✧ |summary: baelor's new needy wife doesn't let him sleep.
✧ |pairing: baelor 'breakspear' targaryen x reader.
✧ |tags: 18+, mdni, p in v sex, age gap marriage! slight dub-con (baelor is sleepy)
✧ |note: holy mischaracterization... sorry if it seems out of character for baelor... took me like 2 weeks to finish it..., i tried my best!!! not beta proofed <3
Baelor’s soft snores have annoyed you for the half hour you had been tossing in bed, uncomfortable and achy. You had always found comfort in sleeping in Baelor’s bed, leaving your own bedchambers unattended long enough that you had simply told the maids not to bother to make the bed every morning.
“Husband” one of your hands comes to shake him slightly by the shoulder, trying to get him awake.
He had come late to bed, as he so often does, making sure that he has done his duties for the day. He would read letters, answer matters of the realm, and be in the small council when needed. Baelor was dutiful, always learning and attending to anything that the realm needed.
Yet he had made sure to fuck you properly, tiredly as he mumbled praises to your ear, kissing your neck softly.
Sometimes, you wished for him just to take a day off and be with you. Though the prospect of him being king was closer by day, even if Good King Daeron enjoyed good health.
The little you see of him, the more you crave him. It was becoming animalistic at this point, if it weren’t for the fact that it would be improper just to get under the small council’s table and simply suck his cock until you got enough.
Baelor lets an annoyed hum, trying to keep sleeping.
“Husband” you insist.
“What…” he could barely articulate the words to make sense “Sleep”
“I can’t” you say in almost a whine. “Baelor”
“My love, this can wait for the morning”
“I need you” you say once again, sitting up as he sighs yet keeps sleeping. “Badly”
Usually he would have you whenever you asked, always gentle and loving, kissing you with a smile and complimenting you time and time again. But you knew he was exhausted, after all his duties he did without a single complaint, even lightening up his father’s work, so the Good King could rest and play with his grandchildren.
He moves his head to face you, his eyes barely open. “What?”
“I have missed you” you say, sincerely.
“Oh…” he says, moving slightly to pull you to his side, making sure his arm is wrapped around your back to accommodate you closer. “I know, beloved” he says, his tone drifting once again. “Let us sleep for now…”
“But…” you try to complain, yet you’re met with a dismissive hum, as he returns to snore. You doubt he was even awake or would remember this conversation by morning
You nuzzle your head to his neck, his scent soothing as you try to get closer to him. If only it was that easy to sleep when having him by your side.
As your hand caresses his chest, feeling the small hairs in your digits as you make circles trying to think properly, to convince your brain to sleep… yet something in you keeps you from slumber.
“Baelor?” you try to ask, but he’s asleep once again.
Your hand moves lower, pushing the covers out of your way, as your hand finds his flaccid cock and you have to accommodate against him, feeling horny all over again. You move your hand back, only to spit on it as your eyes feel dropping. Yet, as your body feels tired, your mind is more awake than ever.
His cock takes its sweet time to harden, little by little, as your husband grumbles and tries to remain asleep.
“Love… what’ye doin’?” He grumbles, a hand against his face, as he doesn't want to open his eyes.
“I really need you” your tone is almost petulant, but Baelor was used to it (and he almost always encourages it)
“Now? Sweetheart, we’ve already…”
“But your cock” you whine, as you sit up, feeling his hand fall from your side as he groans slightly. “just a quick one… please, again?”
Baelor sighs, as he looks at you with that tired expression of his. “You are insatiable…”
He moves groggily, moving in between his legs. His cock was hard now, the fat head was leaking slightly as you took the girthy length on your hand before moving it to meet your cunt. You can see the dark hairs at his base, yet he kept them well trimmed, like he does with the rest of him.
Baelor moves lazily, unlike him in many ways. As he pushes inside, you can hear him groan, his throat raspy from sleep that came so hard for him these days… and having a young wife that wanted him every second.
“Only Gods know how my wife got so much energy…” he murmurs, and you wrap your arms around his neck as you moan loudly.
“I’m young and full of life”
“That you are…”
He moves his head down to press a kiss on your cheek, so tender and loving, as his hips thrust slow and deep. His cock feels so huge inside you, and it was certain for you that his girth was his best attribute (amongst many others not relevant now…)
“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” Your fingers curl, gripping his shoulder as he groans next to your ear, his forehead falling to his shoulder as he presses sweet kisses there.
“You’re so beautiful, darling” He praises you gently, his hips thrusting with a steady rhythm, his cock providing the perfect friction that you loved. “And insatiable… I already fucked you before bed, and you wake me up for more”
His heavy balls make a soft thud every time his thrusting gets deeper and deeper. You grip his shoulders, already drooling at the thought of having his cock in your mouth as a simple wrench would do, not like a future queen with her husband.
The small hairs on the base of his cock tickles your skin slightly, but you are too drunk on pleasure to care. You can hear the small noise the bed makes as it hits the wall, among the small creaks of the wood.
“I’m going to fill you up” Baelor murmurs, planting soft kisses next to your ear. “Yes, my love?”
“Yeah, please, please… fuck”
His thrusts become more insistent at your pleas, shifting his angle just slightly. His bread scratches against your face as he kisses you everywhere. He wasn’t a vocal man, but he wasn't quiet either, as he groans and murmurs loving praises.
Baelor’s cock throbs as you cum, whimpering against his glistening skin. His balls tighten, pumping ropes of cum inside her The praises that leave his mouth become a bit slurred, as he kisses your neck gently, hands gripping your hips still as he makes sure he empties into you correctly.
As he rolls to his side of the bed, pulling you close to his hairy chest, you both try to catch your breath.
“Are you satisfied now?” he asks, that slight amusement on his tone as his fingertips caressing softly your arm as your hand comes to rest on his heavy chest.
All Men are Fools, and All Princes Too - Daeron III
Rating: Explicit
A/N: I wanted smth light and why not papa and the Maekarlings going to a tourney! Also full quote of Maekar’s to @sugarpoppss2 ily
Tags: Fluff, smut, humor, INCEST, Targ reader, Daeron’s a shit knight, jousting!, banter is their bond besides boinking in inappropriate places, Maekar and co., Daeron and wine orders, quickies, pnv!sex, desperate and needy little dragons, Men WHO whimper, creampie, one mention of The Dreams
W/C: 2.9k
You leaned against one of the wooden poles in the grand daytime tent for your family. Your lips quirked up as you watched your elder brother drink from a cup as his squire suited him in simplistic iron and leather armor. He didn’t quite have the showmanship or pomp of the men in your family.
Nor care. He despised tournaments.
The prince grumbled as the squire tightened his gorget, nimble fingers on the straps. Daeron’s pale eyes flicked to you and back, dark brows pinched. A sour expression crossed his features as the squire adjusted the iron piece.
Daeron waved the boy off, huffing, “Just have the shield and lance ready, my helm. Whatever.”
You approached your elder brother, fingers toying with the black padded fabric under his armor. He scowled, taking another pointed swig of wine. You took the cup from his hand and drained it, dropping the empty goblet on the carpets.
Daeron’s face morphed into further annoyance, long fingers pinching at your sides. You laughed, grinning up at him as he stepped towards you. The blonde grumbled, “I needed that. You know I detest these…elitist mummer shows.”
You tapped his chin, replying, “Oh, lighten up, you can beat a knight shittier than you with my favor? Else I’m giving it to Ser Corbray.”
He scoffed “The sheep fucker?”
You both looked around for someone who might be listening. Maekar fought with Corbray in the Blackfyre rebellion. The Kingsguard from the Vale was regarded as a hero. If your father overheard that…well…you’d both get a stern look or lecture.
“He’s a hero. A good lance. So win a damn tilt. I’m sure there’s some green boy you can knock off, they’re like to put some mewling lordling out there.” you teased, tracing a finger down from his chin to his chest. Your brother softened some, eyes darting to the tent flaps before looking down at you. His hands tightened, sliding down to your hips.
“Fine. I’ll come and get your silly favor and hope the horse likes me.”
Ah. Right. The horse problem.
You sighed, “Daeron, you were but a child getting thrown off that steed. The horses smell fear, be gallant or act as if.”
“Gallant,” he echoed, rolling his eyes, a mere smile on his lips.
“You know what I meant!”
In one swift movement, the prince pulled you flush against him, lips splitting into a sharp smile. Daeron rumbled, “Aye, I’ll be your gallant prince, riding the steed to victory with my lovely princess’s favor.” He playfully pinched your arse, earning a squeak from you.
Movement shuffled from outside. You slapped your brother off and made way to a settee, picking up your needlepoint. Daeron poured more wine to your chagrin. “For some courage,” he deadpanned, tilting the cup as if toasting you.
Your father dipped into the tent with Daella and Rhae in tow. Maekar’s eyes narrowed as he looked between you two. He was a sharp man, he knew you and your brother were…close. It didn’t help that Aemon and Egg caught you and Daeron rutting like animals by the ponds at Summerhall.
Gods— if only you could erase their young minds.
“Are you ready now?” Maekar gruffed, taking a perfunctory walk around Daeron. He snatched the wine from your brother’s hands, smacking it down. He looked on with thinly veiled annoyance.
“Now how the fuck are you going to tilt if you can’t see straight?”
Daeron let out an exhaustive groan, rolling his shoulders.
Your little sisters came over to you, eyes wide. Daella babbled about some Wylde boy winking at her. The tourney held by House Errol at Haystack Hall, deep in the Stormlands. You snorted, pinching her cheek.
“And did you say hello to this lordling?”
She blushed, eyes down, “No.”
You leaned in to whisper below Maekar and Daeron’s bitching, “Well, give him a wink and you’ll have him bringing you flowers and sending love letters by Raven.”
Rhae’s eyes widened along with Daella’s— the two intrigued.
You stood up, grabbing their hands, “Come now, we have to get to the box.”
Maekar gave a rare pat and shake of Daeron’s shoulder, muttering, “You’ve had training, just dig in boy. Fucking dig in.”
Daeron sighed extravagantly once more, sounding like the damn horses he so displeased. You took the girls down the row of tents and nobles, squires darting around and whores laughing by a fire. The weather was balmy, the sun in the sky. A rarity for the Stormlands.
You took your seat at the box, Daella and Rhae flanking you. It was only your branch of the family, less pressure when your uncle and perfect cousins were not present. You gave a nod to Lord Errol, eyes flicking to the tiltyard.
Daella held a hand over her mouth as she whispered, “Will Daeron eat shit? That’s what Aerion said.”
You snorted and gave her red sleeve a sharp tug. You reprimanded your sister, “Aerion says horrid things, don’t speak like that. It’s not ladylike.”
You settled further into the seat, fingers on the woven favor of dark, thorny vines and red ribbons. The master of revels came out, the small crowd cheering. You glanced at Daeron on his horse, his eyes wide and distant. He looked to you, spurring the horse on.
“The Prince Daeron will be facing-“
“Hold, hold the fuck on!” the Prince ordered, riding past the master of revels up to where you sat. Maekar grimaced, hands tightening so hard on the chair that his gloves creaked. He muttered, “Idiot boy.” Rhae snickered, her little cheeks going pink.
Daeron’s perpetually tired eyes glanced up under his helmet, the lance lifted up as he spoke.
“A favor from the princess?”
He cleared his throat as Rhae and Daella’s heads cocked in confusion.
Smith’s steel balls…really?
“The eldest…princess.”
You grinned immediately, gracefully rising and leaning over to gently place the favor on the lance. Daeron’s lips quirked as the ring slid down the length of it. He held your gaze a moment longer before someone coughed. Loudly.
He exhaled all at once before trotting back to the starting position. The horse reared, Daeron’s hands clutching for dear life, his lance shaking. Your father glared at you as you sat down with a smirk.
“Prince Daeron Targaryen will be facing off with Ser Gyldan Swann of Stonehelm!”
Another cheer from the crowd. Your father straightened up, violet eyes taking in the lordling with the swan on his helm. Aerion looked smug on the other side of Maekar, snorting, “How droll. A dragon to be routed by a swan.”
“Quiet,” Maekar grunted.
You sat back, hands in the velvet of your dress as the two men readied for the charge. The horn blasted, Daeron’s feet kicking the sides of his black steed. You held your breath as they barreled ahead, lances raised.
Your father nearly shouted, “Dig in! Dig the fuck in boy!”
They broke lances. You shuddered as they rounded the rails, Daeron almost missing the lance tossed his way. He was unsteady this charge, lance beginning to drop. You watched in horror as the Swann boy struck true— your brother’s shield cracking in his face and sent flying into the trodden dirt along with him. A collective sigh came from the box— yet the crowd mindlessly cheered for the display.
Daeron rolled a few times before lying on his back as his squire ran to aid the prince. You glanced at the favor far across the tilt yard. Maekar grimaced, rubbing his forehead as Aerion cackled with glee. Daella murmured, “Well! He made the first charge.”
Daeron was escorted away, barking for wine.
Maekar sighed and looked at you.
“Go on, see to him.”
You nodded gratefully, shocked as you grabbed his hand.
“Thank you Father.”
He waved you off with a roll of his eyes as you got up and hurried out of the box. You made your way to the tent, popping your head in.
“Gallant, so gallant,” Daeron lamented as his squire was undoing his armor. He grumbled as a young maester pressed a cold rag and poultice to his darkening cheek. The older man murmured, “You have splinters my prince, I will have to extract them to prevent infection.”
Your brow raised as Daeron’s eyes widened. He nearly spat out his wine, stammering, “Extract. As in- in hot needles or- ah- tweezers.”
His pale eyes moved to you, sculpted features turning into a scowl. He drained his cup and handed it to you. The maester replied as he turned to the kit laid out, “Yes my prince, tweezers, not boiling, the splinters are superficial. It will be quick.”
Daeron sighed, “Seven fucks. More wine before you poke at my face.”
You refilled the cup, handing it over to your brother, a subtle smirk on your lips. He snatched it from your hands, sulking magnificently.
You sat on a nearby bench, watching as he gulped down more of the red liquid. He was wearing a padded tunic and simple breeches now.
“You rode quite well. I was impressed.”
He scoffed, wincing as he attempted a glare— a splinter coming forth within the tweezers at the movement. The maester kindly urged the blonde to keep still. You got up and stood next to him perched on the table, hand reaching for Daeron’s shaking one. The other gripped the goblet like a vise.
“I mean, you rode well considering your usual display of martial skill, Dare.”
“Spare me the bullshit sister, you know I’m born to lie in the dirt.”
You cast him a gentle look, squeezing his larger hand as you hummed, “You tried. Now you can nurse your wounds and do as you please the rest of the tourney.”
He huffed a laugh, amusement gracing Daeron’s features, “Small mercies.”
It was followed by a curse as another splinter was pulled from his cheek, Daeron’s hand gripping yours back. You surveyed the scene, humming, “Father shooed me off to see you, I believe that’s a good omen.”
“Liar. He detests our,” his eyes met the maester’s as he amended, “Detests you coddling his untalented son.”
You laughed at the man, thumb brushing his.
“Perhaps. I find it kind of father to send me to see if you were well.”
Daeron grunted as another splinter came out, pale orbs flicking over in your direction. He scoffed again. The maester was dabbing crushed herbs on his cheek, finishing up.
“Splendid. Have I become so pathetic that the Anvil pities his heir?”
“Mayhaps he’s pleased you didn’t outright refuse to enter the lists,” you suggested.
“Tch.”
The maester patched up his cheek and murmured, “Change the linens and apply more of this poultice, it should heal quickly my prince.”
The small man glanced at your hand intertwined with Daeron’s before bowing out of the tent. You snorted, coming round to sit between long legs, your hands moving to Daeron’s thighs.
Your brother finished his cup, eyes heavy as he regarded you. The prince’s hand relinquished yours as he cupped your cheek, humming, “You look so pleased, you know that? Here I am, splintered and sore, my nerves in disarray and you’re grinning like a fool.”
You rolled your eyes and cooed, “Poor, poor Prince Daeron. You’ve been down to the seventh hell itself.”
He helplessly smiled again, a rare one with teeth, eyes gleaming. He leaned closer with stained lips, spiced wine on his breath. You inhaled softly, closing the distance until your lips were mere inches apart.
“I’d go again for you,” he murmured vaguely, lips ruefully turning up. You frowned some. You knew damn well he dreamed of horrors unspoken, but he would try now and then to appear less fearful. To try made your bewitched heart thumb.
He nipped your lip before adding, “You were supposed to laugh. Melodrama is my specialty.” His hand shifted on your cheek, tilting your head to the side.
“You’re a fool,” you hummed.
His lips touched yours before pressing with more intent. You leaned against Daeron, slotting snugly between his thighs. You kissed him back, a lackadaisical pace of lips brushing against another, soft smacks in the quiet tent.
Daeron’s hands slid around to cup your arse, groaning as his palms slid across the velvet, your giving flesh soft beneath the touch. Your breath hitched, heaving breasts pressed tight to his body. You whined into his mouth, tongue lapping into the warmth.
He let you take over, moving along as your tongue flicked against his playfully before massaging sensually. Daeron’s hands were growing restless, greedy. He pulled back— pale eyes blown dark with lust.
You whined, chasing his lips. Your lover exhaled, “Hold on.” He promptly picked you up to your surprise and squeak, walking you over to one of the plush settees. You clung to his shoulders, breath quickening as he nosed at your throat, pressing sweet kisses.
Daeron eased you down onto the crimson cushions, arranging himself between your thighs. He laughed against your throat, throwing a leg out to get settled. You grabbed a fistful of sandy hair, swallowing down a whine as the prince kissed your chest and your breasts popping up from the bust of your dress.
“We need to be quick about it, we’ll take our sweet time back in Summerhall, sweet sister,” he rasped, mouth hanging open as he eyed your tits. You squirmed under his weight, snapping, “On with it then, suppose Ser Donnell will not want your pale ass.”
He gave you a precious toothy smile, a hand diving down to unlace his breeches. You bunched up your skirts, eyes wild with need. He groaned as his cock was freed, eyes closing.
His long fingers slipped under your bunched skirts, tracing along your slick core. The prince practically whined, dark brows furrowing as he spoke, “Gods, always ready for me aren’t you? My knightly show of favors and eating dirt really got you going.”
You rolled your eyes, reaching down to wrap your fingers around his cock. You huffed, “I’ll admit, I quite liked the favor, yet I find you just as tantalizing with your horrid poetry.”
He paused, an indignant look on his face, moaning as you pumped him a few times.
“H-horrid? You beastly woman.”
“Fuck me,” you hissed.
Daeron rolled his eyes as he gently batted your hand away, reaching forth to swirl a thumb around your swollen bud before nudging his cock against your entrance. The prince hissed, eyes closing again, lovely lips open with shuddery breath.
You wrapped your legs around his hips, heels digging into Daeron’s ass, head falling back as he eased into your cunt. You bit down on your lip at the utter fullness, the heat and pressure forcing noises up.
“Yes, seven glorious hells, fuck me beloved,” you groaned, arching into him.
He began to fuck into you at a breakneck pace, your dress muffling the lurid slaps and squelches of coupling. Daeron began to kiss you again, chasing the pleasure with his lower body. Yet his lips and tongue were gentle— savoring any part of you he could.
You gripped his shoulders, whimpering between kisses as hoarse whines left his throat, the pair of you moving in sync now. He began to thumb your clit again, sucking on your bottom lip, nipping before the prince babbled, “Close, ah- can you feel it, hah, I can feel you, such a perfect body for me.”
You trembled as his cock struck much better than his lance, hitting a soft spot that sent your thighs to quaking. Your brother let out a gutted wheeze, cursing before rubbing you faster, the pace of his hips growing disjointed.
You could almost laugh as he covered your mouth with a big hand— Daeron knew your whines would grow louder. You huffed against his palm, lashes fluttering as your belly grew tight, pleasure striking up your spine and settling in your tender nethers. Your cunt clamped down and gushed along his prick as you cried out, fingers digging in.
Daeron’s eyes rolled back as he fucked in desperate little thrusts, whimpery little noises leaving his throat as the prince’s seed spilled within you— thick and molten. He whined through his nose, a few more thrusts before he fell onto the floor beside the settee, heaving.
You dazedly glanced over before beginning to snicker.
“I didn’t want- hngh- fuck- crush you,” he puffed.
You rolled onto your side, hiding your giggles. “So you fell onto the floor?”
“S’what I’m good at, sister dear,” he exhaled, glossy periwinkle eyes on you.
After a moment of gathering yourself, you found a rag to clean the dripping mess of your cunt. You grunted as you got up and knelt to tuck Daeron’s soft prick back in his breeches, lacing them up.
You were rewarded with a half smile and a tender kiss to your palm.
You kissed Dare one more time before getting up, nudging him with your stocking-clad foot, “Get up and act like we didn’t just defile the place.”
When Maekar and the younger ones arrived later your stern father stopped, eyes narrowing at you two playing a simple game of dice and cards. Egg ran over, chirping, “Let me play, let me play.”
You shrugged and handed the boy his deck.
Maekar stood imposingly. Impassive. Calculating.
Daeron turned around, cheek still bandaged and his formerly mussed hair brushed. He raised a brow.
“Something the matter father? Aerion stab another horse?”
Your father remained stern, Daella and Rhae watching on with fear…perhaps amusement. He rumbled, “There is a scent in here.”
You shrugged, eyes wide, “Oh, Daeron opened some bad wine. Then spilled it.”
Silence. A tilt of his stern head.
“Stormlander piss no doubt,” he huffed, going to sit at his desk.
You and Daeron shared a look— the not-so-hidden secret unspoken for now.
A/N: Idk I’m still in my rusty imposter syndrome phase but I want him weepy. Anyways happy vday
Tags: modern au, Pegging, soft femdom, Daeron’s Dreams And Ensuing Issues, mentions of alcoholism, smutty smut smut, dubcon due to intoxication, ye olde whiskey dyck, man tears, he’s a crier you will not convince me otherwise, anal, afab reader, fluff, aftercare
W/C: 2k
You let out a soft ‘oof’ as the full weight of the drunk prince landed on you. With a scowl, your eyes snapped open.
“Dare-“
He held up a finger, pale eyes glossy with drink. Daeron pressed his finger against your lips as he tutted, “Shhh, hold on, don’t yell a’me now.”
You glared, eyes sharp in the darkness of your bedroom. He gave you a little smile, the type that didn’t meet his eyes. Pale, watery, sad eyes. Red rimmed with tears, Gods only knew. You exhaled, running a hand through Daeron’s mess of sandy hair.
“You’ve hopped on top of me. Drunker than a sailor,” you pointed out, brow subtly raised.
He said nothing at first, searching for the words, eyes guilty.
He tended to wander. Drink and wander around the city. As his partner, well, you worried. That he’d slip away and never come back. You and the rest of his family seemed to agree. You’d file away that mess for later.
“Daeron,” you sighed, stroking his messy hair, “What did you get into this time?”
His motions were sluggish, a distant look crossing his face. He nuzzled into your palm, voice soft, “Felt restless.”
Restless. That meant he was locked in his mind, seeking to escape.
You softened further at his pathetic state. Your tone dropped to a comforting warmth as you exhaled, “You can come to me when you feel like that.”
Daeron blinked, a saddened look across his fine features. He mumbled, “M’here now. Missed you. Always miss you. Just…”
A little broken sound left his lips, dark brows pinching. You cupped his cheek with your other hand, murmuring, “Just…you don’t expect I want to be around.”
“S’not pleasing, m’brooding and morose and..”
You pressed your thumb against his lips this time, effectively stopping those dark words. You could see the roll of tears down his cheeks in the low light of the bedroom— the lights of King’s Landing never seemed to dim through the thick curtains.
“I don’t care about that. You’re here now, with me, safe,” you uttered, a hint of desperation to your voice.
He let out a little whimper, pressing his face into your neck, big hands seeking purchase anywhere. He smelt of liquor and tobacco smoke. Likely some hole in the wall bar where he could sulk in peace, trying to figure out his muddled dreams. Particularly numbing it with alcohol.
Daeron rubbed against you, lean body nestling between your thighs. Hip to hip. Daeron stood tall over you, but your lover was nothing but submissive. He needed— craved your touches. You knew that much.
He whined against your throat, lips wet.
“Don’t wanna think,” he whispered.
You sighed, one hand rubbing his trembling shoulders, the other nestled in wavy hair. You mulled over the situation. He was drunk. You preferred to have him sober or at the least tipsy with you. But here Daeron was crying and begging for you to fuck the thoughts out of his head.
You breathed, forcing him to look at you, “Baby, you’re very drunk right now.”
“I know, M’sorry, you know I am, jus’ need you, I need you, s’too loud, please,” Daeron whimpered, lazily rutting against you. He was barely half-hard, the faint feel of his prick under his jeans rubbing against your panties. You inhaled softly as the sensation, hand tightening on his chin.
“Fine, off me, on your back love,” you ordered.
The prince rolled off of you in an ungainly manner, shiny periwinkle eyes and pink lips tantalizing. He hiccuped a little noise, begging again, “Need it.”
You nodded, eyes tracing his face as your hand worked the belt buckle. You grumbled, pulling it off, the leather flying.
“Seven hells, you aren’t going to get sick are you sweetheart?”
“No, m’good,” he said— a vague expression of annoyance on his face.
You rolled your eyes, jerking down his jeans and briefs. You glanced up at him and back down to his pretty cock— full mast or not.
“Can you get your shirt off sweetheart?” You inquired while crawling down the bed to pull his clothes off all the way, grunting in aggravation as you slipped off his sneakers and socks. Daeron whined at the loss of touch, struggling in his tee before throwing it to the side and lying back down.
You deposited the rest of his clothes in a heap, padding to a nearby drawer. Daeron whined, an unsteady hand pulling at his cock, “Please, please. Need you.”
“A moment baby,” you said gently, tightening the straps around your ass and thighs, buckling the waist. You pulled off your thin tank top— earning another guttural noise. You bit back a smile—pathetic little prince.
You clicked the silicon into place, the piece jutting from your hips. It wasn’t huge, but it would get your whimpering lover off. It wasn’t the first time you’d made him come in this state of drunken distress.
You grabbed the lube and settled between his thighs. Daeron swallowed audibly, dark lashes fluttering. His cock twitched, struggling to get full. You rubbed atop where it lay on his belly. You glanced at Daeron nipping at his flushed lower lip, hips shifting as he let out a soft ‘nnh’.
“Feel that? Hm, love?” You asked, cupping the wet tip.
He nodded, back arching, lean frame straining as he garbled out, “Yes- ngh- yes.”
You smiled and rubbed the thin skin on the inside of his pale thigh. You cooed and cupped his ass.
“Pretty baby. Aren’t you a mess?”
His lips trembled yet he nodded, pale orbs focused on you. “Keep goin’, I can take it tonight, please,” he warbled, arching into your touch.
You paused, hands stilling on his flesh. No prep? That was new.
“You want me to fuck you like that?” You asked, leaning forward to get a good look at Daeron. He nodded, babbling about ‘wanna feel’. You let out a sigh, both hands massaging Daeron’s ass. He squirmed and huffed, pretty thighs spreading out, “Don’t care. I want it.”
You laughed at his sudden sobered insistence, shook your head, and retracted your hands to reach for the lube. You applied more than a liberal amount, pressing more between his thighs. The blonde whined your name, trembling like a leaf. You sighed, rubbing your fingers in circular motions.
“I’m not fucking you dry, don’t care,” you grumbled.
His hands wrapped around your hips, breathless little pants leaving flushed lips. He squirmed again and tried to rock up into you, whimpering. He was attempting a sharp look but Daeron looked closer to more tears than anything.
You smacked his hip with a harsh gaze.
“Just enough to get you open. Got it?”
He nodded jerkily and flopped back against the bed, hair fanning out. Pretty boy. You smiled, easing the way as your two fingers dipped to the first knuckle and pulled back out to rub again, teasing. Daeron’s hands gripped your hips, pleading, “C’mon, c’mon…”
Your free hand rubbed his soft prick as your fingers eased into his heat, scissoring carefully as he trembled and gasped, arching at the stimulation. Your lips curled up as you deemed him well enough. You teased, “So worked up, I’ve got you sweet boy.”
“M-hm,” Daeron heaved, squirming impatiently between your thighs. His eyes scrunched shut as he let out a shuddery breath, widening his legs in anticipation. You gripped his thigh, pushing it further out— earning a sniffle this time.
You spread more lube on the fake cock before you guided the fake cock into his ass, glancing at Daeron between your knees, lovely long legs spread around you. He inhaled sharply, big hands flying to you for comfort as the tip began to slip past the ring of muscle.
You kissed his chest and pulsing throat, your free hand rubbing his tense thigh. You eased forward, cooing nonsense against his damp skin. The dirty blonde’s knees fell against the bed as you canted your hips to force the strap deeper.
“Good?”
A long moan was his response. Good.
You’d broken out into a sweat as you pushed the rest of the way into Daeron’s ass, panted harshly against his neck. His arms wrapped around your waist, holding tight as he let out little whines, mouth hanging open.
You adjusted your knees, rocking forward, hands moving again to his hips. Your belly rubbed against his pathetic cock with each roll of your hips. Daeron was a mess, sniffling again, babbling your name, fat tears rolling down your cheeks.
You lapped up the droplet, fucking him harder as you panted.
“This is what you wanted Dare? Wanted me to fuck all those thoughts out of your pretty head?”
His lips trembled, your cunt throbbed.
You nosed against his cheek, lashes brushing the salty skin. You adjusted your angle, grazing that sweet spot. You continued to ramble, his frantic hands digging into your flesh sending a hot bolt of arousal up your spine.
“What is it? Huh? You feeling good now baby? Sounds like it. Just needed to get fucked…I’d do it all day, keep something up your ass if it meant you’d stay put.”
Daeron writhed, hips unsure whether to rut against you or roll onto the strap. He sobbed, nodding, “Yes- fuck yesss, yeah, all the time.”
You moved faster, your prince’s warbling little pleas getting you off quicker than you thought. Fuck. You were running with it. Your hips smacked into Daeron’s, you hoisted his thighs up and around you to deepen the thrusts.
“Yeah,” you breathed, planting sloppy kisses across his jaw and neck.
“Yeah, I’ll make sure you’re my sweet prince, keep you too fucked out to dream again, huh? Doesn’t that sound good? You’ll just be mindless with pleasure, such a good boy.”
Daeron choked on his breath, eyes rolling back as he keened, jerking against you. His cock twitched, ass tightening up. You smiled, watching as his sniffles turned into soft cries, losing any ounce of coherence.
The coupling reached a crescendo, you nipped Daeron’s chest as you reached between your flush bodies to gently jerk at his weeping prick, grinding the silicon cock slowly against his prostate. The change in pace sent Daeron over the edge, gasping and crying out as he spilled all over your fingers, ass pulsing around you.
You jerked him a few more times before beginning to unbuckle the harness, easing out of your lover when he was a boneless, sobbing mess. You pulled out and undid the rest of the strap, discarding it for now.
You reached over to grab his tee off the floor, wiping away the sticky seed from his stomach and your fingers. You nestled up next to the blonde, wrapping him into you, rubbing Daeron’s back as he wept into your chest— the comedown could be a little tough with the gentle soul.
You murmured, “Did well. So good.”
He huffed, nodding between your tits. His hands splayed across your back, shaking just so. He spoke, hoarse, “Thank you.” You hummed nonchalantly, “Glad you feel better. Need some water? You need some water.”
He groaned and pulled back to look at you head-on. Daeron exhaled, left a quick peck to your lips, forehead pressed against yours. He muttered, “I must be fucked up if I want to lie around and be some sort of pillow princess turned professional fuck doll.”
You snorted, Daeron grinned— a real one this time.
“I mean, I’m not complaining. You’re not that fucked up anyway.”
“Quite so, quit lying.”
You rolled your eyes, kissing him again as you softened.
“Do you feel better? Actually?”
He hummed lazily, stretching against you, “Very, undoubtedly much better. I do need some water. Don’t move though.”
You’d stay put. For now. Forever if you could. Maybe your insane fantasies would plant a seed.
You hummed, “By the way, you’re pretty when you cry.”
“Tell me about it some more,” he scoffed, pulling you flush to him, eyes lazy, loving, less glassy with drink and more with pleasure.
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