Moreover, Ryan Condal (allegedly) originally pitched akotsk but had to settle for hotd because hbo told him "no" for once in their useless lives. And thank god for that because I dont think I could sit through Maekarlings having weird sex dreams ft Dyanna Dayne.
fix-it: Baelor survives the tournament but suffers a neurological injury that temporarily affects his fine motor control, making it difficult for him to use his hands normally, Maekar takes care of him during his recovery
The doomed brothers are here! The Baelor & Maekar plushie campaign has officially started! Iām so excited! š§”āØ
Please share - so that we hopefully manage reaching our goal in time!
ā”ļø AUG 6 - SEPT 6
ā”ļø A minimum of 30 orders is required to start production. If the goal is not met by the end of the preorder period, all customers will be fully refunded.
Maekar ( the one with white hair )Baelor ( the one with grey hair ) The production quantity refers to the combined total of all 'Baelor' opt
Hi, I was wondering if I could request for some smutty hcs/drabbles for maekar x wife!reader. I also really loved sleepless nights with maekar, it was amazing.
Hereās some smutty Maekar x wife!reader content for you, since you asked so sweetly (and because Iām glad Sleepless Nights hit the right spot). Hope this was what you wanted.
minors, dni; explicit sexual content, possessive behaviour, rough sex, tender moments, maekar does not do gentle, not when it comes to claiming you.
NSFW BEYOND THE LINE.
HEADCANONS
MAEKAR is not a soft lover. He is deliberate, thorough, and quietly intense. Once the door is shut and the guards are dismissed, he fucks like a man who has spent the entire day grinding his teeth through council meetings and only now gets to take what is his. He pins your wrists above your head more often than not, not because he needs to control you, but because he likes the way you arch when you canāt touch him back.
He has a particular fondness for taking you from behind while youāre still half-dressed in court silks. The contrast of fine fabric shoved up around your waist and his rough, calloused hands spreading you open is something he never tires of. Heāll murmur against the back of your neck about how pretty you looked at supperā¦ and how much prettier you look now, stuffed full of him.
On nights when the weight of the crown (or the absence of it, depending on the year, and though we all know he's a grumpy old man, he still has it in him to make you a moaning mess) sits heavy on him, he doesnāt want gentle. He wants you on your knees between his thighs in the dark, mouth wet and obedient, while he cards his fingers through your hair and lets you take him apart slowly. He never lasts long when you look up at him like that. He always pulls you into his lap afterward and holds you against his chest until his breathing evens out again.
He is quietly possessive about leaving marks. Not where anyone at court can see, but low on your thighs, the soft curve of your belly, the inside of your wrists. He likes pressing his thumb into a fresh bruise while heās inside you the next night, watching your face when the ache blooms under his touch.
After, he is unexpectedly tender. The same man who just fucked you until you were shaking will clean you with a damp cloth, press a kiss to the inside of your knee, and pull you halfway across his chest so he can feel your heartbeat against his ribs. He falls asleep faster with your leg thrown over his.
DRABBLE
The fire has burned low by the time Maekar finally dismisses the last of the guards.
You are already in the great bed, bare beneath the furs, watching him undress with the slow, methodical precision of a man who has been waiting for this all day, so when he finally climbs in, the mattress dips under his weight and the cool air of the room is replaced by the heat of his body covering yours.
He does not kiss you first.
He spreads your thighs with his knees, settles between them, and pushes into you in one long, relentless slide that steals the breath from both your lungs. A low, rough sound leaves his throat as he bottoms out. His forehead drops to yours.
āMissed this,ā he mutters, voice rough, dark and clearly having an affect on you that borders on gruff, a growl. āMissed you.ā
Then he starts to move.
Deep, steady thrusts that rock the entire bed. One of his hands braces beside your head; the other slides under your knee and hikes it higher against his hip so he can get deeper still. Every time he rolls his hips he grinds against that perfect spot inside you until your fingers are clawing at his back and soft, broken sounds are spilling from your mouth.
He watches your face the entire time.
When you start to tighten around him he only fucks you harder, jaw clenched, eyes dark with something almost feral. āThatās it,ā he growls against your mouth. āTake it. Take all of me.ā
You come with a shattered cry, clenching around him so hard he has to grit his teeth. Maekar follows a handful of thrusts later, burying himself to the hilt and spilling deep inside you with a low, guttural groan that sounds like it was torn from somewhere under his ribs.
He stays there for a long moment after, still buried in you, breathing hard against your neck. Then he carefully lowers your leg, presses a surprisingly gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth, and rolls onto his side, taking you with him so you stay joined.
His large hand settles low on your back, possessive and warm.
āSleep,ā he murmurs into your hair. āIām not finished with you yet.ā
My requests are open, and though I am aware there's still many who I have not answered yet, I'll spend the weekend finishing them.
so we know the targaryens of this era are all still given dragon eggs in their cradles, right? imagine baelor always takes him with him when travelling. maybe dunk gets to see it when baelor is advising him about how to demand a trial by combat. anyway, for some reason (maybe it's maekar, maybe it's egg, maybe it's valarr) baelor's dragon egg gets brought to the funeral. but just as the flames are starting, dunk gets this overwhelming urge to put the egg on the pyre. so he just fucking punts it. like a rugby ball.
everyone is furious, maekar is probably on the verge of murdering dunk right then and there, but then!!! there's the sound of a massive crack. and baelor sits bolt upright.
everyone at the funeral is already shitting their collective pants even BEFORE they notice the tiny dragon perched on baelor's shoulder
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