@ OLDTOWRS—the beacon on the hightower, do you know what color it glows when oldtown calls its banners to war?
sin | twenty three ⟢ she/they ⟢ intj ⟢ creganwife ⟢ gwayne hightower’s princess ⟢ elrond peredhel’s biggest slut ⟢ multifandom writer
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recently | beneath the gods eyes—the hour of the wolf has ended, and cregan stark marches north again. upon his return to winterfell, he wants nothing more than to see you, his wife. when he finds you in the godswood, he could not be more pleased to see you and how you've changed in his absence. he's so pleased in fact, that he decides he must thank the gods for blessing him so. read me here ! ☽ *:･ﾟ✧
love in duty—aemond targaryen fanfic in which aemond falls for the reader and one fateful day in the gardens brings forth feelings and brings them together. read me here ! ☽ *:･ﾟ✧
upcoming | untitled—aemond targaryen's sister wife is left vulnerable and open to attack after his death. upon the hour of the wolf, cregan does not know how to save her from death without marrying her and taking her back to winterfell as his wife. he does not expect to fall in love with her, and he definitely does not expect her to love him in return. but the mercy of the gods is beyond comprehension, and so cregan stark, the wolf of the north, succumbs to his fate and to your love (loading preview)
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ALSO! THIS BLOG IS NOT A SAFE SPACE FOR TERFS, NAZI’S, TRUMP SUPPORTERS, XENOPHOBES, HOMOPHOBES & ANY RELATED HATEFUL GROUPS OF HUMAN SCUM. I’M SO SERIOUS, YOU WILL BE BLOCKED.
hello! here with a request. i'd love to see something about overstimulating maekar if that's alright! like making him whimper and squirm and tear up. i just want to dom that big anvil lol
is it possible make an anvil yield?? let's find out (yo these requests are getting freakier by the minute and i LOVE it)
what breaks an anvil
Summary: you tie Maekar to the bedpost with silk and edge him until he is a whimpering mess before finally letting him come apart completely under your hand
Pairing: Maekar x sister-wife!reader
Warning(s): +18 MDNI, explicit sexual content, smut, bondage, edging, orgasm denial, overstimulation, hand job, praise kink, soft dom/sub dynamics, consensual kink, negotiated consent, established relationship, brief emotional vulnerability, dacryphilia (a little if you squint), reader insert (no use of y/n)
It had started as a negotiation, as most things with Maekar did.
"Do not touch me," you had said. "That is the only rule. Whatever I do — you will not reach for me."
He had looked at you with those violet eyes doing their assessment and said, with the particular flatness of a man delivering an honest appraisal: "I will not be able to do that."
"You could try."
"I am telling you in advance that I will fail." A pause. "I will reach for you. It is not a question of discipline. It is a question of—" he stopped, the honesty costing him slightly— "you. Specifically. I cannot keep my hands off you when you are doing—" he gestured, briefly, at the general situation— "anything."
You looked at him for a moment.
Then you reached for the box on the table beside the bed.
He watched you remove the silk — two pieces, the deep blue of the ones Baelor had used, and the specific recognition that moved through his expression at the sight of them was extraordinary. Not apprehension. Something considerably warmer than apprehension.
"Not the blindfold," you said. "I want you to see everything."
His throat moved.
"Agreed?" you said.
The word took a moment to arrive. "Agreed."
He held still while you tied his wrists — or held still in the way that Maekar held still, which was with the specific controlled quality of a large man exercising considerable discipline, every line of him radiating the effort of not simply taking over the proceedings. You tied the right wrist first, then the left, the silk making two soft loops around the bedpost that would hold without damaging, and you ran your thumb beneath each knot the way Baelor had shown you and watched Maekar watch your hands with those dark violet eyes.
When you finished you sat back and looked at him.
The sight of it — all that contained authority, the broad scarred chest, the white hair against the pillow, those eyes fixed on your face with an intensity that had not diminished one fraction for being tied to a bedpost — did something immediate to your composure that you declined to show.
"Pull against them," you said.
He did. The silk held. Something moved through his expression.
"Comfortable?"
"No," he said. Truthfully. "But not — no. It is fine."
"Tell me if it starts being too much."
"I will." A beat. "Are you going to do something, or are you going to sit there and—"
You put your hand on him.
The sentence ended.
You had not rushed to get here. You had taken your time with his throat and his chest and the old scars that mapped his history — tracing them with your fingers and your mouth while he breathed carefully above you and kept his hands precisely where they were and occasionally made sounds that suggested the keeping was not without cost. By the time your hand wrapped around his cock he was already hard and had been for some time, the evidence of it insistent against your thigh for the last several minutes.
You took your time with this too.
A slow stroke from base to tip — learning him, or performing learning him, because you knew this as well as you knew anything, but the relearning had its own value and you watched his face while you did it and collected every response. His jaw tightening. The slight lift of his hips that he suppressed immediately with the discipline of a soldier. The breath that left him at the twist of your wrist at the top of the stroke, where you knew — had always known — he was most sensitive.
"Look at me," you said.
He was already looking at you. He had not stopped looking at you.
"Good," you said, and tightened your grip slightly, and began to move in earnest.
The rhythm you set was not merciful. Not fast — that wasn't the point — but consistent, the steady purposeful pace of someone who knew exactly what they were doing and intended to do it for as long as it suited them. Your thumb tracing the underside on the upstroke, the pressure varying just enough to keep him from settling into the rhythm, to keep every stroke slightly surprising. His cock hot and heavy in your hand, the evidence of wanting him slick at the tip, and you used it, spreading it with your thumb in a way that made his head press back against the pillow and a sound leave him that had no composure in it.
"Tell me what you want," you said.
"You know what I—"
"Tell me."
His jaw worked. The flush was climbing his throat, his ears, the tips of them vivid. "Faster."
"Not yet."
A sound of frustration that was also, unmistakably, something else. His wrists pulling once against the silk — not to escape, you understood, but because he needed somewhere for it to go and had nothing else. "Then— harder—"
You loosened your grip slightly.
The sound he made was extraordinary.
"You were saying?" you said pleasantly.
"You are doing this deliberately."
"Yes." You restored the grip. Resumed the pace. His hips lifting toward your hand and you let them, let him have the friction of it without increasing anything, and watched his face — the specific agony of a controlled man losing his control by degrees, Maekar who held everything tightly finding that this particular grip was stronger than his. "You are doing beautifully," you said.
He made a sound at that — the praise landing somewhere it always landed with him, beneath the severity and the pride, in the place that didn't know what to do with being told he was doing well and wanted it anyway.
"More of that," he said, roughly. Not the physical. "Say — more of that."
"More of what?" you asked, as though you didn't know.
His eyes closed briefly. Opened. "You know what."
"Tell me."
"Tell me I'm — gods — tell me I'm—"
"You are perfect," you said, and tightened your grip, and felt him shudder. "You're doing exactly what I want. You look — Maekar, you have no idea how you look right now."
The sound he made resonated at the base of your spine.
You felt him approaching it the way you felt everything about him — in the specific tension that moved through his thighs, the slight change in his breathing, the way the sounds he was making had gone from frustrated to something with more urgency in them. Close. He was close. The rhythm of your hand and the heat of him and ten years of knowing exactly how to read him — close.
You stopped.
Not slowed. Stopped. Your hand going still, wrapped around him but motionless, and the sound he made at the cessation was nothing like dignified — a broken exhale that was almost a word and did not make it, his hips pushing forward into the grip of your hand and finding nothing moving.
"No—" The word dragged out. His wrists pulling hard against the silk. Those violet eyes finding yours with an expression of genuine anguish. "Don't—"
"Not yet," you said.
"I was almost—"
"I know."
"You knew and you stopped—"
"Yes." You loosened your grip entirely. Just held him, warm and present and entirely motionless, and watched him breathe through it — the particular suffering of a man pulled back from the edge and left there, the flush of him deepened to something that had reached his chest, his jaw set with the effort of not simply demanding.
"Please." The word arrived with difficulty. "Please, just—"
"Just what."
"Move."
"Say it properly."
The expression on his face — desire and frustration in equal devastating measure, the composure entirely gone, Maekar who held everything tightly reduced to this: tied to a bedpost and looking at you with violet eyes that had lost every pretence of management.
"Please move your hand," he said. Each word extracted. "Please. I need—"
You moved your hand. He made a sound that belonged to no public space, but to that chamber specifically.
You built him back up with the same consistency — the same pace, the same pressure, your thumb tracing the places you knew, watching him climb back toward it with the focused attention of someone conducting an experiment and noting the results. Faster this time, slightly, the rhythm more insistent, and his breathing came faster to match it and the sounds he was making had gone past language entirely, just Maekar, stripped of everything, reduced to wanting and the specific mercy of your hand.
Close again. Closer than before.
You stopped.
The sound he made this time was wrecked in a way the first hadn't been — something in it that was almost past frustration into something rawer, the specific quality of a man who has been brought to the edge twice and denied twice and is finding that the third time will be worse still.
"Please." Immediate. No preamble, no pride left to negotiate around. His wrists against the silk. His eyes on yours. "Please, I cannot — you have to — please—"
"Look at you," you said softly.
He looked at you. The expression — open, unguarded, the severity entirely absent, everything he kept managed and contained simply gone, violet eyes dark and wet at the edges with the sheer physical accumulation of it — made something in your chest ache with fondness so specific it had its own weight.
"You are so beautiful," you said. Meaning it completely. "Right now, like this — do you have any idea—"
"Please." Rougher. The word cracking slightly. "I am asking you. I am — please."
You wrapped your hand around him again.
"Alright," you said quietly. "I have you. Come on."
This time you did not stop.
The pace you set was different — faster, the grip firmer, your thumb at the head of his cock on every upstroke with the specific pressure that you knew and had been deliberately withholding and now gave him without reservation. Your other hand at his chest, feeling his heartbeat, the rapid certain thud of it. His hips moving with your hand now, the discipline entirely gone, just Maekar chasing the thing you were finally allowing him to chase.
"That's it," you said. Low. Watching his face. "Come on. I've got you — that's it — you're perfect, you're so—"
He came apart.
The sound he made was not triumphant. It was not the satisfied certainty of Maekar having won something. It was something with no victory in it at all — just release, just the specific devastating relief of a man who has been held at the edge three times and is finally, finally being allowed over it, his whole body shuddering with the force of it, his cock pulsing in your hand, his back arching off the bed as much as the silk would allow.
"Beautiful," you said, and meant it, watching him. "Look at you. You're beautiful — Maekar, look at me—"
He looked at you.
The tear was so quiet you almost missed it. A single line of it from the outer corner of his eye, tracking down his temple and into his hair — the accumulated frustration of three edges and however many days of being Maekar, of holding everything tightly, of being severe and controlled and the man who did not need things, finally finding its single outlet.
You leaned forward.
You pressed your lips to the subtle teary stream and licked it away — the salt of it, the specific tenderness of the gesture, your mouth gentle at his skin while he shuddered through the last of it beneath you.
He was very still when you drew back.
His breathing was uneven. The flush everywhere. Those violet eyes finding yours from close range with an expression that was the most naked thing you had ever seen on his face — exposed in a way that the crawling and the begging had not quite managed, because those had been theatrical, had had the structure of a scene, and this had been simply real. Simply him.
You reached up and worked the knots at his wrists. The silk fell away. You drew his arms down slowly and held his hands in yours and felt the slight tremor in them.
He looked at his own hands for a moment.
"That," he said. His voice had not recovered. "Was."
"Mm," you mumbled. A long silence.
"You licked—" he tried.
"Yes."
"I wasn't—" He stopped. His jaw worked. "I don't—"
"Don't worry, I know," you said.
Another silence. His hands turning in yours, his thumbs tracing across your knuckles in the slow absent way that meant he was processing something he didn't have immediate language for.
"The silk," he said finally.
"Mm?"
"Keep it," he said.
You looked at him with a funny, curious glare.
"Keep it," he said again, with the flat certainty of a man delivering a logistical instruction, and you understood that this was the closest he was going to get tonight to I would like to do that again, and you received it accordingly.
"I'll keep it," you said.
His hand tightened briefly on yours. The smallest thing. The whole of him in one gesture.
Outside, the castle moved through its evening. Inside, Maekar lay in the quiet with the silk warm on the pillow beside him and you holding his hands and the single track of salt already dried at his temple, and he said nothing further, and he did not need to.
You already knew.
P.S.: yeah, it is the same pieces of silk that Baelor used with you ˙ᵕ˙
most definitely publish them individually, even as like little blurbs. don’t force yourself to finish the alphabet if it’s not giving you joy
i feel like the masses would appreciate any content even if it’s short form, especially for maekar. by the masses i mean me. and if your past works are anything to go off of, it will be super well written and delicious regardless 🫶
hey, so guess what. the maekar targaryen nsfw alphabet is approaching being done and its over 15k words.... I got really inspired like halfway through the week. I'm hoping to post it soon. keep a look out.
also to this anon, thank you <3 I think this helped more than I think you might realize and I really appreciate it.
cw: filth!!, licking, sniffing, dry humping, nipple play(m!receiving), degradation, praise, body worship(m!receiving), breath play(f!receiving), scent kink!!, coming in pants, face humping, (2.7kw).
n/a: idk what came over me. based on this post!! u can read this as a piece from the my hot husband au/universe or a stand alone!! i just wrote this with their dynamic in mind lol! enjoy! < 3
"mhm, you didn't bathe after the hunt," you mumbled, fingers lifting maekar's tunic upwards impatiently, revealing his stomach, with that soft pudge of fat at the bottom that you loved. the one pinched by his breeches, making the soft flesh hang just a little over the band of his pants. "good. that's how i wanted you."
your husband only grumbled, rough hands trying to stop you from revealing more skin. still, you were determined, swatting every attempt away with a disgruntled sound, making maekar even more annoyed.
"have you no shame at all, woman?" he grouched, face pinched in irritation as you lifted the tunic until it pooled under his armpits, revealing his chest and belly in all its glory. "disrobing me and pawing at my flesh like i'm nothing but a toy to be played with when i'm exhausted from the bloody fucking—"
but you were barely listening to what your husband was saying, and frankly, in that moment, you had no qualms about paying mind to what came out of his mouth. all you cared about was how good he looked in that moment, leaning back against the pillows of your bed, still sweaty and dirty from the royal hunt he attended, looking every inch a man. all muscle and sinew and gods, the smatterings of fine silver hairs all over his chest and belly, and all the way lower on his navel, where a white trail of hair led right beneath the waistband of his breeches, to his cock.
you almost sighed thinking of it. you loved your husband's cock. it was one of the best things about him.
"you're exhausted," you parroted, humming as your soft hands continued to caress his stomach, pressing your fingers in, kneading at the skin like a cat, leisurely and appreciative, eliciting a displeased groan from your husband. "so sit back and indulge me for a few moments, dear husband."
maekar only scowled at you, the furrow between his brows deepening, lip curling in a snarl as he leaned forward, trying to loom, to intimidate in hopes you would cease pestering him. "don't dear husband me, you aggravating woman," he gritted, teeth barred, akin to a dragon before it unlatched its jaws to breathe fire and ash in anger. it made you warm under your chemise. you loved when your husband was all snappy and indignant.
you leaned forward, undeterred by his little intimidation tactic, noses almost brushing as you spoke, your tone soft and persuasive, as if beckoning a wild animal that might bite. "you were gone for so long, and i have been here, all alone, missing you like a limb," you lamented, distracting him from the way your fingers trailed along the waistband of his breeches now, prodding at the pudgy roll of fat there, loving the soft feel of it. "the least you could do is yield to my whims for a while."
aware that it wouldn't be enough to placate your husband, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his scarred cheek, leaving chaste, sweet kisses on the skin as you murmured. "you always look so good after a hunt, husband," you appeased, relentless in your pursuit of what you wanted, especially when it was something as delicious as touching maekar freely without him grumbling in your ear incessantly. "makes me want to devour you whole," your tone was on the precipe of resembling a purr, lips descending towards the strong line of his jaw and down his neck, nuzzling at the sweaty skin in delight.
as always, he tried to persist, even as you felt his skin warm and flush under your lips, making your mouth curl into a satisfied smile. you had him exactly where you wanted him, even if he was still resisting.
"you're being ridiculous," and oh, he was already panting softly, broad chest heaving along with the warm breaths that brushed your temple as you littered his ruddy-skinned throat in wet kisses. "pouncing on me like a cat in heat the second, ah—fuck," he cursed right when your tongue laved at his skin, tasting the remnants of the hunt. the sweat, the grime, the dirt—him, musky and manly and oh so palatable. “stop. i reek of filth and—”
“and i love it,” you moaned against his throat, mouth parting to press open—mouthed kisses to the skin of his throat, tongue licking at every remnant of perspiration, catching it against your palate and savoring it like the finest arbor gold. “you smell s’ good, husband, gods. i want to lick you all over.”
it always got like this. the more disheveled he returned, the more aroused you got. shame had deserted you moons ago, being absurdly vocal about how much you enjoyed when your husband was anything but presentable and pristine.
maekar made an aborted sound at your words, already flushed all the way to the tip of his ears, one rough hand moving to clasp the back of your nape and squeeze in hopes of deterring your assault on his senses, but it seemed in vain. the touch only spurred you, a soft sound resembling a purr rumbling against his throat as you continued to press your tongue to his skin, dipping it to taste the touch of grime gathered in the hollow of his throat.
“filthy,” maekar snarled, fingers squeezing just so at your nape and pulling upwards, eliciting a disgruntled sound from you; a whine. your lips were slick with spit, cheeks flushed and eyes blown wide, hazy with heat and adoration, which only made the pressure of his hand increase, reprimanding you for how far gone you already looked. “you’re a filthy, dirty woman, you know that?” he spat, tone brooking on a growl. “always have been,” maekar continued, tightening his hold onto your nape, the pads of his fingers restricting your breath for just a moment, just enough to make you gasp, before he eased it. “getting hot and bothered by your soiled husband like a degenerate,” his thumb brushed against your throat, where he gripped prior, the closest thing to quiet tenderness you could get in that moment, but it made warmth spread through you regardless.
“what of it?” you challenged, dipping your head back to his throat, nosing along the flushed skin, your soft fingers resuming their pawing along his belly, pressing and prodding at the pudgy flesh there, nails scraping along the trail of fine hairs leading below his waistband, making your husband hiss. “it’s your smell i crave, your taste,—” another filthy lick, along the jut of his collarbones, before moving downwards towards his chest, where the smattering of hair was thicker, the smell of sweat and musk more pungent.
maekar tensed as soon as he felt your lips brush against one of his pecs, and you could feel the shiver that ran through him when the tip of your nose nudged a nipple, willing it to harden.
“don’t you fucking dare—”
you did it again, nosing at the pebbling bud once, twice. then, you licked it, slow and wet, circling the nipple with the tip of your tongue, flicking teasingly.
a garbled moan punched out of maekar’s chest, his hold on your nape tightening anew, his other hand fisting the sheets under him, white—knuckled and trembling with restraint. you could tell he wanted to shove you away, to haul you as far as possible from his body so he wouldn’t be able to feel all this, to have to succumb to your whims and depravity. but you also knew he liked it. craved your attention like poison in his veins. hated that he needed it. snarled and snapped his jaws while being half—hard already beneath his breeches, blushing from the tips of his ears to where your mouth was currently busied, lips parting to suckle noisily at his nipple, drawing out another restrained, delicious grunt from your husband.
“look at you,” he managed to bite out through gritted teeth, broad chest heaving under your mouth, voice thinner, breathier. “licking and sucking like a common whore,—”
but you didn’t let him finish, letting your teeth scrape against the bud, nipping at it enough to sting, halting his crude words, making him curse, back arching, pushing his chest more into your awaiting mouth. it was a reprimand, but also a sick, twisted pleasure. seeing your husband bucking and snarling under your lips and tongue was a sight you could never get tired of, much like right now, as you laved one last lick to his wet, swollen nipple, before nosing between his pecs through the fine hairs there, inhaling the scent of him like a woman possessed.
“how would you know what common whores do, mhm, husband?” you murmured, nuzzling along the underside of his pecs, letting your lips press against the skin in damp kisses as you descended towards his stomach, fingers still trailing along the hairs leading towards his navel. “have you been indulging without my knowledge?”
each question was a taunt, like dangling a hunk of meat under a dragon’s nose, waiting for it to bite. and you loved nothing more than to taunt your dragon until he bit, until you could feel his teeth sink in, metaphorically or not.
and he always bit.
“you think i would debase myself with some pleasure house wench?” he snarled, violet eyes glinting with something close to offense, which made you preen quietly, warmth spreading through your chest like drizzled honey.
as you nosed along his stomach, you couldn’t help but breathe him in again, mouth parting in soft pants as your eyes fluttered, the musk of him stronger the closer you got to the V—shape of his hips. “i would hope you wouldn’t, dear husband,” you mouthed along his belly, tongue poking out to lick at the skin, tasting him again. “i would be thoroughly scorned if you so dared,” another lap of your tongue, slow and filthy, this time along the trail of hair near the waistband of his breeches, feeling a slight tickle onto your palate.
but, gods, the scent. the taste of him.
musky and sweaty and man.
it drove you wild, lips pressing to that tempting silver line, open-mouthed and slow, savoring him on your tongue again and again, as if you couldn’t get enough.
a groan slipped unbidden from maekar’s mouth, fingers tightening at your nape, as if remembering he still had a hold on you, blunt nails biting at the skin light enough to make you shiver as he pressed with firmness, as if scruffing a cat. “don’t need some perfumed, wanton wench when i have my hands full with you,” he panted, eyes trained on you, almost unblinking, having watched you the entire time, despite his protests. lavender hues half—lidded, glinting, part anger, part heat, eyeing you like a predator stalking prey.
his words made you purr against his skin, a satisfied sound, your fingers moving to tug slightly at his waistband, revealing more of his navel to you to lick and kiss. “good,” you murmured into his skin, dipping to nose at the cincture of his pants, and lower, nuzzling against his crotch, where you could feel him hard and throbbing already.
“woman, you—” but his protest dissolved into a shuddering moan as you rubbed your cheek against his clothed cock insistently, eyes fluttering, gaze holding his, molten and smoldering with heated affection. the friction was delicious, and it only made more bitten off pleasured sounds fall from his lips, broad chest heaving, splotched red from how hard he was blushing, skin ruddy and flushed. he looked good enough to eat. and maybe later, you intended to do just that.
the scent of him was strongest there, musk so strong it made you dizzy with want, lips parting to mouth at his crotch, feeling his cock throb beneath the cloth, only spurring you on. “smell s’ good,” you mumbled as you continued to map the hard ridge of his arousal with your mouth, tongue laving at the material, wetting it with your spit, making the outline of his cock even more visible. “taste s’ good, husband.”
“gods, fuck—” came from above you, the grip at your nape firming, pressing down, almost smushing your face into his crotch, but you couldn’t be happier to succumb to maekar’s guidance, feeling his hips twitch upwards, rutting weakly against your face.
it made you moan, the action so debauched, so depraved, making you nose along his clothed cock in time with the clumsy grinding of his hips against your face, the scent of him thickening, clogging your senses and coating the back of your throat from how greedily you inhaled.
“c—can’t believe you’re, shit—” he could barely get his words out, too impaired by the way you looked, the blissful look on your face as he humped against it. “can’t believe you’re getting off on this, you wanton woman,” maekar continued, his hips picking up the pace, forcing you slightly more against his clothed cock, grinding against your cheek, the corner of your mouth, your nose; anything he could, the pleasure tingling down his spine way too rapid for his taste. “mouthing at me like a filthy animal, letting me hump—fuck.”
you could tell he was getting close, the thought satisfying you more than you could tell. seeing your husband so unraveled by this alone, hips grinding against your face, hand holding you down for more delicious friction, chasing more but not being able to get it. a delicious torture that was way too exquisite not to witness.
“mhm,” you hummed against his crotch, rubbing your cheek harder against his clothed cock, feeling it throb incessantly, the smell of him more pungent, the precum leaking steadily through his breeches and staining your cheek. “not my fault my husband left me unattended for so long,” you lamented, fluttering your lashes, continuing to rub against him. “i’ve been so lonely,” the words were mouthed against him, breath warm against his crotch, pushing him closer and closer to the edge.
“always so fuckin’ demanding,” he groaned, long and suffering, humping against your face with more fervor, so close to his peak, face and throat flushed and splotchy, hand firm against your nape as he pushed your face deeper into his crotch. “n—never satisfied, ah, fuck, fuck, wife—,”
wife. the word strained and close to a whine as he lost control, rutting against your plush cheek once, twice, before he came with a pained groan, as if someone clawed the sound from deep in his chest, his spent dirtying his breeches, wetting the fabric against your cheek.
his chest was heaving, mouth parted wide as he tried to catch his breath, his grip still firm, but trembling against your nape, his thumb now brushing along the side of your throat, just like before, as if rewarding you silently, thanking you for letting him use you like this.
it made you smile and you nuzzled into his now damp crotch, the smell of him more powerful than ever, making you moan against the cloth. the sound seemed to bring maekar back from his post coital bliss, his violet eyes blinking down at you, hazy but attentive.
“lick it,” he breathed out, voice strained and heaving still, the fingers at your nape guiding you towards where his cum stained his breeches most, a wet patch visible where the head of his now softening cock was under the cloth. “can’t let good spend go to waste, wife.”
you only hesitated for a heartbeat, mind not wrapping around his words for a moment, before you moaned, mouth parting eagerly, tongue pressing to the damp material and licking, feeling the taste of him invade your palette. “yes, yes,” you sighed, overly pleased, too preoccupied and greedy, lips wrapping around the wet spot and suckling it into your mouth, the essence exploding onto your tongue.
“fucking filthy woman—,” maekar cursed, the sight of his wife, so desperate and eager, making him equal parts flustered and astounded.
you knew the night was going to be a long one when you felt a twitch under your tongue, your husband’s cock throbbing back to life, making your lips curl.
HOW I FELT THE WHOLE TIME I READ THIS OH MY GODHFNLDND NENE I LOVE UR BRAIN I LOVE UR KEYBOARD I LOVE U SM MY TALENTED BFF THIS WAS SO GOOD I’M BLUSHING GIGGLING TWIRLING MY HAIR🙂↕️ #NeedThat #WantThat #DesireThat
the best fanfiction you've ever read was written by a woman in her 40s before she made dinner for her kids. it was written by a teenager after school when they should've been studying for a history test. and a barista came up with the idea while they cleaned the espresso machine and busser fact-checked it on their break and the post-doc edited between writing grant proposals and the nurse apologized for typos in the notes after a long shift and behind every drabble and one-shot and multi-chapter fic there is a person with a wonderful and interesting and chaotic life and it is such a privilege that we get to be apart of it because they decided to do this thing we all share, for fun.
Remember when joining fandom as a younger person meant lurking for a bit and figuring out the vibe and etiquette instead of coming in on day one and calling people weirdos for liking weirdo shit in the weirdo factory.
A KNIGHT OF THE SEVEN KINGDOMS ↳ BERTIE CARVEL as BAELOR 'BREAKSPEAR' TARGARYEN
Few could doubt that Baelor Breakspear would be a great king, for he was the heart of chivalry and the soul of wisdom, and came to serve his father most ably as Hand.
— The World of Ice and Fire, The Targaryen Kings: Daeron II by George R.R. Martin
okay... i have a confession. i have been working on my nsfw alphabet for maekar for months. its currently 11k, and i still have like one half of the alphabet left. should i : (a) just try and finish it or; (b) should i start posting my already pretty flushed out ideas as fully written fics? likely i could get these fics out sooner if i didn't post them as a full blown alphabet.
I want to publish so bad, because some of these ideas are downright fucking delicious and maekar is truly consuming my thoughts, but grad school is kicking my ass, and its not going to get any better. and genuinely every time i sit down to write the rest of this alphabet i hit one of these:
͙ 𖦹 beautiful person award! once you are given this award you're supposed to paste it in the asks of 8 people who deserve it. if you break the chain nothing happens, but it's sweet to know someone thinks you're beautiful inside and out ⸜(｡ ˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝ 🧁
i just finished my first year of grad school, and i just finished all of my classes so i hopefully will have a little more time to be active :P. i have a couple of hotd/akotsk ideas in the works so hopefully i can finish and post those soon :)
☆ put this star in the inbox of your favorite blogs. it’s time to spread positivity ! 🌷
hey @breakspearz this is literally me staring at my screen hoping that my want to kiss you on the fucking forehead is being transmitted through the ether. i love you lol.
