satisfaction spread along your skin, and you wanted to laugh at the beauty of it, especially when you glanced down again and saw your husband looking up at you.
Between your parted thighs, he looked more alive than you had seen him so far, his eyes blown wide and dark. He made quick work of his breeches, but as he uncovered his length, wrapping a hand around it, you were not so afraid of it.
His eyes did not leave your face as he gave himself a few slow strokes, his hips quivering, before pushing to his knees and crawling over you, his mouth dipping into your neck to press a comforting kiss. “Trust me,” he murmured. “It will be over in a moment.”
There was no time for you to fear the pain, and your limbs felt so loose you even doubted it would come. Valarr guided the head of his cock between your folds, the sensation unfamiliar but not unpleasant. You felt him take a steadying breath, and curled a hand at the back of his head, threading your fingers through his hair gently. The strands were thick between your fingers, cropped shorter at the back but long enough for you to enjoy.
Forehead to forehead, he pushed into you in one, smooth stroke, taking your breath away with it—the burn was intense, and the stretch rather uncomfortable, and yet you felt safe, caged in by his strong arms. Your quiet moan of pain was quickly swallowed by a kiss, deep and slow. In time, you would come to enjoy it, you thought. For now, holding him and resting easy in the pleasure he had already given you was enough.
Valarr took you, slow but firm—a hint of a claim, if he was honest with himself—and it was the sweetest release he could have imagined. Still riding the high of your peak, it did not take long for his own pleasure to crest. You held him as he started shaking and he found refuge in the crook of your neck, biting back his moans, his cock pulsing inside of you.
You welcomed his kiss again, lips warm on yours, when the shuddering stopped and he was instead left with a gentle quiver. “Did I hurt you?” he asked, breathless.
“No, you were lovely,” you replied, your heart thundering in your chest, but he knew the full truth of it.
Valarr rose again on his elbows, his eyes seeking yours. “We shall have many more nights, and I will make sure you find your pleasure in this as well,” he vowed, making heat erupt in your cheeks.
None of the fears that had plagued your day were to be found—instead, there was only trust mirrored in your husband’s eyes and in his warm smile, and you knew yourself to be lucky, to have been given to a man who would treat you as a prince should.
Dividers by @zaldritzosrose. Not beta read. Requests are open for this character.
Baelor accidentally reads your diary and discovers the vulnerable desires you never dared confess. Instead of judgment, he offers understanding, honesty, and a promise to cherish every hidden part of your heart—and starting it with bending you over his desk.
WARNINGS; explicit sexual content, baelor does indeed bend you over a desk, he is not subtle, possession, rough sex and then gentle sex, minors dni.
NOW EXCUSE ME WHILST I WATCH WALKING WITH DINOSAURS BECAUSE OUR MAN HERE IS THE FUCKING NARRATOR!
The sunlight of King's Landing filtered through the high, arched windows of the Tower of the Hand, casting long, golden rectangles across the polished mahogany of the great desk.
Dust motes danced in the stillness of the solar, swirling around stacks of parchment and heavy leather-bound ledgers. Baelor Targaryen sat in the high-backed chair, his broad shoulders filling the space.
He had spent the morning immersed in reports from the Reach and the Stormlands, his mind a disciplined machine of statecraft and duty.
Beside a stack of tax records lay a small, unassuming book bound in pale blue leather. It was not a ledger, nor was it a history of the Seven Kingdoms.
It was yours.
You had left it behind in your haste to attend the midday meal with the Queen, a lapse in caution that you would soon regret.
Baelor had no intention of invading your privacy. He respected you, loved you with a quiet, steady intensity, and viewed you as the sanctuary of his life. He had reached for a scroll, but his hand brushed the blue leather, and the book fell open.
His eyes scanned a page of looping, elegant script. He intended to close it immediately, to preserve the sanctity of your inner thoughts.
Then, his gaze snagged on a single sentence.
I crave the weight of him, not as a lover who asks permission, but as a master who claims his prize; I want him to bend me over the very desk where he writes his laws and fuck me until my legs fail and I cannot walk.
Baelor froze. The air in the room suddenly felt thick, heavy with a heat that had nothing to do with the afternoon sun. He stared at the words, reading them again, then a third time.
The image flashed through his mind, you, his sweet, soft-spoken wife, the woman who blushed when he kissed her neck in public, pinned against the wood, your breath hitching in a way that wasn't caused by gentleness.
He turned the page and then the next.
The diary was a map of your hidden hunger. You wrote of the way his broad chest made you feel small and fragile, and how that fragility sparked a desperate need to be overpowered.
You wrote of the silence between you in the bedroom, the polite, tender exchanges of pleasure that left you satisfied but longing for something more visceral.
You described the fantasy of his calloused hands gripping your hips, the sound of your own whimpers turning into screams, and the sight of him losing the legendary Targaryen composure to the raw, animal heat of desire.
Baelor felt a slow, pulsing throb begin in his groin. His trousers tightened, the fabric straining against the sudden hardness of his cock. He had always treated you with a reverence that bordered on the sacred.
He feared his own strength, the sheer physicality of his frame, and he had spent their marriage tempering his passion to ensure he never overwhelmed you. He had been the perfect husband; patient, kind, and careful.
He looked at the desk. He looked at the heavy oak surface, the inkwells, the scattered papers. He imagined you there. He imagined the sound of your skin slapping against the wood, the scent of your arousal mixing with the smell of old parchment.
A small, predatory smile touched his lips. He closed the book with a soft thud and set it exactly where he had found it, though he did not move from the chair.
He waited.
The sound of your footsteps echoed in the hallway, light and hurried. The heavy oak door creaked open, and you stepped inside, your silk gown of pale cream shimmering in the light. You stopped short when you saw him, your chest rising and falling in a quick rhythm.
“Baelor,” you breathed, your voice soft. “I realized I left my journal here. I hope you didn't...”
You trailed off, your eyes falling on the blue leather book. Baelor did not speak. He simply watched you, his mismatched eyes dark, the pupils dilated until the blue and brown of his irises was a thin, shimmering ring.
The intensity of his gaze pinned you to the spot. “Did you see it?” you asked, your voice trembling as you took another step into the room, eyes wide and lips parted.
Baelor stood up. He was a towering presence, his silhouette blocking out the sun. He moved toward you, not with his usual measured grace, but with a slow, deliberate prowl. Each step sounded like a heartbeat against the stone floor.
“I saw many things,” Baelor said. His voice had dropped an octave, vibrating with a low, gravelly resonance that sent a shiver racing down your spine. “I saw things my sweet, innocent wife had been hiding from me.”
“I... I didn't mean for you to read that,” you whispered. “It was just... fantasies.”
Baelor stopped inches from you. The heat radiating from his body was an oven, smelling of cedar, expensive ink, and masculine musk.
He reached out, his large hand wrapping around the nape of your neck. His grip wasn't painful, but it was firm, possessive, leaving no room for retreat. He tilted your head back, forcing you to look up into the storm of his expression.
“Fantasies,” he repeated, his thumb brushing over your jawline. “You wrote that you didn't want softness. You wrote that you wanted to be claimed.”
You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “Baelor...”
“Do you still want it?” he asked, his voice a low command. “Do you still want your husband to stop being gentle?”
You couldn't speak, but could only nod, a small, frantic movement. The admission broke the last shred of his restraint.
You backed away, your heels clicking against the floor, until the small of your back hit the edge of the mahogany desk. You gasped, your hands flying up to your chest. The panic in your eyes was there, but beneath it, a spark of electric anticipation ignited.
Baelor's hand shifted from your neck to your waist, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hip. With one sudden, powerful motion, he gripped your shoulders, spun you around and shoved you forward.
You let out a sharp cry as your stomach hit the mahogany desk. The impact knocked the air from your lungs, and you found yourself sprawled across the wood, your chest pressed against the cool surface, your hips tilted upward.
The position was vulnerable, exposing and raw.
“Look at the desk,” Baelor commanded, his voice right at your ear. “Look at where you wanted this to happen.”
You looked, your vision blurring as you saw the inkwell wobble from the force of your landing. You felt his body press against your back, a wall of hard muscle and heat.
He didn't kiss you.
He didn't whisper sweet nothings, but instead, he reached down and gripped the hem of your cream silk gown.
The sound of fabric rending filled the room. He didn't slide the dress up; he tore it. The silk groaned and gave way, ripping from the waist down to your thighs.
The cool air of the solar hit your bare skin, making your nipples harden against the desk. You whimpered, a sound of pure, unadulterated want.
“You've been so quiet in our bed,” Baelor murmured, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. “So polite. I wondered why you always seemed to be holding something back.”
He reached around, his hand sliding between your thighs, he did not tease, he did not linger, but without warning, he had pushed aside your smallclothes and shoved two thick fingers deep into your heat, finding you already drenched.
The sound was a wet, visceral squelch that echoed in the quiet room. “You're soaking,” he noted, his voice devoid of its usual softness. “You've been thinking about this while I was reading reports. While I was playing the dutiful prince.”
He withdrew his fingers and you felt the sudden absence like a wound. You arched your back, your hips instinctively seeking him.
“Please,” you gasped. “Baelor, please.”
“Please what?” he asked, his hand moving to grip your hair, pulling your head back so you had to look at him over your shoulder. “Tell me exactly what you want, since you were so brave in your writing.”
“I want you to fuck me,” you sobbed, the shame melting into a fierce, burning desire. “I want you to take me. Hard. Don't be gentle. Please, don't be gentle.”
Baelor let out a low, guttural growl. He reached for his belt, the leather creaking as he unbuckled it with efficient, hurried movements. He shoved his breeches down, and you heard the heavy thud of his cock springing free.
You didn't have to see it to know the size of him; you could feel the heat radiating from the length of him as he pressed it against the crack of your ass.
He was massive, a thick, pulsing vein thrumming against your skin. He didn't use lubrication; he didn't need to. Your own arousal was a slick lubricant, coating your folds. Baelor gripped your hips, his fingers bruising your skin, and aligned the head of his cock with your opening.
He thrust.
The entry was a violent, singular motion. You screamed, a loud, echoing sound that would have shocked anyone outside the door, but in this room, it was the only music that mattered. He buried himself in you in one go, his cock stretching your walls to the absolute limit.
The sensation was overwhelming, a mixture of pressure and piercing pleasure that made your vision go white.
You felt the air being pushed out of your lungs as your chest slammed back down onto the desk. Baelor didn't give you time to adjust. He began to move, his thrusts deep and punishing.
Shlick. Squelch. Slap.
The sounds of their union were loud and vulgar. Each time he drove forward, his balls slapped hard against your perineum, a rhythmic, meaty thud that vibrated through your entire body. The friction was intense, the head of his cock rubbing against your cervix with every deep plunge.
“Is this what you wanted?” Baelor roared, his composure entirely gone. “Is this the weight you craved?”
“Yes!” you shrieked, your fingers clawing at the mahogany, leaving scratches in the expensive wood. “Yes, more! Harder!”
Baelor obliged as he shifted his grip, hooking his arms under your armpits and pulling your upper body slightly off the desk, angling your pelvis to take him even deeper.
The change in angle allowed him to hit a spot deep inside you that made your toes curl and your mind fracture.
The pace accelerated, for he was no longer a prince; he was a predator, a dragon claiming its hoard, his thrusts became frantic, overzealous, the force of his movement caused him to slip out almost entirely, the wet, sucking sound of his cock leaving your body echoing in the room, only for him to slam back in with a force that made the desk slide several inches across the stone floor.
“Gods, you're so tight,” Baelor groaned, his voice a ragged edge. “You're squeezing me... you're trying to drain me dry.”
You couldn't answer as you were lost in a sea of sensation. The feeling of the hard wood beneath you and the hard man behind you created a vice of pleasure. You could feel the sweat dripping from his forehead onto your back, the saltiness of it mixing with the scent of sex.
He began to grind his hips, his pubic bone smashing against your backside with every stroke. The friction on your clitoris, though indirect, was enough to send you spiraling. You felt the tension building in your lower belly, a coil of heat tightening until it was unbearable.
“I'm... I'm going to...” you gasped, your voice breaking.
“Not yet,” Baelor commanded, his voice a low snap. He reached around and gripped your clit between his thumb and forefinger, rubbing it with a brutal, fast intensity.
The combination was too much. Your orgasm hit like a tidal wave, a series of violent spasms that gripped your internals, squeezing his cock in rhythmic waves. You wailed, your body shuddering, your head tossing from side to side as the pleasure ripped through you.
Baelor let out a choked sound, his own climax imminent. He stopped the grinding and went back to the deep, piston-like thrusts, each one more desperate than the last. He was panting, his breath coming in ragged gulps, his muscles corded and straining.
“Fuck, look at what you have done to me, my sweet girl, I intend to fill you to the brim with my seed and take you over and over again," he groaned, the words almost a plea.
With one final, devastating thrust, Baelor buried himself to the hilt. He stiffened, his entire body locking up as he erupted. You felt the hot, thick jets of his seed hitting your cervix, filling you to the brim.
He didn't pull away, he stayed pinned inside you, his chest heaving against your back, his heart drumming a frantic rhythm against your spine.
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the sound of their synchronized, labored breathing. The room felt different, the air charged, the sanctity of the solar replaced by something primal and honest.
Slowly, Baelor began to relax. He didn't pull out immediately. He leaned down, pressing a tender, lingering kiss to the nape of your neck, his lips soft and warm. The contrast was jarring, the sudden return of the gentle husband after the storm of the master.
He slid out of you with a wet, lingering pop. You collapsed onto the desk, your limbs feeling like lead, your breath still coming in shallow hitches. You were shaking, a fine tremor running through your muscles.
Baelor stepped back and looked at you. Your dress was ruined, your hair a wild tangle, your skin flushed a deep rose. You looked broken, claimed, and utterly satisfied.
He reached down and picked up the blue leather diary. He didn't hand it back. Instead, he tucked it under his arm. “I think I'll keep this for a while,” Baelor said, his voice returning to its princely calm, though a hint of the gravel remained. “I find I have a sudden interest in your... literary pursuits.”
You rolled onto your side, looking up at him. You felt a strange mixture of vulnerability and empowerment. The secret was out, and instead of judgment, you had found a hunger that matched your own.
“You read the whole thing?” you whispered.
Baelor smiled, a slow, knowing expression. He reached down and offered you his hand, pulling you up from the desk with effortless strength and as you stood, you felt the warmth of his seed leaking from you, a sticky reminder of the last hour.
You tried to take a step toward him, but your knees buckled, your legs truly unable to support your weight.
Baelor caught you, sweeping you into his arms and holding you tight against his chest. He looked down at you, his eyes shimmering with an affection that was now laced with a new, dangerous understanding. “You said you wanted to be unable to walk,” he murmured, kissing your forehead. “I believe I have fulfilled the request.”
You leaned your head against his shoulder, closing your eyes. The Red Keep continued to hum with the business of the crown outside the door, but inside the solar, a new treaty had been signed.
“Will you do it again?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.
Baelor began to carry you toward the bedroom, his stride confident and strong. “My sweet, innocent wife,” he said, his voice vibrating through your chest. “I intend to spend the rest of our lives exploring every single page of that book.”
As he laid you down on the silk sheets of your bed, the sunlight had shifted, leaving the solar in shadow. But in the bedroom, the fire was just beginning to burn. Baelor stripped away the remains of your gown, his eyes roaming over your body with a possessive hunger that made you ache all over again.
He didn't start with kisses. He started by pinning your wrists above your head with one hand, his weight pressing you into the mattress.
“Now,” he whispered, his lips brushing against yours. “Tell me what else you wrote. Tell me everything you've been craving while I was being a gentleman.”
You opened your mouth to speak, but he silenced you with a kiss, not a gentle one, but a deep, demanding exchange of saliva and heat.
His tongue pushed into your mouth, claiming your space, sucking on your tongue with a hunger that mirrored the act on the desk. You moaned into the kiss, your hips lifting instinctively, searching for the hardness you knew was waiting for you.
He broke the kiss, trailing his lips down to your throat, biting softly at the sensitive skin.
“I want to hear you say it,” he commanded.
“I want... I want you to take me however you want,” you gasped, your voice trembling. “I want to be yours, completely, no more politeness and no more hesitation.”
Baelor paused, his gaze locking onto yours. The love in his eyes was still there, but it was now intertwined with a raw, dominant energy that made you feel like the only woman in the world.
“As you wish,” he said.
He moved down your body, his hands exploring every curve, every fold, with a renewed sense of purpose. He spent a long time with his tongue, tasting you, swirling around your clit until you were sobbing and begging for him to fill the void.
He played you like an instrument, knowing exactly where to press, how to suck, and when to tease and when he finally entered you again, it wasn't with the violence of the desk, but with a slow, agonizing deliberation. He pushed inside inch by inch, watching your face as you stretched to accommodate him. He wanted to see the pleasure, the slight pain, and the utter surrender in your eyes.
The sex in the bed was different, longer, more intimate, but no less intense. He explored every position, bending you, twisting you, making sure you felt every single inch of him.
He was attentive to your needs, but he dictated the pace, the rhythm, and the depth, his cock dragging deliciously through every crevice within the warmth of your cunt. “Fucking take it,” Baelor groaned into your ear, “This is what you wanted, isn't it? I am but a husband fulfilling his sweet wife's desires, so do not fucking hide from me, as you've learnt what I am capable of when you hide from me.”
Your breath hitched, a broken sob of pleasure escaping your lips as Baelor’s words sank in. The threat wrapped in affection was a catalyst, sending a fresh surge of heat flooding your pussy.
You arched your back, pressing your chest hard against the sheets, offering yourself up to him completely. You didn't dare hide; the memory of his previous punishments, the way he broke your resolve until you were begging for mercy, was enough to keep you wide open and trembling.
Baelor didn't give you a moment to recover. He gripped your hips with bruising force, his fingers digging into your skin to anchor you as he shifted his angle.
He withdrew almost entirely, the head of his cock teasing the very entrance of your cunt, before slamming back inside with a wet, heavy thud that knocked the air from your lungs.
“Look at you,” he growled, his voice a low vibration against your skin. “Shaking for me. So desperate to be filled.”
He began to drive into you with a relentless, punishing rhythm. Each thrust was calculated, designed to hit that part of you that made your eyes cross together with brutal precision.
The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, a rhythmic percussion to your whimpers. He wasn't just fucking you, he was claiming every inch of your interior, stretching you wide and filling you to the absolute limit.
As he hammered into you, Baelor reached around, his large hand finding your clit and grinding against it with a firm, demanding pressure. The dual stimulation was overwhelming. You felt your walls pulsing, clamping down on his thick shaft in tight, involuntary spasms.
“That's it, squeeze me,” he hissed, his pace accelerating into a frenzied blur of friction and heat. “Take every fucking inch of it. Let me feel how much you need your husband.”
You were spiraling, the tension building in your lower belly until it became an unbearable ache.
You tried to push back against him, seeking more of that crushing depth, but he shifted his weight, pinning you flat and asserting total control over the movement.
He slowed down for a heartbeat, dragging his cock slowly, agonizingly, through the slick walls of your pussy, savoring the way you whimpered in frustration.
Then, he surged forward one last time, burying himself deep enough to touch your cervix. He held himself there, pulsing inside you, as he felt your orgasm shatter through you in violent waves.
“Baelor!” you screamed into the pillow, Baelor let out a guttural roar, his own release hitting him as he pumped load after load of hot cum deep into your womb, filling you to overflowing while he held you pinned, ensuring you felt every drop of his dominance.
Hours later, as the moon rose over the Blackwater Bay and cast a silvery glow over the Red Keep, you lay entwined in his arms. You were exhausted, your body humming with a lingering electricity, your skin smelling of salt and sex.
Baelor held you close, his chin resting on the top of your head. He was quiet, his breathing steady and calm. “Are you alright?” he asked softly.
You shifted, feeling the soreness in your hips and the pleasant ache in your core. You smiled, pressing a kiss to his chest. “I've never been better,” you replied.
He tightened his grip, a small, possessive gesture. “Good,” Baelor whispered. “Because I've been thinking about the chapter where you mentioned the gardens. I think it's time we started a new entry.”
You shivered, not from cold, but from the thrill of knowing that your husband, the perfect prince, had finally discovered the darkness you carried and that he loved it even more than he loved the light.
The Tower of the Hand had always been a place of law and order, but for the first time in its history, it had become a sanctuary for the beautifully undone.
A compliment gone too far, attention too sharp and Ormund Hightower does not hesitate to show you exactly who you belong to.
WARNINGS; sexual content, explicit sexual content, possessive behaviour, rough sex, oral (female receiving), jealous!ormund, explicit language, minors dni, because I am not responsible for your media consumption.
The Ormund Hightower no soul asked for. I blame the deliciousness that is James Norton.
The air in the quiet chambers was thick with the lingering tension of the evening. Prince Aemond’s words still echoed in your mind, the way his pale eye had lingered on you, the low, appreciative rumble of his voice when he praised your wit and the sharpness of your mind. It had been a daring compliment, one that bordered on flirtation, and you had felt the heat rise in your cheeks under the Prince's intense gaze.
But the moment the heavy oak doors clicked shut behind you, the atmosphere shifted from courtly elegance to raw, possessive hunger.
Ormund didn't say a word at first, he didn't need to. He gripped your arm with a firmness that bordered on bruising, spinning you around and shoving you back against the cold stone wall.
His eyes, usually so composed, were dark with a jealous fire. He had seen the way Aemond looked at you; he had heard the Prince's admiration, and it had ignited a need in him to reclaim what was his.
“The Prince finds you sharp, does he?” Ormund hissed, his voice a low growl against your ear. He pressed his body flush against yours, his hardness straining against his trousers, pinning you firmly. “He admires your mind. But he forgets that every inch of you, your thoughts, your breath, your fucking body, belongs to me.”
He didn't give you time to answer. His hand dove downward, ripping your skirts upward and shoving your undergarments aside with a rough, impatient tug. He forced your legs apart, hoisting one of your thighs up over his hip to expose you completely to the dim light of the room.
Ormund dropped to his knees with a suddenness that made you gasp, he didn't tease, he dove straight in. His tongue lashed out, hitting your clit with a forceful, wet stroke that made your back arch off the wall. You let out a sharp cry, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he began to eat you out with a feral intensity.
He sucked your clit deep into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the sensitive nub while his fingers shoved themselves inside you, stretching your walls.
He was eating you like a starving man, his face smeared with your juices, making loud, wet slurping sounds that filled the silence of the chamber.
He wanted you to feel the desperation of his claim, to know that while Aemond might admire your mind, Ormund owned the heat between your legs.
You were shaking, your breath coming in ragged sobs as he drove you toward the edge and just as you felt the first wave of orgasm crashing over you, Ormund pulled away, leaving you dripping and desperate.
“Look at me,” he commanded, standing up and quickly shedding his breeches.
His cock was thick and pulsing, fully erect and leaking pre-cum. He didn't use any lubricant other than the mess he had just made of you. He grabbed your hips, lifting you slightly and driving his cock deep into your pussy in one singular, violent thrust.
You screamed into the quiet of the room, the sudden fullness stretching you to my limit. He didn't slow down. He began to fuck you with a rhythmic, punishing force, his hips slamming against yours with a wet, slapping sound. Each thrust was a statement of ownership, driving deep enough to hit your cervix, claiming every hidden part of you.
“Who do you belong to?” he groaned, his voice strained as he hammered into you.
“You... Ormund!” You gasped, your head tossing back against the wall.
“Say it again!” He gripped your throat lightly, not enough to choke, but enough to make you feel his dominance. He accelerated his pace, his cock sliding in and out of your soaking wet pussy with friction that set you on fire.
“I am yours! I belong to you!” The admission seemed to break the last of his restraint. Ormund let out a guttural roar, his movements becoming frantic and wild. He buried himself deep inside you one last time, his body shuddering violently as he pumped load after load of hot cum deep into your womb.
He stayed there for a long moment, panting heavily, his forehead pressed against yours, ensuring you felt every drop of his seed filling you up, marking you from the inside out. The Prince's compliments were forgotten; there was only the scent of sex and the crushing weight of Ormund's possession.
“Fucking righteous cunt thought he could compliment my wife,” he murmured against your throat, jaw clenching, “I will make this entire fucking keep learn just who the fuck you belong to,” Ormund's teeth sank into your shoulder with a sharp, possessive bite, his growl vibrating against your skin as he then hauled you against his chest, pushing you towards the bed, “Prince or fucking not, I'll have him eat is fucking words, rider of the largest fucking dragon or not, his fire will not touch you.”
Ormund pushed you unto the bed, flipping you onto your stomach and he yanked your hips up, forcing your ass high while your face pressed into the sheets. His cock, still slick from the load he'd just pumped into you, slammed back inside your pussy in one brutal thrust.
“Let them hear you, let him hear how I am the one making you come undone,” he gripped your waist hard enough to bruise, pounding into you from behind with savage force, each slam drove his length to the hilt, his balls slapping against your clit as he used your body like it was made for nothing else.
Hot cum from his first release leaked out around his shaft with every thrust, coating your thighs in thick, sticky trails.
“Mine,” he snarled against your ear, his hips snapping forward without mercy. “Say it again. Tell me who this cunt belongs to.” His hand fisted in your hair, yanking your head back as he fucked you deeper, harder, claiming every inch of your soaked hole.
“I am yours, Ormund, fuck,” your fingers fisted into the sheets as your mouth parted, breathless and heart pounding with each insistent thrust that made the bed shake, “it was only a compliment, nothing more.”
He shook his head, hammering into you as his free hand reached under you to pinch and twist your nipple, rolling the stiff peak between his fingers while he drove you toward another shattering peak, “You are so oblivious, so fucking blind to the way men stare at you. I should not have let you come with me,” he murmured, hands now gripping unto your hips as he continued to unravel you.
“You commanded me to come,” you muffled the scream that tumbled from your mouth, head tilting to the side as you now watched your husband pound into you over your shoulder, “you commanded that I come with you, husband.”
“Then I'll spend every godsdamned moment between your legs, if only so to remind those that I am not a man who shares what is his in any manner.”
The wet sounds of his cock stretching you filled the room, mixed with the slap of skin on skin and his ragged breathing. He didn't slow down, didn't ease up, he kept railing you from behind, determined to flood you again before the night was over.
His hair, now damp and clinging against his forehead, made your cunt clench tighter around his cock and a smug smirk fluttered across your face, “Green is a colour that suits you most sinfully, Ormund.”
Ormund’s smirk vanished, replaced by a flash of raw, possessive hunger. The mention of the color; the color of the Hightowers, the color of the ambition that fueled the court, seemed to snap something inside him. He didn't just thrust, he snapped his hips forward with a brutal, jarring force, his cock slamming deep into your cervix with a wet, heavy thud.
“You think this is a game?” he growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble against your ear. He gripped your hips so hard his fingers left bruises, anchoring you in place as he began to rail you with a savage intensity. Each strike was a claim, a violent assertion of ownership that left you breathless and shaking.
The fury in him was palpable, a storm brewed from the lingering image of Prince Aemond’s lingering glances and the way the Prince had looked at you as if you were a prize to be stolen.
Ormund had always been a man of controlled passion, but the threat of competition had awakened a primal, territorial beast he had long since buried. He didn't want to just satisfy you; he wanted to mark you, to fill you so completely that there was no room left for any other man's thoughts or desires.
With a sudden, powerful movement, he yanked you backward, pulling your spine flush against his chest. He didn't stop the friction, keeping his cock buried deep while he twisted his body to capture your lips.
His mouth crashed against yours, his tongue invading your mouth in a mirroring of the assault below, aggressive, demanding, and absolute. He tasted of salt and desperation, his breath hitching as he felt your cunt pulsing and clamping tight around him. “Mine,” he groaned into the kiss, the word vibrating through your entire frame. “Every inch of you... fucking mine.”
He gave one final, devastatingly deep thrust, his entire body locking up as he hit his limit. A guttural shout tore from his throat as he came, a hot, thick torrent of cum flooding your womb, filling you to the brim. He shuddered violently, his heart hammering against your back, his cock pulsing inside you as he emptied himself completely, claiming you with every drop of his seed.
But as the peak of the orgasm subsided, the brutality evaporated, replaced by a sudden, aching tenderness. Ormund didn't pull away. Instead, he shifted his weight, his movements becoming agonizingly slow. He began to grind his hips into you with a rhythmic, devoted slowness, his cock sliding through the slurry of his own cum and your juices.
He began to kiss the nape of your neck, his lips soft and lingering, his breath warm against your skin. The contrast was dizzying, the man who had just been railing you like an animal was now cradling you as if you were the most precious thing in the Seven Kingdoms.
He whispered fragmented vows of devotion, his voice thick with emotion, grinding into you with a steady, loving pressure that targeted every sensitive nerve.
The slow, deliberate friction began to build a different kind of heat, a swirling vortex of pleasure that felt deeper and more intimate than the violence of before. Your walls clamped around him in rhythmic waves, and as he continued to grind into you with that unwavering devotion, you felt yourself shatter. You came undone, your body arching and sobbing as a powerful orgasm ripped through you, leaving you limp and trembling in his possessive, loving embrace.
Ormund's lips brushed yours again, softer this time, the kiss lingering with a quiet apology woven into every press. His breath came warm against your mouth as he murmured, “Forgive me. I was too rough with you.”
His hands eased their grip on your hips, fingers stroking the marks he'd left behind in soothing circles. He stayed buried inside you, his cock still half-hard and slick with the mess he'd pumped deep, but his thrusts had slowed to nothing. Instead he held you close, chest pressed to your back, and began to rock his hips in the gentlest of motions, just enough to keep you connected while the tenderness took over.
“I saw the way he looked at you,” he whispered against your ear, voice low and rough with leftover heat. “Aemond's eye on you... it woke something I thought I'd buried. But I shouldn't have taken it out on you like that.”
Another slow kiss landed at the corner of your jaw, then lower, along the curve of your neck. His tongue traced the skin he had earlier bitten, now soothing it with careful laps.
He pulled back just enough to turn your face toward him, claiming your mouth once more in a deep, unhurried kiss that tasted of salt and regret. His tongue moved slower now, exploring rather than invading, while below he ground his hips forward in tiny, devoted circles that dragged his cock against your swollen walls. The wet sounds of his cum shifting inside you filled the quiet between kisses.
“You're mine,” he breathed into the kiss, the words gentler than before, “but I never want to hurt what belongs to me.” His hand slid down to cup your breast, thumb brushing your nipple with feather-light strokes as he continued the slow grind, letting you feel every inch of him without the earlier brutality.
The tenderness built its own heat, each careful movement drawing soft gasps from you as he kissed away the sting of his earlier roughness.
“Forgive me, my love.” He murmured into your ear, “I forget myself sometimes when it comes to you.”
You huffed a breathless laugh, “You need not apologise, husband. I quite enjoyed it.”
He placed a tender, fierce kiss against your forehead and smiled, “I feared you might say that.” and with a quiet chuckle, Ormund gathered you against his broad chest, his arms wrapping securely around you as though the whole world could wait.
He rested his cheek atop your head, content simply to hold you there, listening to your steady heartbeat until the silence between you became as warm and cherished as any whispered vow.
When the maester accidentally gives Prince Maekar Targaryen something that most certainly does not ease his headache, Maekar finds himself instead with one other problem. He burns.
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒; sexual content, possessive behaviour, rough sex, maekar goes absolutely feral on you, explicit sexual content, p in v, fingering, maekar absolutely dominates you, this is pure filth, minors dni.
The maester had pressed the small vial into Prince Maekar’s hand early that morning with a respectful bow and a few murmured words about easing the headache that had lingered since the previous night’s long council. Maekar had taken it without thought, swallowed the bitter liquid in one go, and headed straight for the training yard.
The sun was already climbing and the clash of steel felt good in his hands and at first the draught seemed to do its work.
The dull pressure behind his eyes faded. He moved through his drills with sharp precision, sweat soaking his tunic, muscles warming in that familiar, satisfying way.
But as the morning wore on, a different kind of heat began to build.
It started low in his gut, a restless warmth that spread through his veins like slow fire. By the time he sheathed his sword and made his way back to his chambers to wash and change, the warmth had turned into something far more insistent.
His cock thickened without warning, swelling and lengthening until it pressed heavily against the front of his breeches. He frowned and adjusted himself, but the touch only made it worse.
The ache settled deep in his balls, heavy and tight. By the time he stripped for a quick wash, he was fully hard, the shaft flushed and already leaking at the tip. He tried to ignore it while he dressed, choosing the supple leather breeches he favored for court.
It was a mistake.
The material hugged every inch of him, and as his cock strained harder, the confinement became exquisite torment.
The broad head caught against the lacing with every step. Precum beaded steadily and soaked into the fabric until a damp patch formed against his thigh. He gritted his teeth and forced himself toward his solar, telling himself it would pass.
It did not.
By midday the need had grown unbearable. Maekar dismissed his squire with a curt word and locked the door of his private solar behind him. He stood there for a long moment, one hand braced against the heavy oak, breathing hard.
This was beneath him.
He was a prince of the blood, a warrior who had led men into battle, not some green boy who could not control his own body. Yet his cock throbbed insistently, the leather of his breeches now visibly damp where the head pressed against it.
Every beat of his heart sent another pulse of heat through the thick length. He could not go to the feast like this. He could not sit beside you, his wife, and pretend composure while his mind supplied image after filthy image of what he wanted to do to you.
With a low curse he unlaced his breeches and freed himself. His cock sprang out heavy and flushed, the head dark and shiny with precum that dripped in a steady string onto the floor.
Veins stood out thick along the shaft. His balls were drawn up tight and aching. He wrapped his hand around the base, squeezing once, and hissed at the sensation.
The touch was almost painful in its intensity.
He stroked upward in one rough pull, thumb dragging over the leaking slit, spreading the slickness down the length. A groan tore from his throat.
He tried to keep his mind on duty, on the letters that still needed answering, on the training schedule for the new recruits. But every stroke pulled his thoughts back to you. Your voice, soft and even as you spoke to him at meals. The way your hips moved when you walked.
The soft sounds you made when he was inside you. He imagined bending you over the desk in this very solar, rucking up your skirts, and driving into your cunt in hard, punishing thrusts while you clutched at the wood and cried out his name.
He imagined filling you so full of his seed that it leaked down your thighs for hours afterward, marking you as his in the most primal way.
His hand moved faster, rougher. The wet sound of skin on skin filled the quiet room. He braced his other hand on the desk, hips jerking forward to meet each stroke. Precum flowed freely now, making everything slick and hot. He could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter at the base of his spine. His balls drew up even further. He was close, so close, and the need was overwhelming.
“Fuck,” he growled under his breath. His strokes grew erratic, almost desperate. “Wife. My wife.”
The orgasm hit him hard. His cock jerked in his fist and thick ropes of seed spilled across the wooden floor in heavy pulses. He kept stroking through it, milking every drop, your name still on his lips in a rough, broken groan. For one brief moment relief flickered through him, warm and sharp.
It lasted only seconds.
The heat did not fade. If anything it roared back stronger, hotter, more insistent than before. His cock remained thick and heavy in his hand, only half softened, still twitching with aftershocks.
The ache in his balls doubled.
Fresh need surged through him so fiercely that his knees nearly buckled. He stared down at himself in disbelief, at the mess on the floor and the way his shaft was already filling again, hardening once more as if he had not just spent.
The potion, whatever the maester had given him by mistake, had turned a simple release into fuel for the fire.
His mind flooded with even more vivid images of you. Of taking you. Of ruining you. Of claiming you so thoroughly that you would feel him for days.
Maekar let out a low, frustrated snarl and cleaned himself with a cloth from the basin. His hands shook slightly as he laced himself back into the confining leather.
The pressure was worse now.
Every step would be torment, his cock felt enormous, trapped and leaking again almost immediately. He was riled beyond reason, restless, on edge in a way he had never experienced.
Discipline had always been his strength. Today it felt like a fraying thread.
He forced himself through the afternoon duties anyway. He reviewed reports. He spoke with his captains. He tried to focus on anything but the constant, throbbing ache between his legs and the way his thoughts kept circling back to you.
By the time he bathed and dressed for the feast, the need had grown into something almost feral.
His cock strained against the leather with every movement, the head catching and rubbing until he was gritting his teeth against the sensation.
He was leaking steadily now, the front of his smallclothes soaked.
The failed attempt at relief had only made him more desperate, more possessive, more determined to get you alone and take what his body was screaming for.
The great hall was bright with candlelight and alive with sound when he arrived. Roasted meats and spiced wine scented the air.
Music drifted from the gallery above. Nobles filled the lower tables, laughing and calling to one another. You were already seated at the high table, and when he took his place beside you, you turned with that calm, lovely expression and spoke in your quiet voice.
“The roast swan is particularly good tonight. The cook used those spices from the Summer Isles you favor.”
Maekar managed a short nod. His cock was now a thick, throbbing bar trapped along his thigh, the leather stretched so tight across the swollen flesh that every small shift sent sparks of sensation through him.
He could feel the steady leak of fluid making everything slick inside his smallclothes. Under the table he reached for you, but instead of taking your hand his palm settled on your thigh, fingers spreading wide and gripping hard. The silk of your gown was warm from your skin. He squeezed, feeling the soft give of flesh beneath, and did not let go.
You continued speaking in that same even tone, as if the world were perfectly ordinary. You mentioned a letter that had arrived from Dorne, the new tapestry being hung in the queen’s solar, the way the Pentoshi singer’s voice carried so clearly through the hall.
Your words were soft and pleasant, meant only for him.
Each one sent another pulse of need straight to his groin.
He imagined silencing that sweet voice with his cock, pushing between your lips until your eyes watered, or better still, flipping up your skirts right there and driving into your cunt while the court dined on unaware.
The failed release in his solar had left him even more riled, the images in his head sharper, more urgent. He wanted to ruin you. He wanted to make you take every inch and every drop until you were shaking and marked and his.
He leaned close, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Keep using that voice and I will not answer for what I do to you before the night is done.”
Your eyes flicked to him, a flicker of awareness there now, but you kept your tone steady as you reached for your goblet. “The singer is quite talented. Do you think the queen will request another song before the dancing begins?”
Maekar’s fingers dug deeper into your thigh. His cock jerked hard in its prison, another thick bead of precum soaking through the leather. He was riled beyond reason, restless, shifting constantly in his seat as he tried to find relief that would not come.
The head of his shaft felt raw from the constant friction. His balls ached with the need to empty again, even though he had already spent once that day.
He could smell you beside him, that warm skin and faint floral oil you used, and it made his mouth water and his cock throb harder. He wanted to drop to his knees under the table, push your thighs apart, and lick you until you shook and came on his tongue.
Then he wanted to flip you over and take you from behind, hard and deep, while you were still fluttering from your release.
The courses came and went. Servants moved around them with platters and pitchers.
Maekar ate almost nothing.
He drank more wine than was wise, hoping it might blunt the relentless throb between his legs, but the alcohol only made the heat spread faster through his blood. His cock felt enormous, straining so fiercely that the laces bit into the swollen flesh. He shifted again and again, trying to ease the pressure, but nothing helped.
Every time you spoke, every time your shoulder brushed his or your hand moved near his, he imagined those hands wrapped around his shaft, stroking him, or your mouth stretched wide while he held your head and fucked your throat in steady thrusts.
The memory of cumming earlier with your name on his lips only made the current need sharper. It had not helped. It had made everything worse.
When a servant leaned in too close to refill his cup and accidentally brushed his arm, Maekar snapped a sharp word that made the man flinch and nearly spill the wine.
He regretted it at once and pulled you closer with the hand still gripping your thigh, as if your nearness could somehow anchor the fire raging inside him.
You glanced at him again, that same quiet concern in your eyes.
“You seem very tense tonight, my prince. Shall I send for the maester to have another look at your head?”
He turned toward you, voice a low, rough growl meant for your ears alone. “The maester can rot. Whatever he gave me has my cock hard as iron and leaking like I am some desperate boy. I tried to find relief with my own hand earlier and it only made the need worse. All I can think about is getting you alone, bending you over the nearest surface, and ruining this sweet cunt until you cannot walk without feeling me. Until my seed is running down your thighs and you smell of nothing but me for days.”
Your breath caught, just slightly, but you recovered and took a sip of wine as though he had merely agreed with your earlier remark about the singer. Your hand, however, slid over his under the table and pressed down firmly, a silent answer that sent another bolt of raw lust through him.
He lasted through the start of the dancing. Barely. When the musicians struck up a lively tune and couples began moving to the floor, Maekar stood. His cock was a constant, painful throb, the front of his breeches now visibly darkened if anyone cared to look. He took your hand without asking and led you from the hall with long, purposeful strides. Several lords called after him. He ignored them all.
In the corridor he moved quickly, pulling you along until he found a shadowed alcove behind a heavy curtain. The moment you were hidden he was on you. His mouth crashed down on yours, rough and demanding, tongue pushing deep as his hands tore at your gown with impatient fingers.
Fabric ripped, the sound was loud in the small space as your breasts spilled free and he palmed them hard, squeezing the soft flesh, pinching your nipples between thumb and forefinger until they tightened and you gasped into his mouth.
He broke the kiss only to drag his lips down your throat, biting hard enough to leave dark marks, sucking until blood rose to the surface beneath your skin.
“Could not wait another fucking minute,” he snarled against your neck. One hand dropped to his laces, freeing his cock with rough tugs. It sprang out heavy and flushed, the head dark and shiny with precum that dripped steadily onto the stone.
Veins stood out thick along the shaft. His balls were drawn up tight and aching.
He hiked your skirts roughly, bunching the silk high at your waist, and shoved two thick fingers between your legs. You were already wet and hot. He groaned at the slick feel of you coating his fingers and pushed them deeper, curling them once before pulling them free.
“Good. Already soaked for your husband’s cock.” He did not waste time with more preparation. He lined the broad, leaking head of his cock up with your entrance and thrust in hard, burying himself to the root in one powerful stroke.
The stretch was intense.
He felt your walls clench around his thick girth, struggling to take him after the long hours of denial. He gave you no time to adjust as he pulled back and drove in again, setting a brutal, relentless pace from the first thrust. The wet sound of his cock slamming into your cunt filled the alcove. His hips snapped forward again and again, skin slapping against skin, each deep stroke jarring your body against the stone wall.
“Fuck, yes. Take it. Take every inch of me.” His voice was ragged with lust and hours of pent-up need. One hand gripped your hip hard enough to bruise while the other fisted in your hair, pulling your head back sharply so he could bite at the junction of your neck and shoulder.
“This is what you do to me. Tried to take the edge off with my own hand and it only made me want you more. Now you are going to take my cock until I decide you have had enough.”
He fucked you without mercy, the potion and the long day of torment making him almost savage.
Each thrust was deep and punishing, the broad head dragging over that sensitive spot inside you on every withdrawal before slamming back in to the hilt.
His free hand came down on your ass in a sharp slap, the crack of it loud in the small space. He did it again on the other cheek, harder, watching the skin bloom red beneath his palm.
“Mine. This cunt belongs to me. Mine to use. Mine to fill until it overflows.” Another slap, then another, the sting making your walls tighten around him. He felt you flutter and clench and grinned against your throat, feral and satisfied. “You like that. Like when I take what is mine. Like when I ruin you.”
Your body responded, walls pulsing around his thick cock as the first orgasm crashed through you.
He did not slow.
He fucked you straight through it, hips driving harder, the wet sounds growing louder as your release coated his shaft and dripped down your thighs.
When he finally came it was with a guttural roar, slamming deep and holding there as his cock jerked and pulsed, flooding you with thick, hot ropes of seed.
He kept thrusting through it, short, hard jerks of his hips, pushing his cum deeper inside you, making sure it stayed. It leaked out around his shaft anyway, running down your thighs in warm, messy rivulets that soaked into the bunched silk of your gown.
He stayed buried inside you for a long moment, breathing hard, forehead pressed to your shoulder. His cock twitched with aftershocks, still half hard thanks to whatever the maester had given him.
Slowly he pulled out, watching with dark satisfaction as his seed spilled from your well-fucked cunt in a steady stream.
He turned you around, lifted you easily into his arms, and carried you the rest of the way to your chambers without bothering to right your torn clothing.
Once inside, with the heavy door barred behind them, he laid you on the bed and stripped away what remained of your gown with impatient hands. His own clothes followed in quick movements. His cock, still slick with your combined fluids, stood ready again, flushed and heavy.
He climbed over you, spreading your legs wide with his knees, and thrust back in without preamble. This time he took you slower but no less roughly, each stroke measured and deep, grinding the base of his cock against your swollen pearl on every downstroke. He pinned your wrists above your head with one strong hand, the other gripping your jaw, forcing you to meet his burning violet eyes.
“Look at me while I ruin you properly, wife.” His voice was lower now, rough with spent lust and lingering fire. “I tried to find relief earlier and it only made this need worse. I am going to fill you again. And again. Until you cannot take any more. Until you smell like my seed and everyone who comes near you tomorrow knows exactly who you belong to.”
He released your wrists only to hook your legs over his shoulders, folding you nearly in half so he could drive even deeper. The new angle made every thrust hit that spot inside you with devastating accuracy.
He pounded into you with steady, powerful strokes, the bed creaking beneath the force of it. His hand slid between your bodies, thumb finding your swollen pearl and rubbing tight, relentless circles while he fucked you. “Come for me again. Now. I want to feel this cunt milk me while I fill you.”
When you came, clenching and fluttering hard around his thick cock, he followed quickly, burying himself as deep as he could go and pumping another heavy load into you.
This time he stayed inside afterward, rolling to his side and pulling you with him so your back was to his chest, his cock still nestled in your warmth.
One hand stroked down your side, over the marks and red prints he had left, soothing even as he remained possessive. He pressed a kiss to the back of your neck, softer now.
“The maester is going to explain himself at first light,” he muttered against your hair, though there was no real anger left in him. Only deep satisfaction and the fierce, abiding devotion he felt for the woman in his arms. “Whatever he gave me tonight, it has made me want you more fiercely than I have in years. But I would have wanted you anyway.”
His hand slid down to cup your ass, squeezing gently over the heated skin where he had spanked you. “Rest while you can. I am not finished with you yet.”
The night stretched long and heated. The fire the remedy had lit in his blood burned hot for hours more. He took you again sometime in the deep hours, slower but still intense, your bodies moving together in the dark with quiet, desperate sounds.
You had both drifted into uneasy sleep afterward, tangled together, his arm heavy across your waist.
It was near dawn when he stirred again.
You felt him wake behind you, his body pressing closer along your back. His skin was clammy against yours, hot and damp with sweat, and he was trembling.
A low, shaky breath left him as he nuzzled into the curve of your neck. One of his hands slid down your hip, then between your legs, fingers finding where you were still slick and sensitive from earlier. He made a broken sound, half groan and half apology.
“I am sorry,” he murmured against your shoulder, voice rough and thick with sleep and lingering need. “Wife… forgive me. I cannot stop. The fire… it will not let me rest.”
You felt the thick, hard length of him press against your entrance from behind. He was shaking as he pushed in, slow at first, then deeper, burying himself inside you with a trembling thrust. His arm tightened around your waist, pulling you back against him as he began to move. The strokes were not gentle. They were deep and urgent, his hips rocking forward with a desperation that made the bed creak softly. His free hand gripped your thigh, holding you open for him.
His skin burned and chilled at the same time against your back. You could feel the fine tremors running through his muscles, the way his breath hitched with every thrust. He pressed his face into your shoulder, teeth grazing the skin there before he bit down, not hard enough to break the skin but firm enough to leave another mark, a sharp sting that made you tighten around him. A muffled groan vibrated against your flesh.
“I want to hurt you,” he said, the words slipping out raw and unfiltered between shaky breaths. “I want to mark you. Make you feel this for days. I want to ruin you until you cannot think of anything but me inside you.” His voice cracked on the last word. He thrust harder, the apology coming again even as his body betrayed how much he meant it. “I am sorry. Gods, I am sorry. But I need… I need to hurt you like this. Need to feel you take it.”
His teeth sank into your shoulder once more as his hips snapped forward, the bite grounding him even as he lost control. One hand slid up to cup your breast, squeezing almost too tightly, while the other held your hip in a bruising grip. He fucked into you with short, powerful strokes from behind, his cock dragging along every sensitive inch inside you. The trembling in his body grew worse. He was shaking against you, clammy skin sliding over yours, his breath hot and uneven on your neck.
The sound of his teeth scraping against your skin was drowned out by the wet, rhythmic slap of his pelvis crashing against your ass. He wasn't just fucking you; he was trying to merge with you, his movements frantic and devoid of any gentleness. Every time his cock bottomed out, it felt like a physical assault on your insides, a blunt force that left you breathless and reeling.
“Tell me you want it,” he growled, his voice a guttural rasp. He shifted his grip, his fingers digging deep into the soft flesh of your hip, leaving white marks that would surely turn purple by morning. He pulled back almost entirely, teasing the entrance of your pussy for a fraction of a second before slamming back in with a violent, bone-jarring thrust.
You let out a choked scream, your fingers clawing at the sheets, but he didn't let up. He leaned forward, his chest crushing you into the mattress, his weight pinning you down as he continued to hammer into you. The friction was intense, the heat between your bodies becoming suffocating. He reached around, his hand leaving your breast to wrap firmly around your throat, not enough to choke you, but enough to let you feel the absolute power he held over you in this moment.
“Look at me,” he commanded, though you were facedown. He forced your head to the side, his violet eyes dark and blown out with lust and a desperate, starving kind of need. “I'm ruining you, aren't I? I'm breaking you open.”
He accelerated the pace, the short, powerful strokes turning into a blur of raw motion. His cock felt thicker, harder, stretching your walls to their absolute limit. He began to bite again, not just your shoulder, but the nape of your neck and the slope of your shoulder blade, marking you with a territorial hunger.
The apology was gone now, replaced by a low, animalistic moan that vibrated through his chest and into your back. He was close, his muscles locking up, his entire frame vibrating with the effort of holding back just a few seconds longer to savor the feeling of you tightening around him.
“I'm going to fill you... I'm going to leave it all inside you,” he hissed, his grip on your throat tightening slightly, tongue licking at the sweat that accumulated on your neck.
“Take it,” he growled softly, the words half apology and half command. “Take what I give you. Even when I am like this. Especially when I am like this.”
Another bite, this one lower on your shoulder, followed by the wet heat of his tongue soothing the mark. His thrusts grew rougher, more erratic, the potion’s last embers driving him to claim you one final time before it released its hold.
You felt him reach his peak with a broken moan against your skin, his cock pulsing deep inside you as he spilled another heavy load, hips jerking through the release.
Maekar didn't give you a second to recover. The moment the last pulse of his orgasm faded, he gripped your hips and violently flipped you over, manhandling you onto your back with a force that knocked the wind out of you. You hit the mattress hard, your legs splayed wide, leaving you completely exposed and vulnerable beneath him.
He didn't wait for you to catch your breath, your eyes wide with desire. He surged forward, his hand snapping up to wrap firmly around your throat.
He didn't squeeze enough to cut off your air entirely, but the pressure was constant, a heavy reminder of his dominance that forced your chin up and your chest out. His eyes were still dark, blown out and predatory, his teeth bared in a feral snarl as he looked down at you.
“I told you I wanted to ruin you,” he rasped, his voice a low, dangerous vibration. “I'm not fucking finished.”
He positioned the head of his cock, still slick and swollen from his first release, against your soaking entrance and with one brutal, uncompromising shove, he slammed back inside you. The impact was jarring, his cock sliding through the pool of his own cum to bottom out deep against your cervix. You gasped, your back arching off the bed, but his grip on your throat tightened, pinning you down and forcing you to take every inch of him.
He began to fuck you with a renewed, aggressive energy, his hips snapping forward in a relentless rhythm. Each thrust was a heavy, wet thud, the sound of his pelvis crashing against yours echoing in the room. He wasn't looking for pleasure now; he was claiming you, driving himself into you as if he wanted to leave a permanent mark on your insides.
“Take it,” he commanded, his voice guttural. ”Take all of it.”
He shifted his weight, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand while the other remained locked around your neck.
The position left you completely open, your pussy stretching and gripping him with every violent plunge. He began to pick up the pace, his movements becoming frantic and raw.
He leaned down, his teeth sinking into the sensitive skin of your collarbone, biting hard enough to draw a whimper of pain and pleasure from your lips.
The friction was agonizingly intense, the mixture of his cum and your own lubrication creating a loud, squelching sound with every stroke. He was hammering into you now, his cock hitting your depths with a force that made your entire body shake. He watched your face, savoring the way your eyes rolled back and your breath came in ragged, broken sobs, his expression one of pure, unadulterated hunger.
He stayed buried there afterward, still trembling, still holding you tight as if afraid you would slip away. The apologies came softer now, murmured into your hair between shaky kisses to the bite marks he had left.
“I am sorry, wife. For the bite. For the words. For needing you so fiercely it feels like it will tear me apart.” His hand stroked down your side, gentler now, though the tremor had not fully left him. “The maester will answer for this. But you… you are everything. Even when I lose myself like this.”
The worst of the fire finally began to fade as the first pale light of dawn crept through the shutters.
Maekar’s eyes flew wide, the reverent haze shattering in an instant. Violet irises, still dark with the remnants of lust, locked onto the marks he had left, deep, angry crescents of teeth sunk into the curve of your shoulder, the mottled purple and red where his fingers had clamped like iron vices during the peak of his release. A raw, guttural sound tore from his throat.
“Gods, woman, look at what I have done to you?”
The words were barely finished before he ripped himself from your body with violent suddenness.
The thick drag of his cock withdrawing punched a broken gasp from your lips, the sudden emptiness was jarring, followed by a hot, messy spill of his spend that leaked thickly down your thighs and onto the ruined sheets. He recoiled as though scalded, shoving himself upright and backward in one brutal motion, his broad, sweat-slicked chest heaving.
He stared down at you like a man who had just woken to find blood on his hands. One hand hovered in the air between you, fingers trembling, before he yanked it back and clenched it into a white-knuckled fist against his thigh.
The protective cage of his body was gone, now he knelt above you, silver-gold hair wild, the pale dawn light carving harsh lines across the sharp planes of his face and the corded muscle of his arms.
“Fuck,” he rasped, voice hoarse and cracking. “I— I used you like a beast. Like some half-mad dragon that doesn’t know its own strength.” His gaze raked over every mark, every bruise, every place his mouth and hands and teeth had claimed you through the long, brutal hours of the night. Shame and something darker, possessive, almost feral, warred openly in his expression.
He swallowed hard, throat working. For a heartbeat he looked like he might reach for you again, but he stopped himself short, muscles locked tight with the effort of restraint. The bed creaked under his shifting weight as he put another deliberate inch of distance between you.
“Tell me,” he demanded, low and rough, eyes still wide and frantic. “Tell me I didn’t break you. That I didn’t take more than you could give.” His voice dropped even further, almost pleading beneath the growl.
“Because if I have… if these marks are more than passion’s price…” He trailed off, jaw clenched so hard the muscle jumped, and for the first time since he’d dragged you into this bed, Maekar Targaryen looked truly afraid of what his own hunger had wrought. “I am going to fucking kill that fucking fool, oh Gods, my love.”
His hand lifted again, hovering over the worst of the bites on your shoulder without quite touching. The tremor in his fingers was visible. “Speak, little one. Now. Before I lose what little control I have left.”
You were still breathless, lungs burning, body trembling from the sudden, brutal emptiness he’d left behind. His spend was leaking hot and thick down your thighs, your cunt still fluttering around nothing, sore and slick and used. The marks on your shoulder throbbed in time with your heartbeat, but the ache between your legs was deeper, sweeter.
You reached for him with one shaky hand, fingers brushing the tense muscle of his forearm before he could pull farther away.
“Maekar,” you rasped, voice hoarse from screaming his name through the night. “Look at me.”
His eyes were still wide, wild with guilt, but you held his gaze and gave him the truth, raw and unashamed.
“I liked it,” you whispered fiercely. “I liked it. Every mark. Every time you bit down and fucked me harder because you couldn’t stop yourself. Whatever that maester gave you…” A shaky, breathless laugh escaped you. “It made you so fucking sexy. Like you were burning from the inside out and the only thing that could put the fire out was me.”
You shifted on the ruined sheets, letting him see the mess he’d made of you, the glistening streaks on your inner thighs, the way your body still trembled with aftershocks, the vivid proof of his hunger painted across your skin.
“I wanted it,” you continued, softer now but no less certain. “I wanted you like that. Rough. Desperate. Like you’d die if you didn’t get deeper inside me. The way you growled my name when you came… Gods, Maekar, I’ve never felt so wanted in my life.”
His breath hitched. The horror in his violet eyes cracked, something darker and hotter flooding in to replace it. His cock, still half-hard and glistening with your combined release, twitched visibly against his thigh.
You saw the moment the fear lost its battle with need. His hand finally closed the distance, fingers trembling as they traced the bite mark on your shoulder with something that was no longer just shame and guilt, but that it was possession, renewed and burning.
“Say it again,” he demanded, voice low and rough, almost broken. His thumb pressed into the deepest tooth mark, making you hiss. “Tell me you wanted the beast. That you still want him.”
He leaned over you again, caging you in, but this time the tension in his body was different, coiled, hungry, barely leashed. The pale dawn light caught on the sweat still clinging to his chest, the faint tremor in his arms as he held himself above you.
“Because if you keep talking like that, little one…” His gaze dropped to your mouth, then lower, to the way his spend continued to drip from your well-used cunt. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep myself from taking you again. Harder. Until every mark on you is fresh and you can’t walk without remembering exactly who put them there.”
His eyes were wide again, but not with fear this time, but with hunger and he was waiting for your answer like a man starving.
You reached up with trembling fingers and brushed a strand of silver-gold hair from his forehead, your voice soft and breathless in the quiet dawn.
“Maekar… can you go slow for me?”
For a heartbeat he simply stared at you, violet eyes wide and searching, as if he couldn’t quite believe you were still asking for him after everything. Then something in his expression cracked open, raw relief, aching tenderness, and a love so fierce it looked almost painful.
He nodded once, jaw tight. “Anything,” he rasped. “Anything you want, my heart.”
He lowered himself over you with deliberate care, one hand sliding beneath your head to cradle it while the other stroked gently down your side, avoiding the worst of the bruises. His cock, still slick with the evidence of his earlier frenzy, nudged against your entrance. He paused there, forehead resting against yours, breathing you in.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered against your lips. “Just feel me.”
The first slow push was almost reverent. He sank into you inch by careful inch, letting you feel every thick ridge, every pulse of him as your body stretched around him again. The mess he’d left behind made the glide obscenely wet, but he moved like he was afraid to hurt you, deep, steady, and so achingly gentle that your eyes stung.
Maekar kissed you like a man worshipping at an altar. Soft at first, then deeper, his tongue stroking yours in time with the slow roll of his hips. Each thrust was measured, loving, pulling almost all the way out before sinking back in to the hilt, grinding there so you felt every inch of him claiming you anew.
“So good for me,” he praised against your mouth, voice rough with emotion. “My brave girl. Taking everything I gave you and still wanting me like this.” He kissed the bite mark on your shoulder with exquisite tenderness, tongue soothing over the indents his teeth had left. “These marks… they’re mine now. Because you wanted them. Because you wanted me.”
Another slow, deep thrust. He groaned quietly into your neck, the sound half-reverence, half-restraint. His hand found yours and laced your fingers together beside your head, squeezing gently as he rocked into you.
“I love you,” he breathed, the words slipping out raw and unguarded between kisses. “Even when the fire takes me. Even when I lose myself in you. I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you feel how much.”
He kissed you again, slow, deep, and devastating, while his hips continued their unhurried rhythm, each thrust a promise, each roll of his body against yours an apology and a devotion all at once. The morning light painted both of you in soft gold as he loved you with everything he had left.
He felt it the moment your body began to tighten around him.
Maekar’s rhythm never quickened, but it deepened, each slow, deliberate thrust grinding against that perfect spot inside you with devastating precision. He watched your face the entire time, violet eyes dark and intent, drinking in every flutter of your lashes, every soft sound that escaped you.
“That’s it,” he murmured, voice low and rough with love. “Let go for me, sweet girl. I’ve got you.”
His free hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding your swollen clit with gentle, circling pressure that matched the unhurried roll of his hips. He kissed you through it, deep, lingering kisses that stole your breath, then moved to the marks on your shoulder, pressing his lips there like a vow.
“You’re so perfect like this,” he praised, the words hot against your skin. “Taking me so sweetly. Letting me love you the way you deserve.” Another slow, grinding thrust. “Come for me. I want to feel you fall apart around my cock. I want to feel how much you still want me.”
The combination unraveled you.
Your orgasm built like a slow, inevitable tide, deeper and more overwhelming than the frantic ones from before. Your back arched, thighs trembling around his waist as the pleasure crested. You clenched hard around him, pulsing in long, rhythmic waves that dragged a broken groan from his chest. He held you through it, never stopping the steady, loving rhythm, fucking you gently through every crest and aftershock while whispering your name like a prayer.
“Beautiful,” he breathed, forehead pressed to yours as you shook beneath him. “So fucking beautiful when you come for me. That’s my girl. My brave, perfect girl.”
He kept moving through the last tremors, slow and deep, letting you ride out every last ripple while his arms cradled you close. Only when your body finally went soft and pliant beneath him did he allow himself to bury his face in your neck, hips stuttering once, twice, then stilling as he followed you over the edge with a low, reverent groan of your name.
Even in the afterglow, he didn’t pull away. He stayed buried inside you, kissing the tears of pleasure from your lashes, stroking your hair, murmuring soft praises against your skin while the first true light of morning crept across the bed.
He pulled you closer, wrapping himself around you protectively, his lips brushing the marks on your shoulder with something close to reverence.
“Sleep,” he whispered, voice hoarse but steadier. “I have you. I will always have you.”
And for the first time since the remedy had taken hold, Prince Maekar Targaryen let the tension drain from his body, holding his wife close as the unnatural heat finally cooled, leaving only the deep, steady truth of what he felt for you beneath the stern and possessive surface.
Hi! I'd absolutely love to see Maekar with the losing virginity and corruption kinks (Drabble Prompts). I imagine him thinking all he has to do is get married in a quick ceremony, consummate the marriage to secure the alliance, and then immediately return to the war. But when he realizes his new wife is completely clueless about sex, he finds himself having no choice but to explain and teach her everything.
Leave on the morrow
Maekar Targaryen X F!Wife!Reader
WC: 2.3k (even I can’t pretend this is a drabble but in won’t be apologizing lol)
Tags: PnV, mentions of war, blood, Oral F receiving, Maekar jerking it, creampie (obvi), painfully naive reader, pervert/needy Maekar.
A/N: tripling down on the loss of virginity Drabble request this week because why not stay on theme. AND your vision for this was chefs kiss!!!
You couldn’t stop staring at the armor that was set neatly in the corner of his room. Waiting. Prepared. To be worn come morning. With how regimented the wedding and its “festivities” had been you thought that maybe it would have made sense for Prince Maekar to wear his armor as opposed to doublets and cloaks.
It was clear that today, this marriage, was just another step, another battle to be managed and gotten through in his effort to win the war.
“You’ve readied?” His voice shook you from your thoughts and you turned to face him, him and his entirely undressed body. He’d not bothered with a robe as you had. He did not see the point. You two were simply to consummate the marriage, to make this all official so he could return to battle the next day.
“Oh gods!” your hands flew up to cover your eyes. The flush in your face spreading beyond what your hands covered even stretching to the small glimpse of your chest that the anvil could see.
“What is the matter?” Maekar glanced over his shoulders thinking there was surely something other than himself that was drawing such a startled and flustered reaction for you.
But there was nobody else in the room. Just Him, you and the lingering knowledge that both of you were here sharing this moment to better your families position in this world.
“Your…I just.” You eyes adverted as you pulled your hands away. “You are already bare, I was not anticipating that.” You explained after fumbling over your words a few times.
“it is challenging to fuck a women with one’s breeches on, thought many men more eager than I have surly tried.” He grumbled the last part. Perhaps war had hardened him, made him less connected to normal propriety.
“I know how one lays with their wife my prince, I’m not daft.” Muttering that had him raising a brow at you. You proclaim to knew of things yet were turning as red as wine just moments ago due to simply his physique.
Maekar stepped closer, eyeing how you held to the knot that kept your robe closed. “Do you, Wife?” His brow raised and his hand, scars scattered about it with bruises on every knuckle, reached out to toy with one of the ties that kept you concealed.
“Y-yes.” You did not even find the response convincing.
“tell me what occurs. What a wife’s duty is.” He urged, fingers pulling on the soft fabric and he knew the knot was giving away under your hand.
“You will lay with me and I shall bleed on the sheets and then, if the gods find me deserving they will let my stomach grow round and I will provide you a son.”
It wasn’t incorrect, but it was likely just a septas talking point that you were regurgitating.
“the gods have nothing to do with the making of children.” Maekar told you plainly. “Or if they do they find quite a few whores deeply deserving of babes from perverse lords.”
Your nose wrinkled and lips folded into a look of confusion and slight irritation. This had not been what you thought it would be.
“I can show you.” He offered, “we must lay together regardless, but I can explain to you that matter if you wish to have any sense of things at all.” A girl of your age, in your position ought to know the truth of things he thought. He did not want a sweet fool for a wife.
“very well…go on then.” You swallowed out arms crossing over your chest.
“take that off and sit in the bed. Back against the pillows.” He instructed. His hand was already at his cock. Fisting the pink flesh in his large grip as you shly got undressed. You slipped under the quilt, barely giving him a moment to see a glimpse of your bare bum. He had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He should appreciate the innocence but he had been expecting all this to go quite quicker. He did not think he was going to need to play mentor today.
“Can we kiss again?” You flushed as if you had just asked him to lap at your cunt.
“kiss?”
Maekar walked slowly over to the bed and stood beside it watching your eyes trying and figure out what to look at because his hand was still gripped around his cock, his foreskin pulling back little by little as he grew to his full mass.
“kiss what?” His brow raised and your mouth fell open, appalled by that you thought he was suggesting. It was sweet; your open lips. Plump and wet and he knew your tongue would be warm. He knew you’d made nervous little noises if he filled your cheeks with his cock or maybe he’d urge you to kiss his bright tip, let the pearl of seed spread against your mouth as you pecked at him.
“Forget what I said…” you curled the blanket up more, hiding your shoulders as well now when you grew self conscious about all this. It felt like he was entertained by your naivety. You did not want to be a joke to him. You were his wife.
”no, no…stop that.” He groaned and sat on the bed. He sat near your knees, one hand rubbing the side of your thigh through the quilt and his hand that had been on his manhood came to rub your cheek. You could smell him. Ash and salt. “Don’t whine during your lesson.” His thumb pressed against your lip and you relaxed some letting time lips be molded by his thumb. He parted them slightly for you and then held your chin as he leaned in. Pressing his thin lips to yours and kiss you properly. It wasn’t the chaste peck he’d received infront of the court earlier, this was warmer, longer and slower and he devoured you. To your credit you stayed soft and pliant and it made things more coordinated than he had anticipated.
“thank you.” You whispered as he pulled away finally. Your voice a bit dry from going breathless and when you smiled Maekar swallowed. You look beautiful with your lips reddened by his own and your nose pink from nesting beside his. He enjoyed seeing how he changed you.
“a wife does not thank her husband for a kiss.” He started to pull the blankets down and you almost tensed but he kissed your mouth again to soothe that worry.
“w-what does a wife thank her lord husband for?” You asked as his rough hand fondled your side. Just touching over the flare of your ribs felt erotic, he hadn’t even gotten to your sweet breasts.
“you wish to know?”
“yes!” It came out so eager that maekar rewarded you with a soft kiss to the underside of your jaw and he felt you melt some, your back ease into the pillow and your hand reach to hold to his side for support.
You were tugged down by his hands finding a hole in the dip of your hips and your started giggle was replaced with a gasp when the broad shoulder man settled between your legs, hiking your feet up over his shoulders. His presence made flowing your legs a impossible tasks so you were completely bare and utter at his disposal.
“Maekar-“ you began to reason but he was hearing none of it. You were his wife, this is what a husband could do. If he wanted to feast on your cunt he would. The scent of you was driving him mad and ever since your hand touched his side he has wanted it in his hair, he wanted to feel that desperate pushing and the nervous pull when the feeling got to powerful. He wanted to show you what pleasure was, what he was capable of eliciting within you!
You looked down as he kissed over your midsection and his hand that had been on your jaw followed his descent. Your heart was beating so hard that when his hand pressed over your chest your breast pushed up into the hallow of his palm and he gladly squeezed in response.
You liked the weight of his arm against you, the heat of his shoulders on your inner thighs and his breath in the spot between your legs was making you feel very…very strange.
“You’ve been wet here before?” He looked up seeing you were about to crawl in on yourself out of pure embarrassment. “It’s good.” He grunted. “Do you touch yourself here?” Your ears went red and you shook your head fast.
“gods no.”
Maekar looked from your to your untouched cunt and he swallowed, voice rough and heavy when he finally responded while dipping lower to put his mouth of your heat.
“poor, sweet thing.”
You whimpered right away, because his nose tickled the bump at the top of your slit and you may not understand exactly what pleasure was hidden with that bud but Maekar did and you body was fast to response. Hands instantly grabbing his head because you needed grounding and he was very very grounding.
“oh.OH…” a moan, your first proper moan and Maekar savored it as he lapped at your cunt. Tongue tasting your core and lips greedily trying to suck at your pearl at the same time. You taste addicting.
“M-Maekar! Oh gods…stop…don’t do that!” You suddenly twisted your feet drawing up his back and you pushed at his head. You had almost climaxed and that sensation was foreign and frightening.
“fuck-“ he hissed face shoved back by your knee and he needed to take in a few breaths to steady himself. You were delicate…this was new. He reminded himself that the thought of exposing all this to you had gotten him hard earlier, he was turned on by it. By your innocence. This reaction was apart of that, a product of it.
You started to pull the covers back over you, flustered by your strong reaction and now feeling guilty because He had seemed frustrated when he got shoved back.
“my lady,” he grabbed the quilt and stopped it at your waist crawling back over you and kissing your shoulder. “It’s okay, did that hurt you?” He asked mouth kissing the corner of your frown and he nodded when you shook your head no. His hand slipped under the blanket and pressed low against your stomach. Right where you had felt that startling ache. “Put your faith in me…I’d not lead you astray.” He kissed your lips tenderly. “A husband leads their wife, you must trust in what I tell you.” He managed to slip the blankets down against and got your thighs open. “What you felt before was good…give in to that sensation this time?” He held your cheek until your nodded and then gave you as tender of a grin as he could offer. “Good,” hips positioned between your soft thighs and cock laid heavy over your mound. “What are you going to do?”
“put my faith i-in you.” Your voice hitched because he had fed his cockhead into your core. Blood rushing from his head to his cock and he groaned as he nodded.
“That’s right…good, such a good wife for me.” He breathed hands caging you in as he gave you another inch and then the next one made your lips quiver and he felt a sudden warmth. “Fucking hells.” You were his now. Body pierced open for him.
It took some time for him to work fully into you but by the time the hair at the base of his cock mixed into the curls on your mound you were breathing heavy and unrestrained, the sting from losing your maidenhead long gone and it was replaced by a sensation that made your toes curl.
Maekar hadn’t felt this much comfort since before the war. Men in the camps bought whores and fucked woman in the villages but he had been to focused on winning for that. His own wants came second to the thrones and so this was the first release of that tension that he was getting in some time. I’m too long he was realizing because he could already feel the hairs on the back of his neck rising up as his release began to build.
He grunts a few times when he senses the tightening of your abdomen and then he realizes belatedly that you are going fully tense under him.
“No…you can’t hold your breathe. Relax this,” he pinched your stomach and that made you exhale with a shutter while you weakly nodded up at him. “See…don’t fight that feeling in your belly my love.” You nodded again your neck getting tense as the feeling got stronger inside of you. “Just like that…see that feels go doesn’t it wife? Are yin going to be good and coat my cock?” You tremble under him and grip at his shoulder hand slipping a hit because you were getting clammy as the orgasm brushed at the thread of restrain still in you.
“let go wife.” He demanded in your ear and you did just that. Body curling up around him and your hips stuttered as you let out a loud gasp with his name muttered out at the end on repeat. You sunk deep into the bed as he pounded into you a few times, tougher now while he knew the climax had you buzzing and distracted. His seed filling you a moment later. Mixing the mess of blood in your cunt with his semen.
“now,” he kissed you pleased with both of your efforts “now, we wait and see if the gods bless us.” He rubbed your cheek when you smiled hazily up at him.
A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms: Prince Maekar Targaryen x Tyrell!reader
Rating: Mature (MDNI)
WC: 2.2k
AKOTSK Masterlist
Can be read as a standalone, but also partners with these: one, two.
Tags/Warnings: Oral, blow jobs, age gap (Maekar is in his early forties and reader is about twenty two) cum eating, implied spanking, overstimulation, semi public sex, a bit of exhibitionism, rough sex, marking/biting, hunting/mentions of dead animals, possessive!Maekar, Maekar loves his wife, motherhood, soft times, no use of y/n, no physical description of reader given, no beta we die like Robb Stark :(
A/n: For a request sent in by an anon, who asked for Maekar with Tyrell!wife where he finds out she's gossiping with ladies about their bedroom activities. Comments, reblogs, and likes are appreciated!
Summary: You let slip a scandalous detail one afternoon to the ladies of court and gossip spreads like wildfire. Maekar devises a plan to truly give the court something to talk about during a hunt.
In the short span of two years, you had given birth to two healthy children, not long after your marriage to Maekar. While you had been concerned that you had not fallen with child soon after the wedding, those fears were soon quelled when two babes followed in quick succession. He was now the proud father of eight, and the court bristled with the excitement of a new prince and princess. Motherhood was a discovery, and you wondered how those younger than you handled it. At least you had an array of wet nurses and handmaidens at your disposal.
"My, the Gods have certainly blessed you and Prince Maekar," Lady Tarly cooed, fawning over little Elaena with her wide violet eyes and silver curls. She was a little delight, sweet-natured and fairly quiet, much like her slightly older brother, Vaekar, who favored you when it came to his features. Part of you was secretly happy to have a little one who looked just like you in the sea of Valyrian features which most of Maekar's children seemed to possess.
Lady Jena held Prince Vaekar in her lap; it was his second nameday, and the reason you and Maekar were at court. A celebration hunt was being held for Vaekar's nameday, though Maekar would use any excuse for a hunting excursion.
"He must keep you very busy, and chained to the bed," your cousin, Mina Redwyne, teased, giving you a playful wink that turned your cheeks hot.
"Now, now," Lady Jena scolded gently, wishing to spare you from providing details. The noble ladies at court could be fierce little vultures when it came to gathering gossip. Vaekar played with the enormous amethyst dangling from her silver chain.
"Well, I suppose the proof is clear as day," you replied demurely before biting into a cherry tart
Lady Aelinor held Elaena now, nuzzling the girl, nearly six moons old.
"Hmm, if his appetites are anything like Rhaegel's," Lady Alys said with a devious smirk before popping a grape into her mouth.
"He is…rather voracious," you admitted, letting the tasty tidbit fall from your mouth and watching them all eagerly gather up the treasured crumb. All eyes fixed on you.
"Now, my dear, you must give us more," Lady Ravella Swann demanded, and Jena gently swatted her arm. Ravella, Elinda Hightower, and Jessamyn Redfort had an edacious craving when it came to gossip, even more so than your dear cousin. Mina might have been the only one more delighted than you when it came to your marriage to Prince Maekar, as now she was kept informed of all the comings and goings of the court. Information she thrived on.
You twisted the ruby ring around your index finger, a gift from Maekar shortly after Elaena's birth. "Well…I…dragons have a preference for biting. It is a good thing my gown properly covers me."
A chorus of giggles filled the air as the women took sips of their wine with sly smiles on their faces. It felt nice to be so accepted by them, and you did not think this little offering was so scandalous. Though you did not realize how quickly word would spread around the court about how Prince Maekar loved to bite and mark his little golden rosebud of a wife.
You hid beneath the blankets that evening, pulled up around your nose to hide your heated, reddened cheeks while Maekar paced and scolded you for revealing such intimate details.
"It is one thing for my brothers to hear such…filth, but my father, the king, could certainly be spared knowing such details," he fumed, refilling his wine cup.
"I'm sorry," you squeaked. "I…Lady Alys shares details about her and Rhaegel, and Lady Ravella has many sordid stories; I did not expect it to spread like wildfire."
Maekar sighed, rubbing his creased forehead. "I know. You're merely trying to fit in, and I'm glad they have accepted you so well. Court is better managed with allies in your corner."
You inched the covers down. "You're not vexed with me?"
"Only a bit." His mouth softened into a smile.
You crawled out of bed, bare feet padding over the marbled floor, and reached up to cup his face and pull him down to kiss. There was an iron resistance at first, stubborn and not willing to give in so easily, but that melted in a smooth silk as his lips melded against yours. His arms circled your waist, but not before giving you a sharp swat to the backside as further reprimand. Though the movement only stirred heat in your lower belly. Your husband had helped you discover many desires hidden deep inside you.
"I didn't mean to upset you, nor to have such details fall into your father's ear," you said softly, yet you couldn't help but smile.
Maekar rolled his violet eyes, mouth twitching into a grin. "'Tis alright. Rhaegel started to remove his clothing while loudly singing a tune, and I believe my father has forgotten all about it."
"You should thank Rhaegel," you giggled.
Maekar scoffed before gently cradling your face in his large hands. "Let us to bed; we depart early for the hunt on the morrow." Before he let you go, he buried his face against the crook of your neck, suckling and biting your skin until it bruised plum and mottled cherry. Familiar colors tinging your skin. A tangled gasp mixed with a mewl toppled from your lips as you braced your palms against his chest.
"Something for the ladies to gossip about tomorrow," he purred into your ear.
"You beast," you teased before pulling him into the bed with you.
You were more than happy to snuggle against him in bed, head nestled against his chest. The wheels in Maekar's head began to turn while he stroked your hair. If the ladies were curious over the private doings in the bedroom, he would be delighted to demonstrate just how well he pleased his wife.
You helped the handmaidens dress Vaekar; his little body draped in crimson and black velvet and silk. The scarlet three-headed dragon stood out vibrantly on the black doublet, and you pushed back tears of pride. Next, you turned your attention to Daella, Rhae, and Elaena, helping the girls with their crimson silk dresses and black furs. Maekar's older sons had departed earlier with other members of the party and the servants to set up camp. Egg wore a similar outfit that matched his younger brother as he bounced Elaena in his lap, making her giggle. Once you were dressed to match the girls, you departed with the children and handmaidens in tow to the courtyard.
Vaekar was seated in the saddle with Maekar, and Egg mounted his horse while you got into the wheelhouse with the girls. You kept company with the ladies and the children while the men rode through the Kingswood.
"I see your good husband laid his mark last night," Alys whispered into your ear.
Your cheeks burned hot; while you had done your best to detract from the bruise, your efforts proved fruitless.
"Those Targaryen men do enjoy using their teeth. I believe Jena wears Baelor's on her hips," Alys assured you, patting your knee.
Now that comment had gotten your attention, making you raise a brow. You would have to seek your good sister's company later and seek her advice. Giggles surrounded you with ladies whispering behind their silk fans and cupped hands. Queen Myriah sat toward the front of the tent, and you only hoped such salacious gossip wouldn't reach her keen ears. Attention was turned when the men returned from the hunt, and Vaekar showed you the rabbit that his falcon had caught.
"Well done, sweet boy," you praised, kissing his cheeks.
"And for me?" Maekar smirked. You kissed his cheeks as well. You learned that he and Baelor had brought down a stag together. It was impressive and would no doubt join the collection at Summerhall once you returned.
The girls gathered around their father, tugging on his ringed hands for his attention, and Elaena reached out from her nursemaid's arms. He showered Daella and Rhae with his affections first before drawing Elaena into his embrace. The celebrations continued well into the hour of the ghost before guests began to retire to their silk tents for rest. The children had been settled earlier, even the nameday boy of honor with lemon icing smeared around his small mouth. You had moderated how much wine you enjoyed that evening, wanting to keep a clear head. That was a lesson you learned early on. One of your first, after Maekar had saved you from the nefarious Peake and Bracken men who wished to take advantage of you.
You held onto your husband's arm, looking around you and noting that Lady Swann, Lady Hightower, and Lady Redfort slipped into nearby tents with their husbands, with yours settled in the middle. "This is a most unusual placement for us, is it not, husband?" you asked Maekar.
A mischievous glint filled his violet eyes as he pulled open the flap to grant you entrance, giving you a playful swat to the backside. "A design of my doing, dear wife. If those gossipmongers wish to wag their tongues, I say we give them a good show. Not even their soft, feathery pillows will be able to drown out your moans."
You could barely respond as he swept you up into your arms, gathering you into a passionate kiss. It was a surprising turn of events, but you were excited. He tore the silks and furs from your body, freeing you from the shift until you were left in just your stockings and jewelry, which sparkled in the candlelight. You loosened his doublet, weaving him out of his clothing before stroking his cock until the tip was as red as his face.
"Mayhaps they would like to hear your moans as well, husband," you whispered as you dropped to your knees and wrapped your lips around his leaking tip.
He groaned, rolling his hips as you worked him deep into your mouth. Your cheeks hollowed out, eyes flicking up to meet his gaze. Those violet eyes burned intensely, hand coming down to wrap around your throat as he moved his hips faster, which drove his cock deeper inside your throat. Growls and grunts poured from his mouth, reminding you of a dragon ready to breathe forth fire. You sputtered as his seed spilled down your throat, and it felt slightly raw in the aftermath.
But that did not stop your moans and screams cutting through the chilled night air as Maekar took you. First, bent over the bed with his pelvis snapping against your plush arse, decorated with red handprints. Next, with his face buried between your thighs, worshipping your cunt and eating his seed that leaked from swollen flesh. You rode him after that, squeezing and milking his cock while your breasts bounced with your fervid motions. The final time left an aching, stinging burn across your shoulders and back as he fucked you on the woven rug with your legs wrapped tightly around his waist. You could barely speak by the end of it all, throat hoarse and sore. Maekar poured you a cup of Arbor Gold to help soothe it and wrapped you up in a red silk robe, sweat glistening off his lithe, muscular frame. Gods, his legs seemed impossibly long.
"No doubt tongues will be wagging tomorrow," he smirked, sitting beside you on the bed and drowning his wine in one gulp.
"You never struck me as the type to care," you mused, voice rasping slightly.
"I don't, but if it helps you hold favor, then I'm glad to play the game. Besides, what man could be upset that his wife is so well pleasured?"
You held his face, kissing him softly. "I dare say some of the ladies might be jealous. I doubt Lady Swann has ever screamed herself hoarse before."
"Now that is a pity; it might relax her pinched face. Bring some color to her cheeks."
You gasped, swatting his chest before dissolving into giggles. "I daresay you might enjoy gossiping more than my cousin."
"Nonsense," he huffed before stretching out next to you in the bed, pulling you to rest against his chest.
In the morning, as food was laid out for the party to break their fast with, the ladies Swann, Hightower, and Redfort could barely meet your eyes while your cousin, Mina, looked like the cat that ate the canary. She hurried over and looped her arm through yours.
"My, cousin, you put on quite the show last night, I've heard," she grinned.
"Merely a wife enjoying the company of her husband," you replied.
"Well done," she hummed before passing you over to Maekar, who pulled you to sit on his knee and pushed a juicy, luscious strawberry between your lips.
You were delighted to sit in his lap and be spoiled, surrounded by whispers and inquisitive glances. But you paid them no mind. In that moment, you were lost in your husband's violet eyes and adoration.
Why is there a diarrhea parasite outbreak in America?
Because Donald Trump and his Republican allies cut funding to disease prevention and control.
Why is measles back in America?
Because Donald Trump and his Republican allies, including RFK Jr, cut vaccine and measles prevention funding and programs.
Why is the New World Screwworm infecting cattle in Texas, when it had previously been eliminated from the area?
Because Donald Trump and his Republican allies, including Elon Musk, cut USAID funding, which in part worked to monitor and prevent screwworm outbreaks.
Why was there a flu outbreak in our armed forces?
Because Donald Trump and his Republican allies, including Pete Hegseth, cut vaccination requirements for our armed forces, putting all of them at risk alongside our military readiness.
What contributed to the Covid outbreak?
Donald Trump and his Republican allies cut funding to a pandemic prevention program in his first term because Barack Obama had created it.
“America first” sends its regards. Trump voters, please learn your lesson. And if you don’t, it’ll be taught to you again with yet another diarrhea outbreak.
Victor Frankenstein after achieving the impossible and building a fucking person from scraps of the dead: Oh god, ew, ew it's ugly! Yucky! Yucky! Gross! Ew! Ew! Yucky! Yucky! Gross! Ew!
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