Just a fun fact! I'm a big fan of realism in my writing when it's about the military because I'm prior military service myself. That's me in the center with my PL, my best friend, and members of my shop while we were deployed in 2020!
I'm currently overloaded doing full-time college for an engineering degree and struggling to find inspiration to write. Forgive my inactivity, but I do drop random shit every once in a while.
Summary: Youâre drowning in him in more ways than one.
Warnings: Smut 18+ (MDNI). Older man and younger woman. Hyperspermia. Bodily fluids đ. Multiple orgasms. P in v sex. Wrap it before you tap it. Language. Youâre in charge of your own media consumption. General warnings of akot7k. General GoT warnings. Possible spelling/grammar mistakes. Whatever else I failed to mention.
Authorâs Note: I donât own A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms or any of the GoT shows and/or books in any capacity. The franchise and its characters belong to their rightful owner(s). Similarly, I donât own any the gifs or pictures used for my fics. All I own are the fic ideas.
Word Count: 896
Poll || Masterlist
The air felt thickâheavy with heat and the mingled scent of sweat and spent passion. Your husband was all around you; the warmth of his body pressed close, his hands firm upon your hips. His fingers, rough and calloused from years of sword and saddle, bit into the softer flesh there.
A shiver ran through you despite the heat, your own fingers clutching at the silken sheets as though they might steady you.
Maekar moved against you with a force that stole the breath from your lungs, each roll of his hips drawing a soft gasp despite yourself. There was a tension in him tonight, something long held in check at last given leave to surface.
His grip tightened at your hips, fingers pressing more firmly now, guiding you to meet him as though he would not have you drift too far from him. Not carelessânever thatâbut deliberate, each movement measured even in its intensity.
The weight of him left your head swimming, your thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm. Your legs trembled beneath him, your breath catching as he found a rhythm that made it difficult to think, to do anything but feel.
There was something different in the way he touched youâless distant, less restrained. As though he sought not only his own release, but yours as well, drawing it from you with a quiet, unspoken insistence.
You felt it in every press of his hands, every shift of his body, the rare closeness he so seldom allowed. Whatever burdens had followed him into your chambers that night, he did not speak of themâbut neither did he hold himself apart from you.
And godsâŚyou did not wish him to.
His hand slipped between your thighs, his touch firm as he traced slow, deliberate circles that made your breath catch. A soft sound escaped you, your back arching instinctively against his chest.
Maekar gave a low, rough exhale against your shoulder.
The heat within you coiled tighter, building with each measured movement of his hand, each steady roll of his hips. It left you unsteady, your thoughts dissolving into sensation.
âIâm soââ The words faltered, breaking into a breathless cry as the feeling crested higher. You tightened against him without meaning to, your fingers grasping for purchase as the tension drew taut.
âPlease,â you managed, the word little more than a gasp as you pressed back against him.
Your release broke over you like a storm, sudden and all-consuming. A cry tore free from your throat as your body trembled, overcome by the force of it.
Maekar did not stop.
He held you fast as the waves of it coursed through you, his movements unrelenting, carrying you through the lingering tremors until the sharp edge of it softened into something almost too much to bear.
What felt like an eternity passed in that hazeâyour cries fading to softer, unsteady sounds as the height of it gave way to a trembling, lingering sensitivity.
You sagged against him, breath unsteady, your body still alight with the remnants of it, every nerve slow to quiet.
Still, Maekar did not relent.
His movements pressed on, though there was a shift in him nowâthe faint falter in his rhythm, the roughening of his breath, the tightening of his hold betraying how near he was to his own end.
Yet his hand did not still.
The added sensation drew a soft, broken sound from you, your body already oversensitive, every touch sharpened to something almost unbearable.
âOne more,â he rasped against your neck, his voice low and edged with strain.
You were caught between him and the bed, held fastâbut you did not seek escape.
âYou will give me one more, my wifeâŚâ
There was a new urgency in him then, something less restrained. The next movement forced the breath from your lungs, your mouth parting in a soundless cry as sensation surged through you once more.
Another wave built within you, a trembling heat that made your body ache. You shivered around him, the tightness coiling in your belly, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.
âI canât,â you gasped, breathless.
Maekarâs low growl brushed against your neck. âYou will,â he grunted, pressing firmly against the junction of your shoulder and neck. A sharp, delicious ache made you moan. Relief and fire washed through you in a weaker, lingering wave, trembling around him as he carried you through it.
And in that moment, you felt itâthe full force of him, a weight and warmth that left you unsteady. Maekar shuddered against your skin, his movements faltering as heat spilled over, filling you in a way that left your body trembling from the impact. Your limbs jerked instinctively, shivering under the strength of it. Thick and hot, his twitching cock spurting it into your spent body until you were properly filled. You felt it ooze out of you, pooling onto the silken sheets. Maekarâs hips continued to thrust forward, pushing as much of his seed into you as he could. After the third spurt, a thick rope of cum that had your body arching, you heard your husband curse.
He continued to press, driven and insistent, leaving you spent yet full, every motion tethered to the rawness of the night. A low curse slipped from him as he finally slowed, the tension between you lingering in the quiet aftermath.
â pairing: Baelor Targaryen x Reader, Maekar Targaryen x Wife!Reader (second wife)
â content: 18+ MDNI | smut | yearning | unrequited feelings | angst | pregnancy | implied age gap | filthy smut | voyeurism | someone sees Paris
â summary: Baelor has always wanted you. Maekar's wife. He has wanted you since the first moment he saw you, and he has been very good about it. Until Maekar takes him up on an offer Baelor had made "mostly in jest", and one night turns out to be so much more than he bargained for. Aka, you are between the hammer and the anvil.
â word count: 9k
â a/n: The long-awaited follow-up to The Baby Project. 9k words!!! I am just as baffled as you are. I could not write this any shorter and still tell what I thought was a complete story. Generally, the idea of running that poor old man Maekar ragged is still amusing to me...but now poor Baelor is involved. Thank you as always for all your comments, likes, reblogs, and requests. đ¤
The great hall was a cavern of light and sound, a roaring beast fed by the voices of hundreds and the crackling of the great hearth. The air was thick, a heavy tapestry woven from the scent of spiced meat, the dripping sweetness of melting wax, and the underlying damp, mineral smell of the ancient stone walls. It vibrated with the low, ceaseless hum of a hundred conversations layered over one another. A minstrel in the corner, a man with a straggly beard and nimble fingers, plucked a jaunty, complicated tune on his lute, the notes weaving through the laughter like a silver thread, struggling to be heard over the raucous clatter of wooden plates and the occasional shout of a toast.
To any other observer, it was a scene of robust, unthinking celebration. A display of excess designed to remind the bannermen of House Targaryen's power and generosity.
Baelor could not have told you a single detail about the feast. He did not taste the wine, though his goblet was rarely empty. He did not hear the story the man to his left was telling. The minor lord was recounting a long-winded tale about a hunt that had involved a particularly cunning stag, a beast that had supposedly led three men on a chase through the Kingswood for three days. Baelor nodded at the appropriate intervals, a practiced, polite smile fixed firmly in place, but his mind was entirely elsewhere.
It was on you.
You were seated beside Maekar, as you always were, a position of honor and unassailable right at the high table. Your chair was pulled in close to his, so close that the dark fabric of your gown brushed against the black velvet of his doublet with every small shift you made.
You were laughing at something now, your head tipping back, the sound a clear, bright peal that cut through the din of the hall like a bell. The candlelight loved you. It caught the wild, waist-length halo of your hair, a restless sea that framed your face. It traced the delicate line of your jaw and the soft, vulnerable curve of your throat. And it illuminated the new lushness that three moons of carrying Maekar's child had given you.
Your body had softened, deepened. The change was subtle to those who did not look closely, but to Baelor, it was as stark as the changing of the seasons. Your breasts had grown fuller, heavier, pressing against the fabric of your dress in a way that made it difficult to look away. The bodice, cut in the current fashion, hugged the new curves, emphasizing their swell. Your hips had blossomed, creating a gentle, rounded slope that spoke of life and fertility and a profound, earthy change. Even seated, there was a tiny, barely-there swell of your belly, a subtle rounding of your midsection that was a secret the whole world now knew. You were glowing in the most literal sense of the word. Your skin seemed to hold the light, to radiate a warmth that had nothing to do with the fire roaring in the great hearth. You were extraordinary.
You had been extraordinary since the first moment. Baelor remembered the day. Maekar had brought you before his father at King's Landing, had stood beside you, his hand resting at the small of your back, a gesture of possession and protection that was entirely his. His brother, who had always been carved from granite and stern pronouncements, had looked at you with an expression Baelor had not seen on his face in a long time. It was a look of fierce, tender pride. This is my betrothed, Maekar had said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate in the floorboards. And Baelor had looked at you, at your warm, playful eyes and the genuine smile that reached them, and felt something shift in his chest. It was a physical sensation, like a heavy stone finding its final resting place at the bottom of a deep, cold river. Heavy. Permanent. Entirely too late.
That was a year ago. A year of watching you belong completely and devastatingly to his brother. In that time, Baelor had become a connoisseur of your intimacy. He saw it in the way Maekar's hands would find you in any room, a steadying touch on your elbow, a possessive caress on the nape of your neck, a brushing of stray hair behind your ear. He saw it in the way you looked at Maekar, as if he had personally hung every star in the sky just for your amusement, your gaze wide and adoring. He saw it in the way his brother had come alive. Maekar smiled more now. He laughed, a rare and startling sound like rocks grinding together, rough but genuine. He moved with a new ease, a lightness that Baelor knew, with a certainty that was a physical ache, was because of you.
He was not the only one looking tonight. The young lord three seats down, a boy with a fresh face and an eager gaze, kept finding reasons to glance toward the high table. He would look at his plate, seemingly fascinated by a piece of parsley, then at his companion, then his eyes would dart to you, lingering a second too long before he remembered himself and blushed. The knight across the table, a broad-shouldered man with a scarred face and a thick neck, was less subtle. His eyes would fix on you whenever you laughed, his gaze heavy and appreciative. He would take a long draught of his ale, his eyes never leaving you, admiring something he knew he could not touch.
Men had always looked at you. Baelor understood it â a visceral, helpless impulse, the particular misery of a man who knew exactly what he could not have. He could have anything he desired, but he could not have you. You were Maekar's. You carried Maekar's child. You looked at Maekar as if he were the center of your world. And in the face of that, all of Baelor's power felt like dust and ashes.
You leaned in toward Maekar now, your body curving into his space, seeking his warmth. Your lips brushed close to his ear, your thick hair falling forward to curtain the moment, creating a private world in the middle of the crowded hall. You were saying something meant only for him, a secret whispered in the language of lovers. Your fingers curled around his forearm. Whatever it was you said, it caused a reaction. Maekar's mouth curved in that rare way it only ever did for you. He turned his head, his platinum blonde hair almost white in the candlelight, catching the glow, and said something back. Your response was immediate. You laughed again. Baelor's eyes shifted from you and found his brother's eyes already on him.
Maekar said nothing. He simply held Baelor's gaze from across the table, his violet eyes steady and knowing. Baelor held his gaze for one beat, two, the air between them thick and charged with things that could not be spoken. The noise of the hall faded to a dull roar. He could feel the muscles in his jaw tighten, a familiar, low-grade ache that had become his constant companion. Then he looked away, his gaze dropping to the dark, swirling surface of the wine in his goblet. He reached for it, his fingers closing around the stem. He needed the solid feel of it, the coolness. He did not lift it to drink.
Maekar looked away too, his attention returning to you as if nothing had happened, as if the silent exchange had been a figment of Baelor's imagination. But Maekar did not forget. He remembered the conversation from days ago with a vividness that made his stomach clench. He had gone to Baelor's solar, seeking company, sympathy. Baelor had made his offer then, his voice calm and even. Are you seeking assistance? He had said. Maekar had been furious. He was frankly lightly offended still. Baelor had seen it in his eyes tonight, a lingering resentment beneath the surface of his composure, a sharpness in his gaze when it landed on Baelor. It was a wound to Maekar's pride, a suggestion that he could not provide for his own wife.
The hour grew late. The energy of the room shifted, winding down like a clockwork mechanism running out of spring. Your head, which had been held high with regal grace throughout the meal, drooped slightly, leaning toward Maekar's shoulder. You caught yourself with a start, sitting up straight and laughing softly at your own tiredness, your hand pressing over your mouth in a gesture of apology. It was a charming, vulnerable display, and it made Baelor's chest ache with a tenderness he had no right to feel.
You turned to Maekar and said something, your voice too low for Baelor to catch. But Maekar understood. He was on his feet before you had finished speaking. His hand found yours, fingers lacing through yours, and he drew you up with great care. He supported your weight as you stood, his other hand hovering near your elbow, ready to catch you if you swayed.
You made your apologies to the table with a smile that could have lit the hall on its own. Several men watched you go: the young lord, the scarred knight, and half a dozen others. Their eyes followed you, a silent testament to your beauty. Maekar's hand settled at the small of your back as he guided you toward the great oak doors. His fingers splayed wide, claiming you, supporting you. You leaned into him as you walked, your head tilting toward his shoulder, your body seeking his support. Just before you passed through the heavy doors, you laughed at something he said, quiet and private, just for him. The sound was like a handful of glittering jewels tossed into the air, bright and beautiful and fleeting, and then it was gone.
The doors swung shut behind you both. Baelor looked down at his wine. The hall felt dimmer somehow, though the candles had not changed. He sat in the dimming light, the ghost of your laughter still ringing in his ears, and waited for the pain to recede into the dull ache he knew so well.
The heavy oak door clicked shut, the latch sliding home with a final, wooden thud that severed the noise of the feast from the sanctuary of your chambers. The roar of the hall, the clinking of goblets, the drunken laughter of the bannermen â it all vanished, replaced instantly by the crackle of the dying fire in the hearth and the heavy, rhythmic breathing of the man beside you.
You had taken only two steps into the room, your hand still resting in the crook of Maekar's elbow, when he turned you. The movement was swift but not rough. His hands came up to cradle your face, palms warm and calloused. He didn't speak. He simply looked at you, his pale violet eyes searching yours with an intensity that stole the breath from your lungs, as if he were reminding himself, in the quiet dark, that you were real. That you were his.
Then his mouth descended on yours.
It was a slow, deep, consuming kiss that started at your lips and pulled at something deep in your belly. His beard brushed against your chin, a rough friction that sent shivers skating down your spine.
You leaned into him, your body molding itself to the hard lines of his. Your hands released his arm and moved instead to the front of his tunic, fingers curling into the rich fabric. You pulled him closer, eliminating the inches of space between you, because any distance at all felt wrong. You needed the solid wall of his chest against yours, the proof of him grounding you.
He made a low sound in his throat, a rumble of approval against your lips, and began to move you towards the edge of the bed.
The mattress was soft, yielding beneath your weight as he lowered you down, but his eyes never left yours. He followed you down, bracing himself on one arm beside your head, his body a cage of warmth and muscle that blocked out the rest of the world.
"Maekar," you breathed, the name a sigh on your lips.
He didn't answer with words. Instead, his hands moved to the laces of your gown. His fingers were sure, practiced, but there was no rush in his movements. He undid the knots with a patience that felt like reverence. The fabric loosened, and he pushed the heavy material from your shoulders, peeling it away layer by layer until the cool air of the room touched your skin, raising gooseflesh in its wake.
You shivered, not from cold, but from the anticipation of his touch. When you were bared to him, he stilled, his gaze sweeping over you. It was a look of possession, but soft, edged with wonder. His eyes traced the new curves of your body.
His hands came up to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over the sensitive peaks. You gasped, your back arching off the bed, pushing yourself deeper into his hands. He groaned, a vibration you felt against your ribs, and dipped his head to take one tight peak into his mouth.
The sensation was electric. He suckled gently, his tongue swirling around the nipple, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just enough to make you cry out. Your hands tangled in his hair, the silver-gold strands sliding through your fingers as you held him to you. He worshipped you with his mouth, moving from one breast to the other, lavishing attention on the sensitive flesh until you were writhing beneath him, your breath coming in ragged gasps.
But he didn't stop there. His hands smoothed down your ribs, over the soft curve of your stomach, coming to rest on the gentle swell of your belly. The life inside you fluttered beneath his palm. He lifted his head, his eyes locking onto yours, and then he did something that made your heart stutter in your chest. He leaned down and pressed his lips to your belly. It was a tender, almost chaste kiss, filled with a fierce, protective adoration that brought tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.
"Maekar," you whispered again, your voice trembling.
"I know," he murmured against your skin, his breath hot and damp. "I know, my heart."
He moved back up your body, capturing your mouth once more. This kiss was deeper, hungrier, stealing the air from your lungs until you were dizzy with need. You could feel the hard length of him pressing against you. He shifted his weight, settling between your thighs. You opened for him willingly, your legs falling apart to accommodate the breadth of him. He reached between you, his fingers finding the slick heat of your folds.
"You are so wet for me," he rasped, his voice rough with desire. "Always so ready."
You gasped, your hips bucking against his hand. "Please, Maekar. I need you."
He didn't make you wait any longer. He withdrew his fingers and positioned himself at your entrance. With a slow, deliberate thrust, he sank into you.
He knew your body better than he knew his own. He knew exactly how to angle his hips to hit that spot inside you that made your vision blur, knew just how much pressure to apply to drive you higher. He made love to you with a focus that was total and complete, his entire being concentrated on the point where your bodies joined. The room filled with the sounds of your coupling â the wet slap of skin against skin, the creak of the bed frame, the ragged gasps and moans that tore from your throat. You met him thrust for thrust, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper, urging him on.
For a long time, the only sound in the room was the crackle of the fire and the slowing rhythm of your breathing. You were sated, warm, and content, your body humming with the lingering echoes of pleasure.
Your arm rested across his chest, fingers tracing idle patterns through the light dusting of hair on his pecs. You could feel the steady thud of his heart beneath your palm, a slow, rhythmic beat that soothed you. But as the minutes ticked by, you began to sense a shift in him. The tension that had left his body during your lovemaking was slowly returning, settling in the set of his shoulders and the tight line of his jaw. He was staring at the ceiling, his eyes fixed on the dark wooden beams above, unseeing.
You tilted your head back so you could see his face. The firelight had died down to embers, casting his face in half-shadow, highlighting the furrow between his brows. You waited, watching him, knowing him well enough to know that rushing him would get you nowhere.
"What troubles you?" you asked softly.
He didn't look at you immediately. His gaze remained fixed on the ceiling, as if the answer to some unspoken question was written there. Then, slowly, he exhaled, a long, heavy breath that seemed to deflate his lungs.
"I have been thinking," he said, his voice low, careful. It was the tone he used when he had been turning something over in his mind for a long time, weighing the words before he let them see the light of day.
"What of?" you prompted gently, your fingers still tracing the hard planes of his chest.
He finally looked down at you, his violet eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your stomach tighten. He reached up, tucking a stray curl behind your ear, his thumb lingering on your cheekbone.
"How would you feel," he began, his voice dropping an octave, "about inviting another to our bed?"
The question hung in the air between you, heavy and shocking. You sat up slowly, the movement dragging the sheet with you until it pooled at your waist, exposing your naked breasts to the cool air. You didn't feel the cold. You felt only a sudden, sharp spike of adrenaline.
Your eyes found his in the dim light, and they were already burning. The room felt suddenly smaller, the air thinner.
"Who?"Â
Your mind was already racing, leaping to conclusions with a speed that terrified you â immediately and catastrophically to another woman. Was there someone at the keep? Someone who didn't carry the weight of his child, who wasn't swollen with the evidence of his duty and desire?
You went sharp, your voice dangerously calm in the way that preceded a storm. "What woman has caught your eye?"
Maekar started to speak, to reach for you, but you cut him off, the words pouring out of you in a torrent of hurt and fury.
"While I am carrying your child?" you demanded.
Your chest heaved with the force of your emotion. You felt a hot, searing pain in your chest that had nothing to do with physical injury. His hands found yours, gripping them tight, fingers lacing through yours, anchoring you.
"There is no one else," he said, his voice firm, leaving no room for misinterpretation. "There will never be anyone else."
The conviction in his voice gave you pause. You looked at him, searching for any sign of deceit, but found only a raw, open honesty.
And then he spoke again.
"I am tired," he admitted.
The words hung in the air, simple and devastating.
"Not of you," he added quickly, his thumbs stroking the backs of your hands. "Never of you." He looked away then, his gaze dropping to where your hands were joined. "I would sooner cut off my own hand than disappoint you or leave you wanting for a single thing. But I â"
The fury went out of you slowly, like a fire running out of air. The anger that had been fueling you evaporated, leaving behind a cold wash of realization.
You looked at him and the exhaustion that had been too proud to say plainly until now, buried beneath layers of duty and pride and love. He was a warrior, a prince, a man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. And he was terrified that he wasn't enough for you.
It broke your heart.
Before you could speak, to reassure him, to tell him that he was everything, he continued.
"Baelor," he said, the name falling like a stone into a still pond. "Baelor has made his desire for you known to me."
Your eyes widened. You hadn't expected that.
"I suspect he has wanted you for some time." Maekar said, his voice steady, though you could hear the undercurrent of tension in it.Â
He looked up at you then, his eyes searching yours for any sign of revulsion or anger.
"If you wished it," he said slowly, carefully. "If it would please you... I would ask Baelor to come to our bed. Just once."
He squeezed your hands tighter. "You are everything to me. More than I can say. I would not have you feel debased or used, nor like anything less than what you are. If I have given offense, I am sorry for it, and I swear to you I will never speak of this again.
You were quiet for a long moment. The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken emotions. You thought of Baelor â of the way he looked at you, not with the crude hunger of the other men, but with a quiet, aching longing.
And then you looked at Maekar. Your husband. The man who loved you so much he was willing to share you, to set aside his own pride and possessiveness, just to ensure you were satisfied.
You leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his. "You are always enough for me," you whispered fiercely. "I have never wanted anyone else."
"I know it," he said, his voice rough.
You pulled back slightly, searching his face. There was something else there, beneath the sacrifice and the love. A flicker of something you hadn't expected.
"Would it give you pleasure to watch?"
The question hung in the air. It wasn't an accusation. It was a real question, your eyes searching his face, trying to understand the depths of what he was offering.
A muscle tightened in his jaw. His pupils dilated. He made a sound that was very nearly a groan, a low, ragged exhalation of breath.
"Perhaps," he admitted. The word was low and rough, scraping against his throat.
Something gleamed in your eyes. You looked at him for a long moment, this proud, exhausted, beautiful man who had just admitted he wanted to watch his brother take you to bed â and something in your chest loosened. You held his gaze, a small smile playing at the corners of your mouth.
"I think my dutiful husband has earned a single night's respite," you said finally.
Maekar let out a chuckle. He pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you, burying his face in your neck. You could feel the rapid flutter of his heart against your chest, matching the frantic rhythm of your own.
The slip was barely a barrier at all, a wisp of material that ended high on your thighs, leaving your legs bare to the shifting air of the room. Moonlight filtered through the high window, casting you in silver and shadow, defining the arc of your belly and the dark promise of your nipples beneath the thin silk. You looked like a painting of a goddess brought to life, trembling with a latent energy that seemed to vibrate right through your skin. You looked like something a man would burn cities for, or at the very least, lose his mind over.
Maekar was standing by the door, his hand paused on the latch. He had been watching you in silence, but as you turned, the air in the room seemed to thicken, charged with the static that always built between you two. He stopped moving entirely. The latch clicked, forgotten in his grip.
He crossed the room then, his stride eating up the distance between you with an easy grace. When he reached you, he didn't speak. His hand came up to cup the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in the wild curls of your hair, and he pulled you into him. His mouth crushed yours, hard and demanding. He tasted of wine and the dark, metallic tang of sleepless nights. He kissed you with a thoroughness that stole the air from your lungs, his tongue delving deep to stake a claim, to remind you exactly who you belonged to.
Your knees went weak, the silk of the slip doing nothing to stop the heat radiating from him. You melted into him, your hands finding purchase on the hard planes of his chest, feeling the heavy thrum of his heart against your palms.
He pulled back abruptly, leaving you gasping, your lips swollen and wet. His gaze bore into yours, intense and searching. He took your chin between his thumb and forefinger, his grip firm but not bruising, tilting your face up until you had nowhere to look but him.
"You are mine," he rasped, his voice a low vibration that you felt in your bones.
"I would never forget," you breathed, the truth of it settling in your chest like a stone.
He kissed you again, slower this time, but no less possessive. It was a sealing of a vow, a brand pressed against your mouth. The sheer force of his ownership undid you. The thought of Baelor seemed to dissolve in the face of Maekar's overwhelming presence. Why did you need anyone else when this man could undo you with a look?
He pulled away, his hands catching your wrists and gently disentangling them from his clothes. The loss of his heat was a physical shock. Resting his forehead against yours for a moment, he lingered, his eyes closed, as if he were warring with himself, fighting the same urge to stay.
Then he stepped back. The space between you felt like a chasm.
"Wait for me," he murmured, the command soft but absolute.
He turned and walked out the door, leaving you standing in the pool of moonlight, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird.
You listened to his heavy footsteps receding down the corridor, counting them as they faded. Then silence returned, filled only by the crackle of the dying fire and the rush of your own blood.
Down the hall, the stone floor was cold under Maekar's boots. His blood was still up, heated by the taste of you, by the sight of you standing there like a queen waiting to be worshipped. He felt a strange, chaotic mix of emotions â possessiveness warring with a dark, twisted curiosity.
He reached Baelor's door and didn't bother with politeness. He knocked, three sharp raps that echoed in the quiet hallway.
A moment later, the door opened. Baelor stood there, a book still in one hand. His eyes widened slightly at the sight of his brother standing there at such an hour.
"Maekar?" Baelor's voice was rough. "Is something wrong?"
"I have something you must see immediately." His voice was tight, controlled, but there was an undercurrent of urgency that brooked no argument.
He didn't wait for a response. He turned and walked back down the corridor.
Baelor hesitated for only a fraction of a second. He looked back into his room, then at his brother's retreating back. There was a tone in Maekar's voice he couldn't place, yet he stepped into the hall.
"Maekar," he called, hurrying to catch up. "Brother, what is this?"
Maekar didn't slow down. "Walk."
Baelor fell into step beside him, matching his long stride. The castle was asleep around them, the shadows long and stretching in the flickering torchlight. He studied Maekar's profile, the set of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders. Maekar was impossible to read when he chose to be, a fortress of a man, and tonight he was locked tight.
Baelor's mind raced, spinning through possibilities. He prepared himself for bad news. If there was trouble, he would meet it. But as they turned the corner toward Maekar's chambers, the air seemed to change. It grew heavier, warmer, scented with something sweet and familiar.
Maekar stopped abruptly in front of the door to your chambers. He placed his hand on the wood, his fingers splaying wide. He paused, his back to Baelor, a statue of hesitation. Then, with a sharp exhale, he pushed the door open and stepped aside.
"Look," Maekar said.
Baelor looked.
And there you were.
You were standing by the window, your back to the door, your silhouette etched against the night sky. The silk slip you wore was the color of moonlight itself, clinging to your body with a faithfulness that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.
Baelor stopped breathing. It felt like he had taken a blow to the chest, a physical impact that knocked the air right out of his lungs.
He had thought about this. Gods forgive him, he had spent countless nights in the dark, staring at the ceiling of his own chamber, thinking about this exact thing, imagining what you would look like out of those heavy court gowns, what your skin would feel like under his hands, what sounds you would make when you were lost to pleasure, what secrets lay behind your closed doors.
Now he knew. Or he was beginning to.
You were breathtaking; a vision made flesh, a creature of such intense, terrifying beauty that it made his hands shake. You looked at him, your gaze locking onto his. There was no shyness in it. Only heat, curiosity, and a depth of invitation that nearly undid him right there.
"Baelor," you said.
Just his name, but the way you said it, the soft rasp of your voice, the way your lips formed the syllable, rushed through his veins, heating him from the inside out. He felt his cock twitch, hardening instantly against the rough fabric of his breeches.
He dragged his gaze away from you, forcing himself to look at Maekar. His brother had moved to a seat near the large bed. Maekar sat down, crossing one leg over the other, leaning back with an air of terrifying composure. This was not the furious brother who had nearly come to blows days ago at the mere suggestion of impropriety.
"What is this?" Baelor managed, his voice sounding strange to his own ears.
Maekar's violet eyes were fixed on him, sharp and assessing. "My wife is insatiable," Maekar said, his tone calm. "Assist her as you offered."
The words hung in the air, heavy and shocking. Baelor felt a surge of adrenaline, a mix of incredulity and a fierce, blinding hunger. He looked back at you. You hadn't moved. You were still watching him, your chest rising and falling slightly faster now, your eyes dark and wide.
This was surely a dream born of too many lonely nights. But the heat of your gaze was real.
He stepped further into the room, moving slowly, giving you every chance to step back, to send him away. He was a knight, a man of honor, and even in the face of this temptation, that honor held. This h would not rush.
He stopped in front of you. Up close, you were even more devastating. The scent of you was intoxicating â vanilla and jasmine. He could see the delicate flush on your cheeks, the soft parting of your lips. He slowly raised one hand, letting it hover for a moment before settling it on your waist.
The silk was warm from your body. Your skin was even warmer beneath it. His hand spanned your side, his thumb brushing against the curve of your belly. He looked deep into your eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation, any flicker of reluctance, anything that would tell him this was a mistake.
There was only a burning curiosity, a softness that welcomed him, and a desire that mirrored his own. You leaned into his touch, just slightly, a subtle movement that surrendered to his weight.
"One rule, brother," Maekar's voice cut through the silence like a whip crack. It wasn't loud, but it carried the weight of iron.
Baelor glanced over his shoulder. Maekar hadn't moved, but his eyes were burning, fixed on the point where Baelor's hand rested on your hip.
"You will not spill your seed inside my wife," Maekar said, his voice dropping an octave, low and dangerous. "I will not share that with you."
It was a line drawn in the sand. Baelor understood. This was a gift, but it came with conditions. The ultimate claim belonged to Maekar.
Baelor nodded once, a sharp, jerky motion of assent. He didn't care about the restriction. He would take whatever scraps of paradise you were willing to give him.
He turned back to you, lowered his head and captured your mouth with his.
Baelor kissed you like he was memorizing you, like he was trying to drink in your soul through his lips. His mouth was soft but insistent, moving against yours with a slow, sensual rhythm.
His other hand came up to cup your face, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. You felt the tremor in his hands, the way his restraint was already beginning to fray, and it made you ache for him. You melted into him, your hands coming up to rest on his chest, feeling the rapid, thudding beat of his heart. The silk of your slip rubbed against him, a sensory friction that sparked fires along your nerve endings. You were caught between the moonlight at your back and the solid heat of him in front, and for the first time that night, the ache inside you began to feel like it might finally be sated.
The weight of Baelor's hands on your waist was deliberate, his fingers spreading wide as if to memorize the topography of your hips before he guided you backward. You moved without resistance, trusting him completely. The bed gave beneath you, the silk of your shift whispering against the heavy furs as you sank into the softness. He followed you down, crawling over you, the heat of him pressing down, solid and overwhelming. His mouth found yours again, and the world narrowed down to the sensation of his lips. Your lips parted without thought, an invitation he accepted instantly. His tongue slid against yours, slow and possessive, savoring you as if you were the last sip of something rare and intoxicating.
You arched into him, your body seeking more contact, more friction. Your fingers curled into the front of his doublet, the rough fabric biting into your palms as you pulled him closer, needing to bridge the gap between you. His hands never stilled. They traced the curve of your waist, drifting down to the inside of your thighs, his calluses catching on the delicate skin there, sending shivers racing up your spine that had nothing to do with the cool night air. The silk of your shift rode higher with every upward stroke of his thumbs, the fabric bunching around your hips.
Then his palms were sliding under the hem, pushing the fabric upward in one fluid, practiced motion, leaving you exposed to the firelight spilling across the room. You gasped into his mouth as the cool air hit your bare skin, the sudden vulnerability making your nipples tighten into hard peaks. Your breath hitched, a mix of anticipation and exposure.
Baelor groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your lips, and for a heartbeat, he simply looked. His mismatched eyes dragged over your naked form. He didn't just see you; he devoured you with his gaze, tracing the lines of your body, committing them to memory.
The distinct creak of leather broke the rhythm of your breathing. Maekar. The knowledge that he was watching, that his violet eyes were fixed on your exposed skin, made the heat inside you flare brighter.
Your need was a living thing, clawing at your insides. You slid your hands between your bodies, fumbling desperately at the laces of Baelor's breeches. Your fingers were clumsy, trembling with urgency, but he helped you, his own movements just as eager. The laces came free, the fabric falling open. You wrapped your hand around him, the heat of his cock a brand against your palm. He was thick, heavy, the vein along the underside pulsing against your fingertips. A drop of pre-cum beaded at the tip, and you smeared it with your thumb, watching his eyelids flutter, his jaw clenching as he fought for control.
"Fuck," he breathed, the word a prayer torn from his chest.
You stroked him once, twice, relishing the weight of him in your hand, and his hips jerked forward, his control fraying. The firelight painted your skin in gold and crimson, glinting off the dampness already gathering between your thighs.
Baelor's gaze darkened. His mouth crashed down on yours again, but just long enough to steal your breath before he broke away. His lips trailed down the column of your throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear. You whimpered, your back arching off the bed, offering yourself up to him. His hands found your breasts, one cupping the heavy weight, his thumb circling your nipple until it ached with sensitivity. The other lifted, guiding your flesh to his mouth.
The first pull of his lips sent a jolt straight to your core, electric and sharp. You cried out, your fingers tangling in his hair, holding him to you as his tongue swirled, his teeth scraped gently, and his free hand kneaded the other breast with just the right amount of pressure. Pleasure coiled tight and low in your belly, your hips lifting off the bed, seeking friction, seeking him. He gave it to you â his mouth hot and wet, his fingers pinching your nipple just shy of pain, the dual sensations making your vision blur.
"Baelorâ" His name tore from your throat..
He released you with a wet pop, his breath coming fast and ragged. "Beautiful," he murmured, his voice rough with desire, his eyes burning into yours. "So fucking beautiful."
From behind, Maekar's voice, laced with possession: "Isn't she?"
The pride in his tone, the absolute certainty of ownership, sent another wave of heat through you. They were both looking at you like you were the only thing in the world worth wanting.
Baelor's hands slid down the length of your body, his touch reverent yet possessive. He hooked your knees over his shoulders, the movement effortless, displaying you to him. The cool air hit the wet heat between your thighs; you could feel his breath there, hot and uneven. Could see the way his shoulders tensed as he leaned in, his lips parting in anticipation.
The first stroke of his tongue was slow. Deliberate. A flat, broad lick from your entrance to your clit, as if he were tasting the finest vintage, savoring the first sip. Your fingers clenched in the sheets, your hips jerking upward, chasing the sensation. He did it again. And again. Long, slow stripes, his tongue firm and wet, learning the shape of you, mapping the folds of your sex. You were already trembling, your thighs quivering around his head, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
"Oh â oh gods â"
His fingers joined the assault, two of them pressing inside you in one smooth, fluid thrust. You were so tight, so hot, your inner walls clenching around him immediately, trying to draw him deeper. He groaned against your flesh, the vibration traveling through your bones and making you whimper. "So fucking tight," he growled, his voice muffled against your skin. He curled his fingers upward, finding that spot inside you that made your back bow off the bed, a silent scream tearing at your throat.
Your moan was obscene, broken, your hips bucking wildly as he worked you. He thrust his fingers in and out, his thumb circling your clit in tight, relentless circles, his mouth sealing over you, sucking, licking, devouring. The sounds you made were beyond your control â high, needy cries mingling with the wet slap of his tongue and the lewd squelch of your arousal as his fingers pistoned in and out of you.
"Baelor, please â"
"Go on. Let him taste you." The command from your husband was the final straw. It shattered what little control you had left.
Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, brutal and beautiful in its intensity. Your back arched, your thighs locking around Baelor's head as you came, your cunt clenching rhythmically around his fingers, your cries filling the chamber. When he finally lifted his head, his lips were glistening, his eyes dark with a hunger that hadn't been abated in the slightest. He crawled up your body, his heavy cock dragging against your thigh. His mouth found yours again, and you could taste yourself on his tongue; sweet, wild, and feel the way his body trembled with the effort of holding back.
You pulled him down, your arms wrapping around his neck as your legs parted instinctively to cradle his hips. He broke the kiss to look at you and the expression on his face made your chest ache. It was adoration mixed with lust.
Then he was moving, shifting your body with easy strength until your head was at the edge of the bed. Your hair spilled like a dark halo over the furs. He knelt between your thighs, taking his cock in his hand, the tip already weeping with need. You reached for him, your fingers wrapping around his length, stroking him, guiding him to where you needed him most.
The first press of him against your entrance was heaven. You were so wet, so ready, but he was thick, the stretch burning in the best possible way as he pushed inside. Your nails dug into his back, your breath stuttering in your chest.
"Fuck â"
He bottomed out with a groan, his entire body trembling. "You â" His voice was ragged, ruined. "You feel â" He couldn't even finish the sentence. He just moved.
Slow at first. Deep, rolling thrusts that made your vision white at the edges, your moans turning into broken pleas. "More â harder â please â"
He gave you exactly what you begged for.
His hips snapped forward, his cock driving into you with a force that stole the air from your lungs. The bed creaked beneath you, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room, your cries mixing with his grunts and the wet, obscene noises of your body taking him. You heard Maekar shifting, his breath audible even over the sounds of your coupling, but you couldn't look, couldn't think because Baelor was fucking you, his fingers digging into your hips, his mouth finding your sensitive spots.
"Such a good girl," he growled, his thrusts punishing, perfect. "Taking me so well â this tight little cunt was made for me, wasn't it?"
"Yes â" The word was a sob torn from your throat. "Yes, yes â"
Your head fell back, dangling over the edge of the bed, and that was when you saw him.
Maekar.
His breeches were undone, cock freed from its confines, his hand wrapped around the thick length. He was stroking himself in slow pulls, his eyes locked on the place where you and Baelor met. His lips were parted, his chest rising and falling with every ragged breath. The sight of him â your husband, so visibly undone, watching you being fucked by another man, sent a dark and twisted wave of pleasure crashing through you.
Baelor followed your gaze. His grip on your hips tightened, his thrusts growing erratic as he realized what you were looking at. He pulled out of you with a wet, sucking sound, to flip you onto your hands and knees before you could even protest the sudden emptiness. The cool air hit your soaked cunt, making you shiver, your thighs trembling as he positioned himself behind you. His palm came down on your ass, hard, and the sharp sting sent a fresh wave of arousal flooding through you. Then Baelor was inside you again, his thrusts immediately brutal, his hips slapping against your ass, the sound lewd and echoing in the quiet room. The sensation was perfect. You cried out, your nails digging into the sheets, your body rocking helplessly with the force of him.
"Look at him," Baelor growled, his fingers tangling in your hair, yanking your head up to force your gaze forward. "Look at your husband while I fuck you."
You obeyed, unable to do anything else.
Maekar's hand stilled on his cock. His violet eyes burned into yours, his expression a mix of possessiveness and dark, hungry approval. "You love this, don't you?" His voice was sharp and precise. "Love being used like a whore."
You nodded, the movement jerky, your inner walls tightening around Baelor's cock at the degradation. "Yes â gods, use me â"
Maekar stood in one fluid motion, his chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. He crossed to you in two quick strides, his cock thick and flushed dark. He was hard as iron, the tip glistening with pre-cum.
He was right there in front of you. His hand cupped your face gently as his thumb brushed your lower lip. "Such a greedy girl," he murmured, his voice a caress and a threat all at once. "Always so hungry."
You moaned, your tongue darting out to lick the pad of his thumb. He groaned, his cock twitching right in front of your face, another bead of pre-cum welling at the slit.
"You've spoilt her, brother."
Maekar chuckled. âSo it would appear.â Â
The head of his cock brushed against your swollen lips. "Open." You obeyed instantly, parting your lips and flattening your tongue.
The first taste of him was home â salty, musky, the familiar weight of him on your tongue. You hollowed your cheeks, taking him deep, relaxing your throat to accommodate him as Baelor fucked you from behind. The dual sensations were overwhelming. You were full, stuffed to the brim, your mouth occupied by Maekar's thick length while your cunt was stretched tight around Baelor's. Baelor's balls slapped against your clit with every thrust, sending jolts of pleasure racing up your spine.
"Fuck â" Maekar's hand tangled in your hair, guiding your head, his hips rolling slowly as he fed you inch by inch. "Just like that."
Baelor smacked your arse again and you welcomed it. "You feel incredible," he groaned, his voice strained. "So tight â so perfect."
You couldn't speak. You could only take, existing solely for their pleasure in this moment. Your moans vibrated around Maekar's cock, muffled and wet, your body trembling violently as your orgasm built again, coiling tight and low in your belly like a storm about to break.
Maekar's voice was a low growl, directed over your shoulder. "Fuck her harder."
Baelor obeyed without hesitation.
His next thrust was punishing, his hips snapping against you with enough force to drive you forward, taking Maekar deeper into your throat. His cock hit that spot inside you that made your vision whiten, that blinding point of pleasure that obliterated thought. You came with a muffled scream around Maekar's cock, your body clenching violently, your cunt milking Baelor as your orgasm ripped through you. Your throat fluttered around the thick length filling your mouth, tears pricking your eyes from the intensity of it.
Maekar groaned, his fingers tightening in your hair. "Fuck â fuck â" His cock pulsed on your tongue, and then he was coming, his release hitting the back of your throat in thick, hot spurts. You swallowed around him, desperate to take it all, your own climax still rippling through your body, leaving you a trembling, gasping mess between them.
Baelor's rhythm faltered. His breath came in ragged, uneven gasps, his cock swelling inside you, his entire body tensing as he chased his own release. He was right there, hovering on the edge â
A sharp, cold flash in Maekar's eyes.
"Baelor."
One word. A reminder. A command.
Baelor groaned, a sound of pure frustration, his cock twitching inside you where you wanted him most. But he obeyed. With a ragged curse, he pulled out, his release taking him by force. His cock pulsed, painting your thighs and the curve of your ass in thick, white stripes. His mismatched eyes screwed shut as he rode out the waves of his pleasure.
Maekar slowly withdrew from your mouth, giving you a moment to breathe. He stroked your cheek, his thumb brushing your lower lip, wiping away a stray drop of his release. His voice was soft, but the steel beneath it was unmistakable.
"Good."
You collapsed forward, your body giving out entirely, every muscle liquid and spent. For a moment, there was only the sound of three people trying to remember how to breathe.
The mattress shifted, the heavy weight of Baelor's presence leaving your side, and the sudden coolness of the air struck your sweat-dampened skin. You didn't open your eyes. Your body was a vast, unmapped landscape of sensation, trembling in the aftermath, the aftershocks of your release still fluttering through your inner muscles in small, desperate waves. The sound of water splashing, distinct and wet, echoed against the walls. Then Maekar was in front of you.
"Let me," Maekar murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in your chest.
You felt the cloth first against your thigh. It was hot, wrung out just enough to be warm without burning, and the sensation drew a sharp, hissing breath from between your lips. He didn't rush. He wiped away the sticky evidence of Baelor's release, the fabric dragging softly over your sensitive skin.
You forced your eyes open. The room was dim, lit only by the dying orange glow of the hearth and the pale silver spill of moonlight from the high windows. Maekar's face was shadowed, but his eyes were fixed on yours.
"Are you alright?" he asked softly.
You nodded, your throat too tight to speak immediately. Your hand moved slowly, heavily, across the furs until your fingers brushed against his wrist. You felt the steady, rhythmic thump of his pulse beneath your fingertips.
"Yes," you whispered. The word cracked in the quiet room.
"You were perfect," he said, his voice dropping to a register meant only for you, a secret shared in the dark. "So good, my heart."
He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. The contrast â the roughness of his beard, the softness of the cloth, the hardness of the bed beneath you â threatened to pull you under. It was almost too much.
"You are everything," he whispered against your hair. "Everything. I would have you know that."
He meant it. You heard it in the way his voice broke, just slightly, on the last word. You felt it in the tremor of his hand. You turned your face into his touch, your eyes fluttering shut again, letting yourself drift in the current of his affection. He slid one arm beneath your knees and the other behind your shoulders, lifting you as if you weighed nothing more than a feather.
The sudden change in position made your head spin. You gasped, your hands flying up to grip his shoulders, steadying yourself against the solid wall of his chest. He held you cradled against him, his heartbeat a fast, steady drum against your ear. He didn't carry you far, just to the other side of the bed, where the pillows were piled high against the headboard.
He lowered you down with excruciating care. Your head sank into the softness of the down pillows, and he immediately reached for the heavy furs that had been kicked to the foot of the bed. Maekar pulled them up, shaking them out so they settled over you like a cloud, burying you in softness. You watched him through heavy-lidded eyes. He sat on the very edge of the mattress, his hip pressing into your thigh.. His fingers pushed back the wild tangle of your hair, smoothing it away from your forehead, tucking it behind your ear.Â
"Sleep," he whispered. "I have you."
But your eyes drifted past him, drawn by a movement in the shadows.
Baelor was standing near the foot of the bed, his back partially turned. The moonlight caught the sharp lines of his shoulders as he moved, quiet and methodical. He found his shirt on the floor and pulled it over his head, the fabric sliding down to hide the skin you had only moments ago been raking your nails against. He told himself it was decency. He was giving you privacy, retreating to allow husband and wife their moment. It was the honorable thing to do.
But you could see the tension in the set of his shoulders, the stiffness in his spine. He moved like a man in a trance, his breeches still unlaced and hanging loosely on his hips. He was watching. Even as he dressed, he was watching the way Maekar's hand smoothed your hair, the way your body curled instinctively toward your husband, seeking his heat, the way your fingers twitched against the furs as if reaching for him even in your drowsy state.
His chest rose and fell in one deep, shuddering breath he couldn't quite suppress. The longing that rolled off him was palpable, a thick wave of sadness that seemed to lower the temperature of the room. It wasn't just the night, though, that had been extraordinary, a fever dream made flesh that he would remember for the rest of his days. It was this. This quiet aftermath, the domestic belonging. This was what he was starving for.
He had touched you, tasted you, heard you cry out his name. But he would never have this. He would never be the one to tuck you in, the one whose hand you sought in the dark, the one who got to whisper that he loved you and know that you were safe simply because he was there.
One night was not enough.Â
The pain of it was written into the lines of his back, the slump of his shoulders. He was a man who had mastered his emotions, who moved through the world with wisdom and calm, but in this moment, he looked utterly undone.
Your heart ached for him. You saw the raw, open wound of his loneliness, and you couldn't bear it. Not tonight. Not after everything.
You turned your head slightly on the pillow, looking up at Maekar. He was still smoothing your hair, his eyes soft and full of a devotion that made your breath catch.
"Maekar," you whispered.
He stilled immediately, his hand resting warm against your cheek. "Yes, my heart?"
"Come to bed. Lay with me."
He stood, shed his breeches, and slid in beside you. The mattress dipped under his weight, the furs rustling as he settled. You didn't wait â you rolled toward him immediately, your body finding the familiar curve of his, your leg draping over his, your head tucking into the hollow of his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around you and pulled you flush against him.
Baelor had taken two steps toward the door.
"Where are you going?"
The question hung in the air, soft and certain. Baelor froze before turning slowly.
You had raised your head from Maekar's chest, looking at him over the mound of blankets, your eyes clear and steady in the dim light.
Baelor stood in the center of the room, his shirt still unlaced, looking like a man who had forgotten how to speak. He looked between the two of you â his brother, whom he loved, and you, the woman he had somehow impossibly fallen for with a terrifying intensity.
"I â" He started, then stopped. His voice was rough, scraped raw. "I thought â"
"Are you not staying?" you asked.
The question was simple. It shouldn't have undone him as completely as it did.
He looked at Maekar. Something passed between them in the silence, not permission, but an acknowledgment. Maekar's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing slightly. But he didn't speak, only held you a little tighter.
Baelor couldn't leave. He didn't have the strength to walk away, not when you were looking at him like that, not when the alternative was a cold empty bed and a lifetime of wondering.
You had already closed your eyes, your breathing beginning to slow and deepen.
"Come to bed, Baelor," you murmured, the words slurring slightly with exhaustion. "Just for tonight."
Just for tonight.
The words were a lifeline and a wound all at once. He stood there for one last heartbeat, looking at the two of you tangled together in the vast bed. Then he moved, slowly, carefully around the foot of the bed to the empty side. He looked down at the narrow space between you and the edge and sat on top of the covers. It wasn't much. But it was enough.
"Stop this nonsense, brother," Maekar murmured, "Sleep properly."
Baelor slowly climbed under the furs.
You shifted, rolling so that your back was now against Maekarâs chest. Your hand moved without thought to rest against Baelor's chest, a tether in the dark.
He looked down at your hand and felt the warmth of it seeping through his skin. His eyes locked with Maekarâs over your shoulder. Maekar was watching him, his violet eyes steady and unreadable in the darkness. Then he placed a kiss on your cheek, let out a deep breath, and closed his eyes.
Slowly, Baelor lowered himself down. He lay on his side facing you, careful not to touch you anywhere else, not crossing any line that hadn't been offered.Â
He watched your face in the moonlight, listened to the sound of your breathing, and felt his own sync to it without meaning to. The warmth of you radiated into his side, seeping into the cold places he had been carrying for longer than he could name.Â
As he lay there in the dark, watching the woman he could never keep, held by the brother he could never replace, Baelor closed his eyes and let himself pretend, just for tonight, that this was where he was meant to be.
The reblog chain is one of the things that makes Tumblr unlike anywhere else. All the notes on reblogs are attributed to the original post, no matter which branch people actually liked or reblogged. We want to keep encouraging conversations, and give contributors the recognition they deserve.Â
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Reblogging to get this into the conversation. I make it a point to monitor my posts to keep our community a safe space. I'm concerned this change won't allow me to do that. Highly suggest anyone that has thoughts to voice them. I appreciate staff trying to make changes to improve the website, but am concerned as to how this will impact what we allow to happen on the posts we make
Maekar never expected to marry again, never expected to love again. he tried to be a distant husband, a husband in name only. and yet you with your sweet smiles, kind eyes made it so hard for him to forget to be the stern man Westros knew him as, made it hard for him to forget that he didn't want to fall in love.
Maekar Targayren x Florent!reader
Word count: 3,661
CW: MDI 18 +, Arranged marriage, angst, bedding ceremony, smut. innocent and sweet reader, grump x sunshine. age gap. slow burn. by angst i mean a lot of angst like i cried writting some of this.
Masterlist | part one | part two | part three | part four | part five
You had always been kind, had always been taught to find kindness in everything. To see the good in everyone. You were a sweet flower, as your mother would say, with none of the cunning of a fox, despite your house sigil. You were the perfect lady, kind, caring, beautiful and always doing what was expected of you. Even when it meant marrying the king's youngest son, becoming his second wife and mother to a large brood of children, the oldest of which was closer in age to you than your future husband.Â
You had looked on the brightside, as you always did, you thought of a man who might grow to love you, a man who perhaps would be like the fairy tales you read as a child, a man willing to go to war for you. You thought of his younger children; perhaps they would grow to love you as a motherly figure, not as a mother. You knew you could never replace her, but you hoped perhaps there would be great happiness in your life. Even if you were to be the notoriously hard and tough man they call âthe anvilâ.Â
You grew hopefully as you journeyed to the crownlands, thinking of the life you would live as a princess.Â
You had never met the man that would be your husband, nor any royal to be exact, you would meet him for the first time on your wedding day. But your parents hadn't met till their wedding, and now they were the picture of adoration. You were the youngest child of five, though the only girl, and you had spent your whole life watching your brothers fall in love, allowed to marry ladies of their choosing.Â
And yes, you were idealistic, but why wouldnât you be? You have never had to worry about anything, never had to know a single second of sadness.Â
You were filled with a sense of nervous joy as you journeyed to the sept, dressed in a pure white gown, with pink accents throughout your gown, small pink flowers laced throughout your dress, and your veil a soft blush. On your shoulders sat your maiden cloak, the blue a tricking contrast against your dress, the fox of your house sat proud on your back as your father escorted you into the sept.Â
Prince Maekar stood tall as you walked through the sept, his gaze unmoving as you stood in the door, waiting for the orchestra to start the procession.Â
He was far more handsome than you had expected. Though his face was stern, his cheeks were marred with scars, but they did not take away from his looks. He was thickly built, his silver hair was cut shorter than you had expected, but his eyes were what drew you in. As you walked closer, your father's grip on your arm grew tighter. The closer he got to having to let you go, you noticed the lightness of his eyes, you couldnât tell if they were blue or purple. Your gaze locked with his as you finally approached the altar, your father hesitantly letting go of your arm, placing a soft kiss on your brow.Â
Maekar's jaw ticked as you stood before him, his gaze assessing you as you greeted him with a soft smile. Your hands were joined with his as the septon began the ceremony, the roughness of his hands against the softness of your own.Â
The septon droned on as you memorised every inch of your new husband, taking in the sternness of his face, how he seemed permanently annoyed by everything around him, how his hands were holding on to yours but seemed to play with your fingers as the septon spoke, he was doing it mindlessly it seemed as he stopped the second you drew attention to it.Â
He spoke the vows quickly, his voice sharp and eager to get it over with. Your smile faltered.Â
He kissed you quickly, barely touching your lips before moving back, and the smile faded from your face.Â
The carriage ride to the red keep was silent, with him letting go of your arm as soon as you stepped inside. He sat opposite you, his eyes not once looking at you. You had tried to talk to him, but every response was a simple grunt. Your smile didnât return to your face. You, a woman who had never stopped smiling her whole life, who had knights and lords falling at your feet to speak to you, and now your own lord husband didnât even dare to look in your direction.Â
The rest of the night was much of the same, your husband didnât once ask you to dance, didnât utter a single word, at least to you. He spoke with his brother Baelor and his children. But not with you.
You loved to dance, never had you had a feast, let alone a wedding, where you didnât dance the whole night. Instead, you sat and watched, drinking your wine glass until it was emptied and refilled over and over again. The only people you spoke to the whole night were Maekar's sons, Daeron and Aerion. Daeron, who seemed to delight in your drinking, had made you laugh a few times but had easily moved on to some of his drunkard friends. And Aerion, who leered at you and spoke something about being pumped full of dragons in no time, as he stared at the neckline of your dress. Your brothers and sister in laws circled the room and spoke kindly to you, but stayed no longer than a few minutes, as was appropriate, it seems.Â
The hours droned on slowly, and before you knew it, the bedding ceremony was called.Â
Maekar had merely grunted and stood up, his hand flexing slightly before he offered it to you, leading you out to the floor before the rabble of lords who had been eyeing you all night could get their hands on you.Â
You had participated in your fair share of bedding ceremonies, you knew what to expect, and yet as they pulled your clothes off you, leaving you entirely bare as you pushed your way into your marital chambers. Maekar sat on the bed waiting for you, wearing far more clothes than you.Â
You blushed, reaching to cover yourself as you felt Maekerâs gaze on you. He cleared his throat, standing from the bed, and pulling at the laces of the breeches he still wore.Â
âHusband,â you greeted, your smile returning, though feeling far more awkward than ever before.Â
âWife,â he nodded, the first words he had said to you outside of your vows.
âWhat do we, um, what do we do now?â you asked, awkwardly, your hands covering you up.Â
âWe consummate,â he grunted, pulling back the covers of the bed and getting in. He stared at you, waiting for you to move. You didnât. âYou do know what is to happen?â he asked, his voice a little awkward but not lacking any of its coldness.Â
âOf course I do, I justâŚâ You trailed off, slowly moving towards the bed.
âWhat?â he asked harshly. You flinched back, halting your steps slightly.Â
âNothing,â you mumbled as you finally approached the bed, settling in under the covers, grateful for the sheet to hide your body. You played with the covers, following the pattern with your fingers, waiting for Maekar to move.Â
He sighed as he looked at you, his hand reaching out to stop your movements. âStop that,â he ordered. You nodded, stopping instantly. You felt the weight of reality settle into your shoulders, realising for the first time in your life that optimism didn't always lead to happiness.Â
Makear sighed before he crawled over to your side of the bed.Â
He didnât kiss you, didn't hold you to him, nor did he whisper sweet nothings in your ears. The consummation was over before you knew it, and Maekar, as quickly as he arrived, left.Â
He didnât look at you when he left, said no words, bid no farewells. He just left. Leaving you alone in a room that wasnât your own, in a keep that wasn't your own. And a marital bed that you felt would never live up to the dreams you held in your heart.Â
You cried yourself to sleep that night.Â
It was such an oddity for you to cry or feel sadness. The last time you felt sad was when your cat died when you were ten. Never once had you felt sadness this great. Never once did you cry yourself to sleep, praying no one could hear your cries echoing across the hall.Â
You knew love and warmth grew with him, but you hadnât expected there to be such coldness. You hadnât expected there to be a wall of ice between you, a wall so thick it rivalled the wall in the north.Â
You began to question everything your parents had told you. Everything they had told you about your marriage night was a lie. What else would be?Â
You got little sleep that night before the maids came in at dawn and awoke you softly. Though strangers, they treated you softly, bathing you in a lavender-scented bath. They wash away the small trickles of blood between your thighs. Wash the tear stain marks off your face. And spoke in hushed tones as they prepared you for breakfast.Â
You were the first to arrive, settling at the end of the table, your gaze flickering across the room, noting all the tapestries and art that adorned the walls. The table was filled with fruits and berries, and pastries of all sorts filled the table.Â
You contemplated filling your plate before everyone else joined, you were hungry, having eaten little at the wedding feast.Â
But before you could reach for even a single grape, the door opened and in walked your husband. His step faltered when he saw you. His gaze took note of your pink gown and the soft smile that graced your features as he appeared.Â
Prepah's last night was a blip, maybe he was drunk or nervous. You may as well start today anew. Perhaps your sadness from last night was a one-time occurrence and would quickly be forgotten. âHusband,â you greeted, standing up as he walked towards you, taking a seat at the head of the table.Â
âWife,â he greeted in turn. Grunting as he sat down, reaching to fill his plate.Â
âHow did you sleep?â you asked, following his lead and filling your own.Â
âFine,â he grunted, not looking at you. The door opened as you went to speak, his younger children running in with their Septa. They called for their father as they ran in, stopping short as they saw you. Aegon bowed, and Daella and Rhae both curtseyed. âMy lady,â they greeted, before rushing to fit for a seat next to Maekar. Daella won, sitting closest to him and Rhae next to her. Aegon moved to sit next to you, sighing in defeat. And Aemon, who wandered in with a book in hand, moved to sit beside Aegon.Â
The children rambled on over breakfast, asking you all sorts of questions and answering each one you had for them. You smiled softly at their rambles, though your gaze turned to Maekar, hoping to see some softness, hoping to see that he wished to talk to you as much as his children did. Instead, he scowled the second your gaze met his.Â
He left the second he was done, not waiting for his elder children to walk in. He ruffled his daughter's hair as he walked by, bidding each of his children farewell. Only side-eyeing you as he left.Â
Perhaps last night wasnât a blip after all.Â
He was fucked, totally and completely fucked. He was the second, he saw you walk into the sept in your pretty white gown covered in pink. The second he saw your smile, the second he touched you.
He didn't need another wife, he had six children, had loved before and had absolutely no need for a wife. And yet you appeared. His parents had wed him off and introduced you, a perfect flower from the reach. Eager to be plucked. So perfect and so entirely unlike him.Â
He didnât want a wife and had hoped you would be easy to ignore. And yet as you spoke your pretty words to him, he realised you wouldn't be, he realised that you were as sweet and kind as his father had said. And yet you were stuck with him. He was cold, colder since Dyanna had died. You couldnt possible be happy with the arrangement. Happy with him as your husband. Perhaps you would be happy if you were a wife in name only. Then you would be happy, and not chained to him for the rest of his life, and miserable for it.Â
And yet you, with your smiles that could outshine the sun, seemed to make him melt.Â
You were too soft, too sweet, too happy. He had noticed it easily, you would hate him, resent him, and he wouldnât blame you. Not when he never wanted to marry.Â
He would do his duty and nothing more, and yet last night, when he had done that, guilt ate at him. It was clear you wanted a sweet, loving husband, but he couldn't be that, wouldn't be that. And yet when you greeted him this morning, with gentle eyes and a nervous smile, he almost took back his desire to be a husband in name only. When he noticed his younger children adoring you, how easily you spoke with them, eager to know them. To know him.Â
Gods, it would have been easier had you been cold, had you been mean or ugly. But you were anything but. Beautiful, as happy as the sun, kind and caring, and always dressed in pink. And he hated all of it. Or atleast thats what he told himself.Â
He tried to be as distant and cold as he could be, and yet time and time again, he was drawn back to you. As time went by and you had all travelled to Summerhall, he had made sure you had your own chambers. Not once did he visit you. Not once did he seek you out.Â
And yet you were always there. In his library, his dining hall, and even with his children. You often found yourself in the garden at the same time as him, or standing there at the exact moment he decided to look out of it. Always there, always kind and soft. And he hated it. Hated how you drew him in, no matter what you did. Hated how he fucked his fist to you every night, your name and face on his lips.
You were kind and never had a bad word to say about anything or anyone. Everyone you had ever met would say you were the nicest person they had ever met. They would say that hate was something you were incapable of. And yet as time went by and the coldness between you and your husband seemed to grow, you began to feel the fires of hate breaking into your heart. Your husband was ever distant and running from you the second your paths crossed, offering only grunts in response to your kind words. Never once attending the endless lists of activities you invited him to, you were beginning to hate him.Â
You had lost hope of a happy marriage when the third month of it came with no touches, no words, no caresses or even acknowledgement. He did not try to welcome you, did not try to make you feel at home, or try to fill the loneliness that filled your heart.
You felt so alone and isolated. Sure, his children were kind, and as the months went by, they were happy to see you whenever youâd help with their lessons or entertain their day. But you had no one to speak to, you had no maids or ladies in waiting to chat to.Â
You had no one, and whereas before it was rare for you to cry or feel sadness. Now it was rare to feel joy. Every night, tears wet your pillow as the ache of loneliness filled your very soul.Â
Maekar didnât notice, seeming to be annoyed with your presence in his home, to even think about your feelings. He avoided every room you frequented, left every meal before all his children left, as if the thought of being alone with you physically pained him.Â
The only time you smiled or laughed was with his younger children. And though you had learned to love them dearly, you were entirely unhappy in your marriage, if you could even call it a marriage. You were more of a reluctant occupant than a wife.Â
And yet a part of you still waited. A part of you hoped to wake up one day, with Maekar beside you, whispering sweet nothings in your ear and declaring his love for you. Itâs why you had continued to be kind, soft and always perking up when his gaze fell on you. You invited him to tea, tea that he never joined. Dinners alone, which he either avoided or conveniently brought at least one of his children along to. Â
You had formed a mindless routine. Every day, you said good morning and asked him how he slept. Whenever you got to breakfast before him, you would prepare his tea and pile the food onto his plate. Hoping that one day he would take notice and thank you instead of just grunting in acknowledgement. Every day youâd bring him his lunch in his solar, loitering to see if he needed anything. He never did. You would walk around the gardens, always stopping in front of the window to his solar, a book or paints in hand, as you spent hours either reading or painting. Spending at least a few hours every day with his children. Helping with their lessons and bringing them to see him every night before they went to bed. And when it was time for him to go to bed, you would dress in your night gown, prepare him a nightcap and see if he wanted you. He never did. Though you felt his gaze on you when he dismissed you, you saw the flexing of his hand as you walked out of his reach.Â
But he never acted on his gaze, his desire to touch. He never did anything. Other than grunt.Â
You did a million little things for him every day, replacing the flowers in his solar, placing a bookmark between the pages of the book he had placed upside down. And so many other things that he would never notice.Â
You wondered if heâd notice if you stopped. Stopped showing up to meals, stopped trailing after him, stopped waiting for his attention.
You doubted it, and knew deep down you couldnât.Â
That's until it hit six months of marriage, six months of coldness. Of you talking to a wall of ice.Â
Six months of growing closer and closer to his children, with little Rhae, a girl who never knew her mother, a girl of only five, a girl who had called you mama in private and then made the mistake of calling you mama in front of Maekar.Â
He didnât say anything at the time, he waited for them to go to bed and waited to escort you to your rooms. And waited until the doors closed behind him.Â
He leant against the door, his body shivering with rage. âHow long has she been calling you that?â He asked, his tone dripping with anger. No fear? Mayhaps, you couldnât place his tone, his feelings, âYou want to replace my childrenâs mother? Is that it?âÂ
You flinched back from the harshness of his tone, âwhat no, I-â
âShut up and let me speak, woman!â He interrupted, turning to face you, âYou are not their mother, you should have corrected Rhae the second she started calling you that!â
âI did, I promise, but she wanted to call me it anyway-â
âWell, you should have tried harder!â His voice bellowed, âYou are not there, mother,â he slammed his hand against the wall.Â
Making your whole body flinch, backing away from him slowly as tears began to spill from your eyes.Â
âI know, but that doesn't stop them from wanting one,â you spoke softly. Daella slipped and called you mama once, and Eggs' hand was rarely not in yours. All three of them insist on you tucking them in every night, and little Aemon wrote to you every week.
He sighed deeply, his eyes finally turning to yours, noting how you had flinched from him, how you stood against your bed, your gaze not on him for the first time. âYou're not their mother, you're just my wife!â he stopped breathing deeply, speaking just loud enough for you to hear, ânot more, you canât be more, you can't be here, you'll never be her,â you weretn sure he had intended on you hearing it, but you had anyway. And he noticed you had too late.Â
You turned your back to him, refusing to let him see you crumble, to see how badly his words had affected you. You waited for him to leave, but instead, you felt him walk closer. His hand hovering over your shoulder, âI didn't mean that-â he said, reaching for you, only for you to flinch from his touch.
âGet out,â was all you said, your body wrapping into itself as you waited for him to leave. He hovered, waiting for something. Perhaps for the sweet, obedient wife you had been to show up. To accept his apology and his words. But you felt all of that slip away the second he said those words.Â
summary: There is no such thing in the world that would cool down Lyonel's spirit, but when intercession is needed and his lady wife has to put up a good word for him â well, then even the Laughing Storm can sense the seriousness. Who would have guessed that the spooked deer he married would turn not only into his true friend but also the closest advisor?
Name the riches â Lyonel Baratheon x wife!reader
summary: Lyonel plays a game of provocation to stir some audacity in his newlywed wife, but she is quick to catch up after realizing the position she holds. Lord Baratheonâs assurances that he is not a jealous man turn out to be dramatically untrue.
Mark of the Stags â Lyonel Baratheon x wife!reader
summary: Lady Baratheon wakes up next to her husband after a long, frantic night. The only unusual thing is the ache on her skin that happens not to be a bruise, neither Lyonel's worshiping touch. The marks on their bodies donât seem to worry the Lord very much, though. He is, in fact, quite thrilled.
Faint memory, promising pathways â Lyonel Baratheon x wife!reader
summary: Lord Baratheon is too occupied with the presence of his darling wife to follow his companions. He claims to remember the way⌠Well, nature isn't so bad, after all, then why not spend the whole day away from the castle?
Harlotsâ rank [request] â Lyonel Baratheon x wife!reader
summary: Lord Baratheon has to face a fact hard to swallow â that his darling wife thinks of him as a disloyal dog...
Lady of Heartache [request] â Lyonel Baratheon x wife!reader
summary: The only people afraid of Lord Baratheon were men, but how could you know that? You heard warnings about him and the duties of a wife too often to not let them get to you.
The Strangerâs heiress [request] â Lyonel Baratheon x deity!reader
summary: During his travel to seal a new partnership, Lord Baratheon is met with a strange messenger sent to House Horpe. The veil and cowl fail to hide the ladyâs true identity, and soon enough, Lyonel finds himself mesmerized by what others see as fearsome and cursed. Customs happen to mean very little for him, though, when there is a divine woman to save.
Fair Trading [request] â Lyonel Baratheon x Dornish!reader
summary: The fierceness of a storm and dornish habits donât seem to match each other very well, but perhaps Lyonel Baratheon is not that much of a true abrupt stormlander. Or maybe itâs just that you, a princess of Dorne, can find it in your heart to accept such a stormlander as your man.
Blood makes noise [request] â Lyonel Baratheon x Bracken!reader
summary: Lyonel always said it is all about honor, protecting the good name of his house and kins. If he was truly honest, though â well, he would have to say he walked this earth for fun and the thrill of some risk. Oh, and impressing his lady wife all over again!
Knight's mercy [request] â Lyonel Baratheon x witch!reader
summary: Everyone would benefit from Lyonel keeping his new friendships to himself, but there was also no one who could stop him. Now after the worst experience of his life, ser Duncan has to bear the intrusive presence of Lord Baratheon and the â so called â witch, that he somehow convinced to stick aroundâŚ
Harbingers of sorrow â Baelor Targaryen x wife!reader
summary: Terrifying visions that surround your husband with blood and pain keep appearing in your sleep, and despite his assurance, you decide to ask for advice that turns out to be meaningless.
[Part 2 â Bloodâs Devotion]
[Part 3 â Brother's Love] soon... hopefully
Doubt your man â Maekar Targaryen x wife!reader
summary: If he only could, Maekar would gladly sit by his wifeâs side through her whole sickness. When he finally manages to run from his duties and rush to her, he has to throw a certain man outside the chamber and care for the woman himself. Just like he prefers it.
My Moon, My Man â Daeron Targaryen x wife!reader
Mourning Feast â Maekar Targaryen x fem!reader
summary: Maekar Targaryenâs bride seems to be the most tragic lady in The Seven Kingdoms. Not only is she to be wed to a man of grim and sharp reputation, but also her father gets slaughtered on her wedding day.
summary: An imperfect bride for a flawsome man â it was not a tragic match by any means, but the heavy shroud of expectations made affection morph into doubt. It felt like a choke, the duty imposed by House Rosby, tightening on the necks of Daeron and his wife.
Dim Refuge â Daeron Targaryen x wife!reader
summary: Life as Prince Daeronâs wife sometimes made you feel like the sky would fall on your head while you and your husband were just a pair of lambs sent to slaughter...
Game of Thrones
True Knight â Davos Seaworth x fem! Estermont reader
Complete [wc: 10k+]
Summary: Lady Estermont, there was something truly strange about her. Whenever she appeared, the weird feeling came too. In the silence and ever-humming sound of the sea, in shadows, like something watched. Watched and waited. It was not an eerie presence, just something deeply buried that screamed to be unleashed again.
chapter one
chapter two
chapter three
chapter four
chapter five
ao3 link
True detective
young!rust cohle headcanons
Sacred bloody route â Rust Cohle x fem!reader [wc: 30k+]
summary: Rust was a heavy smoker since his late teenage years, and he picked up his liking for Camel Blues from the first woman he ever cared about. He knew she was the one part of his âprogrammingâ that he would not be able to deny himself: memory of the feeling, longing for the grim days when a shred of light made it worth living. Lust can morph into love. Love â into resentment, but care⌠Care will remain the same.
chapters:
I. The once forgotten route, now used by many
II. Don't you love her madly? Crash!Rust Cohle x fem!reader
III. Seven horses seem to be on the mark young!Rust Cohle x fem!reader
IV. A lonely song of a deep blue dream young!Rust Cohle x fem!reader
V. Donât you love her as sheâs walking out the door? young!Rust Cohle x fem!reader
VI. All your love is gone 1995!Rust Cohle x fem!reader
VII. Void. 2012!Rust Cohle x reader
ao3 link
Call of Duty
Form and Void â ex!John Price x wife!reader x Simon Riley
summary: In all the years of your relationship with Price, you would never guess heâll be the crazy type of ex. Prying, never losing hope, annoying one â yes, but tormenting you and bothering your kids every second he could? It made all three of you anxious, worried about your every step. For years, you had a perfect marriage, and in one second, it turned into hell. The only good thing is that you have someone to call when your ex outdoes himself by causing a scene at your work, throwing punches, and scaring innocent people. It might be tense between you and Simon afterwards, but what choice do you have?
Hunting hound â huntsman!Johnny MacTavish x fem!reader
summary: Johnny didnât mind when you looked at him the way you would at a stray dog. He was a hunting hound, after all, and he would cherish you as his master. You werenât his to protect and worship, though.
Red dead redemption
Cold dark earth (I'll crawl home to her) â Arthur Morgan x fem!reader
summary: For years, Arthur knew no remorse. At nights he slept peacefully as long as he could feel his woman close. None of them ever begged for another chance â he couldn't imagine an angelic person like his wife would have to ask for salvation. And him? He didnât want anything else. Yet the ransome came in the small fragile flesh. A pale body, that with its trembling shook your whole world. Arthur wasn't punished for his sins with the boy's presence, no â it was much worse. It was his son, his frail son, and his weak body, who had to bear whips aimed at his father.
Devil's resting place â Arthur Morgan x vampire!reader
summary: The fragile sepulchral finding except her charm happens to hold an unknown, eerie strength. What can be sensed by women and children remains invisible to Arthur⌠or perhaps it is his wish to not see what he truly lusts after?
Fellow conman? â Hosea Matthews x actress!reader
summary: Saint Denis' theatre, a house of art and majesty, gets burned down in a terrible accident, but you have a friend who will help you out. He's afraid of how you will handle the company of ruthless outlaws, but it happens that actors and criminals are much alike. Or perhaps you simply consider it a similar job? The presence of a fellow conman certainly helps you adjust, and during a robbery where the two of you play main roles, he realizes there's something more to his admiration than woman's grace and solidarity of profession.
1914 Jack Marston x wife!reader
Resident Evil
I still dream of violence â older!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader
[part 2] Angry at the waiting game
summary: When a young married couple disappears, who could be better at investigating the case than a pair of special agents used to working together and known for their high efficiency? Well, probably nobody, but someone clearly ignored the fact that one of them should retire a long time ago, and they are both too good at their job to rot in rural America. Not to forget the questionable nature of their professional relationship and mutual tension.
old man leon x girlfirend!reader
Cyberpunk 2077
Runaway champ â Viktor Vektor x fem!V
summary: A grand champion has been craved with Viktor's help, and then a father is involved. The thing about fathers⌠well, they tend to turn into phantoms, hunting memories of their children, slowly creeping into their minds, taking control, and pushing them towards danger. V used to come to Viktor for everything: arguments, breakups, loss⌠Now she disappeared. He never really stopped looking until he was held at gunpoint and blessed with an indirect message from her to leave her alone. So he did, but still hoped. That's until 5 years later she is shoved on his doorstep by Jackie and Misty, tired, bloody and in great trouble.
ao3 link
Far Cry 5
The savior angel â Joseph Seed x fem!reader
Summary: You couldn't refuse to take care of this man. You wanted to, you really did, but it would be a sin dirtying you for the rest of your life. You wanted him gone and out of your life, but it was your job to help. Your call. Maybe you would feel more compassion if he werenât your father. Your work lies long forgotten, while he, in his new health, seeks the doing of the Lord. Then Joseph Seed appears to praise your effort and direct his people towards the light. Towards the side where he is the shine.
