20's || aussie || they/she || reading/writing blog || 18+ minors dni
🧿I will not be held responsible for what you choose to read🧿
hi I'm mags and I greatly enjoy writing men absolutely feral, down bad, obsessed with their women
have a great day
the book has not been published and I'm no contact with the friend/author but when that book comes out:
I am the first hater of Nurlan. I am the #1 hater of Nurlan. I am mother of haters for Nurlan. I am a Nurlan oppressor.
and oppositely, I am the first stan of Burach. I am the #1 stan of Burach. I am the mother of stans for Burach. I am a Burach apologist.
I was in the trenches being personally victimised by these men. none of you will be on my level and I intend to be a cunt about it.
━━ Marvel:
Sunlight - Frank Castle x Reader
OH, YOUR LOVE IS SUNLIGHT
prologue/masterlist
"wow, matt, your frank is pretty skilled. he talks and he can smile. I didn't know they could do that."
frank castle finds his match in a woman from another dimension
━━ DC Comics
Lights Are On Universe:
THERE AIN'T NO LOVE LIKE OUR LOVE
"it is refreshing not being on the receiving end of harley."
Unconfirmed - Rick Flag x OC
part 1 || part 2 || part 3 || part 4 || epilogue
rick flag is forced to play by amanda waller's rules and his best friend isn't happy about it
━━ A Song of Ice and Fire:
¹Born to the Soil - Maekar Targaryen x Milf!OC (Lady Lenora Brandywyne)
I WON'T DENY I'VE GOT IN MY MIND NOW
ALL THE THINGS I WOULD DO
SO I TRY TO TALK REFINED
FOR FEAR THAT YOU FIND OUT
HOW I'M IMAGININ' YOU
fic masterlist || house brandywyne info
"you will never have to beg for anything from me."
it seems prince maekar targaryen has met his match. the only problem? she's already married. (INCLUDES SMUT)
²Born of a Tempest - Lyonel Baratheon x Targ!OC (Princess Naeriah Targaryen)
MY LOVE HAS CONCRETE FEET
MY LOVE'S AN IRON BALL
WRAPPED AROUND YOUR ANKLES
OVER THE WATERFALL
fic masterlist
"oh, my darling lady. I promise to be very, very nice to her."
naeriah stormslayer decides to have some fun a few days before she's due to meet her betrothed. it just so happens that lyonel baratheon has decided to do the same. (INCLUDES SMUT)
Strange Trails - Gendry x Arya
I'VE BEEN SEARCHING FOR A TRAIL TO FOLLOW AGAIN
the night we met || frozen pines || meet me in the woods || love like ghosts
"as you wish, m'lady."
canon divergence of gendrya in season 8 and of arya in general I couldn't stand how calm and collected she was no way that hot-blooded girl was that level-headed
━━ Lord of the Rings:
End of Begining - Eomer x OC - WIP
JUST TRUST ME, YOU'LL BE FINE
masterlist
"I haven't been little in over fifty years, greenleaf, watch your mouth."
aragwen finds herself drawn to the vastness of rohan
━━ Edits
Born From War [ERROR: FIC NOT FOUND]
Princess Blodwyn of House Targaryen || Lady Vaesella of House Tarlahrys || Lady Aerona of House Bracken
Born from the Soil [ATTENTION: FIC IS LINKED ABOVE]
Lady Lenora Brandywyne
Born from a Tempest [ATTENTION: FIC IS LINKED ABOVE]
Princess Naeriah Stormslayer of House Targaryen
you must remember that you're gonna continue to find things (art, nature, people, etc) that amaze you and ground you and you're gonna be glad to be alive to experience it
It was never your intention to find your husband in such a—delicious manner—but it leaves you stammering, blushing, and Ormund has no intention of letting his sweet wife leave him.
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: explicit sexual content, oral (male receiving), feral!ormund, possessive sex, rough sex, praise kink, breeding kink if you squint, ormund is not gentle, minors dni.
You push open the heavy oak door to the shared chambers, intending only to leave a small sprig of lavender on his writing desk before he returned from the yard. The servants had said he would be gone until dusk. But the room is not empty.
Steam curls thick in the air. There, rising from the great copper tub, stands your husband, Ormund Hightower. Water sheets down the broad slope of his shoulders, tracing every ridge of muscle across his chest, the hard plane of his stomach, and lower. It drips from the dark hair at his groin, clings to the powerful lines of his thighs. He is utterly bare, unashamed.
A furious blush explodes across your cheeks, spreading down your neck and to the tips of your ears. Your gaze darts away, but not before catching the sight of him in full. “M-my lord!” you stammer, voice barely above a whisper, trembling. “I— I did not know you were here. The servants said you were in the yard, I… I beg your forgiveness for intruding. I shall leave at once!”
You spin on your heel, heart hammering, reaching for the door handle.
But Ormund moves with surprising speed. In two long, wet strides he is upon you. His wet hand closes firmly around your wrist and he pulls you back, turning you to face him as the door slams shut. Water from his skin soaks into the fabric of your gown where it presses against his chest. He leans down, towering over you, one hand tilting your chin upward so you cannot hide your flushed face. His eyes lock onto yours. A slow, teasing smirk curves his lips.
“Blushing so prettily again, are we, sweet wife?” he murmurs, voice low and rough. His thumb brushes your heated cheek. “My gentle little dove… always so kind, so soft-spoken. You look after everyone in this keep with that tender heart of yours. But here, with me…” He pauses, pulling you flush against his dripping form, his free hand settling possessively at the small of your back. “…you tremble like a maiden.”
Your breath catches. Then he asks, voice dropping, edged with command, “Where the fuck do you think you are going?”
Your lips part to protest or apologize more, words tumbling out in a flustered rush. “M-my lord, I didn’t mean to stare, I swear it, I only came to— I should have knocked, I beg you, please let me—”
He silences you with a kiss.
It is not gentle. His mouth crashes down over yours, hot and claiming, swallowing every stammered syllable. One large hand cradles the back of your head while the other grips your waist, yanking you flush against his naked, dripping body. His tongue pushes past your lips, tasting you deeply, dominating the kiss until your knees threaten to buckle. You whimper into his mouth, fingers curling helplessly against his wet chest. When he finally pulls back, your lips are swollen and glistening, your breath coming in shaky little gasps.
He does not give you time to recover. His hands slide down your arms, strong and sure, guiding you downward with quiet authority. He walks you back a single step from the door, then presses you lower until your knees meet the thick woven rug spread across the stone floor near the bath. The damp fabric of your skirts pools around you as you sink down. You find yourself kneeling before him, the hard, water-slick length of his cock now level with your flushed face.
Ormund towers over you. One hand settles on the crown of your head, fingers threading slowly into your hair, not yanking, but holding you there, possessive and steady. The other hand cups your chin, tilting your face upward so you have no choice but to meet his dark, hungry gaze. Water still drips from his body onto your collarbones.
His voice is low, rough, edged with dark promise. “If you please me enough, little wife… I’ll fuck you so good that you won’t be able to walk for a week.”
You lean forward on your knees. The thick, water-slick head of his cock brushes your lips. You part them shyly, tongue flicking out first to taste him, salt and soap and the clean musk of his skin.
Then you take him into your mouth.
Ormund’s reaction is immediate. “Fuck—” The curse rips out of him, low and guttural. His fingers tighten in your hair. “Gods above, woman…”
You suck gently at first, lips stretching around the thick crown, tongue swirling experimentally. He hisses through his teeth. “Shit— that’s it. Just like that.” His voice is rough, strained. “Your mouth… fuck, your mouth is sin. Hot, wet little sin wrapped around my cock.”
The praise comes filthy and constant, spilling from him between curses as you work him with your mouth. “Look at you,” he growls, hips giving a shallow thrust. “My sweet, gentle wife on her knees with her pretty lips stretched around me. Blushing so fucking hard while you suck your lord husband’s cock. Gods, you’re perfect.”
You whimper around him, the vibration making his thighs tense. He groans. “Fuck— do that again. Moan on it, sweetling. Let me feel how shy and eager you are.” His free hand comes down to cup your cheek, thumb stroking where your lips are wrapped tight around him. “Such a good girl… taking me so deep. You want to please me, don’t you? Want me to keep my promise and fuck you until you can’t walk?”
You nod as best you can with your mouth full, eyes watering slightly as you push further, nose brushing the dark hair at the base of him. Saliva and bathwater mix, dripping down your chin. You bob your head, sucking harder, tongue working the underside.
Ormund swears again, voice breaking.
“Fuck— yes. Just like that. Your mouth was made for this, wasn’t it? Made to worship your husband’s cock. Such a filthy little wife… so proper in the halls, but on your knees you’re a fucking dream.” His hips rock, fucking your mouth in slow, controlled strokes. “Gonna fill this pretty throat if you keep going like that. Or maybe I’ll save it… pull you up and bend you over the bath instead. Fuck you raw like I promised.”
He holds your head steady, letting you feel the full weight of him on your tongue, then eases back just enough for you to breathe, only to push forward again with a low, filthy groan. “Fuck. Your mouth is going to be the death of me.”
You feel him start to lose control. His thighs tense, his grip in your hair tightens until it borders on painful, and the filthy stream of praise and curses becomes broken, desperate. You push deeper, swallowing around the thick length filling your throat, eyes watering as you look up at him through wet lashes.
That does it.
“Fuck— fuck, fuck, fuck—” Ormund snarls, voice shattering. His hips jerk hard, once, twice, and then he’s coming with a raw, guttural groan. Hot, thick pulses flood your mouth, coating your tongue.
You swallow it down, every drop, throat working, some of it spilling from the corner of your lips as he keeps thrusting shallowly through the aftershocks. “Gods— your fucking mouth— shit— taking it all— good girl, good fucking girl—”
He’s shaking when it’s over, chest heaving, thighs trembling so hard you can feel it where your hands rest on them. For a second he just stands there, breathing like he’s run a mile, cock still twitching against your tongue as the last of his spend trickles out.
Then something in him snaps.
He hauls you up so fast your feet barely touch the rug. One strong arm bands around your waist, yanking you against his still-heaving chest.
Before you can even gasp his name, his mouth is on your shoulder, teeth sinking in hard through the damp fabric of your gown, biting down with feral intent.
You cry out, the sharp sting blooming into heat that shoots straight between your legs. He growls against your skin, biting harder for a moment before finally easing off just enough to speak.
His voice is wrecked, low, dangerous. “I will not be gentle, not now, not when you have just sucked out my fucking soul.”
His free hand fists the front of your gown, right at the neckline, and he rips. The sound is loud, violent. Fabric tears straight down the center with one brutal yank, laces snapping, seams splitting. The ruined gown falls open, exposing your breasts, your stomach, the wet heat between your thighs. He shoves the torn pieces aside, baring you completely.
Ormund’s eyes are dark, almost black with lust. His chest still rises and falls hard against you. His thighs are still trembling from the force of his orgasm, but his cock is already twitching back to life, pressed hot and heavy against your bare belly. One hand slides down to grip your ass, hauling you up onto your toes so he can grind against you.
“You wanted to please me?” he growls. “You did. Too well.” His teeth graze the bite mark again. “Now you’re going to take what you earned. And I’m not going to be fucking gentle about it.”
He spins you without warning, pressing your front against the nearest wall, stone cool against your flushed skin, his body burning hot at your back. One hand pins your wrists above your head. The other slides between your legs, finding you slick and ready, and he groans.
“Fuck. Already wet for it.” Two thick fingers push inside you without preamble, curling deep. “Good. You’re going to need it.”
He bites your shoulder again, harder this time, bare skin now, and lines himself up, the broad head of his cock nudging against your entrance.
“Brace yourself, sweet wife,” he warns. “I’m going to fuck you until you forget how to walk.”
The thick head of his cock notches against your entrance and then he drives forward in one brutal thrust. You cry out as he sheathes himself to the hilt inside you. The stretch is immediate and overwhelming. He fucks you like a man possessed, hard, deep, relentless. Each thrust rocks you forward against the wall. “Fuck— tight little cunt,” he snarls. “Gods, you’re squeezing me like you were made for this.”
You try to speak, to beg for a moment. “M-my lord— ah— it’s— too— too much—” He growls and fucks you harder. “I know what you need. You sucked my soul out through my cock and now you’re going to take every inch of what you earned. Beg for it if you want mercy. Beg.”
Your thighs are already trembling. Every thrust punches a whimper from your throat. He slides a hand between your legs from the front, fingers finding your swollen clit and rubbing in tight, ruthless circles. “Come on it. Come on my cock while I fuck you stupid. Then beg me for more.”
The orgasm rips through you without warning. Your whole body seizes, thighs shaking violently, a broken cry tearing from your throat as your walls clamp down around him. He fucks you straight through it, pace never faltering. “That’s it— fuck, yes— come for me, sweet wife. So pretty when you fall apart.” His voice is thick with filthy praise. “Good girl. Such a good girl taking it so deep.”
You’re pleading now, voice hoarse. “Please— please, mercy— I can’t take any more— my lord, please—” He pulls out so suddenly you nearly collapse. In one fluid motion he spins you around, lifts you clean off the ground, and slams your back against the wall again. Your legs wrap around his waist as he drives back into you. Now face to face, he rolls his hips, grinding deep. “Look at me. You want mercy? Then beg for it properly. Tell me what you really want.”
You shake your head, tears slipping down your cheeks, but your body betrays you. “Please— please fuck me harder— please, Ormund— I want it— I want you—” He drops your wrists, both hands gripping your ass, and starts fucking you in earnest, lifting and dropping you onto his cock. Every thrust punches the breath from your lungs. Your legs tremble where they’re locked around him.
He talks the entire time. “Fuck— that’s my girl. Taking it so deep. Look how your pretty tits bounce for me. Gods, you’re perfect— my shy little wife turned into a desperate slut on my cock.” He shifts his grip, one hand sliding up to wrap loosely around your throat. “You swallowed every drop earlier and now you’re going to take another load. Going to fill this cunt until it’s leaking down your thighs for days.”
You’re babbling, broken pleas mixing with his name. “Please— please, I’m going to— I can’t— my thighs— they’re shaking— please—” He knows. Your second orgasm is already cresting. He angles his hips and when you come again it’s with a scream muffled against his shoulder. Your thighs clamp around his waist so hard they shake, your whole body convulsing. You’re sobbing, begging incoherently for mercy even as your cunt milks him.
Ormund snarls and keeps going. He fucks you through the orgasm and straight into another. He carries you across the room to the large copper bath. He sets your ass on the wide, curved edge, pushes you back until you’re half-lying on the rim, and hooks your knees over his elbows. The new position spreads you open. He looks down at where you’re joined. “Fuck— look at that. Look how well you take me. Stretching around me so pretty.”
You’re beyond coherent begging. “Please— please, Ormund— mercy— I can’t come again— I can’t—” He leans over you, biting the other shoulder, and drives harder. “You can. And you will.” One hand slides between you to rub your clit again. “Beg me to come inside you. Beg me to fill you up.”
The words push you over the edge again. You come with a broken wail, thighs trembling so violently they nearly slip from his arms. Your cunt spasms around him, gushing wet. You’re sobbing his name, begging, “Please— please come inside me— please fill me— I want it— I want you to ruin me—”
That’s what finally breaks him. Ormund roars, hips slamming forward as he buries himself deep. You feel him pulse inside you—hot, thick ropes flooding your cunt. He keeps thrusting through it, grinding deep, pushing his spend further inside you while his thighs shake and his chest heaves. “Fuck— take it— take every drop— good girl— my perfect wife—”
He doesn’t pull out when he finishes. He stays buried inside you, hips rolling in slow, deep grinds as the last of his orgasm fades. Your thighs are still trembling uncontrollably. Your whole body feels liquid and ruined.
But he’s not done. Even as his come starts to leak out around his cock, he starts moving again, slow at first, then building back to that feral pace. The overstimulation makes you keen. “No— no more— please— I can’t—” He kisses you, deep and claiming, swallowing your pleas.
“You can. Because I know you want it. Because your cunt is still fluttering around me like you need more. Because you sucked my soul out and now I’m going to fuck one into you.”
He lifts you again, carrying you to the thick rug in front of the hearth. He lays you down on your back, follows you down, and hooks your legs over his shoulders, folding you nearly in half as he drives back into your come-slick cunt. The new angle is devastating. He fucks you deep and slow at first, then faster. You’re beyond coherent begging now, just broken sounds and desperate little “please”s that he answers with more.
He makes you come again. And again. Each time your thighs tremble harder, your voice grows hoarser, your pleas for mercy grow more frantic. And each time he ignores the mercy but gives you exactly what your body is begging for, more, harder, deeper, until you’re a trembling, sobbing, come-drunk mess beneath him.
Only when your legs are shaking so badly they can no longer stay hooked over his shoulders does he finally slow. He lowers them gently, settling his weight over you, still buried deep. His hand strokes your sweat-damp hair back from your face. “You took it so well,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the bite mark on your shoulder. “My good girl. My perfect wife.”
He rocks his hips once more, slow, deep, possessive, pushing the mixture of your come and his deeper inside you. Then he stills. “I told you I wouldn’t be gentle. And I wasn’t. But you wanted it. You begged for it. And you took every fucking inch like you were made for me.”
He rolls so you’re draped over him instead, your trembling thighs straddling his hips, his softening cock still inside you. One big hand strokes slowly down your back. “Rest,” he orders softly, even as his other hand grips your hip to keep you seated on him. “Because when I’m hard again—and I will be—you’re going to take me one more time. On your knees this time. Or bent over my desk. Or wherever I decide. And you’re going to thank me for it.”
You’re too spent to answer with words. Your body just trembles against him, thighs still shaking, cunt still fluttering weakly around his cock, filled and marked and utterly claimed. Ormund’s arms tighten around you, possessive even in the aftermath. His lips curve against your temple.
“That’s my girl,” he murmurs. “My sweet, shy wife who fucks like sin when I tell her to.”
He holds you there on the rug, the fire crackling nearby, your ruined gown tangled around both of you, his come slowly leaking out of you onto his thighs. And even as your body aches and trembles with the aftermath of being so thoroughly used, you feel the low, steady thrum of satisfaction deep in your bones.
Because he was right.
You wanted it.
And he gave it to you, feral, relentless, and exactly as rough as you needed.
guys I'm genuinely feeling Unwell™ with how much I want to hang out with the girl I'm seeing rn what do you mean I'm crashing out at work bc I thought about kissing her bare shoulder while she lies on top of me during movie night AND IT HASNT EVEN HAPPENED????????
Can you do prompt #6 ("I’ve spent hours imagining exactly how you’d look pinned beneath me, and you’re even more beautiful in person.") and/or #17 ("I didn't give you permission to close your eyes. Watch me.") with Maekar x Reader?I'd love it to be set on their wedding night, with a very shy - timid Reader and a Maekar who has spent their entire courtship suppressing his naturally rough, intimidating nature so he wouldn't frighten her.
𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐕𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐔𝐄 | 𝐌𝐀𝐄𝐊𝐀𝐑 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐄𝐍.
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: explicit sexual content, possessive behaviour, first time, gentle sex, rough sex, maekar calls you his good little slut, minors dni.
Your breath is a small, trapped thing within your chest, fluttering like a bird that has forgotten how to fly.
The door clicks shut.
You flinch at the sound, eyes wide and lips parted as he crosses the room, not in the three strides you'd braced for, but slowly, each footfall deliberate on the stone floor, as if giving you time to bolt.
The silver-gold of his hair catches the moonlight streaming through the narrow window, and for a moment he looks like something carved from a dream you aren't clever enough to have.
Then his hand finds your chin, his thumb and forefinger cradling your jaw with the same careful precision he might use to lift a fallen nestling, tilting your face upward until the shadows fall away and his pale lilac eyes are the only thing you can see.
“I didn't give you permission to close your eyes.”
His voice is a low rumble, rough at the edges, and you feel it in your chest before your mind catches up with the words. Your lashes flutter, a reflex, a cowardice, but you force them wide again, staring up into his face as if looking away might cost you something you haven't yet learned to name. “Maekar…”
His other hand finds your spine, the laces of your gown, a tight seam of silk ribbon running from the nape of your neck to the small of your back, come alive under his fingers.
He does not pull, nor does he tug, but simply that he holds the first knot between his calloused thumb and forefinger, waiting, watching your face. “May I?”
The question is so soft, so utterly at odds with the hard lines of his jaw and the fire banked behind his pale eyes, that you nearly laugh.
Instead you nod, a tiny motion that sends a tremble through your whole body, and hear the first lace give with a whisper of silk.
“I've spent hours imagining exactly how you'd look pinned beneath me,” he says, and his thumb drags across your lower lip as he speaks, slow, deliberate, the rough pad of his finger tracing the curve as if memorizing its shape. “And you're even more beautiful in person.”
Your lip trembles under his touch but you do not look away.
The second lace comes undone and then the third. He works with a patience that feels almost cruel, each small release a fresh wave of exposure, the bodice of your gown loosening by fractions, the cool air of the bedchamber finding new places to kiss your skin.
“Do you know what I imagined most?” he asks, his voice dropping lower, rougher, until it is barely more than a vibration you feel in your bones.
You shake your head. The motion presses your chin deeper into the cradle of his fingers.
“Your eyes.” His own gaze holds yours, unblinking, and there is something raw in them now, something that has been leashed too long and is beginning to strain against its bonds. “I imagined how they would look when I finally had you beneath me. Not afraid, though I know you are. Not pleading, though I half-hoped for that too.” His thumb traces your lip again, slower this time. “I imagined them open. Watching me. Knowing exactly who was inside you.”
A sound escapes you, a small, breathless thing, half gasp and half whimper, and you feel the heat climb up your neck and bloom across your cheeks. “You're blushing,” he observes, and there is something like wonder in his voice. “After all the nights I've lain awake wanting you, you're still capable of blushing at my words. Gods, not even Dyanna had turned that shade of red before.”
The last lace gives way. Your gown loosens around your shoulders, the bodice slipping forward a finger's width, and you feel the cool air kiss the tops of your breasts. Your hands fly up instinctively to catch the fabric, but he catches your wrists first, not hard, but firm, his fingers circling the delicate bones with a grip that says no without bruising.
“Let me see you,” he says, and from the tone in his voice, it was not a request.
Your hands fall to your sides. The gown follows, sliding down your arms, catching on your hips, pooling in a whisper of cream silk around your feet.
You stand before him in only your thin shift, the linen nearly transparent in the moonlight, your nipples peaked against the fabric, your breath coming in short, shallow bursts that make your chest rise and fall like a panicked bird's.
He looks at you, for a long, aching moment, he simply looks, his gaze traveling from your face to your throat to the shadow between your breasts and lower still, tracing every curve and hollow as if memorizing a sacred text. “Beautiful,” he breathes, and the word is so soft it might have been prayer.
Then his hands find your waist, and he lifts you.
You gasp, a sharp, startled sound, as your feet leave the floor and he carries you the three steps to the bed, laying you down on the dark velvet coverlet as if you were something precious.
The canopy above you sways with the motion, shadows dancing across the embroidered fabric, and you feel the weight of his gaze like a physical pressure as he straightens and looks down at you.
“You're trembling,” he says.
You are, your whole body is a fine, continuous shiver, as if you stand naked in a winter wind rather than in a warm bedchamber with a fire crackling in the hearth.
“I—,” Your voice catches, and you swallow. “I'm not—”
“I know.” He lowers himself onto the bed beside you, one knee sinking into the mattress, then the other, until he is braced above you on his palms, his silver-gold hair disheveled. “You're not afraid of me. You're afraid of what you want.”
Your eyes widen, a betrayal, a confession, and you feel the truth of his words settle into your bones like heat from a forge.
He is right.
You have been afraid since the moment you first saw him, months ago, standing in your father's hall with his pale eyes and his calloused hands and the coiled, dangerous grace of a man who has never learned to be gentle. Afraid of the way your body responded when he looked at you.
Afraid of the dreams that come unbidden in the dark, dreams of those hands on your skin, that low voice in your ear, that barely leashed violence turned toward you like a blade you desperately want to feel.
And now he is here. Now you are beneath him. Now his mouth is descending toward yours with the slow, certain inevitability of a wave breaking against the shore.
His lips meet yours.
The kiss is not gentle. It is not the soft, tentative brush you had expected from a man who has spent months treating you like glass.
It is a claiming, firm, deliberate, his mouth moving against yours with a hunger that sends a jolt of heat straight through you, pooling low in your belly, making you gasp against his lips.
He takes the gasp into himself, deepening the kiss, and you feel his tongue trace the seam of your lips before you open for him, a surrender, an invitation and his taste floods your senses. Something dark and warm, like wine and smoke and the faint salt of sweat from a long day's training, something that tastes like him.
His hand slides from the mattress to your hip, his thumb pressing into the curve of your waist, and you arch beneath him without meaning to, an instinct, a plea, your body speaking a language your mind has not yet learned.
He breaks the kiss.
His forehead presses against yours, his breath coming hard and fast, and when he speaks, his voice is rougher than you have ever heard it.
“I have wanted you since the moment I saw you across your father's hall. Every night since, I have lain awake and imagined this, having you beneath me, feeling you tremble, hearing the sounds you make when I touch you.” His hand slides from your hip to your thigh, pushing the linen of your shift upward, baring your skin to the cool air. “I have held myself back. I have been gentle. I have been patient. And it has nearly destroyed me.”
You stare up at him, your breath catching, your heart hammering against your ribs so hard you are certain he can feel it.
“I don't want you to be gentle,” you whisper, and the words come out before you can stop them, raw and honest and terrifying.
His eyes flare.
Something dark and hungry flickers behind the lilac, and his hand tightens on your thigh—not enough to hurt, but enough to feel. Enough to know he has heard you.
“Say that again.”
You swallow. Your throat is dry, your lips tingling from his kiss, your whole body a taut wire of anticipation.
“I don't want you to be gentle.” Louder this time, steadier. “I have spent months being afraid of you. But I have spent longer wanting you to stop treating me like something fragile.”
A sound rumbles in his chest, something between a growl and a laugh and he lowers his mouth to your throat, pressing a kiss to the hollow where your pulse flutters like a trapped moth.
“Good,” he murmurs against your skin. “Because I don't think I could be gentle tonight if I tried.”
His mouth travels lower, tracing the column of your throat, the delicate curve of your collarbone, the swell of your breasts above the thin linen shift.
His teeth graze your skin, a hint of pressure, a promise of something darker and you gasp, your back arching, your fingers finding his shoulders and gripping the heavy fabric of his tunic.
“Maekar—”
His name on your lips stops him. He pulls back, his eyes dark, his pupils blown wide, and looks at you with an expression that makes your breath catch all over again.
“Say it again.”
“Maekar.”
His jaw tightens. His hand slides from your thigh to the hem of your shift, bunching the fabric in his fist, and he pulls it upward with a slow, deliberate motion that makes every second feel like an eternity. The linen slides over your hips, your belly, your breasts, baring you to the moonlight and the heat of his gaze.
You are naked beneath him.
The shift pools at your wrists, tangled, and you lie exposed in the silvery light, your skin glowing like marble, your nipples peaked and aching, the shadow between your thighs dark and waiting.
He looks at you for a long, aching moment, he simply looks, his gaze tracing every line and curve, every trembling inch of you, and you feel seen in a way you have never felt before.
“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever beheld,” he says, and his voice is thick with something that sounds like reverence. “And I am going to spend the rest of my life learning every inch of you.”
Then his mouth is on your breast, and you forget how to think.
His lips close around your nipple, warm and wet, and his tongue traces a slow, deliberate circle that sends a bolt of pleasure straight through you, arcing down your spine, pooling between your thighs. You gasp, your hands flying to his hair, your fingers tangling in the silver-gold strands as he suckles you, soft at first, then harder, drawing a moan from your throat that you barely recognize as your own.
His hand finds your other breast, his thumb circling the nipple with the same maddening slowness, and you writhe beneath him, your hips rising off the mattress, seeking something you don't yet know how to ask for.
He releases your breast with a wet sound, his lips trailing lower, across your ribs, your belly, the soft curve of your hip. He kisses every inch of you as if he has all the time in the world, as if you were a text he has waited his whole life to read, and you tremble beneath him, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps that fill the quiet chamber.
“Maekar—please—”
The word slips out before you can stop it. Please. You don't know what you are asking for, only that you need something, that the tension coiling in your belly is becoming unbearable, that you would die if he stopped now.
He lifts his head. His pale eyes meet yours, dark and hungry, and there is a question in them that he doesn't need to speak aloud.
“Please,” you say again, and your voice is a whisper, broken and desperate. “I need—I don't know how to say it, but I need—”
“I know.” His hand slides down your belly, over the nest of curls between your thighs, and you gasp as his fingers find your center, warm, wet, aching for him. “You need me to touch you here.”
You nod, breathless, your hips pressing into his hand, seeking more pressure, more contact, more something.
He complies.
His finger traces your folds, parting them, sliding through the wet heat, and you cry out, a sharp, broken sound as he finds the small nub at your center and circles it with agonizing slowness.
“Is this what you needed?” His voice is low, rough, his breath hot against your skin. “Tell me.”
“Yes,” you gasp. “Yes, please, yes—”
He pushes a finger inside you, and your back arches off the mattress, a moan tearing from your throat as he fills you. His finger is thick, calloused, and it moves inside you with a rhythm that is already making you see stars.
“So tight,” he murmurs, adding a second finger. “So wet. Have you been wanting this, little wife? Have you been lying awake at night thinking of my hands on you?”
You can't answer.
You can only gasp and writhe and cling to his shoulders as his fingers work you, stretching you, preparing you for something you both crave and fear.
“I asked you a question.” His voice is harder now, a command wrapped in velvet. “Answer me.”
“Yes,” you breathe. “Every night. I—I dreamed of you. Of this.”
A growl rumbles in his chest, and he withdraws his fingers—slowly, deliberately, leaving you aching and empty and desperate. He sits up, pulling his tunic over his head, and you watch him bare himself to the moonlight, your breath catching at the sight of him.
His chest is broad, sculpted, a map of scars and sinew and the hard planes of a warrior's body. His shoulders are wide, his arms thick with muscle, his stomach ridged and taut. He is beautiful in a way that has nothing to do with softness, all sharp edges and coiled power, the beauty of a blade honed to its finest edge.
He reaches for the laces of his trousers, and you watch, transfixed, as he frees himself. His cock is thick, heavy, the tip glistening in the moonlight, and you feel a fresh pulse of wetness between your thighs at the sight of it.
“Look at me,” he commands, and you drag your gaze from his body to his eyes. “I want you to see exactly what I do to you. I want you to watch as I take you. I want you to remember every moment of this night for the rest of your life.”
You nod, your throat too tight for words.
He positions himself between your thighs, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance, and you feel the heat of him, the promise of him, the weight of the moment settling over you like a cloak.
“Tell me you want this,” he says, his voice rough, strained. “Tell me you want me.”
“I want you.” Your voice is barely a whisper, but it is steady. “I want this. I want you.”
He pushes inside you.
The stretch is a shock, a burning, aching fullness that steals your breath and makes you cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders as he fills you inch by inch. He is bigger than you expected, thicker, and you feel yourself clench around him, struggling to accommodate his size.
He stops, his jaw tight, his forehead pressed against yours. “Breathe,” he says, his voice strained. “Breathe through it, sweet wife. The pain will pass.”
You obey, forcing air into your lungs, and as you exhale, you feel the tension in your body ease, feel him slide deeper, feel the burning edge of the stretch soften into something that is almost pleasure.
He moves, a slow, shallow thrust, and you gasp at the sensation, the drag of him inside you, the fullness, the way he seems to reach a place you hadn't known you possessed. Another thrust, deeper, and you moan, your hips rising to meet him, your body learning the rhythm faster than your mind can follow.
“That's it,” he groans, his voice ragged. “Take all of me. You feel—you feel incredible.”
He begins to move in earnest, his thrusts growing deeper, harder, the bed creaking beneath you as he takes you. His hand finds your knee, pushing your leg higher, opening you wider, and you cry out as he sinks into you to the hilt, filling you completely, stretching you until you can feel him in your throat.
“Look at me.”
Your eyes, which had fluttered closed, snap open at the command. He is watching you, his pale gaze burning with a hunger that makes you shiver, and you hold his eyes as he drives into you again and again, each thrust a claim, a brand, a vow.
“I am going to fill you,” he says, his voice low and rough. “I am going to put a child in your belly, and you are going to bear my name and my children and everything I have to give you. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” you breathe. “Yes, Maekar—”
His hand slides between your bodies, finding your center, and you gasp as his thumb presses against the aching nub at your core.
The pleasure spikes, sharp and bright, and you feel yourself climbing toward something you have never experienced, a peak that looms above you like a wave about to break.
“Come for me,” he commands, his voice a growl against your ear. “Let me feel you.”
You shatter. Your back arches, your cry filling the chamber, your body clenching around him as the pleasure crashes through you in wave after wave, stealing your breath, your thoughts, your very sense of self. You are nothing but sensation, nothing but the feeling of him inside you, his hand on you, his voice in your ear telling you how beautiful you are as you come apart beneath him.
He follows you over the edge. His thrusts grow erratic, his groan a deep, guttural sound that seems to come from somewhere primal, and you feel him pulse inside you, hot and thick, filling you with his seed.
He collapses against you, his weight a warm, heavy blanket, his breath ragged against your neck. You wrap your arms around him, your legs still tangled with his, and hold him as he trembles above you.
The moonlight creeps across the floor, the sea crashes against the cliffs below, and you lie still, your heart hammering, your body aching, your mind a whirlwind of sensation and emotion you don't yet have words for.
He lifts his head, his pale eyes finding yours in the darkness. His thumb traces your cheek, wiping away a tear you hadn't realized you'd shed.
“You are mine now,” he says, his voice soft but absolute. “And I am yours. Tonight. Tomorrow. Forever.”
You smile and press a kiss to his palm. “I know.”
He moves before you can draw another breath, a single, rolling motion that reverses your positions with the fluid power of a man who has spent his life mastering his body. You gasp, your hands flying to his chest as the world tilts, and then you are atop him, straddling his hips, your thighs spread wide around his waist.
His hands find your waist. The calloused pads of his fingers press into the soft flesh just above your hip bones, steadying you, grounding you, and you feel the heat of his gaze like a brand as he looks up at you from the pillow.
The moonlight catches the silver in his hair, the sharp planes of his face, the hunger in his pale eyes. He looks at you as if you are something he conjured from a dream, something he has wanted so long and so fiercely that he still can't quite believe you are real.
You are still trembling, still sensitive and still achingly aware of the place where your bodies meet, where his cock rests against your thigh, soft and slick from your joining.
“Look at you,” he says, his voice low and rough. “Look at how beautiful you are like this.”
Your cheeks burn. You duck your head, your hair falling forward to curtain your face, but his hand leaves your waist and catches your chin, tilting it back up.
“No,” he says. “No hiding. I want to see your eyes.”
You meet his gaze and then you smile, a trembling, watery thing and press your forehead to his. “We have the rest of our lives.”
“Yes.” His arm tightens around you, pulling you close. “We do.”
The fire crackles and the morning light grows stronger and as you lie in the arms of your dragon, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear, and let yourself believe that this is only the beginning, or so you thought.
The tenderness of the moment shatters in an instant, replaced by a sudden, violent surge of lust. Maekar’s grip on your waist tightens, his fingers digging deep into your skin as he shifts his weight. He doesn't just want you; he wants to possess you, to claim every inch of you with a primal intensity that leaves no room for softness.
He hooks his hands under your thighs, hauling you upward and then slamming you down onto his cock. You scream into the quiet of the room as he buries himself deep inside you in one brutal thrust, his thick shaft stretching your pussy to its absolute limit. The impact jars your entire body, your breasts bouncing wildly as you gasp for air, your internal walls clamping tight around him.
Maekar doesn't give you a second to adjust. He grips your hips with bruising force, his knuckles white, and begins to drive upward. He fucks you with a rhythmic, punishing power, his hips snapping up to meet your descent with bone-jarring force. Each thrust is a collision, the sound of his pelvis slapping against your ass echoing through the room, drowning out the crackle of the fire.
“Ride me,” he growls, his voice no longer a whisper but a command. “Take it all.”
You are tossed about on him, your head lolling back as he dictates the pace. He isn't guiding you anymore; he is dominating you. He reaches up, grabbing your hair and pulling your head back to expose your throat, his pale eyes wide and blown out with lust. He watches your face distort with pleasure and pain, his expression one of raw, unchecked hunger.
He shifts his angle, tilting your pelvis so he can hit your innermost crevices and delicious spots with every savage lunge. You begin to sob, your fingers clawing at his chest, leaving red streaks across his pale skin.
The friction is intense, the slickness of your combined fluids creating a wet, slapping sound that fills the air. He is fucking you brutally, his cock hammering into your cervix, pushing you further back than you've ever been.
“You're mine,” he hisses, his breath hot against your ear. “Every fucking inch of you.”
He lets go of your hair only to wrap his arms around your waist, locking you against him so he can drive himself even deeper. He begins to pump faster, his movements becoming frantic and desperate. You can feel the tension building in his thighs, the muscles of his abdomen rippling beneath you.
The pleasure becomes an overwhelming tide, a white-hot pressure that builds in your core. As you reach your peak, your pussy pulsing violently around him, Maekar lets out a guttural roar. He delivers one final, devastating thrust, pinning you flat against his chest as he erupts inside you. You feel the hot, thick jets of his cum flooding your womb, filling you to the brim as he shudders beneath you, his entire body locking up in the throes of a powerful, consuming orgasm.
As the echoes of his roar fade and the violent tremors of his orgasm subside, Maekar doesn't immediately pull away. He keeps you pinned to his chest, his breathing heavy and ragged, the scent of sex and musk clinging to both of you.
Slowly, the brutality vanishes, replaced by a sudden, aching tenderness. He shifts his grip, his large hands sliding up from your waist to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears of pleasure from your cheeks.
He leans in, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that is slow, deep, and heartbreakingly soft. It is a stark contrast to the savage fucking of moments ago, a silent apology and a promise all in one. He tastes of salt and heat, his tongue swirling against yours with a gentle longing that makes your heart ache.
He pulls back just an inch, his pale eyes searching yours, clouded with a lingering haze of lust but softened by affection. “Do you want more?” he whispers, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrates through your chest.
You can barely find your voice, your body still humming from the intensity of his release, but you nod eagerly, your eyes locked on his. You want him again; you want to feel every inch of him stretching you open.
A dark, predatory smirk touches his lips. Without a word, he shifts, his movements fluid and powerful. He rolls you over, pressing your face down into the pillows and forcing you onto your hands and knees. The position leaves your ass arched high in the air, your pussy gaping and dripping with his fresh cum, glistening in the morning light.
Maekar kneels behind you, his presence a looming weight. He doesn't waste time with foreplay, he is already hard again, his cock throbbing and thick as it presses against your wet heat. He reaches forward, grabbing your hips and pulling you back against him, the tip of his head probing the entrance of your pussy.
With one sudden, powerful surge, he slams back into you.
You let out a sharp cry as he buries himself deep inside you from behind, the angle allowing him to penetrate even further than before. He bottoms out against your cervix, the force of the impact pushing your chest flat against the bed.
“God, you're so tight,” he groans, his voice thick with desire.
He begins to fuck you with a relentless, driving pace. Each thrust is a heavy, wet thud, his pelvis slapping hard against your ass. He grips your hips so tightly that his fingers leave marks, using you as an anchor as he hammers into you. The sound of the friction, the wet, slapping noise of his cock sliding in and out of your soaked pussy fills the room.
He reaches around, one hand sliding forward to squeeze your breast, his thumb rubbing your nipple raw, while the other hand stays locked on your hip, steering you. He is driving into you with a rhythmic, punishing intensity, his cock hitting all the right angles with every single lunge. “Fucking take it, woman.”
You are shaking, your breath coming in short, jagged gasps as the pleasure builds rapidly. Maekar’s breathing is a series of guttural grunts, his body tensing with every thrust. He accelerates, his movements becoming a blur of friction and heat, fucking you with a desperate hunger that suggests he could never get enough of you.
“Look at you,” he hisses, leaning over your back, his chest pressing against your spine. “Taking it all like a good little slut.”
The words trigger a fresh wave of arousal, and your pussy clamps down on him in tight, rhythmic pulses. You are riding the edge of another climax, your vision blurring. Maekar feels it too; he lets out a low growl and delivers a series of fast, shallow thrusts that send you spiraling over the edge.
As you scream into the pillows, your internal walls convulsing around him, Maekar gives one final, devastating shove. He pins you down, his body locking up as he erupts deep inside you once more, filling your aching pussy with another hot, thick load of cum that overflows and drips down your thighs.
“Maekar...”
“Hmm...?”
“I don't think I will be able to walk.”
He grins, “Good,” his cock is weeping when he pulls out of you, gathering you in his arms as he settles you against his chest, “because I have no intention of letting you leave this bed.”
Maekar Targaryen did not make promises lightly. Once spoken, they became as unyielding as stone, and he intended to spend every remaining day proving those words true.
I just have to request Maekar Targaryen with possessive breeding, (because that man has a breeding kink and I will die on that hill), maybe mirror sex? And prompts 1 and 32
1. “You’re mine to cherish and devour. Let me breed you full while you moan my name.”
39. “Bite me back while I mark your breasts and thighs.”
Possessive Breeding Kink + Mirror Sex.
I might have gotten carried away with this, sorry if this isn't what you had in mind but I most definitely am on the breeding kink train as well, cause I used the word breeding excessively. I believe this man would undoubtedly remind you what he intends to do to you.
The feast in the Red Keep’s great hall roared with life, minstrels strumming lutes, lords laughing too loudly over their cups, and the air thick with the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine. You stood near the high table, cradling little Rhae in your arms. The youngest princess was half-asleep against your shoulder, her hair tickling your neck as you gently rocked her, murmuring soft nonsense to soothe her after the long evening.
Maekar’s gaze found you across the room like a brand.
He had been brooding at the head of the table as usual, armored in black and crimson, jaw set beneath that Targaryen scowl. But the moment his violet eyes landed on you holding his daughter, his blood, safe and cherished in your arms and something feral ignited in him.
His hand tightened around his goblet until the metal groaned. A low, guttural sound rumbled from his chest, raw and hungry, loud enough that a few nearby courtiers glanced over in confusion.
Desire. Pure, possessive want.
He rose so abruptly the bench scraped back. In three strides he was on you, massive frame towering, calloused hands already reaching. Rhae was gently but swiftly passed to a waiting nursemaid with a curt nod. Before you could even gasp his name, Maekar bent, seized you around the thighs, and threw you over his broad shoulder as if you weighed nothing.
The hall erupted in startled laughter and cheers, but Maekar ignored them all. His large palm clamped possessively over the curve of your ass, holding you in place as he strode from the hall like a conquering knight claiming his prize.
“You’re mine to cherish and devour,” he growled, voice low and rough against your hip. Each step jostled you deliciously against his armored shoulder. “Let me breed you full while you moan my name.”
He carried you through torchlit corridors until he kicked open the door to his private solar. The heavy oak slammed shut behind you. Only then did he set you down, right in front of the tall, polished silver mirror that dominated one wall. Candles flickered across the surface, casting warm light over your flushed reflection.
Maekar’s hands were already working at the laces of your gown, impatient. Fabric tore. He didn’t care.
“Look at yourself,” he commanded, voice dark velvet as he stripped you bare. One thick arm banded around your waist, pulling your back flush to his chest. His other hand cupped your breast, thumb brushing the sensitive peak. “See how perfect you are, carrying my daughter like you were made for it. Made for me.”
You met his eyes in the mirror, violet and violent, burning with that infamous Targaryen intensity. He was hard already, the thick ridge of his cock pressing insistently against your lower back through his breeches. He ground forward once, letting you feel exactly what you did to him.
“Maekar…” you breathed.
He groaned again, that same wanton sound from the hall, and shoved his breeches down. His cock sprang free, long, heavy, already leaking at the tip. Without preamble he bent you forward slightly, one hand guiding himself between your thighs.
“Watch,” he rasped, lips at your ear. “Watch me breed you.”
He thrust in deep in one powerful stroke, stretching you open around his girth. The mirror captured everything, your parted lips, the way your breasts bounced with the force of it, his large hand splayed possessively over your belly as if he could already imagine it swelling again.
“Fuck— so tight for me,” he growled, hips snapping forward. Each thrust was deliberate, claiming. “This womb is mine. Going to fill you until my seed takes root. Until you’re round with another of my children. Mine. Ours”
His pace quickened, one hand sliding down to rub tight circles over your clit while the other kept you pinned against him. The wet sounds of your coupling filled the room, obscene and perfect. In the mirror you watched his face, jaw clenched, silver hair falling across his forehead, eyes locked on where you two joined.
He fucked you harder, bending you further so you had to brace your hands on the mirror’s frame. The cool glass fogged with your panting breaths.
“Say it,” he demanded, teeth grazing your shoulder. “Tell me whose cunt this is. Whose womb I’m breeding.”
“Yours— Maekar, yours—” you moaned, voice breaking as pleasure coiled tight.
He snarled in satisfaction and drove deeper, angling to hit that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes. When you came, clenching around him, he followed with a deep, possessive groan, flooding you with hot pulses of his seed. He didn’t pull out. Instead he stayed buried, rocking lazily, making sure not a drop escaped.
“Not done yet,” he murmured, kissing the back of your neck as he met your dazed eyes in the mirror. His hand stroked over your stomach again. “I’m breeding you full tonight, wife. Again and again. Until everyone in that hall knows exactly who you belong to.”
He turned you in his arms then, lifting you onto the nearby table so he could take you face-to-face this time, still watching your reflections tangle together in the silver glass, his obsession and love and raw breeding hunger written in every thrust.
The mirror still fogged from your earlier frenzy when Maekar finally carried you to the massive bed, his cock still buried deep inside you, your legs wrapped around his waist. He sat on the edge first, keeping you impaled on his thick length, and guided your hips with those large, commanding hands.
“Ride me,” he ordered, voice gravel-rough with need. “Take what’s yours while I fill you.”
You braced your palms on his broad, scarred chest and began to move, slow at first, then faster, grinding down onto him. Maekar’s head fell back with a groan, silver strands sticking to his sweat-damp forehead.
His hands roamed your body possessively, squeezing your ass, cupping your breasts, thumbs teasing your nipples until they ached. Every roll of your hips pushed him deeper, the wet slap of skin echoing obscenely.
“Fuck— look at you,” he growled, eyes dark as he watched where you swallowed him whole. “Taking my cock so greedily. This womb was made to be bred by me.”
You leaned forward, chasing the angle that made stars explode behind your eyes. Maekar’s grip tightened, helping you bounce harder. His own hips snapped up to meet you, driving his seed from the first round even deeper.
Then the control snapped.
With a feral sound he surged up, arms locking around you as he threw you onto the bed. You landed on your back with a gasp, but he followed instantly, covering you with his massive frame.
Your scream of pleasure was muffled against his shoulder as he thrust back in, hard, relentless. You bit down on the thick muscle there, teeth sinking in as waves of ecstasy crashed over you. Maekar hissed in pleasure-pain, hips stuttering for a moment before he laughed low and dark.
“Bite me back while I mark your breasts and thighs,” he rasped, the words hot against your ear. “Let me feel how much you need this.”
He pulled out only long enough to flip you onto your back fully, spreading your legs wide. His mouth descended like a man starved. First he latched onto your breast, sucking hard, teeth grazing, then biting down just hard enough to leave a blooming mark.
You arched with a cry, fingers tangling in his hair.
He moved to the other breast, sucking and biting a matching claim, then lower, down the soft plane of your stomach to the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs.
Each bite was deliberate, possessive. Red marks bloomed under his mouth, his tongue soothing the sting right after. You writhed beneath him, thighs trembling.
“Maekar— please—”
He answered by hooking your legs over his shoulders and diving in. His tongue fucked into your cunt with the same demanding rhythm he’d used with his cock, deep, relentless strokes, curling to taste every drop of your combined release.
He groaned against your folds, the vibration shooting straight to your core. Two thick fingers joined his tongue, stretching you open while his mouth worked your clit.
You came again with a broken moan, biting his shoulder harder as your walls clenched around his tongue. He didn’t stop, lapping and sucking until you were shaking, oversensitive, dripping down his chin.
Only then did he crawl back up your body, cock sliding back into your soaked heat in one smooth thrust. He pinned your wrists above your head with one hand, the other stroking over the fresh bite marks on your breasts and thighs like sacred brands.
“Mine,” he whispered fiercely, rolling his hips deep and slow now, savoring the way you fluttered around him. “Every mark, every drop of my seed. I’m breeding you full again tonight, wife. Until you can’t walk without feeling me.”
He kissed you then, deep, claiming, swallowing your moans as he built you both back toward the edge, the mirror across the room still reflecting every possessive movement.
The firelight danced across Maekar’s sweat-slicked skin as he kept you pinned beneath him, cock buried to the hilt. Your thighs were still trembling from his tongue, marked with his teeth, and he rocked into you with slow, deliberate thrusts that dragged against every sensitive spot inside.
He lowered his mouth to your ear, voice a low, rumbling growl thick with lust and something deeper.
“You think I didn’t see it?” he murmured, nipping at the shell of your ear before soothing it with his tongue. “The way you look after my brats. All of them. Even when they’re little terrors running wild through the Red Keep. You hold Rhae like she’s the most precious thing in the world. You chase after the boys when they cause chaos. You mother them, truly.”
He thrust deeper on the word, grinding against your cervix as if to drive the point home. A broken moan slipped from your lips.
“And Aerion…” Maekar’s voice dropped even lower, almost a snarl of pride. “That cruel little shit. I heard how you scolded him today, sharp and fearless, putting him in his place when he was tormenting the servants again. No one else dares speak to my blood like that. But you do. For their own good. For our family.”
He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, violet gaze burning with possessive fire. One large hand slid down to press firmly over your lower belly, right where his cock bulged inside you.
“You were made for this,” he praised, voice rough with want. “Made to bear my children and raise them strong. Fuck— the sight of you with Rhae tonight nearly made me take you right there on the feast table.”
His hips snapped forward harder, the wet sounds of your coupling filling the room again. He kept his hand on your stomach, rubbing slow circles as he fucked you.
“I’m going to plant the next one right here,” he growled, pressing down with each thrust. “The first child I fill you with tonight… I’ll make sure it takes. I’ll breed you so full, so deep, that you’ll feel it quicken and know—without question—that you are mine. My wife. My woman. No one else will ever touch you. No one else will ever fill this womb.”
You clenched around him at his words, and Maekar groaned in pure male satisfaction. He hooked one of your legs higher, opening you wider so he could drive even deeper, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with every powerful stroke.
“Take it,” he commanded, biting down on the swell of your breast again, leaving another vivid mark. “Milk my cock like the perfect little breeding wife you are. Let me give you a child tonight. Let me watch your belly swell with proof that you belong to Maekar Targaryen.”
His pace grew punishing, relentless, every thrust accompanied by more filthy praise, how beautiful you’d look round with his babe, how he’d fuck you through the pregnancy, how he’d keep you dripping with his seed until the maesters confirmed you were carrying.
When he finally spilled inside you again, it was with a deep, guttural roar, flooding your womb with hot, thick ropes of cum. He stayed buried deep, grinding lazily to push it further, his hand never leaving your belly.
“Mine,” he whispered against your lips, kissing you slow and claiming. “All fucking mine.”
He didn’t give you long to catch your breath.
Maekar pulled out with a wet sound, his seed already leaking down your thighs, and flipped you onto your stomach in one smooth motion. You barely had time to push up onto your elbows before his powerful arm slid around your throat from behind, locking you into a firm headlock. Not tight enough to hurt, but tight enough that you felt utterly claimed, controlled, his.
“Up,” he growled, hauling your upper body back against his chest as he knelt behind you on the bed. His free hand gripped your hip hard enough to bruise, yanking you into position. “I want you to watch.”
He angled your bodies so the tall mirror across the room captured everything. You could see it all in the reflection, your flushed face, lips parted, eyes glassy with lust, Maekar’s massive frame behind you, silver hair wild, muscles flexing as he held you in the headlock. His thick cock, still glistening with your combined release, nudged against your soaked entrance.
“Look at us,” he ordered, voice dark and low right beside your ear. His arm flexed slightly around your throat, a possessive reminder. “Watch me breed my perfect wife.”
He thrust in hard, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal stroke. The new angle had him impossibly deep, the head of his cock pressing right against your cervix. You moaned loudly, the sound vibrating against his forearm. In the mirror you watched his hips snap forward, the powerful muscles of his ass and thighs flexing with every thrust. His free hand slid down to spread your thighs wider, giving the mirror an even better view of his thick cock disappearing into your cunt.
“Fuck— so good for me,” he praised between gritted teeth, pounding into you. “Taking my cock while I hold you like this. Such a good little mother to my brats… scolding Aerion when he needs it, cradling Rhae like she’s yours as much as mine. You were born to carry my seed.”
Each thrust jolted you forward, but his headlock kept you firmly in place, forcing you to keep watching. The reflection showed everything: the way your breasts bounced, the fresh bite marks he’d left on them and your thighs, the obscene stretch of your pussy around his girth. His hand moved from your hip to press over your lower belly again, rubbing possessively.
“I’m going to fill this womb until it swells,” he rasped, tightening the headlock just enough to make you feel lightheaded with pleasure. “The next child I plant in you tonight will be the one that binds you to me forever. You’ll feel it quicken and know, no other man will ever have you. No other cock will ever breed this cunt. Only mine.”
He fucked you harder, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing. In the mirror you watched his face, jaw clenched, eyes locked on your reflection with raw obsession. Every thrust pushed more of his previous load deeper, and you could see the way your belly slightly bulged with the force of him.
“Bite my arm if it’s too much,” he growled, but his pace never faltered. “I want to feel you come while I’m breeding you like this.”
You did exactly that, clamping down around him, teeth sinking into his forearm as your orgasm ripped through you. Maekar snarled in satisfaction and followed right after, flooding your womb with another heavy load of cum. He kept you locked in place, grinding deep, making sure every drop stayed inside.
Even as he softened, he didn’t release the headlock right away. He simply held you there, both of you watching in the mirror as his seed slowly leaked around his cock.
“Mine,” he whispered again, pressing a surprisingly tender kiss to your temple. “All fucking mine to breed and cherish.”
The intensity ebbed slowly, like a storm giving way to warm rain.
Maekar loosened the headlock with care, his thick arm sliding down to wrap around your waist instead. He pulled you back against his chest as he rolled onto his side, keeping you spooned securely in his embrace. His large body curled protectively around yours, broad chest to your back, one heavy thigh draped over your leg, caging you in the safest way possible. His cock was still nestled inside you, half-hard but refusing to slip out.
“Easy, kesrio paŋi,” he murmured, voice now low and rough with affection rather than command. His lips brushed the bite marks on your shoulder, then your neck, soothing each one with slow, open-mouthed kisses. “You did so well for me. So perfect.”
One big hand stroked gently over your marked breasts, thumb brushing softly across your nipples, while the other rested possessively yet tenderly over your lower belly.
He held you like that for long moments, simply breathing with you, the heat of his body chasing away any chill. In the mirror across the room you could still see the two of you, tangled together, his silver hair mixing with yours, his powerful frame enveloping you completely.
“You take such good care of my children,” he whispered against your hair, pressing a kiss there. “Rhae adores you. Even Aerion listens when you speak… I see it all. You’re already the mother of my house in every way that matters.” His hand rubbed slow circles on your stomach. “And soon you’ll carry our first child together and I’ll make sure of it.”
He began to move then, slow, lazy rolls of his hips. Not the punishing thrusts from before, but a deep, tender grind. His cock, now fully hard again, slid in and out of your cum-slick heat with unhurried strokes, pushing his seed even deeper on every gentle push. The wet, intimate sounds were softer now, almost soothing.
“Look at us,” he breathed, tilting your chin so you could watch in the mirror. “See how perfectly we fit. How full you are of me.”
You moaned quietly, pushing back against him as the slow drag of his cock stoked the embers of pleasure again.
Maekar’s arm tightened around you in a tender hug, his free hand continuing its gentle exploration, tracing the marks he’d left, then slipping down to circle your clit with feather-light touches.
“I love you like this,” he confessed softly between kisses to your neck and shoulder. “Warm, dripping with my cum, safe in my arms. I’m going to keep you full tonight… slow and deep, until your body has no choice but to take my child.” His thrusts remained languid and deliberate, savoring every inch. “You’re mine to cherish. Mine to breed. My beautiful wife.”
He kept that slow, intimate rhythm for a long time, holding you close, praising you in that deep, reverent voice, filling you again and again with gentle rolls of his hips until another soft, shuddering orgasm washed over you both. Even after he came, he stayed buried inside you, arms wrapped tenderly around your body, murmuring quiet words of devotion as sleep began to pull at you.
“Rest now,” he whispered, pressing one last kiss to your temple. “I’ve got you.”
watch movies that make you uncomfortable read books that make you uncomfortable go to plays that make you uncomfortable watch tv that makes you uncomfortable look at paintings and sculpture and artwork that makes you uncomfortable. it is spiritually and morally and ethically and artistically really really good for you. think about why you are uncomfortable. what biases do you bring to art? what biases does the art bring to you? how do you reconcile this? how does your worldview grow and expand and change? all this and more will be answered and available to you if you just engage with art that does not coddle you and treats you like an intelligent human being that can sit through discomfort
Summary: As you deal with the aftermath of your encounter with Mike, you two clash again. And how else to solve your differences than by a long and thorough… power exchange.
Word count: 2.5k
Warnings: DARK CONTENT, MDNI, minors and ageless do not interact, NSFW, explicit, rape/NON-CON, non-consent, dead dove do not eat, no physical description of the reader, mentions of female genitalia, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns used, degrading language, p in v, unprotected, creampie, praise kink, spitting, oral (f receiving), first draft, no beta, not proofread
DO NOT READ IF UNCOMFORTABLE WITH WARNINGS
I will delete/block all hate comments and tags. If you don't like the content, don't read it and feel free to block me. I am not responsible for the content you consume.
Notes: Continuation of Penalty, but can be read separately. I also have a rough idea for a third chapter.
Mike watched you wiping your tears from across the field, your teammates consoling you a little. At first, you tried lying, saying it’s the sun, the migraine, the period, but your friends knew better. He knew better. Mike gripped his clipboard, a frown marking his face. He hated seeing you like this. Against his better judgment, he decided to come closer.
“You said it yourself, babes,” your best friend had her arm around you, moving tear-soaked strands from your face, “he never wanted to fuck you. It’s important, you know it is.”
You just nodded, that pain half-laugh momentarily escaping your mouth.
“I just didn’t think it would hurt this bad,” you mumbled, trying not to burst into another crying fit. “We’ve been together for so long, and otherwise he was perf-”
“No. Fuck no,” your friend immediately interrupted. “Your needs were not met. And you don’t owe him a relationship just because he didn’t force fuck you when you were tired or sick. And didn’t you say that even when you did manage to do the nasty, he’d only cum jerking off? Come on, you owe yourself someone better.”
Mike had to admit, he wholeheartedly agreed. Someone better, how nicely put. Him.
“Stop clucking,” Mike growled at you two, waving at your friend to get lost.
“Coach, no, please, she’s really not-,” she tried, she really tried standing her ground for you, but you knew it was futile.
“Don’t make me fucking tell you again.”
With that, she mouthed a pitiful sorry at you and made herself scarce. You wiped your tears, tried to fix your hair a little. You could have carried on with your relationship, pretending nothing happened, not provoke Mike anymore and then think of him every time your boyfriend managed to get his dick up for you.
Except you couldn’t, for two reasons. First being that Mike wouldn’t stop, provoked or not. Second, you weren’t sure you wanted him to stop. The guilt was eating at you, absolutely, but there was also something freeing about the whole situation that Mike forced on you.
“I’m sorry, Coach,” you mumbled, your eyes momentarily drifting to his.
Mike didn’t say anything, his expression unreadable. And then, just as you wanted to do more drills, he grabbed your face, holding your chin between his thumb and index finger, the rest of his long fingers pressing into your throat.
The reaction in you was immediate: breath hitching, heart beating, palms sweating… And pussy wetting.
Mike was looking at you from behind his glasses like he wanted to eat you or drag you into the locker room to fuck the tears out of you. Instead, his lips curved into a rather smug smile.
“Good girl,” he whispered, sending another pleasurable jolt through you.
It didn’t take long for him to start screaming at you again when, not even forty-five minutes later, you kept missing your free kicks. Literally all of them would go wide over the net, not even close to the beam.
“Stop over-extending your fucking leg!” Mike yelled, already halfway to you, watching you fumble yet another kick. “These are rookie fucking kicks, what the fuck are you doing?”
You could hear him working himself into another hoarse throat situation, straining his vocal cords to the maximum. Not that you weren’t frustrated with yourself and your lack of follow-through and precision, mangling something that usually came with such ease to you. You felt pathetic. You were pathetic.
Even your teammates were at a loss for words, probably ascribing your lack of performance to your temporary emotional upset. You just wanted Mike to stop screaming at you, because if he managed to get you in your usual state, you knew you wouldn’t be able to keep your mouth shut.
“What now, Micha-,” you cut yourself off in the middle of the yell, swallowing the rest of his government name, reminding yourself he asked you not to use it.
“Other goal,” Mike growled, staring daggers at you. “Now.”
Just what you needed, spending the rest of the practice running drills with Mike. Alone.
“This is all your fault,” you spat out bitterly, watching Mike’s knuckles turn white and the clipboard caving under his grasp.
“Shut. Up. Fucking brat.”
It wasn’t that bad, actually, once you cooled off. Well, partially at least, still pressing your jaw shut, feeling the burn in your calf after repeated shots. You were tired, sweaty, and frustrated, and more tears threatened to burst out of you any second now. Luckily, the coach called the whistle, but before you even blinked in that direction, Mike crowded you.
Standing in front of you, making sure no one could see you from that side of the field, his eyes quickly darted around to see if anyone was paying attention.
Then, he turned back to you, brows furrowed, jaw clenched, and that flush spreading all over his face and neck.
“From now on, you will keep your mouth shut. You don’t talk back, and you don’t speak when I speak. Got it, angel?” his voice dropped on the last word to a throaty whisper.
You noticed how big his pupils were and how his lower left eyelid twitched. Mike took a step towards you, your nose almost touching his chest. Your breathing deepened again, and you looked up at him, wondering what he had on his mind.
“Open your mouth,” Mike whispered, his voice making you tremble.
You had no idea what he wanted, but you obeyed. Slowly, you relaxed your jaw, eyes still trained on Mike’s.
“More,” he mumbled, his eyes falling to your lips, watching your tensed tongue resting behind your teeth.
When he was finally happy, he spat in your mouth without a warning. Wet warmth spread across your tongue, drops landing over your lips and around them.
Sharply inhaling through your nose, your eyes fluttered shut, overwhelmed and aroused.
“Every time you open your mouth,” he watched you swallow every last drop, your tongue greedily dragging across your lips, “remember that only good girls get this.”
“Yes, Coach,” your eyes were still closed, the musky scent of Mike’s sweat still reaching your nose.
“Off you go then.”
**
“You okay?” your teammates rallied around you in the locker room, some faces concerned, some curious, some rather smug.
“Hm? Yeah, of course,” you dismissed them, but they still prodded.
“Why did he grab your face like that?” one voice asked, and you couldn’t really pinpoint who brought it up.
“He did what?” another voice piped up, and suddenly everyone was crowding around you like you were a wise old grandmother telling a scary story to a bunch of wide-eyed children.
“Ughh,” you growled, irritated to the bone. “I just struck a nerve, and he lost it a little. What’s new, right?” you laughed it off, putting on your best nonchalant face, shrugging.
The voices started again, everyone talking over each other, and not even your friend could tell them off. Clucking, as Mike said, was the correct word. You pinched the bridge of your nose, trying to breathe.
“All right!” you finally yelled. “I get it, this is obviously taking too much attention from the game and the team. “I promise…” your eyes drifted from face to face, and then you looked at your captain, a woman you expected much more of than to allow these verbal offences, “that I will set all my differences aside and talk to Mike. And now, if you excuse me, I need to cry a little bit more.”
It worked, their excitement immediately dropped in disappointment that you wouldn’t trash Mike some more. You suddenly felt stupid for even doing so; venting in the locker room was common, but this personal beef you and Mike had for literal years had obviously been nothing but entertainment.
No one cared how much you suffered when his comments started, no one cared about your problems and issues; you were nothing but a class clown, a court jester. It washed over you, the wave of realisation, followed by sadness, disappointment, and emptiness.
You took a deep breath. No more.
**
It was two in the morning, and you were still tossing and turning, trying to sleep. Mike still hasn’t kept up with his promise, and you started to believe he only said it in the heat of the moment.
Pulling your eye mask down your face, you turned around, happy that at least you didn’t feel like crying anymore. And then you heard it, a beep and a door creak, but you still decided to pretend you were asleep, deep breathing and all.
Mike laid down next to you, gently, his arm enveloping you, immediately settling between your tits, before grabbing one.
“You smell so good, angel,” he whispered against your neck, inhaling deeply. He was hard already, again, pressing his cock against your ass.
You finally stirred, trying to reach for your mask, but Mike caught your wrist.
“Leave it on,” he chuckled, his lips dragging over the strained muscles of your neck, enjoying the warmth of your skin.
“I’m gonna make you so happy, angel, I know I can,” Mike cooed, pushing his tongue in your slightly open mouth, teasing a breathy moan out of you.
“Yes, Coach,” you mumbled between sloppy kisses, your hands dragging Mike closer and closer, until he was on top of you.
And then he started moaning, deep, throaty sounds that sent little jolts through your whole body, pooling heat directly in your pussy, tiny little spasms shocking their way through your abdomen.
His fingers, extended, drew a line starting at your throat, going lower, playing with your nipple, and even lower, slowly dragging over the thin fabric of your tank top, until he reached your panties, an obvious wet spot blooming.
He teased you through the soft cotton, his fingers pushing in a little, then dragging all the way up towards your clit, then back down again; you arched your back into Mike, begging in your mind for him to just move your panties to the side and stick his cock back in, and stay like that until morning, fuck you into the mattress.
“Did you wear these for me?” he teased, his fingers playing with the bow on your panties and sliding over the lacy parts.
“Yes, Coach,” you whispered, enjoying the way his tongue dragged over your throat, your heart hitching even higher at the vibrations his chuckle made against your sweaty skin.
“Good girl.”
And then he slid lower, his lips leaving sticky wet kisses on your collarbone; somehow he managed to pull off your tanktop without disturbing the mask, his mouth immediately closing around your nipple, his teeth grazing it.
He grabbed both of your tits, pressing and massaging, and you couldn’t do anything but moan, enjoying how much Mike wanted you.
“So pretty when you’re so needy,” he breathed out, going lower and lower, until he reached your panties. Mike started sucking and teasing your clit through the fabric.
Your whole body writhed in pleasure as you reflexively pushed your hips towards Mike’s mouth.
“Let me hear you, angel,” he mumbled, hastily removing your panties too, guiding both of your legs over his shoulders. He gently pushed one finger inside you, then the second one too, laughing at how greedily your pussy swallowed them.
You whimpered, jerking your hips, when he tried to push the third one.
“I know, angel, I know,” he cooed, “but we need to stretch you properly, don’t we? It barely fit the last time.”
He returned his attention to your clit, goading you towards the orgasm, feeling how your pussywalls started to tense and flutter around his fingers, listening to how your moans fell into needy whimpers; your hand grabbed his hair, and Mike couldn’t help himself but moan against your pussy.
“You taste so fucking good, angel, I can’t get enough,” he mumbled, his thumb now drawing tight little circles over your clit.
“Mike,” you moaned, overwhelmed, immediately biting your tongue. For a moment, you got scared he’d punish you, especially now since you were so close, that knot in your stomach threatening to explode.
“Good girl,” Mike moaned against your mound. “My good girl.”
When he felt you coming, he immediately lowered his head, greedily lapping up your juices as your body trembled in the best orgasm of your life. You had no idea how loud you were or what exactly you were saying, so thoroughly overwhelmed and overstimulated. But Mike wasn’t finished with you, far from it.
As your body relaxed, he pulled out his fingers, sucking on them, watching as your pussy glistened. You whined a little at a loss, but he replaced it with his cock soon enough, your legs still draped over his broad shoulders.
In one quick thrust, he pushed in and folded you up, hitting deeper than before. It was still a stretch, his big, fat cock spearing you in half. You whined in pleasure, begging Mike to fuck you hard.
“Fuck, angel, I can’t even think,” Mike kept snapping his hips, barely delaying his own pleasure to watch your tits bounce up and down and feel your nails against his skin. You lost all sense of time, tasting yourself repeatedly on Mike’s tongue, your hands pulling at his hair and drawing blood on his shoulders, as you kept begging and begging.
“Tell me you’re close,” Mike whispered, “because I want to flood your pussy so badly.”
“No, Coach,” you mumbled in response, “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, my poor baby angel,” he teased a little, “how about you take that mask off, let me see those pretty eyes, hm?”
“Please come into my mouth,” you begged, finally looking at Mike’s flushed, sweaty face.
“What?” his hips stuttered, slowing down.
“I want to taste you, please,” you pulled him in another desperate kiss.
Mike tried, he really wanted to indulge you, but before your lips even touched, he started coming with long, hoarse grunts, his mind and body overcome by the amount of your desire for him. You could feel it, Mike emptying his balls, the hot sticky seed spilling in you, dripping out of you.
“I’m sorry, angel,” Mike mumbled, falling forward after freeing your legs from his feverish hold. “Next time, I promise.” His lips went back to the same spot where they were the last time, just behind your ear, as he started to suck tiny bruises into your skin.
You groaned.
“Tell me I don’t have to wait three to five business days again. Didn’t you boast every night, angel, I want you to come around my cock every night?” you mocked him, imitating his manner of speech.
“Behave,” he breathed, somewhat amused.
“Yeah, yeah,” you countered, rolling your eyes and pouting.
You could still feel his cum dripping out of you, sticking you two together, his hot breath on your neck making your nipples harden again. You were so insanely insatiable, needing Mike to go again, last longer, fuck all your holes, or at least the ones his cock could fit into.
“Behave,” he gritted out, his hand falling onto your throat.
You smiled smugly at him, suddenly feeling his limp cock twitching against your thigh.
If you like my writing, all interactions are greatly appreciated-`♡´-
you laid on the soft chaise by his desk while he pored over his papers, his brow pinched as he examined the documents. Much to your frustration, he’d been at it for hours already, and you were feeling particularly aroused. You’d tried to convince him to retire for the night, trailed your hands all over his body, but he’d kiss you absently and telling you “in a while, darling”. That was an hour ago, and you were no less frustrated.
So you decide to take matters into your own hands, removing the outer layer of your robes as you stood up and walked towards him. The thin material of your nightgown barely hid your figure, and you smirked when you see his eyes dart to you, but dart away just as quickly. Fine, you were going to have to do more.
“Husband, it had been hours, surely you are exhausted from all of this work.” You leaned to murmur in his ear, your hands rubbing his shoulders and back in an attempt to get him to follow you. When he did not, you had reached your limit. “Fine, then. I shall take care of it myself.”
Before you could take a step, his large hands clamped around your waist, pulling you down into his lap. “Impatient minx.” His smooth voice sounded both amused and irritated in your ear as he settled you on his lap. To your delight, and further arousal, you could feel the length of him, hot and heavy, against your thighs. Excitement spread all over your body as he undid his pants and revealed his hard cock, slowly moving you down onto his thick length. You moaned, the stretch of his size and the sound of his low groan in your ear making your toes curl.
However, he just remained still, not moving even after you had gotten used to the sensation. “Since you cannot wait until I am finished, sit here and don’t move until I command you to.” He ordered sternly, holding your hips still. “No moving, or I drag this longer.”
The next moments were truly unbearable, for you had to sit as still as possible, feeling the length of him snugly inside you and not being able to do anything. Growing desperate, you tried to move your hips, to do anything to alleviate the burn of arousal within you, but he sternly tapped your thigh in warning. “Ormund, please—”
“In a moment.” He soothed, his hands trailing down your thigh, making you twitch, clenching around his cock. He hissed at the sensation, pausing his writing for a second before resuming, face become flushed.
Ormund was close to giving in, and you knew that. Deliberately rocking your hips against his, you tightened around him again, punching a guttural sound out of him. He didn’t bother with his work anymore, hips bucking up against yours and standing up. Groaning, he bent you over, hips slamming into yours.
His hands spread your thighs apart, angling his hips as he pounded into yours, watching your head drop back and upon hearing you let out a choked whimper, he knows he’s got the right spot to hit. Trailing small bites down the skin of your exposed throat, he makes sure to keep the speed punishing for you, his hands finding your clit, rubbing against it.
Your cries turn even louder and hands clutch his shoulders tightly, but he couldn’t care less about who could hear you, too focused on your pleasure. He likes that your back immediately arches at that particular touch, and how you finish not long after with a loud cry of his name.
Feeling your cunt practically clamp around him, he fills you up with a hoarse grunt of your name, hips thrusting jerkily. You’re both breathing heavily, foreheads pressed to one another, the solar smelling of your arousal, and he feels you grinding your hips against him once more. “Seven hells, you’re insatiable.”
Author’s note: Damn, school is rough. Five chemistry experiments in under an hour. Anyways, hope you enjoyed! Once again, feel free to send requests through if you have any plot ideas.
summary: you can't stop your mind from spiraling about why your husband doesn't seem to agree with you giving him pleasure, does he not want you?
c/w: 18+ mdni, palming that hightower dick, oral sex (m and f receiving), p in v, gwayne with teary eyes and wrecked face and reluctant whimpers (yes this man whimpers)
It was some of the many moments you feel that whole happiness in your own heart, the warm and complete feeling in your chest when your father called you to his solar and tell the news that he asked for your hand in marriage.
Gwayne Hightower.
You were overjoyed. You've been paying more attention to him than other men from great houses, the way he speaks with that firm mannerisms and the honorable story people whisper about. You dream about the way he looks at you with sweet tenderness and the way he puts the strands of your hair behind your ear.
And most scandalous, you dream about the way he touches you. It's the least expected for such a lady to have that thought cross her mind, but you can't help yourself. You saw the veiny path in his arms by no intention and you cannot escape from the desire it sparks.
To be courted and taken a wife by such a chivalrous knight from a great house is such a blessing itself, but what you repressed most from becoming is the very shreds of anticipation you feel toward your wedding night. The way he'd whisper soothing words in your ears while his fingers caress you tenderly in places no man ever reaches, and the way he'd murmurs praises in your ear about how you're taking him so well. The mere thoughts make your cheeks warm.
The wedding night came and most of it was what you expected. You heard some wicked stories about husbands who force themselves on their wives. Luckily, Gwayne is not like that. No, never that.
Quite the contrary, he prepares you so well before he takes you. He whispers gentle and sweet words while taking his time making you tremble in his arms. All goes well except his hand stops your wrist when your palm reaching for his trousers. Your shocked, worried eyes fearing for rejection soothed by a tender kiss to your wrist.
"Let us be one, my lady. Let your husband give you what you're most deserving of." He says with a gentle smile before palming himself and pushing in slowly to your soaked heat. He did kiss your discomfort away, relying on interlacing his fingers with yours as he praises you.
"You're taking me so well, my dear. Look how fitting you are of me." He rasps as his wide palm caressing the tender spot under your breasts where he's placed his marks before.
From then on, your nights with Gwayne are glorious, filled with tangled sheets and warm puffs of breaths against each other's mouth. You discover a lot of things about you and himself, like how you favor his praises while he's pushing into you and how he prefers you underneath him so he can watch the way you shatter so beautifully because of his doing, that one time he tells you himself.
The only problem, well not quite a problem if you're talking about the whole thing, is that Gwayne dismisses your wish to touch him after he does you. He usually would kiss your confusion away as he distracted you with his hands and mouth and before you knew it, you're already in his arms panting and moaning his name.
Gwayne relishes when you do that. He even encourages you by touching all your sensitive spots that he learns fast and making you feel overwhelmed with pleasure that you have no choice but to cling to his shoulder and calling his name.
"Husband, please..." Your face is flushed with sweats as your body clings to him desperately, the way a wife seeks comfort and indulgences to her husband, as he would fondle your breasts and press his thumb to your swollen bud.
"What do you need, my love?" He asks in that low voice that exists only when one of you is on the edge, while managing to wear the loving expression on his eyes.
"Please, I need to—" Your words are cut as his warm mouth envelopes the peaks of your nipples that have been staring at him and begging for his attention. With just a few minutes, your thighs clench around him and the world becomes mute to your hearing, the only thing you can feel is the way he thrust deeper before he joins you in ecstasy and you feel warm spurts inside you.
You are satisfied with being held closely to the safety of your husband like that, sated and your body warm from the afterglow. Gwayne would caress your body lovingly, giving generous kisses on the crown of your head as you drift off to dreamland. But tonight, you can't.
You're determined to find out the reason why your husband won't let you touch him and you'd make sure the next time you can convince him to allow you. You arrange the secret plan you're about to navigate while Gwayne gently runs his fingers through your hair, his breathing slow and steady. He's just happy and sated having his wife laying on his chest while peppering her with his affection.
That night, you wear the usual gown you do before your sleep. Gwayne just comes to your chambers, his presence familiar and pleasant to you now. He greets you with his ordinary tired smile and a loving kiss to your head.
The atmosphere takes turns faster than most, with you now panting for air after he brings you to your first release of the night. You watch him take off his trousers with heavy breathing, his hand faking composed but you can see the urgent desire in each finger.
Before he leans down to push it in, you catch his wrist.
"Let me pleasure you, husband." You say carefully, watching reactions from his eyes.
"There's no need, my love." He tries to dodge your wish and divide your focus to the tender kiss to your lips.
"Why wouldn't you let me?"
The air is thick with silence as he can sense the weight of your question.
"Do you not wish me to touch you?"
He lets out a sigh, then you feel his knuckles brush your cheek, a gesture so tenderly it makes your heart melt.
"It's not like that, my dear."
You look him in the eye and you can see the moment his wall breaks as you learn very well your husband cannot resist with that particular eyes of yours. He closes his eyes before speaking his truth.
"I merely didn't want to startle you."
"Startle me—Do you think of me as fragile, husband?"
"No, my heart, never that." He quickly reassured you with gentle kisses on your cheek. He closes his eyes before the decision settling in. He brings your palm to his standing, hard cock.
The first contact of your more soft, small hand brings jerk to his hips. You can see the breath hitched from his chest as you stroke him up and down. Heavy, restrained sound of rumbling that he holds in thin control.
Grasping the effect you hold over him, you manage to try something a little bolder. You lean down to bring its tip to your mouth, and that's when you hear it.
Not a grunt that he usually lets out in moments like this, no. Under that heavy sighs is a shred of whimper, a reluctant and accidental sound of whimper, but it is definitely one.
You look up at him as you try to take him deeper, and his face crumpled in the way you've never seen before. The composed expressions he wears with ease now completely disappear. What's left is a weak, painful frown on the line on his eyebrows as he can't bear the pleasure you give him just with the slick of your mouth.
"This is what you deny me, husband? The beautiful sounds coming out of your lips?"
Gwayne's cock twitch hearing the filth of teasing words from his wife's sweet lips. You were never like this, bold and teasing. But now that you've got your hold on him, apparently he's not immune to your little tricks and cruel teasing.
His breathing is ragged as he's getting close to his release. The veins in his neck grow obvious and his unintended moans saying your name like a prayer for he never experienced a thing like this.
You look so divine underneath him, taking your husband's long cock in your mouth devotedly, and he mutters how grateful and lucky he is as his broken voice murmurs compliment to your sweet and dedicated nature.
That's the last thing you hear before Gwayne's whimper goes off and his hips are still in place. Then you can feel the new warmth rushing to your mouth and you eagerly swallow it. Your lips swirl around his redden tip before he leans down to support his body on his forearms.
You pull out your mouth and watch him find the rhythm of his breath beside you. His eyes closed and his painful expression still proceeded on his face.
"Are you alright, husband?"
At your sweet, teasing voice he brings his weakened state to glance at you and fails to hide the amusement on his lips.
"You are dangerous, my dear." He says as he gathers you to the sanctuary in his arms. He lays down to calm his breathing and his eager cock that's greedy for more.
"I shall give you that often in later times." You say as you give a tender kiss on his sweaty chest that you lay on.
You can feel him exhale his anticipation of this before he caves and gives long, gentle press of his lips to your hair.
"I'm veritably ruined by you, my love."
a/n: hii do people yearn for more, if yes say it in the comments!!
Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five
All my works (except requests) are published on AO3
Summary: You and John grow close after another night of partying
Word count: 1.3k
Warnings: MDNI, NSFW, smut, explicit, age difference, no physical description of the reader, mentions of female genitalia, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns used, angst, yearning, mentions of scars and self-harm (razors), sexual assault (groping), descriptions of violence, blood, mentions of murder, eventually: vaginal fingering, oral, rough sex, p in v, unprotected sex, dirty talk, proofread once, no beta
Notes: Please read the tags/warnings. You are responsible for the content you read.
To John’s chagrin and growing irritation, you almost immediately went back to partying, so hard and so often that he couldn’t wait for your classes to start. He was barely keeping up, getting more and more mentally exhausted night after night. He finally had to admit that he was jealous of men and women pawing at you, touching you, having their arms around you. There was nothing he liked more than those seldom moments when you’d lean into him when walking or sitting in the back of the cab. And it always was just a moment, almost like you needed him to ground yourself, but pulled back before John could properly react.
He cherished those moments deeply, replaying them endlessly in his mind, finding comfort in the memories, especially when it felt like you were so far away.
Watching you dance, again, he was getting nervous, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He was looking around, his fingers twitching again, and then finally decided to ask you to go home.
Both you and your friends happily hollered at him, watching him wiggle his way onto the dance floor, but John was determined.
“Call it a night, will you?” he leaned towards you, one of his hands protectively splaying against the small of your back. He was ready to fight you on this, and despite your occasional brattiness and proven stubbornness, he wasn’t going to back down from this one.
“Bye, bitches!” you shouted, blowing kisses at your friends. You grabbed John’s hand, the one that had just left your back, and tipsily followed him through the crowd, all the way to the outside.
This club was actually quite close to your place, but your feet hurt so much already, not that you’d admit it. You were still holding onto John’s hand, scared to grip harder in case he forgot your hand was there, but when you stuttered in your step, falling a little behind, you felt his hand tighten around yours.
“Johnny, is everything all right?” you pouted, causing him to stop. You knew he hated that nickname, always giving you a slight side-eye, his cheeks puffing out a bit, but you just couldn’t help yourself. You tangled one of your hands into his hair, fixing it a little. You weren’t thinking clearly, alcohol getting to you, but he was so irresistible tonight, and you wanted him to kiss you so badly.
“I don’t know,” his eyes kept darting between your face and your surroundings. “I’m just tired.”
“Okay, baby,” you cooed, batting your eyelashes, your hand slipping to the back of his neck, “will you let me take care of you tonight?”
You watched as his head moved in small, tired nods.
In one quick move, he pulled your arm over his head and tossed you over his shoulder, his other hand resting on your ass, shielding what’s left of your propriety. You giggled, trying hard not to kick your feet in excitement. He picked you up with such ease that it sent a wave of heat through you, making your breath hitch.
You were so prepared to do whatever John wanted, although you had a sneaking suspicion he would want you on your knees. You realised you let your horny imagination get ahead of you when John hugged you immediately after you locked the door.
He held you in a tight grip, his head falling to your shoulder, pulling you deep into his embrace, his sleeved forearms dragging over the sensitive skin exposed in your backless dress.
Your arms were around John’s neck, your hands caressing gently from his neck towards where his hair started, where he had it cut shorter. Listening to his growingly erratic breathing, you pressed against him harder, getting on your tiptoes. He still towered over you; your head could barely rest in the crook of his neck, your forehead pressed against the tight muscle there.
You could smell him under his shirt, a faint scent of cologne mixed with the intoxicating saltiness of his sweat. You had to hold yourself back from starting to lick and suck at his neck, even if you couldn’t reach it. This was John’s night, you reminded yourself, one of your hands sliding down, trembling slightly against his chest.
John took half a step back, his hands falling to your waist, his forehead falling against yours. He was still breathing hard, tiny beads of sweat spilling from his skin to yours. Against your better judgment, you reached up, placing your open palm to his jaw, your finger touching his cheekbone, just for a moment before you started pulling back, reminding yourself again not to force anything.
His hand shot up, enveloping yours and pressing it against his face. He exhaled, melting into it, his head turning slightly to press open-mouth kisses to your hand; he looked so lost in a distant fantasy, the fantasy you wanted to give him, if he’d only ask for it. And then he started to shake his head, almost in disbelief.
“Talk to me, please,” you pleaded, teary-eyed, watching as he pressed his eyelids together even harder.
He continued to shake his head, and you scolded yourself for pushing; you should have kept quiet.
“I’m here,” you whispered, placing that hand firmly against his face, “for whatever you need me, okay?
Another deep exhale, and then John slowly led you to his bed, kneeling next to you when you sat down. Your breath hitched the moment his fingers touched your ankle, slowly, gently unbuckling all the tiny straps of your heels, sliding over your skin. And then the other leg as well, and he leaned his head against your thigh, his eyes still firmly closed.
John was afraid that if he opened them, you’d disappear. You’d see him for what he was: a lowlife not worthy of your attention, of your love; trailer park trash, a foster home reject, a delinquent and an outcast, a criminal. John was never meant to be this close to someone like you, someone so beautiful and kind, someone whose star was shining so bright it set his on fire.
He lay you down and turned you on your side, so your back was pressed against his chest, still not having the strength to look you in the eye. He snaked one arm under you so your head rested on his bicep, and hugged you with the other, breathing you in, his forehead pressed against the back of your head as your hair tickled his face.
“I want you,” he swallowed, “to be here with me.”
“I am here, for as long as you need me.”
John swallowed a cry, cursing himself for being so soft. He had no idea he was reaching his breaking point until your hand caressed the back of his neck earlier this evening, and then he wanted to hug you, kiss you, take you home and make love to you, tell you how much he cared for you, never be apart from you again.
Instead, he settled for you two cuddling fully clothed on the bed, your hand gently sliding over his fingers, your head turning ever so slightly to kiss his arm through the fabric. The collar was biting into his neck, but John didn’t want to move, scared that you’d come to your senses, realising you were in the bed with your bodyguard. He clenched his jaw, stilling.
He was listening to your breathing until it settled into that deep, calm rhythm, a telltale sign that you fell asleep.
“You are always all over me when you drink,” he finally whispered, a hollow, tight feeling beating in his chest, spreading through his throat all the way to his jaw. “I wish you’d choose me sober. Just once.”
Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five
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