summary | How the Yandere!HOTD characters would react after being told by your father that they cannot marry you
warnings | Smut, mentions of pregnancy, yandere behavior, public sex, violence, mentions of death and sword fights
this fic is eighteen plus. minors please do not enter
divider by @princessbellecerise
Jacaerys Velaryon
Prince Jacaerys grows desperate upon being told he cannot marry you
The usual level-headed and reasonable Prince that people are used to seeing quickly goes out of the window and is replaced by a man desperate to do anything to have you
Not having you by his side was not part of his plan, and itās simply not an option
Jace absolutely refuses to have anyone else as his partner, and heāll be damned if you marry anyone but him
After being told no by your father, Jace begins to spiral
Anyone can see that the Prince is clearly not happy, and his behavior starts to become panicked and irrational
Rhaenyra tells him to let it go; to let you go but she doesnāt understand. How can Jace let you go when youāre everything heās ever wanted?
He tells, no begs your father to reconsider, tells him that he canāt imagine spending his life with anyone else but you
Jace tries to get him to see just how in love the two of are, but unfortunately your father still tells him no. And itās nothing against Jace, he reassures the prince, but itās just thatāmuch to everyoneās surpriseāyour father has already made arrangements to betroth you to someone else
You of course have absolutely no knowledge of this, and youāre stunned when your father apologizes to Jace but itās still a big, fat no
He sends you both away and tells you not to ask again because everything is final. And even when you burst into tears, begging your mother to not let him do this, your father doesnāt budge
āThis alliance is vital for our House, Y/N. Iām sorry, but you will not be marrying the Prince.ā
That night, you go to bed absolutely devastated and of course, you want nothing more than for Jace to comfort you. You wish to sneak out and go to his chambers like you normally do, but your father is smarter than you anticipated
As if he knew exactly what you intended to do, he asks Rhaenyra to place a royal guard at your door
No one is allowed in and no one is allowed out, which makes your plan of seeing Jace impossible
You beg and you plead, but the guard does not budge. He simply tells you go back to bed and alas, you do not see Jacaerys that night. Or any night after that
It seems that your father is intentionally keeping you away from the prince, whisking you away every time he tries to approach or arranging your schedule so that you do not run into him
Additionally, there seems to be a guard present for every little thing you do, so sneaking away isnāt an option
If you do so happen to even see Jace, itās only through fleeting glances and the lack of contact begins to drive you both insane
You canāt stand being away from one another and time is running out. The only reason your family is in Kingās Landing is because your father was there for business, but soon he will be finished and youāll have to go back to your homeland. Without Jace, to marry someone else
The sheer thought of it gives you anxiety, but youāve exhausted your pleas and by now you know that your father wonāt listen
Thereās nothing you or Jace can do to change his mindāor at least, thatās what you think
Two days before youāre supposed to leave though, a sudden knock on the door shocks you. When you open it, youāre expecting it to be one of your family members, but nothingāabsolutely nothingāprepares you to see Jace standing on the other side; the guard knocked out, Jaceās fist bloody, and a wild look in his brown eyes
When you ask him what the hell happened, Jace responds by telling you that he canāt live without you, and that he was willing to do whatever it took to make you his
He couldnāt let you leave without doing something, and so that night, the prince takes you in every position that he can think of. Missionary, doggy style, against the wall, on the balcony
Anything to breed your pretty little cunt, anything to make sure that his seed takes
Jace hates it, he hates breaking the rules and as heir he knows what heās doing is wrong
He knows that impregnating you while not being married could potential ruin him, you, and his mother. He knows how the greens would react to a bastard having a bastard, but heās so afraid of losing you that he doesnāt care
Jace risks everything that night just to make sure that you stay by his side; and it works
A few days later, you still end up leaving with your family but on the journey back home you pray to the Gods that your plan works
You pray that Jacaerysā seed takes root in your womb and to your utter excitement, you prayers come true
A few short weeks after returning home, you notice that your moon blood hasnāt come and you start to get sick nearly every morning
Youāre barely well enough to attend any meetings with your so-called ābetrothed,ā and it doesnāt take long for someone to catch onto your symptoms
When your maids discover whatās going on, they immediately tell your mother, who in turn tells your furious father
When you finally break the news, you swear that you had never seen him get so angry before. Had your mother not been holding him back, you were sure that he wouldāve strangled you where you stood
Alas though, as much as he wanted to wring your neck he knew that harming the future Queen of Westeros would not be a wise decision
After all, there were no doubts about who the father of your unborn child was, and as soon as the news broke your father had furiously written to Rhaenyra and informed her of the situation
As soon you arrived in Kingās Landing, you were all but thrown into a wedding gown, modified to fit over your stomach of course
But either way, you and Jace get exactly what you wantāthe opportunity to spend forever together, and six moons later, a healthy, chunky baby that just so happens to be born three moons sooner than anyone expected
Aegon Targaryen
Aegon is angry when your father tells him no
And itās not just because of the rejection, itās also because he knowsāAegon knows that the only reason he says no is because your father doesnāt think heās good enough for you
In fact, your father flat-out tells him this, and to make things even worse, your father declares that youāll marry his brother insteadāthe responsible, honorable Aemond
Like hell Aegon would ever let that happen
You are the one thing Aegon has that Aemond doesnāt. Someone to love and genuinely care for him, and Aegon isnāt going to let that go so easily
He has half a mind to draw his sword and kill your father on the spot for even suggesting such a vile idea, but you beg him not to. Despite heavily disagreeing with your fatherās decision, you tell Aegon that thereās other ways to get him to change his mind that doesnāt involve bloodshed
Surprisingly, Aegon listens to you but you shouldāve known it was only because he had already thought of something worse
You didnāt know it, but when Aegon lures you into his chambers the next day, heās come up with a plan
He knows exactly how to get your father to change his mind, and his plan starts the moment he has you naked
Unfortunately, itās not the first time you and Aegon have fucked so bedsheets are no use to him. No, your lover has to get a bit more creative than that
Somehow, Aegon convinces you to try something new and you end up bent over the Princeās balcony as he fucks you from behind, his cock driving in and out of your slick cunt
Itās the middle of the day and what youāre doing is beyond risky, not only because youāre not married, but also because literally anyone could look up and see the two of you
You see, the Princeās balcony just so happened to overlook the training yard, and though it was empty at the moment, Aegon knew exactly when it got crowded
All he had to do was wait for his chance, fucking you so good that you didnāt even grasp the situation
You were none the wiser as to what was happening, eyes closed as you basked in the pleasure. You moaned his name and clenched around his cock, feeling a familiar pinch in your stomach
Just as you reached your peak, you began to hear shouting from below
Startled gasps and a few screams had your eyes flying open, Aegon smirking as you caught the attention of at least twenty peopleāone of whom was your father
He stood, horrified as the prince locked eyes with him. Seemingly taunting him as he rutted into you, moaning and still fucking you against the railing
Aegon swore that he had never came so hard in his lifeāexpect maybe on your wedding night less two days later, the memory of your fatherās face and the satisfaction of getting what he wanted fueling what he calls, āThe best fuck of his goddamn life.ā
Daemon Targaryen
Daemon is amused upon being told no
Heās amused and itās because he never really asked for permission in the first place. It was more likeā¦a courtesy warning, and he only did it because he knew you were too scared to tell your father yourself
After all, the Rouge Prince has a reputation and itās not exactly squeaky clean. Daemonās track record with his wives is why your father said no, but he shouldāve known that no isnāt in Daemon Targaryenās vocabulary
In fact, Daemon merely laughs in your fatherās face, declaring that the two of you will be married in a fortnight, regardless of what your father says
Show up or donāt, Daemon doesnāt careābut you will be his wife
And of course, your father protests, appalled that the prince is so bold
He even goes as far as to complain to the King, but Viserys is old and weak. Thereās seldom that he can do to fight Daemon anymore except threaten to exile him again, but Daemon isnāt afraid of punishment
Heāll gladly leave the hell hole thatās Kingās Landing, but he makes it clear that if he does, Westeros will never see him or you again
He relays this threat to your father, and in his desperation to keep you away from the Prince, your father all but flees in the middle of the night. Making sure that no one except those loyal to your House know where heās taking you
Despite your protests and your attempts to alert Daemon, youāre dragged on a boat and shipped off to a far away land, one where your father hopes the Prince will never find you
He even goes so far as to change your hair and make up a fake identity for you, but he was a fool to think that he could ever cross Daemon Targaryen
If the Prince wasnāt annoyed with your father before, then Daemon is most certainly furious when he learns that heās all but kidnapped you
He sets to work on finding you almost immediately, and he swears once he does heāll kill anyone that helped with this ridiculous scheme
He starts his search by fiercely questioning all of the guards and servants that were tending to you. And because heās Daemon Targaryen, it doesnāt take long to get the answers heās looking for
With one look at Caraxes, the so-called men that were loyal to your house end up folding pretty quickly. Daemon has them all but fighting each other to give up your location, though unfortunately their honesty isnāt enough to spare their lives
In his pursuit to get where you are, Daemon leaves a trail of bodies
He kills anyone that he suspects of helping your father, though his rage wonāt be satisfied until he confronts the man himself
And what do you knowāyour father truly is a fool of a man because it turns out that he took you to Pentos. Pentos, the land where Daemon Targaryen lived for years
Why he thought that was a good idea, no one knows. Perhaps he thought that hiding you in plain sight would be enough to fool Daemon, but unfortunately the rouge Prince is much too smart for that
And due to all of the connections Daemon has in the city (and his dragon) it takes him less than a week to locate you
He finds you hiding just on the outskirts of the city, in some rundown village. You look miserable as you chat with some of the locals, hatching your own plans to escape and somehow get back to Daemon
Your father was asleep in the house that you shared, though the beat of Caraxesā wings are enough to alert you both, your father waking up and running outside just as Daemon lands in front of you
The Prince wears a smirk of triumph as he dismounts his dragon, taking in your fatherās horrified face and laughing
He enjoys the moment almost as much as he enjoys the way you immediately run to you, ignoring your fatherās protests and shouts to come back
Itās obvious who you choose by the way you hang onto Daemon, hiding behind him while Caraxes roars
Thereās a moment where everything seems to stand still, and Daemon drinks in his moment of victory before slowly gesturing you towards his dragon, helping you mount
As you climb onto the red beast, Daemon slipping in the saddle behind you, the last thing your father sees is the smirk that adorns Daemonās face
Lilac eyes with with his own, and then, Princeās lips utter a single word
āDracarys.ā
Lucerys Velaryon
Poor Luke is devastated when your father rejects his proposal
It took all he had to muster up the courage to even ask, and now heās crushed that he wonāt be able to marry the love his life
Not only that, Luke genuinely cannot see himself with anyone else. Youāre it for him, and heās determined to be with you no matter what
Call it young love or maybe just sheer stupidity, but one night Luke sneaks into your chambers and hatches a plan
He tells you that thereās a way for you to be together, a way for you to have your happy ending after all. All you have to do is come with him, and heāll take you to a place where no one, including your father, can come between you two ever again
And that night, when you flee with the Prince on the back of Arrax, it almost feels like a fairytale. Youāve never felt more alive than you did as you watched the Red Keep disappear into the night
With your heart beating as fast as Arraxās wings, you and Luke run away, neither of you thinking of the consequences, or caring
Youāre just so happy to be together that everything else falls into the background. Caught up in your own bliss, you and Luke flee to Essos where the Prince has arranged for you to be married
Like he promised, no one is there to object or to stop you from becoming one. Theyāre all too busy in Kingās Landing looking for you both, your mother distraught and your father wondering what happened to his youngest child
Likewise, Rhaneyra nearly collapses when she finds out that Luke is missing, but Daemon reassures her heāll be back. He doesnāt know when, he tells her, but he has a sneaking suspicion that when he does youāll be in tow
And what do you knowāfour moons go by and it turns out that Daemon was right. You and Luke return to Kingās Landing after all, and upon arrival youāre greeted by your weeping mother and your
concerned father
They both have so many questionsāwhere have you been, what happened, why did you run away?
And everyone is so focused on questioning you, so relieved that the Prince isnāt dead after all, that they almost miss the glaringly obvious bump thatās concealed behind your blue dress
Almost
You try to hide it as best as you can, but when your father pulls you in for a hug you know that he can feel it. The horrified expression he wears when he pulls away confirms this. And when you back away, placing a loving hand over your stomach and settling into Lukeās arms, that is when he also takes note of the matching Velaryon pins on your clothes
āWe have something to announce,ā Luke tells his mother excitedly
You both share a loving look, and Rhaneyraās eyes are ready to pop out of her skull when Luke places a hand over your stomach and grins
āY/N is with child.ā
Aemond Targaryen
Aemond takes your fatherās words as a challenge
Despite how irritated he is at being flat-out rejected, he decides not to lash out or show any emotion really
For Aemond, keeping a level head is important. It allows him to plan, to strategize like heās always been taught and to be able to stay one step ahead
He supposes heās just like his grandfather in a way, and itās obvious that your father underestimates just how far Aemond is willing to go for you
The first man that your father agrees to betroth you to only lasts about five minutes in the duel Aemond challenges him to
The second fairs a little better, though not by much. By the third, your father is furious and itās become a game for Aemond to see how fast his opponent can last before they ultimately meet their maker
He wears a smirk the entire time heās fighting, easily ducking and dodging and occasionally striking which wounds the man heavily. Itās obvious that heās going to win, again, and the sobs and screams from the Lordās family are hard to miss
They sit next to you in the crowd that surrounds him and Aemond, and every time Aemond lands a blow your father flinches, muttering under his breath how it was a mistake to ever let you meet that man
You on the other are ecstatic, occasionally locking eyes with Aemond and sending him encouraging smiles
You pray after each duel that your father will finally change his mind and allow you to marry Aemond, but itās not until after the fourth duel does he agree
After a particularly bloody and grueling fight, there are no more proposals. Every Lord that had ever considered asking for your hand is now too terrified to even speak to you, and with the lack of marriage offers your father has no choice but to admit defeat
He agrees to marry you to Aemond, and of course, Aemond feels victorious. He smugly thanks your father for his reconsideration, shaking his hand and promising that he wonāt be regretting his decision
Your back is against a row of books, books that are hidden deep in the library where no one else can see them. It is here that you have your leg swung over his shoulder, your dress hiked up, and your cunt laid bare as Valarr pleasures you in a way that Daeron never could
He is on his knees below you, his lips wrapped around your pearl whilst his fingers pump in and out of you at a steady rhythm
Quiet moans are leaving your lips; not too loud because you donāt want anyone to hear, but theyāre just loud enough for Valarr to hear you chanting his name
It falls from your lips like a prayer, repeating over and over until it is the only thing you are capable of saying. You are unable to help yourself as the pleasure builds up, chest rising and falling rapidly whilst you whimper
āValarr.ā
Your peak is on the horizon and you try to warn him, digging your hands in his hair and tugging at it. Your fingers find themselves tangled in his white streak, and Valarr hums smugly against your cunt. He can feel it by the way your body is trembling beneath him, by the way your sounds are getting louder that youāre close
Your eyes are closed and you look as heavenly as you always do when you come apart for him, body so weak that he has to hold you up. Afterwards, Valarr presses his mouth to yours so that you can taste your release on his tongue
It is sweet, and when Daeron later asks what the sweet taste on your lips is when he kisses you, you just smile and shake your head
āIt is nothing that you will ever taste, husband,ā you tell him honestly, and you are lucky that he is drunk, because he thinks only that you are talking about wine
Maekar Targaryen
Heās so gentle, you think. So much gentler than Aerion is and so much more experienced, too
It shows in the way his hips rock against yours, his cock expertly dragging across that one spot that drives you wild
Every time you feel the tip of his cock brushing against it your eyes roll to the back of you head, and the steady rhythm that Maekar sets behind you only intensifies it
Heās got his hands on your ass, gripping it tightly whilst you moan and whine into the pillows beneath him. Your face is pressed firmly against them, hiding the sounds of your sins together and Maekar grunts behind you
You can feel his cock tightening inside of you and the walls of his restraint tumbling down. Heās close, you notice, and once his grip on your hips falter thereās nothing stopping you from fucking yourself back on to him
Your hips meet his cock in a steady rhythm, your whines and his grunts merging together. All at once, the two of you reach your peak together and afterwards Maekar collapses beside you
Heās a mess of sweat and white hair, looking utterly fucked out and you know that youāre no better. You know that youāll have to clean yourself up and make yourself presentable for dinner that night with Aerion, but for the time being you stroke his fatherās face and smile at him
āLetās hope the seed sticks this time,ā you hum lightly
Maekar presses a chaste kiss to your shoulder and hums as well, looking optimistic as he says, āYes. Let us hope indeed.ā
Baelor Targaryen
You should feel bad
No, you do feel bad every time Baelorās cock splits you open, fucking your pretty little cunt and filling it to the brim with his seed
He is your uncle, after all, and you know that your father would be absolutely furious if he ever found out
Maekar scarcely wished for your hand to be given to any man, and you shivered to think of what he would do if he knew that Baelor had already taken your maidenhood. He would try and see you both hanged, no doubt, but all of the guilt, all of the terrible things that you felt justā¦went away when you laid with Baelor
There seemed to be no room for those feelings amongst the pleasure, the cloudiness of your mind making it impossible to think past it
Every time his cock slid into you, you could barely think about anything else, too wrapped up in your own bubble of desire
Like now, with your legs wrapped his waist and your arms thrown over his shoulders, you were seeing stars as Baelor fucked into you over and over again
You had lost count of how many times it had been, but it might have been three since the ending of the council meeting
He had snuck out in earnest to find you, eager to release the tension he had been holding in all morning. It had been hard to pretend that he wasnāt fantasizing about you as the dreadful meeting went on and on. Baelor had never found it difficult to keep his composure before, but after becoming entangled with you, it was nearly impossible
He could not wait for the moments where he was inside of you again, and though he felt guilt for betraying his brother, that was nothing compared to the feel of you wrapped around him
It consumed him, momentarily clouding his head and replacing duty with desire. You made him come undone to the point where Baelor had completely forgotten there were other things that he needed to do, one of them being attend another meeting that day
So entangled with you, the usual level headed heir was only reminded when his brotherāyour fatherācame to get him
The moment that the two of you moaned and came undone again, a heavy knock sounded on the door
āBrother? What the fuck are you doing in there? Lord Beesbury is waiting for you!ā
You both froze as Maekarās voice sounded out, and your hand flew to your mouth as Baelor motioned for you to be quiet. He pressed a cautious finger to his lips before glancing at the door, calling out, āI shall be there in a second! A moment, if you will!ā
Silently, you watched as Baelor got dressed, struggling to keep yourself quiet and hiding under the covers when he finally opened the door
You felt like your heart was going to beat out of your chest when you heard your fatherās voice, curious as he asked,
āWhy the fuck do you need that many pillows?ā
The door slammed shut, and you didnāt get to hear Baelorās reply, but you imagined that his reaction would be much like yoursāamused and slightly relieved that your father mistook your body as simply an extra pillow
Ser Duncan the Tall
Perhaps Ser Arlan was right about him. Perhaps Dunk really was stupid, thick as a castle wall and his head as hollow as the moat surrounding it
That would be the only thing that could explain this, that would explain why he would allow himself to dabble in such forbidden desires when he knew that it would only lead to trouble
You see, when Dunk had entered Lyonel Baratheonās tent he hadnāt meant to get tangled up with his daughter. The Hedge Knight had only meant to visit him and thank him for the food and drink from the night before, but instead of Lyonel, he had stumbled upon you, a smirk on your lips and hunger in your eyes as you stared up at him
Unbeknownst to him, you had taken interest in him the night before, but you never had time to approach. Between your father hogging him up and too many people around to show him affection, you had suppressed yourā¦desire for the tall man until it was more appropriate
A part of you thought that you were going to have to sneak out of your tent and hunt him down if you ever wanted to see him again, though you really hoped that you wouldnāt have to go through all of that
You had hoped that Dunk would simply come back to you instead. And what do you know, the gods had answered your prayers
No sooner did Dunk stumble into the tent, noticing that it was much emptier than the day before, did you begin your advances
You touched his arm, batted your lashes, and accepted his thanks with a sweet smile and an offer of more wine
It had seemed innocent enough at first, but now as you lay on top of him, straddling him as you sank down on his cock, there was nothing innocent about the situation anymore
It was all lust and skin and pleasure, Dunk moaning as you pushed yourself down and whined at the stretch
āItās so big, Ser,ā you told him, lip jutting out and your thighs trembling. āIām not sure if itāll fit.ā
You words seemed to stir something inside of Dunk. Something dark, something that he had repressed for a long, long time. In the freedom of your empty tent, with the the tip of his cock being squeezed by your cunt, he snapped
āSāalright. You can take it, āmlady,ā he grunted, and then in the next moment he was grabbing onto your hips, guiding your cunt as you whined and took him balls deep
He was fully sheathed inside of you and fuck! His head immediately clouded over with the pleasure of being buried in your cunt, barely able to breathe as you rocked and bounced on top of him
As the tent filled with lewd sounds of skin sticking to skin, Dunk swore that he was in heaven, his eyes rolling back at the feeling. His lips, when they werenāt occupied by yours, kept thanking any God that had granted him this favor. He didnāt exactly know the words but he tried, stuttering out what he knew
To you, it just sounded like gibberish; broken moans with the occasional sound of your name. You savored it as it fell from his lips, clenching harder around him and rising to your knees
In a firm rhythm, you bounced on your feet and rode him until you were both seeing stars
Dunk was so big that it was easy for him to bring you to pleasure, his cock hitting all of the right spots without even trying
With a broken moan and strangled cry, the two of you came together, reaching your peaks in a string of prayer and curses
Afterwards, when you lay beside him with your head on his chest and your hands playing with his massive ones, Dunk did at least have the decency to look guilty
He started to apologizeāthe oafāactually apologize for taking you. He was stuttering so bad and stumbling over his words, but you just waved your hand and laughed it off
āThereās no need to apologize Ser Duncan. That was the best fuck of my life,ā you said brashly, and you reckoned that he could have rivaled a tomato from how red the blush was on his face
Aerion Targaryen
āI didnāt know Lord Ashford had another daughter,ā were the exact words Aerion had uttered before it all went down hill
You see, the prince hadnāt meant to stumble across you. As he had told that great oaf who called himself a knight, the only things he had been looking for were wine and a pretty woman to warm his bed. Luckily for him, Aerion had found both
Ever the gracious host, your father had sent you to look after the prince, making you be the one to deliver the wine instead of the servant. He thought it would make you seem like better hosts, and how does Aerion thank him for this?
āFuck, thatās it,ā the Prince nods in approval as your lips wrap around him, sucking and worshiping his cock like you had done this before
You had insisted that you hadnāt, so Aerion chalked it up to him being a good teacher and a thorough one at that
In such a short time, he had taught you exactly the way to take him, humming in approval when you used your mouth correctly or yanking on your hair when you didnāt
He enjoyed the little whines that would leave your lips, the way that you would look up at him with such big eyes for his approval. It made his cock ache in a way that whores could never fully satisfy, and there was nothing that couldāve ruined Aerionās pleasureāsave for your Lord father walking in during the middle of it
Just as Aerion came, the door swung open, and both of you could not scramble fast enough before your father walked in. He had been all smiles, eager to see how you wereā¦pleasing the prince, and pleasing him you were
Aerion, to his credit, did at least try to cover you. He removed your mouth from his cock with a soft pop! just as your father looked down, but he was too late
All at once, your body burned with mortification and your father let out a strangled sound that might have been a scream. You couldnāt tell because he was frozen in shock, and quickly you scrambled to your feet as you wiped your mouth
āFatherāā
āMy Lordāā
You and Aerion spoke at once, the combined shock in your voices seemingly breaking your father out of his. He stepped forward at once, charging towards the prince, but Aerion was faster. He easily stepped passed the man and smirked with laziness, as if the action had taken nothing out of him at all
You were horrified when he then began to chuckle, deciding to goade your father even further rather than smooth the situation
āWell. That is no way to welcome a guest. Your daughter was much moreā¦inviting, I must say.ā
A few moments later, more shouting could be heard from all around the castle. By the time someone had come running in, your father was rushing at Aerion again and had to be held back from killing the prince by several guards
To add even more to your horror, one of the people that had come rushing in was Prince Maekar
He had looked concerned at first, but then he took one look at your father, at the tears running down your face, and at Aerionās lazy smirk, and all the older prince could do was simply twitch in annoyance, his shoulder sagging in defeat
i'm in the mood to speak on dunkās sheer sizeā¦.āļø ŻĖ
the girth is really what truly astonishes, when he presses against your entrance, it is an immense pressure, a deep, stretching ache. both being virgins it really is an exploration and new experience for you bothā¦
his gaze, darts between your face and your pussy stretching to take him, his concern for your comfort a contrast to the overwhelming power he holds. he halts at your sharp intake of breath, his large hand coming to rest gently on your lower belly, a soft sound from his lips drawing your eyes to his.
"do i pain you, my lady? should i stop?"
"n-no," you manage, a small nod accompanying the word. your hands once gripping his broad shoulders now tangling in the back of his hair.
"easy now," he murmurs as he resumes sinking you down on him.
"gods above!" you gasp, your eyes squeezing shut as your back arches from the intensity of his slow, deliberate entry.
"sāokay- sāokay i feel it, iāll be gentle. i swear it."
he releases your hip to grasp the base of his shaft, a means to have a more focused pressure, sinking another inch.
"dunk!"
"there girl," he praises, his voice thick with a primal satisfaction as your slickness coats him, easing his path. "i would not see you hurt," with a final, gentle push, you feel him nudge impossibly deep, a presence you feel in your belly. instinctively, you try to widen your straddle, desperate for more room to accommodate his fat cock.
"be at ease, now," he urges, tapping the inside of your thigh. "i donāt think i can move if your muscles donāunclench."
you draw a ragged breath and release it slowly. duncan feels the subtle shift, the way your body softens around his intrusion. "aye, just so my love."
as you exhale, he presses forward, seating himself another measure deeper before slowly lifting you up and down experimentally.
"seven hells, you feel like heaven," he groans, his composure fraying at the edges. his eyes are fixed upon where you are joined. at the sound of your exhaled breath, he thrusts again burying his entire length within you. another sharp cry escapes your lips, and your hands grip or- tug his hair.
"breathe. just breathe," he commands, his own brows raised in encouragement as he demonstrates for you. you nod, mimicking him, the tightness in your chest easing with each cycle of air.
"goodā¦keep breathingā¦" he asks. your nod is frantic as you comply. in, out, in, out...and with each exhale, sir duncan begins to move you up and down, impaling you on his veiny girth cock, in a slow, deep rhythm that fills you completely.
ā summary: just a little drabble about how much dunk enjoys spittingāand to spit on you!
ā content: +18, smut !!! (minors dni), spit kink, praise kink, he's so filthy.
Ser Duncan is so polite and well-mannered, a man of simple vows and soft words, the noblest knight in the Seven Kingdoms. Everyone who knows him would agree.
But your man, your Dunk, is filthy. He wasnāt ashamed of the Flea Bottom roots in his veins, and he saw no reason to hide his baser instincts from you.
Why should he hold back from you? You have the right to discover every part of him.
The first time he did it, the shock stole the breath from your lungs. Because how could you possibly imagine that your sweet, gentle, and innocent lover would like to spit on you like you were some kind of spit bucket?
He loves to do it, takes a slow, deliberate pleasure in it. He loves to let his spit drip onto your body, loving the sight of it sliding down your skin, covering it like an emblem of his own.
Don't get him wrong, he absolutely loves finishing on you too, but there's just something so hot about seeing the glistening droplets of his saliva on your gorgeous body, gliding in between the folds of your pretty cunt, all wet, making it extra slippery for him.
Because, by the Seven, you have to be really well lubricated to take him all the way in.
That's his usual excuse.
āOwālove, tāthere you go,ā he would mumble from behind you, spreading your buttocks open to get a proper angle to spit right on the spot where the bulbous head of his cock presses into the folds of your throbbing opening, desperate to swallow him inside. āI know you can do it, you always canājust need a little more wettinā, hmm?ā
The sheer nastiness of it makes your toes curl and he watches with hooded eyes as he spits again, the moisture glistening on the fat, leaking head of his cock before he guides himself inside you, stretching you out so much that it squeezes the air out of your chest, feeling him even in every breath you take.
āSāsee?ā he coos, one of his big hands palming and kneading the flesh of your arse appreciatively, fucking deeper into you. Your tight heat wrapping around his whole length has him seeing stars everytime he closes his eyes. āYou're so brave for meāoh fucking hells...ā
Oh, he's so nasty!
His favorite place to fuck you is right there the grass, as you might expect. He has you lie down on his own tunic, still damp with sweat after he's been chopping wood all morning. The sun is only just peeking out in the east when Dunk is already making you finish for the third time.
āLook at me,ā Dunk grunts, and how could you possibly disobey his commands when heās fucking you so good? āOpen your mouth for meāmhm, just like that.ā
He licks his lips, a twinkle of sly mischief crossing his features as he leans closer to you. You see how moisture builds up in his mouth as you blink your eyes, forcing yourself to concentrate on him and not on the fact that his cock rubs up against your ribs every time he bottoms out.
Then he lets the drool glob fall out of his mouth and into yours, his eyes squinting as he watches in awe how you eagerly roll out your tongue to scoop up his spit, not letting anything go to waste.
āThat's it...ā he praises you, enjoying the sight of you swallowing it down so eagerly. āThat's my good girl, so good to me.ā
He slides a finger into your mouth now and you are quick to suck on it.
Maekar has such a perfect gorgeous nose. I canāt stop thinking about him eating you out but itās nothing quick and messy, no, he could spend the rest of his life in between your legs and die a happy man. He takes his sweet time with it, licking you, teasing you, playing with your little clit with the tip of his tongue, all slowly. And sometimes, because heās going so slow, you feel his nose rub against your folds. You feel the shape of it and the thought of it almost makes you come. But the best part is when heās fucking you with his tongue, deep inside, and you feel the tip of his nose simultaneously rub against your clit. Fuck
maekar in his favourite place (18+)
warning(s): literally just maekar eating you out until heās satisfied, besides weāre in mourning who doesnāt want food
Maekar isnāt an entirely selfish man. Rather not at all, even in that known stern and prickly exterior. Though what he does, even when it comes to you, his beloved wife, it doesnāt come without the pleasure he takes in it himself.
It comes with the little things, the sarcastic gestures across the hall, the holding you tightly in his arms while you both drift into sleep, the ranting while you listen and you to him.. shoving his tongue between your legs until you can hardly breathe.
Now that, was one of his favourites.
And he proved that any time that he could.
āGods, Maekar..ā
His face was pressed firmly into your bare cunt, your silken robe ripped open by its tassel carelessly, his nose nudging your swollen, puffy clit with fervor. He knew what it did to you, your hips rocking against him from where your back was propped up onto the pillows of your bed. The plush of the sheets and threaded feathers hitting the scorched heat of your skin, enticing every shiver of pleasure.
Heād been thinking about this for too long, sitting amid court with his brother and useless old lords led his mind to wonder. Thoughts of taking you every which way, even over the council table as he fucked deep inside of you, biting up the skin of your neck. He tumbled through the door late into the evening, eyes burning and lips shoved sharply to yours as he lifted you up and onto the bed. He gave no time until he was hunched beneath you, with you moaning for him, legs parted and draped over his shoulders.
Yet even in his need, he still takes his time. Tentative licks through your folds, tracing every curve through your wetness as you grip and curse. And he canāt help but work you further, angling his nose to bump into you, friction against your needy pearl as his tongue dips into your entrance. His beard prickles the inside of your thighs as you clamp harder, his palms splaying from your thighs, digging in lightly, to the flesh of your lower stomach, pushing down, testing the pressure that sends straight to where you need him most.
Every movement of wet muscle is purposeful, his moans from beneath you sending warmth straight to your core, vibrations inching from between your legs and inside of you. You jolt against him, but he only pulls you down harder, rougher, letting you take everything heās giving you, no need to come up for air. His tongue thrusts in harsh bursts with every cry you let out, claiming itās too much, itās not enough, you want, you need, he hears it all and swallows it with your arousal.
Youāre solely at his mercy, and the way you call his name, your hands threading through his silver strands of hair, send the blood rushing to his cock, hardening from where heās angled on the bed. He pretends as if taking you this way, tasting you, savouring you, isnāt undoing him, but in every way it is. You, his pretty wife, his beloved, his heart letting go over and over again on his tongue, on his mouth, on top of him, does things to him a man wouldnāt admit.
So he confesses it silently, with groans and languid sucks to your clit, tracing the folds of your hole as it weeps, eyes peering just over the rise and fall of your body chasing your high, his finger hooking at your chin to make you look at him. To look back into his eyes as you completely come undone on him.
He works you through your high, body convulsing round him as he laps up every bit of your juices, cleaning you with his mouth until youāre red and raw, burning with the fire heās tugged you both into. Your vision is near blurry, heart beating fast as you go to catch your breath.
āQuiet next time wife, youāll alert the fucking idiots outside the door.ā His beard glistens, damp and he licks his lips, rising just above you, pressing a tender, stealing kiss to your lips plump and ravaged from biting them to stay hush. You only sigh, breathing him in as you taste yourself.
āYou taste divine..ā He rasps, lips moving to connect to your jaw. Not done with you yet.
The words repeat in your head, though fuzzy through pleasure. Next time.
oh he would, it may be rare but after seeing that scene from the puppet show, his teeth bared and angry because of what aerion did to tanselle, it would happenā though itās not directed towards you.
dunk being rougher (18+)
pairing: ser duncan x fem!reader
it would be the situation and environment heās in that spurs his mood from being more gentle to rough, he has the ability to manhandle.. those heavy hands and thick fingers, those broad shoulders he knows he can do damage and he doesnāt want to do that and hurt you. so if something really does offend him or rile him up, heāll take time to calm down, mostly taking a breather outside, allowing the air around him enough to cool the burning as it always had, but it didnāt shrug the heat..
and you notice it, itās obvious, the way his nostrils flare and he canāt stay put for longer than ten seconds, so you decide to pull him into you, urging him inside and to relax, or at least not to be on his own. he grumbles, turning to face you for a moment but he listensā he wouldnāt refuse you. and he folds in your arms, forehead knocking against yours as you climb up into his lap from where he sits. youāre aware of what youāre doing and be can feel it, heavy and charged hands coming to palm at your back, holding you to him though he freezes when you start to kiss him, knowing what you want.
āDonāt know if I can be gentle right now, love..ā
his voice is pleading, almost whining as he breathes against your lips, blue eyes wandering to your own, strained but blown. and he means it, itās not that he doesnāt want to touch you, gods he wants you.. but there is still a rage there, a rugged need. so you take it into your own hands, giving him the word without saying it. take me.. you kiss him again, telling him itās alright, that heās still a gentleman, still your dunk, and he lets go just a little.
his lips are rougher on yours, consuming as he switches places with you, scooping you up into his arms and laying you down onto the mattress of your shared room. he shrugs his shirts off over his shoulders as you rest back onto the furs, and he slides up your body, pressing open mouthed kisses up your legs to your thighs and coasting over your clothed core. he lets out a breath, resting against you as his fingers curl around your skirts, ruffling them until they sit at your middle, baring your cunt to him.
he waits there for a second, eyes flicking up yours as you attempt to shuffle closer to him, his arm coming down to rest over your waistā locking you in place and he shoves his face into you. dunk sucks lightly groaning into you as he gathers the wetness with his tongue, wet muscle lapping at your hole in a frenzy. your hands fly out and into his hair, back arching into him as you fuck your self into his tongue. youāre beautiful like this.. your moans filling the room as you coat him, juices flowing at his mouth as his lips attach at your clit. and by the time youāre close, heās rocking himself against the mattress, soothing the ache of you beneath him. his arm curls tighter, your hands fisting the sheets as your climax nears, body convulsing with every pull of his mouth, tongue fucking in and out of your hole as you arch once more, letting go onto him with a cry.
he guides you through it with every convulse and jerk your body makes, finally releasing you with a pop, your hair mussed and eyes lidded as he rises. pulling at the seam of his trousers, his knees press into the mattress, glancing your way in a break in the feverā meaningful.
āAre you sure..?ā you only nod, breath already ragged and uneven, tugging him toward you by his wrist and he follows, āIāam.. please..ā
he undoes them, freeing his cock into his hand, long and hard rocking against his stomach, and he leans back down to you, torso touching your through thin cotton, lips capturing yours like a fire. and in one steady push, gliding into your wetness that pooled between your folds from his tongue. your mouth fell open, gasping as he took you, his hand bracing down at the pit of your stomach, where his length dragged in and out, punching up into your cervix like it was nothing, working you open. but he was steady, propped up on his free arm and elbow and still towering over you, the blondes of his hair dampened at his forehead.
āGods.. youāre everything.. I canāt hold it.ā
his hand reaches down to your clit, watching your face all the while as you twist in his hold, your back arching off of the sheets and into him from the pleasure building. his thrusts were relentless, sloppy and needy as he grunted, with every slam foiling you tighter, and his thumb working gentle circles at your wetness. dunk rested his head against your shoulder with your arms tightened around the length of his back, stretching around him as you moaned.
āLet go for me.. Iāve got you.ā
he held his own peak until you snapped, clenching around him with a cry and he groaned, holding it no longer, hips straining into your own where his rhythm faltered, lasting only seconds after you before he broke. white hot cum filling you while he rocked into you, his body falling into yours before he caught himself, palm stroking your temple.
āI love you..ā
dunk was softer then, sniffing lightly as he looked back down at you and your blissed out smile, āWell that was new..ā he huffed a laugh, nose twitching at yours affectionately, his hand soothing your hip with his other hand.
āI didnāt want to hurt you..ā
ā cue him being a big softie and running you both a bath, or pulling you to lay on his chest apologising because he didnāt mean to.. and youāre just there like āyeah š« ā because youāre fucked the hell out.
ser dunk being a spankerā¦stern sweet man .āļø ŻĖ
the sting of his huge palm against your backside is a sharp, shocking heat.
SMACK
āi warned you," ser dunk rumbles, his deep voice a low vibration that travels up your spine even as his other hand soothes over the small of your back.
you're draped over large thighs, another sharp slap, harder this time, draws a yelp from your lips that you try to muffle in your arm.
āand then i warned you again," he continues, his rhythm merciless, a volley of stinging spanks that leaves you breathless and squirming. his caressing hand pauses, resting firmly in the middle of your back, holding you in place.
"you will learn to heed my word. it is for your safety.ā he delivers a final, particularly harsh spank red hot before soothing it over with his calloused hand. then a series of smacks to the tender curve where your ass meets your thighs, leaving you whining out half apologies. and just as you think you can't take another, the punishment stops.
you lie still over his lap, breathing heavily, waiting for another sharp smack. instead, you feel his hand move lower, his calloused fingers trailing down the curve of your ass and pause, then brush against the damp fabric of your smallclothes. he makes a low sound in his throat, more like a grunt of discovery than anything else. "hmph," he mutters, his voice still stern and devoid of any warmth. "so that's the way of it." his fingers press more firmly against you, rubbing through the soaked cloth with a clinical, almost detached curiosity. he isn't trying to arouse you, he's simply... confirming.
āi wonāt do it again serā¦please!ā you mewl.
he pulls the fabric aside, one thick finger probes, sliding through your slickness and pushing into. he pumps it in and out a few times, his other hand still holding you firmly in place.
"this is what gets your attention, then," he states, his voice flat and judgmental. "not words, not warningsā¦poor girl.ā his movements are soft now, almost trying to soothe you now. he's just using another way to impose his will and ensure you don't get yourself killed. that is the last thing he wants and you know of it. you know the lesson was meant to keep you safe.
"perhaps next time i tell you not to do something, you'll remember this feeling and think twice my love.ā
āsummary: facing your growing insolence and constant defiance, your uncle, prince baelor, decides that no one but himself is fit to remind you of your place.
āpairing: baelor targaryen x niece!reader
āword count: 3.8k
ācontent: +18, smut !!! (minors dni), targcest, age gap, power dynamics, morally grey!reader, brat taming, praise & degradation kink, orgasm denial, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, some porn with some plot, spanking, pet names (in high valyrian š®āšØ), mean!baelor, its giving enemies to lovers.
writerās note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!
Life as a Targaryen is a profound tragedyāyou have known this since you first drew breath. And to be a Targaryen woman is a tragedy unto itself. All the expectations, the weight of duty, the pain, the blood.Ā
It is, indeed, a cruel fate to be the only daughter of Prince Maekar, twin to Aerion Brightflame, his mirror in birth yet his opposite in spirit.
Perhaps not so opposite after all.
From the time you were small, your wicked twin had taken great care to turn your life into a waking nightmare, laying claim to you as his future wife, harrying you without rest, like a wasp forever buzzing at your side. Day after day, he plagued you so. Still, you almost preferred it this way, for you did not like it when he turned his cruelty upon your other brothersāeach of them already burdened enough by your fatherās ceaseless disappointment, no matter how hard they tried to please him.
With you, Maekar were always just slightly different. He had always dreamed of having a daughter, and the gods had been merciful when they placed you into his lifeāso beautiful, and yet so cold. You were a child of contradictions: gentle in manner yet distant in heart, dutiful in appearance yet guarded in spirit.
There was a complexity to you that he did not always quite understand, a quiet storm beneath your composed exterior. At times, he would look upon you with pride, and at others with a kind of troubled wonder, as though he could not decide whether the gods had gifted him a blessing... or a curse.
As his daughter, he believed himself to be the cause of all that you were. He was far from the best of fathers, yet with you, at least, he made the effort.
That, perhaps, was what made it all worse.
His attempts at affection and protection had shaped you into a young woman both indulged and restrainedāspoiled in privilege, yet starved in warmth. Your heart had grown cold not from cruelty alone, but from expectation, from being held to standards too high and too sharp for any girl to bear.
You learned to demand much, not out of vanity, but out of survival. In a world that took from you before you could even understand what you had lost, you forged your own defenses: a proud bearing, an unyielding gaze, and a will that refused to bend. To others, you seemed exacting, distant, even ungrateful. Yet beneath it all lay a girl who had learned, far too early, that love in House Targaryen was never freely givenāit was earned, measured, and too often,Ā withdrawn.
You had no plans to marry yet, for you claimed there was no man who stood as your equal. Aerion least of all. Your twin had grown into the cruelest man you knew, and more often than not, a source of deep shame. But, he was your brotherāand in a way so tangled and complex that only the two of you seemed able to understand, you loved him still.
Then there was Baelor, the Hand of the King, the Heir to the Iron Throne, the Prince of Dragonstone, your uncle, and one of the most exasperating men you had ever known.
He pitied you in a way your father could never, with a gentleness that stood in stark contrast to Maekarās stern, unyielding nature. Baelor had watched you grow from a sweet, open-hearted girl into a woman both unpredictable and so difficult, a woman shaped by silence, wickedness, and unspoken grief.
Where your father demanded strength, Baelor offered understanding. And you usually liked to remain on that thin line in between. He had tried, in his own quiet way, to guide you toward the brighter side of the coin the gods had cast when you and your twin were born into this world.
Yet for all his efforts, you seemed to drift ever farther from the light, drawn instead toward the long, creeping shadows of cruelty, pride, and inherited darkness. Drift farther fromĀ him.
There were days when he could scarcely endure you at allāyour mocking little laughs, your knowing glances, the way your platinum hair seemed to blind him, and the way your beautiful body was always draped in the most exquisite gowns for the most unnecessary of occasions.
You carried yourself as though the world were a stage built solely for your amusement, moving through the halls with careless grace, trailing silk and scandal alike in your wake.
To Baelor, it was infuriating: your vanity, your deliberate provocations, the effortless way you commanded attention without ever asking for it. At times, it seemed to him that you took a secret pleasure in testing his patience, in seeing just how far you could push him before his composure cracked.
That day, he looks unusually strained, burdened by the scandal that had erupted at the puppet tentāa ridiculous spectacle that, for reasons you considered fair, had driven Aerion into one of his fits of rage, ending in the cruel torture of the poor puppeteer girl.
You had simply watched it all unfold, neither defending your twin nor stepping in to help. That, more than anything, had enraged your uncle.
āLeave us, Aegon.āĀ
Baelorās voice is a low, raspy command in the gloom of the library chamber. He is speaking to your little brother, who has only just returned after running off for daysāthe wisest thing he could have done, you had told him when you saw him again.
Little Egg casts you a look of profound sympathy, offering a small, fragile smile as he passes by your side. You watch him until he disappears through the closing door, the soft thud of wood sealing you alone in the room with Prince Baelor.
The silence that follows is heavy, the sort that would be unbearable for most people, pressing against their ears and filling the space with unease. But not for you. You have always been drawn to this kind of quietāthe kind that sharpens your senses, that makes every breath feel louder, every heartbeat more deliberate. It settles low in your stomach like a coiled thread of anticipation, a subtle, restless stirring. The tension does not frighten you. On the contrary, you wear it like a second skin, letting it wrap around you, waiting, watching, listening for whatever will break it first.
Baelor does not invite you to sit. He remains standing behind his desk, hands braced against the polished wood, His jaw is set tight enough to snap, his expression all frown from restrained fury.
āYou stood there,ā he acuses at last, his voice low but sharp, each word carefully measured. āYou saw what was happening, and you did nothing.ā
You remain standing before him, meeting his stare with a mask of studied indifference. Your hands were clasped at the small of your back, waiting for the Prince to exhaust his dreary little sermon.
Your visit to Ashford Meadow had been painfully dullāuntil this happened. Amid the chaos, some hedge knight had struck Aerion, drawing blood, a tooth and all. That, more than anything, had been the final flourish atop the entire disgraceful spectacle.
Your brow furrows slightly.Ā āIt was an insult to our House, Baelorāā
āPlease,ā he cuts you off at once, letting out a humorless scoff.Ā āWe both know you donāt give a fuck about the honor of our House.ā
You take the opportunity to study him as he continues to grumble like an angry hound. Your gaze travels where it should not; down his arms to his hands, noticing the prominent veins standing out beneath his skin, the rings on his fingers catching the candlelight upon his desk.
He is so handsome like thisāunraveled, angry, his usually composed and tranquil expression twisted into irritation and restrained fury. There is somethingĀ dangerouslyĀ compelling in seeing him stripped of his calm, in watching frustration crease his brow and tighten his jaw. It makes him seem more real and far more unsettling than when he hides behind his perfect control.
A slight, mocking smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. You take a step toward him. Then another. the silk of your skirts whispering against the stone floorāa soft, feminine sound that feels like an affront to the gravity of his chamber.
The candlelight catches in the dark folds of your gown as you draw nearer, your steps unhurried, your gaze steady. You don't lower your eyes. You never do.
āYou wound me, Uncle,ā you pout your lips just enough to be provocative. āWhy should I care about a puppeteer, anyway? She is nothing. We are dragons. Let the sheep fret over the sheep.ā
āNothing?ā he repeats quietly. āThe girl was tortured, an innocent knight imprisoned, and your twin was struck. This is not nothing.ā Baelor reprimands you, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper that vibrated through your chest. āAerion acted with the madness of a gutter-rat, andĀ you... you watched as if it were a mummerās farce played for your sole entertainment. Does your blood run so cold that even the screams of the innocent do not stir it?ā
You don't flinch. Instead, you reach out to him, your fingers hovering just inches from his hand, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his skin.
His gaze breaks from yours just barely, forced downward by the proximity. His eyes fix upon the deep cut of your bodice, tracing the skin of your cleavage before snapping back up to your face, his jaw loosening for only a fraction of a second before he masters himself again.
āMy blood is the same as yours, Baelor. The same as Aerionās,ā you counter, tilting your head. Your platinum hair catch the light, a halo of Valyrian silver that seemed to mock his distress.
At the sound of his own name, his two-toned eyes narrowānot with anger alone, but with sharp displeasure. āI am the Hand of the King, theĀ Heir to the Throne. You will treat me as such.ā
āYour Grace,ā you obey, lingering on the title with deliberate emphasis, your lips curving in the faintest suggestion of a smile as you lower your head into a slow, exaggerated bow. It is the sort of courtesy meant not to honor, but to provokeāa gesture too shallow to be sincere, too deliberate to be accidental.
You begin to pull your hand away, a sharp, triumphant glint in your eyes, ready to leave him drowning in his own indignation. But you are not fast enough, never enough with him. Before you could retreat, Baelorās hand shots out like a viper, his fingers locking around your wrist with strength.
The suddenness of it steals the breath from your lungs as he jerkes you back toward the desk, forcing you to remain, his grip unyieldingānot enough to bruise, but firm enough to remind you that heĀ isĀ the Heir to the Iron Throne,Ā the second most important man after the King, and you are just a girl playing with fire.
āA princess of House Targaryen does notĀ scoffĀ at the suffering of the smallfolk,ā he hisses, his face now inches from yours above the desk. You could see the fire of the candles reflects in his furious eyes. āShe does not act like aĀ bratĀ that needs to be reminded of her own place.ā
You just lean into the heat of his anger, your gaze dropping to his lips before rising back to meet his with a boldness that borders onĀ treason.
āAnd what is my place, Uncle?ā you demand, the wordĀ uncleĀ dripping with a sweetness that feels like poison on your pretty lips. āIs it here, withĀ you?ā
His jaw tightens as he grunts your name, a muscle leaping in his cheek, trying to maintain the composure of the good man he is. āI'm trying toĀ teachĀ youāā
āNo,ā you cut him off, your voice dropping to a low, sultry tone that echoed in the quiet library. āYou are frustrated because I am the one thing in this Seven Kingdoms you cannot command like your other lapdogs.ā
You lean closer, your breath ghosting barely over his skin, āYou are frustated, because a āgood manā should not look at his niece the way you look at me, they way you speak to me, the way you touch me with the hands of a depravedāā
Before the insult can spill from your wicked lips, Baelorās hand catches your wrist, wrenching your arm behind the small of your back and with a sharp surge of strength, he forces you forward, catching you utterly off balance.
Another gasp escapes your throat as your body is forced down onto the dark oak of his desk.Ā Your cheek is pressed ruthlessly against the open vellum of the ancient, boring tome he was reading.
Baelor does not release his hold. He moves with a predatorās calculated patience, circling the desk while keeping the heavy, crushing pressure of his palm against your lower back to pin you down, catching your other hand as well before you try to wiggle off his hold.Ā
As he positions himself directly behind you, his shadow swallows you whole, blotting out the flickering candlelight.Ā You can feel the ragged edge of his breath ghosting against the nape of your neck, stirring the fine silver hairs there.
His free hand moves to ruthlessly brush aside the restrictive layers of your red gown, clearing a path until his palm presses firmly against your bare skin, feeling how wet you are at your center, his fingers teasing just a little with the fabric of your smallclothes.
You attempt to squirm away from his hand, blushing furiously as you glare back at him.
āRelease me,ā you breatheānot pleading, but commanding.
āIf your father is so intent on indulging your every whim, then it seems it falls to me to teach you a proper lesson,Ā hm?ā he says, the sound a low vibration against your bare skin. He presses a sharp, lingering kiss between your shoulder blades, exposed by the daring cut of the gown that has tormented his senses since the moment he first laid eyes on you. āI must show you how a true princess behaves.ā
āUncleāā the words hitch in your throat, your eyes fluttering shut as a wave of pleasure washes over you, making your knees weak. The rough texture of his beard grazing your sensitive flesh and sending a jolt of pleasure straight down your spine.
Between each word, he begins to plant a trail of searing kisses down the line of your spine, his lips tracing the bone with agonizing slowness. The pleasant sensation forces your back to arch instinctively against him, your breath hitching as you exhale a shaky, lustful sigh into the quiet of the chamber.Ā
āShe is to be obedient,ā he breathes into your skin, kissing it with adoration, moving lower, ādutiful,Ā submissive...ā
āAm I not submissive enough for your tastes, then, Your Grace?ā Even now, pinned and vulnerable, you find the steel to defy him. You cast a glance back over your shoulder, your fingers tightening around his hand where it clamps your wrists against the small of your back.
He answers not with words, but with a possessive surge of his hips against you. He heaves the silk and linen of your skirts upward with careless disdain, baring you to the cool air of the room before pressing himself home once more.Ā
He makes you acutely aware of the heavy, throbbing power of his arousal, hardening against the back of your thigh through the fine slik of his breechesāa silent, mounting promise of the lesson to come.
Baelor clucks his tongue in a slow, disapproving tsk, his gaze rising from the plump curve of your buttocks to meet your eyes.Ā His grip tightens with punishing force around your hands, pinning you firmly in place against the desk.Ā
āLet us see if this finally silences that defiant tongue of yours, Dying Flame,ā he rasps, using the name the people whisper with cruel delight.
The word scrapes against your pride. Dying Flame. You hate how it sounds in his mouthāhow it reduces you to a cruel joke, a story for smallfolk to spit and laugh over.
Dying Flame. The fire that goes out.
In the language of dragons, fire is life, it is passion, it is the roar that conquers empires. But to you, the smallfolk and the court have baptized you with ash. They whisper that you were born with your fire already spent, every spark of it surrendered to your twin in the wombāa flickering flame that emits no warmth, void of the empathy expected of a woman and the fury expected of a Targaryen.
They see you as a gray ember, something that might have been bright once but cooled too soon, leaving only a beautiful, frigid shell that watches the suffering of others with the indifference of a corpse.
You twist your neck, the movement awkward and strained as you try to look him in the eye from your position bent over the desk. The stupid name feels like a slap, colder than the air hitting your exposed skin.
āDo not call me that,ā you hiss, your voice cracking with a vulnerability you hadn't permitted until this moment.
āAnd why not?ā he murmurs, his voice a dark, velvet caress. āIs it too honest for you, mhm? Does it burn, little niece? A fire that does not warm its own is a dead fire. That is what they see.ā
The intensity of his gaze is palpable even though you cannot see it, his voice a hoarse whisper that sends shivers down your spine and make your cunt clench aroung nothing.
He can see it all when he shoves your smallclothes aside, hissing under his breath at the paradise you have between your legs.
āBut they are all wrong,ā he murmurs, his voice thick with a raw, uncharacteristic lust. His hand move from your hip to grip your thighs, forcing them to spread for him, his fingers digging into your skin with possessive force. āThey have never been here. They do not know that your fireā¦ it is right here, burning between your legs, hot enough to consume us both.ā
The air escapes your lungs in a sharp, serpent-like hiss as you feel his fingers intrude between your wet folds. He barely brushes the surface at first, teasing the sensitive peak of your flower with the calloused tip of a finger, testing the heat he claimed to find there.
Baelor does not wait for your consent; he has already claimed it with his silence. With a swift, practiced motion, he frees himself from his breeches.
You feel him against your inner thigh, staining your skin with his slick, making you even wetter, your cunt tightening around nothing in enthusiasm.
āLook at you,ā he coos in awe, a dark sort of pride coloring his words. āDrenched for me, so beautiful...ā
He positions himself against your entrance with a firm, guiding hand at your hip, and then, with a singular, possessive thrust, he drives himself into you.
The air is stolen from your lungs. You let out a choked cry, your fingers clawing at the dark oak of the desk, your nails digging into the wood as he fills the emptiness that wasĀ achingĀ for him.Ā The big size of him isn't a shock, you know; you have seen it before, the shape of it tracing a stark outline beneath all his dark garments.
āBaelorāā you whimper, his name breaking on your lips as salt-streaked tears spill from your eyes.Ā They are tears born of a tangled knot of sensationāof the sharp sting of his entry, the overwhelming rush of pleasure, and the jagged joy that floods your body as he claims you.Ā
You feel him stretching you out, forcing a path through your fluttering walls, burying himself so deep within you that it feels as though he is reaching for your very soul.
āQuiet now,ā he quiets you down, his voice dropping to that low, hypnotic rasp as he begins to move. He doesn't go slow, he fucks you with a rhythmic, demanding pace that makes the heavy desk creak beneath your weight. āYou wouldn't want the others to hear us, would you? To find the King's Hand and his niece in such a...Ā disgracefulĀ position?ā
You shake your head in a silent refusal at the question, though he can feel you tightening around him at the mere thought of being discovered in such a scandalous state. You would welcome an audience, you believe. āThere is my princess. Taking it all like a good girl. So brave, aren't you? So strong for your uncle. Thatās itā
As he drives deeper, his handāthe one that isn't holding your hipāreaches down to stroke your hair off your face to look at you better.
āSo tight, so welcoming. Such a good,Ā sweetĀ girl.Ā MyĀ girlā
The praise hits you harder than the thrusts. It bypasses your pride and strikes the girl beneath all of that armor and cold demeanor, the one who has spent her life starved for a warmth that wasn't tied to a fatherās disappointment or a twinās cruelty.
The desk groans under the weight of your joined bodies, books sliding and clattering to the floor, but neither of you notices. It is the sound that truly has you so warm inside out, the rhythmic thud of the desk against the stone wall, and the far more scandalous sound of flesh meeting flesh.
With every harsh drive of Baelorās merciless hips, there is an obscene, wet slap that echoes off the high, vaulted ceiling. The sound of his heavy, slick heat meeting the desperate, overflowing moisture of your core is so filthy it would make a septon weep.
āListen to that,ā he marvels in a whisper behind you. āListen to how loud you are for me.ā
He hitches your hips even higher, his fingers bruising the delicate skin of your waist as he anchors you for a particularly deep, soul-searching thrust, coaxing a cry of your throat.
āLook at you,ā he snarls, the words tasting like copper. āA Princess of the Blood, sprawled across a desk like a common whore. Your father thinks youāre a statue of ice, too pure for the touch of boys, but youāre just a filthy little thing, aren't you? You were just rotting for a man to finally put you in your placeā
He thrusts again, a brutal, shallow stroke that makes your mouth opens to let out another shattered, high-pitched cry, a sound that would surely bring the Kingsguard running if it reached the hall. But Baelor is faster.
Before the scream can escape your throat, he reaches around, his large hand cupping your jaw with a bruising grip. He shoves his long, calloused index finger deep into your mouth, hooking it over your tongue to stifle your voice. The cold, heavy weight of his signet ringāthe gold embossed with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryenāclashes against your teeth as he shoves his finger deeper into your mouth.
The intrusion is sudden and dominant, forcing your jaw to stay open as you suckle instinctively on his digit, the taste of salt and iron flooding your senses.
Your platinum hair spills over the crook of his arm like a river of molten silk as you strain your neck, desperate to catch a glimpse of the man behind you. A broken, needy moan escapes your lips at the sight of himāBaelor, theĀ strong, intimidatingĀ Hand of the King, now utterly unraveled as he drags his cock in and out you.
He is stripped of his storied restraint, his features twisted by the raw, primal demand of his most carnal instincts. And the longing for you.Ā
The heavy rings on his fingers feel biting cold against the soft flesh of your asscheek when he slaps it, forcing you back down into position.Ā The sharp crack of his palm against your flesh echoes in the library, a stinging heat that radiates through your hips and makes your core clench impossibly tight around him.
āNo, no, noāstay down,ā he commands, his voice trembling ever so slightly as he feels the precipice of his release approaching. āStay just like that. Good girl, so goodā
Every time he bottoms out, he lets out a low, guttural growl that sounds like a prayer to the Old Valyrian godsāor perhaps, in this sacred, sinful moment, a prayer toĀ you. The vibrations of his hoarse voice sending chills through your spine, making your senses reel, your blood singing with the ancient fire of your lineage.
Baelor leans down to you, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he begins to unravel in a language you do not speak, but your soul instinctively recognizes.
āĆuha zaldrÄ«zes naejot gÅ«rogon...ā he groans. You don't know the words, but the way they roll off his tongueāharsh, melodic, and ancientāsends a fresh wave of heat crashing through your cunt. āSÄ«r vok. Ćuhonā
You have no idea that he is calling you his dragon, telling you to chooseĀ him, claiming you as his own in the tongue of your conqueror ancestors.Ā All you know is the raw, primal power behind the sounds, the way his breath hitches as he pours his praise into your ear in a language meant for kings and gods.
His hands move to your waist, his fingers digging into your skin as if heās trying to leave a permanent mark of his possession.
āUncle...ā you moan, a broken sound that shatters him completely. A string of saliva escapes your parted lips, dripping onto the dark wood of the desk as you feel a particularly forceful thrust crash against your backside.
With a final, bone-deep thrust, Baelor stumbles into his release, his forehead dropping against the arch of your back as he spills his warmth inside you. His entire body shudders as his cock keeps spurting so much seed into your womb that you are soon filled to the brink, his essence overflowing from your abused hole and slicking the girth of him until it begins to trail down your thighs.
And just as you begin to grind your hips against his in a desperate, frantic search for your own release, Baelor catches you. He halts you abruptly, his hands turning into iron shackles upon your waist to kill the rhythm you so crave.Ā
You let out a whimper of protest, your body shivering under him, aching for the friction that would bring youĀ peace.Ā
āNo,ā he commands, his voice cutting through your hoarse protests and the desperate squirming of your hips, even as he gasps for his own breath. āYou will go to that hedge knight's dungeon and offer him your personal apologies for the chaos your silence helped sow.ā
āWāwhat? But it was not my faultāā you begin to argue back at him, your voice cracking with a mixture of indignation and embarrassment.
At the sound of your indignant whine, he finally withdraws, pulling out of you, the sudden absence of him leaving you feeling cold andĀ achinglyĀ hollow.
He hovers his fingers just outside your ruined entrance, collecting the slick, white evidence of his possession that has escaped you in the sudden pause. With a methodical pressure, he uses his fingers to gather the escaping seed, and with a careful motion, he pushes it back inside you, forcing the evidence of his conquest deep within your walls.
And then, with maddeningly slow fingers, he hooks your smallclothes and tugs them back into place, smoothing the silk as if he hadn't just spent the last hour ruining it.
āYou will make amends, princess. And only afterĀ thatĀ you shall have me again. Not a moment before. Even a dragon must learn that the world does not bow to everyĀ whimā
You turn your head to glare at him, your eyes burning with a mixture of fury and unspent desire, as you push yourself up from the cold oak of the desk.Ā your chest heaving and your eyes flashing with a mix of fury and unspent desire, yet you remain still, forcing your body into a semblance of the obedience he demands.
Even with his heavy hand still lingering on your hip, he moves to help you straighten your gown, his fingers brushing against your bare skin with a frustratingly possessive gentleness as he pulls the silk over your trembling legs and covers the evidence of his own claim.
Seeing you finally fall silent, actually bowing to his command rather than railing against it, a faint, fleeting smile finally touches the corners of Baelorās lips. It is a look of dark satisfaction, the pride of a man who has successfully bent theĀ wildestĀ of dragons to his will.
Your gaze is fixed firmly on the cold stone floor, your face burning with a fiery blush. āAs you wish, Your GraceāĀ
He catches you looking away from him. With a gentle hand, Baelor reaches out, placing his thumb beneath your chin to lift your face up. He forces you to meet his mismatched gaze as he leans down, capturing your mouth in a passionate, loving kiss before straightening his tunic and his breeches with practiced, mechanical grace. In a matter of seconds, he resumes his cold, formidable composure, returning to the impenetrable mask of the Hand of the King.
Baelor moves away from you with an efficiency that feels almost insulting, circling the desk to sink back into his heavy oak chair.Ā The only trace of his sin is the slight disarray of his dark hair and the residual shimmer of satisfaction in his eyes.Ā
You remain standing, trembling slightly, feeling the heat of his seed sliding down the inside of your thighs, a wet, stinging reminder of him. Frustration burns in your chest hotter than desire, but you hold your head high, recomposing your dignity with the same elegance he used to resume his office.
You watch him as he fixes his gaze on the papers scattered before him, pretending that the ink on the parchment holds more importance than the woman he has just subjected.
Your lips, still swollen from his kiss, part in a shocked gape; it is a rare moment in your life where you have not completely bent a man to your will, and the realization leaves you speechless.
āGo,ā he says at last, a ghost of a smile playing at the very edge of his lipsāa fleeting, knowing thing that only reinforces his victory. āBefore I decide that your insolence requires a longer wait.ā
oh em gee!!! i just read part3 to your ser dunk fics and now i canāt get it out of my head. dunk with hyperspermia but obvi itās not a know thing at the time so heās just like āahhh why is it so much?!?!ā can only imagine how heād tell whoever heās hooking up with like āuhh just be warned that i cum a lot more than a regular personā a big man like him sure packs up big loads
(was gonna comment this on the fic but iām not brave enough to)
No because I can see this so vividly! He would be so embarrassed about it since he genuinely doesn't know why it's happening and why it's so much, and still, he feels the need to warn his partner about it beforehand <3
( gif credits to @usergambit )
ā pairing: duncan the tall x female!reader
ā word count: 700
ā warnings: +18, smut !!! (minors dni), hyperspermia, unprotected sex, creampie.
Duncan loves you so, so much! He never imagined being so in love with anyone and less someone like you. Committing to the big step into sexual relations is a concept that really excites and horrifies him, because of his littleābigāsecret.
He hovers over you, his big, trembling hands braced on either side of your shoulders to hold his own weight and not crush you to death.
All is unfolding in perfect harmony, the air warm with a romantic fever. He has been half-mad with desire since the moment his eyes first found you, dressed in that delicate tiny, tight dress, a vision of lace and silk donned specifically for his eyes alone.
His face is flushed a deep crimson as he looks down at you. He has been this agitated and ashamedāa lot more than usualāall day.
He clears his throat, his Adamās apple bobbing nervously.
āBeforeā¦ before we go any further,ā Dunk stammers, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly rumble. He won't meet your eyes, looking instead at the pillow next to your head. āThereās something, uhāI ought to tell you. A warning, of sorts.ā
You tilt your head, curiosity piqued, and feel his entire body tremble as you run your hand affectionately along his cheek. āA warning? There is something wrong, love?ā
āNo! No, no, nothing like that,ā he quickly reassures you when he realizes you think that the whole issue has to do with yourself. Finally meets your gaze with those earnest, worried gorgeous blue eyes. āItās justā¦ Iām a big man.ā
You can see it. His massive form practically swallowing you whole as he looms over you. You can feel it, tooāhis erection pressing heavily against your thigh, already leaking so much, red and furious in his desperate need for your attention.
āThe old man used to say everything about me was out of proportion.ā The way your fingers trace the seam of his lips distracts him, his heavy eyelids fluttering shut very slowly as he tilts his head, leaning into your touch just to press a lingering, sweet kiss into the center of your palm. āAnd, well, that includesā¦ tātheā the finish.ā
He pauses, searching for the right words, looking utterly miserable in his embarrassment and under your careful gaze.
āI don't know why it is,ā he continues, ābut I pack a bit more of a load,ā he cringes as he hears himself, āthan a regular man. A lot more, truly. Itāit doesnāt fucking stop. I wouldn't want to startle you, or make a mess you weren't expecting.ā
You canāt help the soft smile that tugs at your lips.
You reach up, cupping his jaw to guide his face down to yours for a proper kiss. āDunk, love, youāre worrying over nothing. I think I can handle whatever you have to give.ā
The warning wasn't an exaggeration.
And a big load wasn't even an understanding,
āOh! Fāfuck, Dunkāā
Duncan is fucking you with the force of an unleashed beast, locking your legs securely flexed up with one of that big hands of his to thrust deeper and deeper into you, as he reach his peak, passionately kissing your lips, your throat, your face, your chest, all that his mouth can claim from you.
He throbs inside you, so deep you feel him in your throat, and the sensation is endless.
Just when you think heās finished, another spurt floods through your gummy walls, and then another and anotherā itās a staggering amount, warm, thick, and seemingly bottomless.
He grinds his hips backwards, trying to contain the spill, but itās no use, your cunt is milking him dry, sucking in every last drop he has to give. Your legs curl all the span around his waistline, making him whine in tears as you clamp his wobbling hips even closer into you.
As he finally crumbles down on you, gasping for air, the excess of his thick, warm seed oozes out your stuffed, abused hole, creating a loud, filthy sound.
Dunk buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath coming in hot, whines against your skin as his teeth graze your shoulder.
āFuckā I really don't know where it all comes from,ā he mumbles into your shoulder, his voice dropping to a sheepish whisper. āIām so sorry about the sheets.ā
He is truly more embarrassed about ruining your sheets than the fact that youāre practically drowning in his seed.
A/N: I am absolutely in love with @idksmtms's fics of Maekar having a young wife whom Dunk confuses with his daughter, and I just kept thinking about how Baelor would react if it happened to him š so I wrote this. Special thanks to @vhagars-dementia for constantly blessing this fandom with her ideas!!! I dedicate this to you <3 And to all my Baelor enthusiasts.
ā summary: ser duncan the tall thinks you're just a beautiful girl close to his own age, but his innocence is his undoing when he mistakes you for just another targaryen cousin. the only problem? you are actually the lady of dragonstone and baelorās wife.
ā pairing: baelor targaryen x wife!reader
ā word count: 2k
ā content: controversial young wife!reader, age gap, humor, mentions of reader's hair length, jealous!baelor, implicit sexual references, pda.
The hedge knight spends more time than ever with the family, forever trailing after Aegon like a loyal hound, laughing, jesting, and, above all, eating.
It was only to be expected that the prince would invite his dear friend to the feast held at Dragonstone for the celebration of your name day. Your husband, Baelor, had prepared a banquet worthy of you, with an enormous cake and hundreds of servants rushing frantically through the castle, adorning the halls with flowers and colors chosen to your liking. He knew you exceptionally well, so it had been easy for him to decorate precisely how you'd like.
You had told him, of course, that such splendor was unnecessary, that a small supper with the family would have more than sufficed. Yet Baelor delighted in spoiling you, for you were the finest blessing he had been granted in a lot of time.
Whenever Ser Duncan the Tall found himself in your presence, he devoted most of his time to watch you from afarāseeing you laugh beside Baelor, play with Egg, or even speak comfortably with Prince Aerion. Your presence was nothing short of glorious, a magnet for eyes and devotion wherever you went. Your nature was exquisiteākind, gentle, and so unbearably sweet that at times Dunk thought you could scarce be of the same blood as the rest of them.Ā
And your beautyā¦ that was another matter entirely. You were the loveliest sight the humble eyes of a hedge knight had ever beheld. Your form was wondrous, your face celestial, your long hair falling over your shoulders like a silken cascade, and your smile... it stole the very breath from his chestĀ everyĀ time. Each time you entered his sight, a sigh would just escape out of him, soft and helpless, like a boy hopelessly in love.
āDo not even think it, Dunk,ā Egg warns him, as he had more than once before, quick to notice the besotted look upon his big friendās face as they sat together at the table. āThat's out of your power to reach, Ser.ā
But Dunk does not answer. He is far too intent upon you as you appear in the great hallās doorway.Ā
Today you wear a gown of red, dazzling, adorned with pearls and white embroidery that spreads across your bodice, climbs your shoulders, and trails down the length of your spine, where darker crimson stitching forms the likeness of dragon scales. Your hair lies loose down your back, softly waved, gleaming in the candlelight.
All rise at your entrance.
Dunk is the last.Ā He nearly stumbles over his chair in his haste, its legs scraping loudly against the stone floor as he shoves it back. That aloneāand youāturn him red as a summer apple.
Valarr, seated at his other side, watches his brutish motion with poorly hidden amusement.
āMy love,ā Baelor calls first, his face gentle as drifting clouds, fondness curving his lips as he comes to greet you properly. āHappy name day.ā
You accept his embrace, smiling as he presses a tender kiss to your hair.
After him, the others come in turn, forming a line to offer their wishes, their thanks, their giftsāsmall tokens and letters placed into your hands.
Egg flings himself into your arms, making you laugh and sway back a step beneath the force of him. Baelor, standing close at your side, smiles at the sight. Ever tender are you with the younglings, and for that, he loves you all the more. You shower his children with a devotion so maternal and steadfast that one would never guess they did not spring from your own womb.
āThank you, my sweet Aegon,ā you tell him, stroking the fine, pale silver-gold hair already sprouting upon his head. The boy had even brought you a flowerāone of those you cherished most, a silent token of his affection.
Duncan feelsĀ painfullyĀ out of place when his turn comes. Standing empty-handed while his stomach twists into a tight, miserable knot.
He is already flushed when you lift your gaze to him, your eyes sparkling with amusement at the familiar effect you have upon himāhis trembling hands, his stammer, his shy smiles. He's so cute!
āSer Duncan. I hope you would be here,ā you greet him warmly, you know well the bond he shares with Aegon; to have him present is a comfort to your heart. āAegon speaks wonders of you. It does not surprise me to see you have become each other's shadow.ā
āMy lady,ā Dunk answers you, his voice no louder than a mouseās squeak. His gaze, much against his better judgment, betrays him, making a swift, helpless journey over the length of your body.
And Baelor notices, of course; his smile fades, slow and certain, as he watches the knightās every movement like a hawk perched upon your shoulder. A single brow lifts slightly, and a deep, thoughtful furrow begins to cloud his brow.
Duncan clears his throat and casts your husband an apologetic glance before daring to look at you again. āIā I beg your pardon. I would not wish to be an intrusion upon your name day. Your father was kind enough to grant me to attend.ā
The hall falls into sepulchral silence. The small conversations that bloom among the Targaryens die at once when Dunkās words echo through the great chamber, their meaning plain, their offenseĀ unmistakable and unashamed. Even the youngest cease their play, and the servants stand frozen right where they are.
All turn to stare at Duncan now, and they look upon him with mortified eyes, as though none dare breathe.
Somewhere, someone fails to smother a laughāmost likely Aerion.
Eggās mouth falls open in mortification. He looks up at his friend, his expression stricken, willing him to understandāto seeāthat what he has just said is wrong.Ā VeryĀ wrong.
Duncan looks down at him when his small squire gives his shin a furtive kick, meant to draw his notice without the others seeing. He frowns, bewildered, not understanding what offense he has given now to deserve such a blow.
And when he looks back to the grown folk, he finds you watching him with an expression poised in perfect balance between horror and amusement. There is even the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of your lips, one you must press away when you turn your head toward your prince.
Baelor does not look pleased as you do.
His face is uncommonly stern, his brow drawn tight, his lips pressed into a hard, unforgiving line, he is trying to gather every shred of his restraint to keep from striking the foolish knight upon your name day.
āShe is my wife, Ser Duncan,ā he clarifies, his patience stretched thin, drawn so taut it borders upon offense.Ā His hand comes to curl around your waist as you lean into him, lifting one hand to his chest in quiet reassurance.
You are still trying to hide that treacherous, amused smile.
āOhāSevenāā Dunk breathes, realization striking him at last. He drops at once to his knees, bowing his head in reverence and shame. āI beg your forgiveness, Your Grace. IāI did not know. My manners are poorāyou must understand, I never māmeant offense.ā
āOf course not, Ser,ā you reply kindly, looking down at him, still leaning against your husbandās chest. He lets out a soft sigh beneath your touch, your hand rising and falling with the steady motion of his breath.
Baelor makes a sharp, dismissive gesture for him to rise. āSee that it does not happen again.ā
āOf course!ā Dunk scrambles to his feet at once, his face burning red with shame. āI only meant that she is so young and beautiful, and youāā
His frantic blue eyes fall upon Valarr, standing just behind his father. The prince shakes his head swiftly, his mismatched eyes widening in urgent warning, bidding him to hold his tongue.
Dunk obeys at once and his jaw snaps shut so hard it almost snaps apart.
āYou witless boy,ā Maekar rebukes him, his face twisted with disgust and disdain when the hedge knight dares glance his way, standing at your side like some old, ill-tempered hound. āThat should cost you your fucking tongue.ā
Your soft laughter breaks through the tension of the moment, and all turn to look at you, the heavy air easing when they all realize this offends you not half so deeply as it does them.
āI am certain Ser Duncan meant no malice, Maekar,ā you say, seeking to soothe themāmost of all your husband. āAnd I should not like to seeĀ anyĀ tongues torn out upon my name day, please.ā
Baelorās gaze remains fixed upon the mortified knight, his hand coming to rest upon the pommel of his swordāa blade he carries in quiet defiance of your pleas to remain unarmed this day. He thinks, perhaps, that he shall have a use for it against Ser Duncan.
ā... shall we eat at last, then?ā Comes Daeronās unmistakable voice from somewhere within the hall. āI am hungry. AndĀ thirsty.ā
āOf that, none have any doubt,ā Maekar mutters, rolling his eyes as he returns to the table.
The others follow in his wake, granting you and your husband a moment alone.
Ser Duncan gives you another quick, apologetic bow before hastening out from beneath your husbandās gaze.
You cannot hold it any longer.
A breath of laughter escapes you, soft and bright, and you turn in Baelorās arms to face him fully.Ā
He is still watching the place where Duncan stood, his jaw tight, his shoulders rigid beneath your touch, as if the insult lingers in the air like a foul smell.
Your fingers curl more firmly into the front of his doublet to call for his attention.
āMy prince,ā you whisper with a smile when his two-toned eyes finally meet yours. āMy heart...ā
You rise onto your toes and press a gentle kiss to his cheek, his beard tickling against your skin. His body noticeably softens beneath your warm affection.
Another kiss follows, softer still, at the corner of his mouth.
And one more, sweet and lingering, upon his lips.
āPeace,ā you plead humorously against his mouth, your fingers toying idly with the Hand of the Kingās badge on his chest. āYou look as though you mean to challenge the poor knight to single combat over a slip of the tongue, my love.ā
āI am not amused,ā he manifests, his tone remarkably sullen, yet you press another loving kiss to his lips to chase away his pettish little pout.
āNo?ā You lean closer, your voice drops into something more playful and teasing, āis it because he thinks you're old, husband?ā
His lips tremble at your words, holding back an ironic smile, and his hands tighten at your waist, pulling you closer against him.
Baelor clicks his tongue, and your gaze falls to his lips as he does. āI am notĀ old.ā
āWell, considering my own age... truthfully, you are a bit older,ā you continue to tease him, biting back a small laugh at his startled reaction. āShould I begin calling youĀ father now, hm?ā
His beautiful eyes narrow.
You grināand steal another quick kiss before he can protest.
āDo not push your luck, wife,ā he warns all the same, a playful little smile curving his lips. His hand slides down to the small of your back before he delivers a sharp, scolding swat to your backside, making you jolt lightly against him.
His brow arches slightly. āYou are the only one left breathless and trembling like some frail, ancient little thing. Or must I remind you how you clung to me the other night and begged me toā?ā
Your hand flies to his mouth, covering it before he can utter another word.
āMy prince,ā you hiss under your breath, though laughter trembles in your voice, your eyes wide with scandalized amusement. āYou grow bold. We are in a hall full of eyes, and your sons sit but a stone's throw away.ā
His lips move against your palm, pressing a lingering, heated kiss there that sends a shiver down your spine. Baelor gently pulls your hand away, though he does not let go of your fingers, his thumb stroking your knuckles with a slow, possessive rhythm, grazing your betrothal ring.
āLet them look,ā he dismisses, leaning into you to kiss your lips properly, claiming them. And claiming you.
The heated kiss, at last, forces Duncanās eyes away from you, and Baelor smiles against your mouth as he watches him behind you, finally closing his own eyes to savor the honeyed sweetness of your kiss.
ser duncan the tall uses his size to his advantage. he doesnāt press up behind you while youāre reaching for something out of your reach, far too respectful to impose on your space.
instead he uses those broad shoulders to shield you from the pushy, jabbing elbows of the tourney audience. dips his head low to hear you better, utterly unaware of how your cheeks flush when his hands fall to your hips to gingerly angle your body away from the crowd. inadvertently drawing you closerāonly so he can better keep you safe, of course.
follows a short ways behind as you and egg make your way through the market. jaw set and eyes narrowing at any leering glance thrown your way. his frame looms in your periphery ā a hulking, watchful shadow while you exchange coin for supper.
he takes the bundle from your arms easily, hushing your protests with a hand on the small of your back as he guides the three of you back to camp. you try to listen to eggās excited chatter, humming in all the right places but all you can focus on is the splay of his long fingers on your cloak.
night falls, and your tent is left empty after egg runs off to play with the other squire boys. dunk remains glued to his spot in the corner, hunched instinctively under the low ceiling, watching ā waiting.
he stares from across the short distance, as you let your hair down and unlace your dress. itās pavlovian, the way his breeches tighten and his fists curl into his knees. even so, he remains still, only his eyes tracking your every move until youāre standing between his spread thighs and your dress is pooling at your feet.
he takes you then, letting you settle atop his lap and sink down slow. one rough hand rests on your hip, the other pawing at the fat of your ass as you drag yourself against him at a torturous pace. still, dunk stays good.
doesnāt buck, doesnāt thrust when gods know he wants to, because the urge to be good wins out. he pants, open mouthed and near slobbering on your tits as you pick up the pace.
youāre mewling so pretty in his ear, clawing at his back when his fat cock bullies that spot inside that makes you choke on a gasp. your fingers drift to his arms, nails digging into his biceps when he takes a nipple in his mouth, blue eyes rolled back at the heavenly heat sucking him in with every shaky jerk of your hips.
you whimper, face tucked into his thick neck when your thighs begin to burn from the effort. āplease, dunkāā
he nods, eyes half-lidded as he draws your face to his, catching your lips in a messy kiss. dunk locks those brawny arms around your waist, plants his feet and begins to fuck you in earnest, just like you asked.
the wicked sounds of slapping flesh meet your ears, and when you try to squirm away from the blinding pleasure, dunk drags you back to his lips with a pleased grunt.
āāre you close, mālady?ā dunk has the mind to ask, like he canāt already tell, with your eyes clamped shut and your walls fluttering erratically around his length. thereās a hint of teasing in his breathless voice, so you clench tight on the next stroke.
dunkās answering groan, punched out and broken is worth the way he slides a hand down between your bodies and flicks at your clit. the surprise of it has your high cresting, burying your teeth in the meat of his shoulder as your body trembles atop him.
dunk cums like that, with you locked to him and his skin between your teeth. the sharp sting in his shoulder throbs in time with his cock spilling inside you.
when you draw back, spent and hazy-eyed, you see the twinkle in dunkās own, just a little too proud for a knight. the lazy, satisfied smirk on his lips only grows when your knees buckle as soon as you stand.
content: 18+ minors dni, nsfw, perhaps a little ooc bc heās happy but who wouldnāt be when aerion isnāt around, teasing in public, oral f!receiving, fingering, unprotected piv, smidgen of breeding like two words of it, he bites, lightest choking, possessive baelor, jealous baelor, slightly brat whisperer baelor, mentions of maekar (x2)
word count: 3k
notes: this was so fun to write! did it in pure silence with nothing but a dream and a fire in my loins yes mama!! iām getting on a plane in like 6 hours but my children get fed FIRST. perv dunk part 2 is next (they fuckin nasty style) but i shall see when that is bc lunar new year celebrations are starting soon!! ALSOOOO i do not wanna see my man get slimed on sundayššš (rip in the chat) hope you enjoy this one my loves xoxo
THIS IS AN 18+ BLOG, MINORS DNI
ā
your husband, crown prince of westeros, is a pervert who barely bothers to conceal it. he will happily fuck you in the court council chambers until the whole room smells like sex and thereās no way to deny it ā not that anyone would ever dare mention it.
maekar enters before the rest, shooting his brother a sidelong glare after youāve taken your leave on wobbly legs.
if youāre unable to follow on the longer trips baelor must take, heāll save all his cum for when he gets home. finally uses that princely authority to his own end, ordering peace within the red keep for the rest of the day, and makes his way to your shared chambers where he fucks you until youāre both spent.
heāll make sure your womb is flooded with him, and the heāll coo and coax you into pliancy when you whimper at the press of his fingers, pushing his release back inside you. he brings you to another orgasm like that, slow and weaker than the rest, but you cling to him all the same.
when he seals his own lips around his fingers, eyes twinkling at the taste of both your highs, your hand flies up and wacks him in the chest, huffing at his self-satisfied hum.
baelor merely chuckles, and draws you into his arms.
ā
at the tourney, heāll make sure youāre seated beside him. his pretty, kindhearted wife who appeals to the masses and shows a more agreeable side to the targaryens.
close is never close enough, is what your husband tells you with one firm hand wrapped around the rungs in your chair as he tugs you towards him. makes it so youāre close enough to breathe in, your oils and perfumes masking the muck and blood of the sport.
youāll even try to pull away, maintaining some decorum, even though baelorās hand cradling the back of your neck and his salt-and-pepper beard tickling your temple is more than enough to make you cave.
ābaelor,ā you hiss under your breath when his hand descends upon your inner thigh, gripping at the fat through the thick layers of your dress.
the princeās grin is a wicked one, wiped clean as soon as it comes, because thereās a blanket thrown over your lap for the chill of the winter month, and nobody can see the way his hand is moving progressively higher. nobody pays the pair of you any attention ā you are there for the tourney, after all.
āhush, my love,ā baelor hums with an inconspicuous peck to your cheek, lips wet and moving against your face, āyouāve a show to watch.ā
heāll tease you like that, forcing you to keep your attention on the jousting, while lithe fingers press insistently against where you need him most.
entirely too knowing of the way you drip for him, the blazing heat causing you to squirm in your seat, nearly unmooring the blanket covering his sin altogether.
your fingers clutch at baelorās forearm, and to any unsuspecting onlooker, it seems a wife turning to her husband from the violence of the joust. they donāt see the slow, constant drag of his digits over your skirts, palm cupping you with just enough pressure to make your mind go fuzzy.
baelor is infuriatingly calm. much too collected for a man whoās wife is grinding into his palm in plain view of hundreds of smallfolk and noblemen alike. but heās not worried, because he knows you ā as much as youāll berate him for it later, youāre still tugging his arm harder against your front, grinding your cunt in subtle circles.
and itās that sureness, that quiet confidence that irks you even more, because by the seven, it shouldnāt be so attractive. all but ignoring your plight, gaze trained on the snapping lances ā he looks almost bored. his only tell, the faintest lift at the corner of his lips, a twitch so slight anyone but his wife would miss it.
he watches you hiccup quietly, head pressed into the back of your chair, dragging your eyes helplessly to his. begging him with less than words, even when you donāt quite know what it is you want ā for him to stop? for more?
baelor meets your pleading eyes with those mismatched hues, glinting jointly in his delight of tormenting you.
the prince says nothing when you push up from your seat suddenly, a hand on your stomach as you feign discomfort. he watches you wave off concerned ladies and storm into the depths of the castle, counting the seconds before he goes in search of you.
ā
he doesnāt search very far before he finds you, pacing in your temporary chambers. at the sound of the heavy door creaking open, you spin around, whip fast and levelling baelor with a lethal glare.
lesser men would have bowed to the irritated scowl on your painted lips, but it only makes his cock swell even further.
āyouāre an ass,ā you declare, arms crossed under your chest in a way that draws an approaching baelorās eyes to the swell of your tits.
āmind your tongue,ā baelor hums, low and syrupy without the slightest hint of threat, āyou speak to a prince of the realm.ā
your eyes roll, harder still when he comes to a stop before you, close enough the tips of his boots brush the hem of your dress. his hands, warm and familiar wrap around your wrists, pulling them from your chest, into his own with a knowing smile.
like heās enjoying every second of the lead-up, just as much as heāll enjoy the culmination of all your ire.
āyouāre an ass,ā you huff, adding with a bow of your head, āyour grace.ā
a long, amused exhale leaves him, before heās tugging you hard against his chest. it draws a sharp breath from your lips, the hard lines of his chest against the softness of yours.
he watches, lips parted in the beginnings of a smile when you try to school your expression ā refusing to give him the satisfaction after heās teased you so.
āyou wound me, my love,ā he raises your hand in his, casting kiss upon kiss over your knuckles. flips your palm over and lays his lips across the center, for good measure.
ārightly so,ā you mutter, though youāre already visibly melting at the edges. baelorās thumbs run soothing circles over the backs of your hands.
āi have been rather neglectful, have i not?ā he clicks his tongue softly, voice gentle as the way heād soothe a horse in distress.
and you, entirely weak to baelorās charms, nod desperately, because by gods, thatās exactly what heās been doing. since youād arrived to the godforsaken tourney, baelorās presence has been everywhere but with you, much to his own dismay.
āmy poor darling,ā baelor whispers, lifting a hand to cup your chin, leading your eyes shining with frustrated tears to his. āwill you let me make it up to you?ā
āyouād better,ā your eyes narrow, expectant, even as you crane your neck to finally kiss him.
still a little petulant, but thatās alright. baelor likes getting to fuck it out of you.
he backs you up until your knees knock into the edge of your shared bed, and yanks the laces of your dress with as much care as he can muster when it feels like his cock might spear through his leather breeches.
ābaelor,ā you whine, hastily slipping out of your winter dress, leaving you in only your shift as you lay sprawled beneath him. ļæ¼
your fingers fumble with the clasps on his doublet, giving up halfway and going for his trousers instead, but the laces wonāt budge and baelor isnāt helping at all ā lost in a trance, watching your nipples pebble from the cold though the thin fabric.
ābaelor,ā itās sharper this time, needier. baelorās kicked into motion at the sound, blinking back to the present, where his wife is palming at his bulge, too impatient to wait for his touch.
he swats your hand away, ignoring your protests when he descends onto his knees. it still steals your breath, the sight of him between your legs ā all his power, yet still on the ground for you.
his eyes hone in on the damp patch at the front of your shift, chest welling with a smug satisfaction. he spreads your thighs spread wide, making room for his broad shoulders as he settles your calves over them.
āno, i-ā your cry cuts off when he rucks the hem up to your middle, exposing the hottest parts of you to the winter chill. his breath fans over your wet folds, suckling at your inner thigh.
ā-want you inside! please, baelor, iāve been waiting-ā
he shuts you up with a nip to your flesh, laving his tongue over the bite in soothing laps. your hips buck in search for more, but he anchors you down with a firm hand over your lower belly.
āquiet,ā he chuckles, eyes barely flitting up from where theyāre glued to your leaking pussy. āyou wanted my attention, darling girl. now you have it.ā
the first moan that leaves you is laced with frustration, but another run of his smart tongue through your slit and any complaints die out on yours.
he eats you like heās making up for lost time, even as he loses it still. he knows he should get back to the matches, and eventually someone will come looking. but the taste of your cunt makes him forget himself, eyes rolling back while his tongue plunges inside to draw more of your slick from the source.
your high keen is muffled by the pillow youāve clamped over your face, and irritation flares in baelor. not at you, only that heās been so lost in devouring you that he hadnāt noticed he was missing out on hearing your gorgeous cries.
the pillow is plucked out of your grasp and thrown over his shoulder.
ānone of that,ā baelor tells you, low and raspy as he seals his lips around your clit. your back arches, a sharp, strangled cry as your fingers find his hair.
ālouder,ā baelor growls from between your legs, refusing to be parted from your cunt when he can see the telltale signs of your impending orgasm. your slick dripping down his chin, soaking his beard and all he can think is how much louder you can getā
āfuck!ā you cry when baelor slides two fingers inside, meeting no resistance and curling the way he knows will get you to your peak in no time.
and so it does. your hand pulls at his short strands, moans breaking into pathetic whimpers when the band in your belly snaps. baelor watches raptly with a low groan as you ride out your high on his face, swallowing all that you give him.
he sucks a bruise into your hip while you pant like a dog, scratching his scalp to ground yourself. ādid so well, my love,ā he kissed the bruise heās left, āmade a right mess of me.ā
when you push him away, itās only to get a better look. your core clenches around nothing at the way his chin and lips glisten with you, bright in the candlelight.
you drag him down rougly by his hair, claiming his lips as you all but clean him up. heās all too happy to let you, sliding the taste of yourself onto your own tongue.
āare you going to fuck me properly now, or shall i find someone else to do it?ā you hum sweetly against his lips, and something in his eyes flash before the switch flips entirely.
youāre on your stomach before you can even realise whatās happened, and a sharp crack fills the air a split second before the pain blooms in your asscheek.
baelor breathes heavily behind you, grasping at your hips until you arch for him. at your airy moan, heāll strike the fat of your ass again, watching with eager eyes for the raised welt to appear in the shape of his hand.
one of baelorās hands strokes down the length of your spine, enjoying the way you shiver beneath his touch. his free hand spreads your wetness over his pulsing length, the sounds of his fist stroking himself making your pussy clench in anticipation.
daring a look back at baelor, he bares his teeth and pushes your head down with a hand pressed to the nape of your neck.
ābrat,ā he growls, notching himself at your entrance and pushing in with no hesitation. doesnāt let you adjust to his size, instead setting a brutal pace that has you clawing at the sheets.
āgodsāā you choke from the way he pummels into you, abusing your pussy. your entire body flushes with heat at the sounds between you, the stickiness smearing between your thighs and dripping down to the bed. itās messy, and exactly what you needed.
baelorās muttering under his breath, driving his hips harder as you push yourself back to meet his thrusts. āāfind someone elseā,ā he scoffs, reaching around to grope at your tits. āiād like to see you try.ā
your mouth parts on something ā a response? nothing comes out except a long, drawn out whine as you try to turn your head, anything to see the glorious sight of your husband ruining your cunt for anyone else, but his grip on your neck tightens.
ācouldāve been soft with you,ā he grumbles, a little breathless and thatās all youāll get from baelor to show heās nearing his end. āwanted to treat you rightā been so longā you think anyone else could fuck you like this? have you drooling all over yourself?ā
ābaelor,ā you actually cry, fat tears rolling down your cheeks because itās too good, heās too good. you can barely form a coherent thought, but the need to see his face overshadows all else. āplease, i need toāā
āanswer me,ā and itās halfway to a shout, his hand fisting your hair as he pulls your head up, his own back bowing over yours.
ān-no! only you! oh, gods, need to see youā please let me look at youāā
he relents then, releasing your hair but curling his hand around your throat, bringing you up so your back is pressed to his chest. āso spoilt,ā he huffs, but captures your lips in a sloppy kiss, always one to bend to your whims.
you can see him as much as you please like this, slotting your head by his shoulder, and you submit entirely, because thereās no way youāll last with this new angle.
itās right there, his swollen tip hitting right where you need it, and baelor is groaning wantonly in your ear, brows furrowed in concentration. it looks a little like heās angry with you, and thatās enough to throw you over the edge.
your ass pushes back hard when you cum, and the force of your walls clenching without warning has him nearly doubling over, his hand curling tighter around your throat as he releases a sinful moan.
heās stilled for a moment, watching in awe as you tremble in his hold, baring your neck and curling your own hand around his hand, keeping it there.
when your ears stop ringing, you realise a moment too late that he hasnāt cum. your walls still flutter with the aftershocks, but baelor slides a hand past your breasts, down your navel.
he starts moving again, just as he circles your clit with deft, determined fingers.
āagain,ā he says, and presses his face to yours so you feel his lips move.
he knows heās fucked all the fire out of you, because you just nod with a sigh, entirely boneless and pushing your hips into his hand.
baelorās breaths come hard now as his thrusts lose their pace. itās too much, how your hole sucks him in and the absolute trust youāve put in him with your fingers curled around his own at your throat.
thereās a sound bubbling in his chest that he knows is unbecoming of a future king. something between a punched-out whimper and a groan, so he opts to suckle at the skin just under your ear as he spills into you.
the feeling of baelorās swollen cock twitching inside you and his fingers sliding across your overstimulated clit has you cresting again, milking him as he releases rope after rope of his seed.
thereās so much it spills from where heās still nestled within you. baelor doesnāt pull out right away, and you can read the look on his face well enough to know heās sending a quick prayer to the gods that it takes.
he pulls you to lay on your side with him, an arm slung over your waist as he nuzzles into your hair. baelor would never admit it, and yet you still tease how clingy he gets after all but defiling your honour.
ābaelor breakspear, have you not enough of your own honour? must you steal my own, too?ā
he pinches your ass, and you descend into a fit of giggles. all is well. youāve half the mind to fall asleep with his bicep as your pillow.
āweāve got to get back to the tourney,ā you say, breaking into a yawn.
āto hells with the tourney,ā baelor mumbles, loose-lipped from his orgasm. āās been keeping me from my wife.ā
ātheyāll blame your wife when they realise the reason youāve been gone,ā you poke at the hand inching closer to your breast.
āif they do, i shall have their tongue,ā baelor says, and you both know with a shared look over your shoulder that itās a mostly-empty threat.
a silence falls, and you spend a moment with your husband, limbs tangled and sated amidst the faint sounds of the jousting matches youād slipped away from.
just as you feel baelorās breaths begin to slow, lulled into a well-deserved slumber, you shake him awake when you think you hear footsteps in the distance.
āwe really ought to get up before someone finds us like this. gods forbid it be maekar. again.ā
thereās really no reason good enough to explain why baelor is hardening once more.
drunk! perv! dunk. let me say it again. DRUNK.. PERV.. dunk.. the possibilities r endless. does he cum fast? does he fall asleep eating it? does dunk fuck you until HEāS overstimulated and basically crushing you? put me in his world and im putting medieval contraceptives to work, or im just locking it down and having his fat stupid babies
babe omfg YOUR MIND ???? i kid u not this ask actually drove my ass to open a google docs file
LOOK AT HIMMMM im getting him pregnant!!
thank you so much for these delicious thoughts anon, iāll write a whole thing bc this food is too fucking good but walk with me for now
18+ minors dni
drunk!perv!duncan the tall
content: slight intoxication, leg humping (yay!)
imagining a swaying dunk being dropped off at your tent, already through the worst of it, but he still goes moony-eyed at the sight of you.
you take him from lyonel, who leaves you with a grin like he knows something you donāt (dunk spent the whole night rambling into his mug, in great detail, about the filthy dreams heās been having of you and how badly he wishes it was real).
dunk is touchier when heās drunk, shoving his clammy face into the crook of your neck when you lead him into your tent. doesnāt even hide how heās inhaling the scent of you with open-mouthed huffs.
whines when you plop him down on his bedroll, clutching at your leg when you try to go get him something to drink. dunk presses his forehead to your belly, arms locked around you to keep you from leaving.
you know heāll have a shit time of it tomorrow if he doesnāt sober up soon, but you like being trapped in dunkās strong, brutish grip a little too much to do anything about it.
your hand buries in those sandy blond strands, scratching at his scalp while you try to figure out how to reach the waterskins.
dunk groans, loud and wet, and you watch with your jaw slack as he ruts his hips against your lower leg. one slow, firm drag that has his shoulders curling in and his broad back bowing.
āfuckkk,ā dunk slurs, hooking a thick arm around the back of your thigh, moving you to his liking for a better angle to grind his cock.
your breath stays lodged in your chest, burning you from the inside out when he starts humping your leg in earnest, setting a sloppy, jagged rhythm that has him moaning wantonly into your dress.
ādunkā?ā your voice cracks, pitched up in surprised ā that heās using your body for his own pleasure, and that youāre wetter than youāve ever been watching your hedge knight reduced to the pathetic mess at your feet.
āwant you sābad,ā dunk whines, spit pooling at the corner of his lips. he drags those glossy blue eyes up to meet yours, and thrusts even harder at the sight of your face.
āwant tāfuck you,ā he confesses, pressing himself deeper into the folds of your dress, like if he tries hard enough he can find his way inside. āthink about you all the timeā i wanā you crying on my cock. want to know how you taste, mālady.ā
you file away his confessions for later, content to let him use you to his own end.
ābet youād be sweet,ā he grunts, eyes fluttering as he buries his face to your lower body, as close as he can get to what he wants. āātaste like fuckinā heaven.ā
your hands press harder into his head, digging your nails in until he whimpers. the sound goes straight to your core, fluttering and painfully empty.
ādoes that feel good, hm?ā you coo, stroking the back of his head to soothe the sting. āyou look so handsome like this, dunk.ā
you can feel the heat of him leaking ā heās rucked up your skirts with greedy hands, only so he can soak your soft skin with the wet patch blooming on his trousers.
dunk pants open-mouthed, nodding with desperate jerks of his head. choked out grunts escape his glistening lips and that grip on your thigh is sure to leave a bruise, but none of that matters when heās spilling into his trousers with a broken whine, cursing and shuddering through the syllables of your name.
all the while, you soothe him through it, distantly wondering how long itād take him to get going again if you keep calling him pretty.
heās easier to manoeuvre in his post-orgasmic haze. sits down where you tell him to, cleans himself up and waits obediently while you fetch the waterskin.
though when you hold it out for him to take, he stubbornly refuses to drink, turning his head from the mouth. heāll dodge and protest, until your hand comes up to hold his head still, fingers gripping his jaw as you tilt the opening against his lips.
only then will he drink, sharp gaze never leaving yours. his blue eyes are clear ā so clear you begin to wonder how drunk heād really been at all.
secret perv!dunk who insists on helping you off your horse every single time without fail. makes your heart flutter with it too, how heāll stumble over the footholds of his ride just to make it over to you before you can even think of dismounting on your own.
none the wiser to the fact that this gentleman ā so far and few between in westerosā kind, considerate dunk just really, really loves getting to look down the top of your dress.
when you lean over to put your hands on his shoulders, heāll scarcely blink because for a split second, your tits are just a hairās breadth from his face and he can feel them, soft and plush, dragging down his front as he lowers you to the ground.
he never gives you any reason to question his intentions. by the time you get your bearings, dunkās already tying your horses to the post, leaving them with a gentle brush across their manes and the barest hint of an all-too-pleased grin tugging at the corner of his lips.
ā
when you need to bathe, who else would you ask to stand guard, but your loyal hedge knight? heāll follow you to the river, an obedient, steadfast watchdog who turns to give you privacy as soon as your hand lifts to the laces on your dress.
he holds his breath when the sound of heavy fabric hitting the earth reaches his ears. they burn with the knowledge that all he needs to do to see you is to turn around.
but he couldnāt. it would be an utter betrayal of your trust, of his honour. so he keeps a lethal grip on the hilt of his sword, ears straining as if listening to the sounds of you bathing was the next best thing to looking upon your bare form.
until, of course, you ask him to hand you the cloth youād prepared to dry off with. itās just out of your reach on the river bank, so dunk supposes he has no choice now.
he keeps his gaze trained on the ground, and by some luck you donāt notice when it flickers lightning quick, back and forth as if to piece a mosaic image of you in his mind for later.
youāre still in waist-deep water, back turned from him, but heās close enough to see the divots along your spine and the beads of water trickling down the line of your neck.
dunk swallows, tracing their path with wide, hungry eyes.
the river laps just above the bend of your lower back, and when the current calms for a moment he gets a glimpse of the smooth curve of your ass, but itās gone just as quick.
dunk has to snap his head to the side when he realises you mean to turn around, and he does so, a tad too quick.
but just in time to hide the way his cheeks burn as red as his ears. it shouldnāt affect him this way, knowing how much trust you have placed in him to keep him around even at your most vulnerable. especially then.
he tries not to wonder if that means he makes you feel safe, protected, because the thought alone is enough to make dunkās head spin.
ā
dunk likes to keep you and egg close. always within armās reach, despite how much the latter grumbles and groans.
dunk notes, with pride and something warmer settling in his belly, that you donāt seem to mind nearly as much.
especially now, at this crowded tavern, where the air is thick and everything is just this side of too-loud. you sit squashed to dunkās side, thighs pressed far too closely together than what would be deemed proper in any other circumstance. but with the steady incoming stream of patrons, you donāt have much of a say.
dunkās preoccupied with scarfing down his second plate of dinner, grumbling his assent when egg asks for the third time, āplease, may i join the other squires, ser?ā
āstay where i can see you,ā dunk sighs into his mug. the man rolls his eyes half-heartedly when egg flashes you a bright grin before running off in a direction dunk decidedly canāt keep an eye on.
dunk turns his attention to you ā seemingly just now noticing how much youāve been leaning into him, the grimace you make when the woman sitting beside you uncaringly juts her elbow into your ribs.
he frowns, and tugs you with a gentle hand, only meaning to pull you away from the discomfort. though, between his strength and how precariously youād been perched on the bench, you practically fly into dunkās lap.
you blink up at him owlishly, because you already knew it but, seven hells, heās big. you can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back, and your thighs sat over the large expanse of his own, firm with muscle and yet, soft beneath you.
āāre you alright, mālady?ā dunkās voice is a deep rumble now that you can feel it, and it sends shivers down your spine when you turn your head to meet those crystal blue eyes. all you find is concern.
āi am,ā you say, hoping your voice isnāt as airy as you feel.
with one last contemplative look, dunk shrugs, and goes back to his meal ā one handed. the other comes up to curl around your waist, anchoring you more firmly atop him.
you watch him chew, entirely undeterred, as if having you sitting on his lap wouldnāt get you any points and whispers. it certainly would, elsewhere, but itās late, and everyone in this tavern is drunk or halfway to it, with surely much worse going on in dark corners.
so you settle into him with a sigh, nudging your half-finished plate over just as dunk cleans off his own. he takes it with a hum, fingers rubbing just under your rib cage in thanks.
the tip of his pinkie brushes the curve of your breast, and it makes you twitch. the slightest jolt, your core warming further when you realise the rest of his fingers splay over your abdomen. one large paw right over your middle, almost possessive.
your wide eyes shoot to his, but he makes no indication of anything amiss, sipping his ale as he watches the crowd.
he wonders if you can feel it. feel him. heās been half-hard in his trousers since the first press of your leg to his, but as soon as your rear planted snug above his length, he went lightheaded with just how fast his blood rushed south.
heās grateful for the excuse of dinner, busying his mouth and hands. one of them, at least. he tries his luck, stroking his thumb over your stomach and smiling into the rim of his ale when you shiver.
he watches you out of the corner of his eye as he pretends to search for egg. you use his lapse of attention to adjust yourself, hand braced atop one thick thigh, and thatās when it happens.
dunk knows you know.
he hears it in the way your breath hitches, fingers digging in just a little harder into the muscle of his leg. your ass falters midway, only for a heartbeat, before youāre planting yourself back down again.
this time, he can feel you. the heat between your legs, somehow through the layers separating you. dunkās eyes widen, a choke lodging in his chest because heās always been a little imaginative, but dunk swears he can feel the seam of you hugging his cock.
he wills himself to breathe normal, not to act. heāll allow himself this, as long as thereās nothing else. heāll stay like this until you inevitably get up, and this will be like all the other times ā stored in his memory for when heās got his fist curled around his cock behind a tree somewhere, hot and aching, with nothing but the recollection of you to bring him to his peak.
your hand remains, fingers curled into the fabric of his trousers. you lean back, nuzzling into his sturdy chest. he can smell your hair, the herbs and flowers used in your wash, and it goes straight down to the pulsing mess between his legs.
dunk knows heās not imagining your hips twitching. he sees the quickening pace of your breaths by the rise and fall of your shoulders, swallowing the urge to curl his own around you, wrap his arms around your waist and manhandle you the way he wants.
then thereās a slow, deliberate drag when you straighten, craning your neck as you pretend to spot something in the distance. he wonders whatās going through your mind. surely, you know what youāre doing? though a proper lady such as yourself might notā
dunk fights back a pathetic groan at the notion that youāve no idea the effect you have on him, and it takes every ounce of restraint to keep his own hips still. as much as he wants to buck, the roaring chaos of the tavern keeps his mind in check.
he realises too late that he needs you off. he canāt think like this, canāt protect you the way he ought to ā not when the idea of you taking his cock just like this is running through his head as clear as day. would you want that?
dunk thinks he gets his answer when your fingers curl between his own that have been clutching your front.
he thinks he hears the tail end of a mourning sigh, and realises it had come from his own lips when you slide off his lap, back onto the now freed-up bench.
heās confused, because just as much as heād wanted you off seconds ago, he needs you back where you were now.
he spares a shy glance when your hand creeps back onto his thigh, much higher than it had been.
he only gets a split-second glimpse of your expression, bottom lip pulled between your teeth as your eyes twinkle up at him with a newfound mischief within.
egg comes bounding into view, quickly stealing your attention with a rapid, inaccurate retelling of a pentoshi tale.
you stand when the boy drags you outside the tavern, leaving dunk alone at the table with the ghost of your touch and a big, big problem.
amandla
theartofmadeline
germansingergirl
