Welcome in, I’ve been fixated on all things ASOIAF for a few years. Now that the writing bug has bit me it felt like it was finally time to stop just lurking around tumblr and actually make an account! 18+
📣Open To Request, they fuel me tbh!📣
Masterlists:
Daeron “the Drunken” Targaryen
Maekar Targaryen
Ser Duncan The Tall
Aerion Targaryen
Baelor Targaryen
Ser Criston Cole
Drabbles Masterlist
•Chains Of Lies (CristonXRhaenyra Daughter)
•The Queens Disgrace (Criston&Aegon Threesome)
•A Final Comfort (CristonXWarcamp Nurse)
•Oaths Undone (CristonXSepta Novice)
•Penitence (Part 2 of Oaths Undone)
•Three Is A Crowd (Harwin Strong X F reader X Criston Cole) (part 2 of wood want and witness)
Keep the Faith (Ormund Hightower X F!Wife!Reader)
Kinktober:
•Haunting My Flesh (AemondXAegonXDaemonXJaceXRhaenyra's Daughter)
•Between Dreams And Daybreak (Modern Boyfriend Criston X F Reader)
•Wood, Want, and Witness (Harwin Strong X F reader public sex)
Hi! I'd absolutely love to see Maekar with the losing virginity and corruption kinks (Drabble Prompts). I imagine him thinking all he has to do is get married in a quick ceremony, consummate the marriage to secure the alliance, and then immediately return to the war. But when he realizes his new wife is completely clueless about sex, he finds himself having no choice but to explain and teach her everything.
Leave on the morrow
Maekar Targaryen X F!Wife!Reader
WC: 2.3k (even I can’t pretend this is a drabble but in won’t be apologizing lol)
Tags: PnV, mentions of war, blood, Oral F receiving, Maekar jerking it, creampie (obvi), painfully naive reader, pervert/needy Maekar.
A/N: tripling down on the loss of virginity Drabble request this week because why not stay on theme. AND your vision for this was chefs kiss!!!
You couldn’t stop staring at the armor that was set neatly in the corner of his room. Waiting. Prepared. To be worn come morning. With how regimented the wedding and its “festivities” had been you thought that maybe it would have made sense for Prince Maekar to wear his armor as opposed to doublets and cloaks.
It was clear that today, this marriage, was just another step, another battle to be managed and gotten through in his effort to win the war.
“You’ve readied?” His voice shook you from your thoughts and you turned to face him, him and his entirely undressed body. He’d not bothered with a robe as you had. He did not see the point. You two were simply to consummate the marriage, to make this all official so he could return to battle the next day.
“Oh gods!” your hands flew up to cover your eyes. The flush in your face spreading beyond what your hands covered even stretching to the small glimpse of your chest that the anvil could see.
“What is the matter?” Maekar glanced over his shoulders thinking there was surely something other than himself that was drawing such a startled and flustered reaction for you.
But there was nobody else in the room. Just Him, you and the lingering knowledge that both of you were here sharing this moment to better your families position in this world.
“Your…I just.” You eyes adverted as you pulled your hands away. “You are already bare, I was not anticipating that.” You explained after fumbling over your words a few times.
“it is challenging to fuck a women with one’s breeches on, thought many men more eager than I have surly tried.” He grumbled the last part. Perhaps war had hardened him, made him less connected to normal propriety.
“I know how one lays with their wife my prince, I’m not daft.” Muttering that had him raising a brow at you. You proclaim to knew of things yet were turning as red as wine just moments ago due to simply his physique.
Maekar stepped closer, eyeing how you held to the knot that kept your robe closed. “Do you, Wife?” His brow raised and his hand, scars scattered about it with bruises on every knuckle, reached out to toy with one of the ties that kept you concealed.
“Y-yes.” You did not even find the response convincing.
“tell me what occurs. What a wife’s duty is.” He urged, fingers pulling on the soft fabric and he knew the knot was giving away under your hand.
“You will lay with me and I shall bleed on the sheets and then, if the gods find me deserving they will let my stomach grow round and I will provide you a son.”
It wasn’t incorrect, but it was likely just a septas talking point that you were regurgitating.
“the gods have nothing to do with the making of children.” Maekar told you plainly. “Or if they do they find quite a few whores deeply deserving of babes from perverse lords.”
Your nose wrinkled and lips folded into a look of confusion and slight irritation. This had not been what you thought it would be.
“I can show you.” He offered, “we must lay together regardless, but I can explain to you that matter if you wish to have any sense of things at all.” A girl of your age, in your position ought to know the truth of things he thought. He did not want a sweet fool for a wife.
“very well…go on then.” You swallowed out arms crossing over your chest.
“take that off and sit in the bed. Back against the pillows.” He instructed. His hand was already at his cock. Fisting the pink flesh in his large grip as you shly got undressed. You slipped under the quilt, barely giving him a moment to see a glimpse of your bare bum. He had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He should appreciate the innocence but he had been expecting all this to go quite quicker. He did not think he was going to need to play mentor today.
“Can we kiss again?” You flushed as if you had just asked him to lap at your cunt.
“kiss?”
Maekar walked slowly over to the bed and stood beside it watching your eyes trying and figure out what to look at because his hand was still gripped around his cock, his foreskin pulling back little by little as he grew to his full mass.
“kiss what?” His brow raised and your mouth fell open, appalled by that you thought he was suggesting. It was sweet; your open lips. Plump and wet and he knew your tongue would be warm. He knew you’d made nervous little noises if he filled your cheeks with his cock or maybe he’d urge you to kiss his bright tip, let the pearl of seed spread against your mouth as you pecked at him.
“Forget what I said…” you curled the blanket up more, hiding your shoulders as well now when you grew self conscious about all this. It felt like he was entertained by your naivety. You did not want to be a joke to him. You were his wife.
”no, no…stop that.” He groaned and sat on the bed. He sat near your knees, one hand rubbing the side of your thigh through the quilt and his hand that had been on his manhood came to rub your cheek. You could smell him. Ash and salt. “Don’t whine during your lesson.” His thumb pressed against your lip and you relaxed some letting time lips be molded by his thumb. He parted them slightly for you and then held your chin as he leaned in. Pressing his thin lips to yours and kiss you properly. It wasn’t the chaste peck he’d received infront of the court earlier, this was warmer, longer and slower and he devoured you. To your credit you stayed soft and pliant and it made things more coordinated than he had anticipated.
“thank you.” You whispered as he pulled away finally. Your voice a bit dry from going breathless and when you smiled Maekar swallowed. You look beautiful with your lips reddened by his own and your nose pink from nesting beside his. He enjoyed seeing how he changed you.
“a wife does not thank her husband for a kiss.” He started to pull the blankets down and you almost tensed but he kissed your mouth again to soothe that worry.
“w-what does a wife thank her lord husband for?” You asked as his rough hand fondled your side. Just touching over the flare of your ribs felt erotic, he hadn’t even gotten to your sweet breasts.
“you wish to know?”
“yes!” It came out so eager that maekar rewarded you with a soft kiss to the underside of your jaw and he felt you melt some, your back ease into the pillow and your hand reach to hold to his side for support.
You were tugged down by his hands finding a hole in the dip of your hips and your started giggle was replaced with a gasp when the broad shoulder man settled between your legs, hiking your feet up over his shoulders. His presence made flowing your legs a impossible tasks so you were completely bare and utter at his disposal.
“Maekar-“ you began to reason but he was hearing none of it. You were his wife, this is what a husband could do. If he wanted to feast on your cunt he would. The scent of you was driving him mad and ever since your hand touched his side he has wanted it in his hair, he wanted to feel that desperate pushing and the nervous pull when the feeling got to powerful. He wanted to show you what pleasure was, what he was capable of eliciting within you!
You looked down as he kissed over your midsection and his hand that had been on your jaw followed his descent. Your heart was beating so hard that when his hand pressed over your chest your breast pushed up into the hallow of his palm and he gladly squeezed in response.
You liked the weight of his arm against you, the heat of his shoulders on your inner thighs and his breath in the spot between your legs was making you feel very…very strange.
“You’ve been wet here before?” He looked up seeing you were about to crawl in on yourself out of pure embarrassment. “It’s good.” He grunted. “Do you touch yourself here?” Your ears went red and you shook your head fast.
“gods no.”
Maekar looked from your to your untouched cunt and he swallowed, voice rough and heavy when he finally responded while dipping lower to put his mouth of your heat.
“poor, sweet thing.”
You whimpered right away, because his nose tickled the bump at the top of your slit and you may not understand exactly what pleasure was hidden with that bud but Maekar did and you body was fast to response. Hands instantly grabbing his head because you needed grounding and he was very very grounding.
“oh.OH…” a moan, your first proper moan and Maekar savored it as he lapped at your cunt. Tongue tasting your core and lips greedily trying to suck at your pearl at the same time. You taste addicting.
“M-Maekar! Oh gods…stop…don’t do that!” You suddenly twisted your feet drawing up his back and you pushed at his head. You had almost climaxed and that sensation was foreign and frightening.
“fuck-“ he hissed face shoved back by your knee and he needed to take in a few breaths to steady himself. You were delicate…this was new. He reminded himself that the thought of exposing all this to you had gotten him hard earlier, he was turned on by it. By your innocence. This reaction was apart of that, a product of it.
You started to pull the covers back over you, flustered by your strong reaction and now feeling guilty because He had seemed frustrated when he got shoved back.
“my lady,” he grabbed the quilt and stopped it at your waist crawling back over you and kissing your shoulder. “It’s okay, did that hurt you?” He asked mouth kissing the corner of your frown and he nodded when you shook your head no. His hand slipped under the blanket and pressed low against your stomach. Right where you had felt that startling ache. “Put your faith in me…I’d not lead you astray.” He kissed your lips tenderly. “A husband leads their wife, you must trust in what I tell you.” He managed to slip the blankets down against and got your thighs open. “What you felt before was good…give in to that sensation this time?” He held your cheek until your nodded and then gave you as tender of a grin as he could offer. “Good,” hips positioned between your soft thighs and cock laid heavy over your mound. “What are you going to do?”
“put my faith i-in you.” Your voice hitched because he had fed his cockhead into your core. Blood rushing from his head to his cock and he groaned as he nodded.
“That’s right…good, such a good wife for me.” He breathed hands caging you in as he gave you another inch and then the next one made your lips quiver and he felt a sudden warmth. “Fucking hells.” You were his now. Body pierced open for him.
It took some time for him to work fully into you but by the time the hair at the base of his cock mixed into the curls on your mound you were breathing heavy and unrestrained, the sting from losing your maidenhead long gone and it was replaced by a sensation that made your toes curl.
Maekar hadn’t felt this much comfort since before the war. Men in the camps bought whores and fucked woman in the villages but he had been to focused on winning for that. His own wants came second to the thrones and so this was the first release of that tension that he was getting in some time. I’m too long he was realizing because he could already feel the hairs on the back of his neck rising up as his release began to build.
He grunts a few times when he senses the tightening of your abdomen and then he realizes belatedly that you are going fully tense under him.
“No…you can’t hold your breathe. Relax this,” he pinched your stomach and that made you exhale with a shutter while you weakly nodded up at him. “See…don’t fight that feeling in your belly my love.” You nodded again your neck getting tense as the feeling got stronger inside of you. “Just like that…see that feels go doesn’t it wife? Are yin going to be good and coat my cock?” You tremble under him and grip at his shoulder hand slipping a hit because you were getting clammy as the orgasm brushed at the thread of restrain still in you.
“let go wife.” He demanded in your ear and you did just that. Body curling up around him and your hips stuttered as you let out a loud gasp with his name muttered out at the end on repeat. You sunk deep into the bed as he pounded into you a few times, tougher now while he knew the climax had you buzzing and distracted. His seed filling you a moment later. Mixing the mess of blood in your cunt with his semen.
“now,” he kissed you pleased with both of your efforts “now, we wait and see if the gods bless us.” He rubbed your cheek when you smiled hazily up at him.
A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms: Prince Maekar Targaryen x Tyrell!reader
Rating: Mature (MDNI)
WC: 2.2k
AKOTSK Masterlist
Can be read as a standalone, but also partners with these: one, two.
Tags/Warnings: Oral, blow jobs, age gap (Maekar is in his early forties and reader is about twenty two) cum eating, implied spanking, overstimulation, semi public sex, a bit of exhibitionism, rough sex, marking/biting, hunting/mentions of dead animals, possessive!Maekar, Maekar loves his wife, motherhood, soft times, no use of y/n, no physical description of reader given, no beta we die like Robb Stark :(
A/n: For a request sent in by an anon, who asked for Maekar with Tyrell!wife where he finds out she's gossiping with ladies about their bedroom activities. Comments, reblogs, and likes are appreciated!
Summary: You let slip a scandalous detail one afternoon to the ladies of court and gossip spreads like wildfire. Maekar devises a plan to truly give the court something to talk about during a hunt.
In the short span of two years, you had given birth to two healthy children, not long after your marriage to Maekar. While you had been concerned that you had not fallen with child soon after the wedding, those fears were soon quelled when two babes followed in quick succession. He was now the proud father of eight, and the court bristled with the excitement of a new prince and princess. Motherhood was a discovery, and you wondered how those younger than you handled it. At least you had an array of wet nurses and handmaidens at your disposal.
"My, the Gods have certainly blessed you and Prince Maekar," Lady Tarly cooed, fawning over little Elaena with her wide violet eyes and silver curls. She was a little delight, sweet-natured and fairly quiet, much like her slightly older brother, Vaekar, who favored you when it came to his features. Part of you was secretly happy to have a little one who looked just like you in the sea of Valyrian features which most of Maekar's children seemed to possess.
Lady Jena held Prince Vaekar in her lap; it was his second nameday, and the reason you and Maekar were at court. A celebration hunt was being held for Vaekar's nameday, though Maekar would use any excuse for a hunting excursion.
"He must keep you very busy, and chained to the bed," your cousin, Mina Redwyne, teased, giving you a playful wink that turned your cheeks hot.
"Now, now," Lady Jena scolded gently, wishing to spare you from providing details. The noble ladies at court could be fierce little vultures when it came to gathering gossip. Vaekar played with the enormous amethyst dangling from her silver chain.
"Well, I suppose the proof is clear as day," you replied demurely before biting into a cherry tart
Lady Aelinor held Elaena now, nuzzling the girl, nearly six moons old.
"Hmm, if his appetites are anything like Rhaegel's," Lady Alys said with a devious smirk before popping a grape into her mouth.
"He is…rather voracious," you admitted, letting the tasty tidbit fall from your mouth and watching them all eagerly gather up the treasured crumb. All eyes fixed on you.
"Now, my dear, you must give us more," Lady Ravella Swann demanded, and Jena gently swatted her arm. Ravella, Elinda Hightower, and Jessamyn Redfort had an edacious craving when it came to gossip, even more so than your dear cousin. Mina might have been the only one more delighted than you when it came to your marriage to Prince Maekar, as now she was kept informed of all the comings and goings of the court. Information she thrived on.
You twisted the ruby ring around your index finger, a gift from Maekar shortly after Elaena's birth. "Well…I…dragons have a preference for biting. It is a good thing my gown properly covers me."
A chorus of giggles filled the air as the women took sips of their wine with sly smiles on their faces. It felt nice to be so accepted by them, and you did not think this little offering was so scandalous. Though you did not realize how quickly word would spread around the court about how Prince Maekar loved to bite and mark his little golden rosebud of a wife.
You hid beneath the blankets that evening, pulled up around your nose to hide your heated, reddened cheeks while Maekar paced and scolded you for revealing such intimate details.
"It is one thing for my brothers to hear such…filth, but my father, the king, could certainly be spared knowing such details," he fumed, refilling his wine cup.
"I'm sorry," you squeaked. "I…Lady Alys shares details about her and Rhaegel, and Lady Ravella has many sordid stories; I did not expect it to spread like wildfire."
Maekar sighed, rubbing his creased forehead. "I know. You're merely trying to fit in, and I'm glad they have accepted you so well. Court is better managed with allies in your corner."
You inched the covers down. "You're not vexed with me?"
"Only a bit." His mouth softened into a smile.
You crawled out of bed, bare feet padding over the marbled floor, and reached up to cup his face and pull him down to kiss. There was an iron resistance at first, stubborn and not willing to give in so easily, but that melted in a smooth silk as his lips melded against yours. His arms circled your waist, but not before giving you a sharp swat to the backside as further reprimand. Though the movement only stirred heat in your lower belly. Your husband had helped you discover many desires hidden deep inside you.
"I didn't mean to upset you, nor to have such details fall into your father's ear," you said softly, yet you couldn't help but smile.
Maekar rolled his violet eyes, mouth twitching into a grin. "'Tis alright. Rhaegel started to remove his clothing while loudly singing a tune, and I believe my father has forgotten all about it."
"You should thank Rhaegel," you giggled.
Maekar scoffed before gently cradling your face in his large hands. "Let us to bed; we depart early for the hunt on the morrow." Before he let you go, he buried his face against the crook of your neck, suckling and biting your skin until it bruised plum and mottled cherry. Familiar colors tinging your skin. A tangled gasp mixed with a mewl toppled from your lips as you braced your palms against his chest.
"Something for the ladies to gossip about tomorrow," he purred into your ear.
"You beast," you teased before pulling him into the bed with you.
You were more than happy to snuggle against him in bed, head nestled against his chest. The wheels in Maekar's head began to turn while he stroked your hair. If the ladies were curious over the private doings in the bedroom, he would be delighted to demonstrate just how well he pleased his wife.
You helped the handmaidens dress Vaekar; his little body draped in crimson and black velvet and silk. The scarlet three-headed dragon stood out vibrantly on the black doublet, and you pushed back tears of pride. Next, you turned your attention to Daella, Rhae, and Elaena, helping the girls with their crimson silk dresses and black furs. Maekar's older sons had departed earlier with other members of the party and the servants to set up camp. Egg wore a similar outfit that matched his younger brother as he bounced Elaena in his lap, making her giggle. Once you were dressed to match the girls, you departed with the children and handmaidens in tow to the courtyard.
Vaekar was seated in the saddle with Maekar, and Egg mounted his horse while you got into the wheelhouse with the girls. You kept company with the ladies and the children while the men rode through the Kingswood.
"I see your good husband laid his mark last night," Alys whispered into your ear.
Your cheeks burned hot; while you had done your best to detract from the bruise, your efforts proved fruitless.
"Those Targaryen men do enjoy using their teeth. I believe Jena wears Baelor's on her hips," Alys assured you, patting your knee.
Now that comment had gotten your attention, making you raise a brow. You would have to seek your good sister's company later and seek her advice. Giggles surrounded you with ladies whispering behind their silk fans and cupped hands. Queen Myriah sat toward the front of the tent, and you only hoped such salacious gossip wouldn't reach her keen ears. Attention was turned when the men returned from the hunt, and Vaekar showed you the rabbit that his falcon had caught.
"Well done, sweet boy," you praised, kissing his cheeks.
"And for me?" Maekar smirked. You kissed his cheeks as well. You learned that he and Baelor had brought down a stag together. It was impressive and would no doubt join the collection at Summerhall once you returned.
The girls gathered around their father, tugging on his ringed hands for his attention, and Elaena reached out from her nursemaid's arms. He showered Daella and Rhae with his affections first before drawing Elaena into his embrace. The celebrations continued well into the hour of the ghost before guests began to retire to their silk tents for rest. The children had been settled earlier, even the nameday boy of honor with lemon icing smeared around his small mouth. You had moderated how much wine you enjoyed that evening, wanting to keep a clear head. That was a lesson you learned early on. One of your first, after Maekar had saved you from the nefarious Peake and Bracken men who wished to take advantage of you.
You held onto your husband's arm, looking around you and noting that Lady Swann, Lady Hightower, and Lady Redfort slipped into nearby tents with their husbands, with yours settled in the middle. "This is a most unusual placement for us, is it not, husband?" you asked Maekar.
A mischievous glint filled his violet eyes as he pulled open the flap to grant you entrance, giving you a playful swat to the backside. "A design of my doing, dear wife. If those gossipmongers wish to wag their tongues, I say we give them a good show. Not even their soft, feathery pillows will be able to drown out your moans."
You could barely respond as he swept you up into your arms, gathering you into a passionate kiss. It was a surprising turn of events, but you were excited. He tore the silks and furs from your body, freeing you from the shift until you were left in just your stockings and jewelry, which sparkled in the candlelight. You loosened his doublet, weaving him out of his clothing before stroking his cock until the tip was as red as his face.
"Mayhaps they would like to hear your moans as well, husband," you whispered as you dropped to your knees and wrapped your lips around his leaking tip.
He groaned, rolling his hips as you worked him deep into your mouth. Your cheeks hollowed out, eyes flicking up to meet his gaze. Those violet eyes burned intensely, hand coming down to wrap around your throat as he moved his hips faster, which drove his cock deeper inside your throat. Growls and grunts poured from his mouth, reminding you of a dragon ready to breathe forth fire. You sputtered as his seed spilled down your throat, and it felt slightly raw in the aftermath.
But that did not stop your moans and screams cutting through the chilled night air as Maekar took you. First, bent over the bed with his pelvis snapping against your plush arse, decorated with red handprints. Next, with his face buried between your thighs, worshipping your cunt and eating his seed that leaked from swollen flesh. You rode him after that, squeezing and milking his cock while your breasts bounced with your fervid motions. The final time left an aching, stinging burn across your shoulders and back as he fucked you on the woven rug with your legs wrapped tightly around his waist. You could barely speak by the end of it all, throat hoarse and sore. Maekar poured you a cup of Arbor Gold to help soothe it and wrapped you up in a red silk robe, sweat glistening off his lithe, muscular frame. Gods, his legs seemed impossibly long.
"No doubt tongues will be wagging tomorrow," he smirked, sitting beside you on the bed and drowning his wine in one gulp.
"You never struck me as the type to care," you mused, voice rasping slightly.
"I don't, but if it helps you hold favor, then I'm glad to play the game. Besides, what man could be upset that his wife is so well pleasured?"
You held his face, kissing him softly. "I dare say some of the ladies might be jealous. I doubt Lady Swann has ever screamed herself hoarse before."
"Now that is a pity; it might relax her pinched face. Bring some color to her cheeks."
You gasped, swatting his chest before dissolving into giggles. "I daresay you might enjoy gossiping more than my cousin."
"Nonsense," he huffed before stretching out next to you in the bed, pulling you to rest against his chest.
In the morning, as food was laid out for the party to break their fast with, the ladies Swann, Hightower, and Redfort could barely meet your eyes while your cousin, Mina, looked like the cat that ate the canary. She hurried over and looped her arm through yours.
"My, cousin, you put on quite the show last night, I've heard," she grinned.
"Merely a wife enjoying the company of her husband," you replied.
"Well done," she hummed before passing you over to Maekar, who pulled you to sit on his knee and pushed a juicy, luscious strawberry between your lips.
You were delighted to sit in his lap and be spoiled, surrounded by whispers and inquisitive glances. But you paid them no mind. In that moment, you were lost in your husband's violet eyes and adoration.
contents (nsfw): Dunk x fem!Reader, Modern AU friends to lovers rom-com with pregnancy. Humour, fluff, blow jobs, teasing, soft cockwarming, sub!Dunk, dirty talk, breeding kink mentioned, mouth-fucking, praise kink, coming in mouth, slight overstimulation, farse, angst (they fight but resolve!), open-ended with a very clear suggestion as to what happens next.
<- previous chapter
MASTERLIST
next chapter -> (31/07)
synopsis: In which Rowan gives birth. (Pregnancy status: 33 weeks, III trimester).
word count: 9,6K
a/n: Banner by me, dividers by @strangergraphics, proofread by @hextoken!
Duncan groans softly.
He swears, you're such a tease sometimes. Cuddle with me, let's watch a film, but your hand keeps performing a harrowing torment at his waistline. His shirt has 'ridden up', though it's actually you who's rucked it to his ribs. Little gentle strokes over cotton first, and then, before Duncan knows it, his belly's exposed, and your fingers twirl the hairs at his navel.
He's trying to keep his eyes fixed on the screen, but they drop, every now and then, to the crown of your head. It's sliding lower, he's noted. It started with resting under the wing of his arm, and now your cheek is below his sternum, mouth breathing hot over his ribs. He's forgotten what's on the telly. Your nails scratch round his belly button, and his whole stomach ripples, shaking strands of hair to fall onto your face.
A small, pleased mm falls from him when your fingers brush just below his waistband. You answer with one of your own, then stretch yourself long across the bed. Your legs straighten. Your free arm reaches overhead until the hand lands in his hair.
It's an excellent way to distract him. Duncan must be wired strangely there, for the slightest pull at the roots enters him far lower than it ought to. His eyes fall shut. Heat gathers behind his navel and sinks, slow and heavy, into his groin. You scratch his scalp once, then close your fingers and tug again. His hips give a small, involuntary shift towards you, and only when the side of him meets the warm press of your cheek does he realise how far you have slid. Your face has settled into the crease of his thigh.
He looks down. In the bottom part of his lenses you acquire an odd shape. Your nose corrugates so that its slope dips and makes the tip look smaller. Your eyes set slightly further apart. There's a hand resting over his stomach and that one has an uncannily thin wrist and fingers like warped spider limbs. Below those, he's getting warmer still. It's not so much the feeling, though Duncan's belly's sensitive to any little devotion, as the sight. There's something deeply sensual about having a mouth right next to his cock, no matter if it suggests something or not. He tries to not get outright hard by simply being breathed on. Tries to calm himself, because you've been having a good, low-symptom day and he wouldn't want to impose. How virgin of him. He's had you bent over, on his face, in his hands, and knows every crease of you, and still he ends up with a chubby.
“That is a very low place to cuddle,” he says, thinner than he would like.
"Hm," you purr. "But I like it here."
Duncan puts a hand to the back of your head, meaning only to keep you where he can see you, but your hair threads through his fingers and your cheek turns into his palm. Then, you kiss his groin through the cotton of his sweatpants. His hand closes round your upper arm. "Ah. Right. C'mere, lassie."
He means upwards. He always means upwards. Give him half a kiss below the neck, and he becomes anxious to return the favour, because he is the caretaker. He's had your tongue on his cock more than once, always with some secret fear of becoming selfish or triggering nausea behind it. He tends to stop you, somewhere halfway through it at the latest, and brings you where he can sort you out. There's so much pleasure in it for him that Duncan does not at all consider himself depraved. Lately, it's all been gentler, too. He keeps his mouth tender on you at all times. Keeps his hands wiser between your legs. When he fucks you, it's slow, and he enjoys it tremendously, because instead of seizing him, his orgasms bloom from leniently paced edging and sometimes he feels you coming on him twice while he's still deep in the buzz of his first rapture.
It has not, ever, crossed his mind, that sucking him off might be the end game you seek. You ignore the pull he gives you and put yourself closer to his crotch. Your hand leaves his hair, which Dunk mislikes so much he frowns. It reaches past him, snags a pillow from under his elbow, and tucks it under the side of your belly. You've somehow made yourself heavier so his grip loosens. He brushes a thumb under the sleeve of your T-shirt, and asks, "What're ye doing, girl?"
"Watching a film," you tell him, hooking your fingers under the ribbed band round his lower belly.
He blinks down at you. "Are ye?"
"Mhm," you hum. "Very invested."
He glances at the telly, stupidly. Two people arguing in a kitchen. He has no idea who they are or which of them is winning. Then, he feels a small tug. His hips go up, because this is an instruction and Duncan obeys those, even if the next thing that happens is him getting helplessly exposed. Both layers start going down. His stomach hollows, and to his attempt at sitting up you throw him a cute little glare.
"No moving me," you say.
"But I can—"
"You watch the film."
He sinks back into the pillows doubting he'll be able to tell you anything about the plot or the characters, because his eyes simply won't come off you.
His cock comes free reluctantly. You ease both the underwear and trousers down, then give yourself over to staring, and Duncan suffers it. He rests, half-hard but pulsing, against the crease of his thigh. Even partially sleepy he's still reaching his belly button. Foreskin cradles his polished head and begins to draw back by the slow industry of blood. One clear drop sits at the slit. The hairs covering his balls and groin gather themselves dark on the navel, then disperse again, making a pillow of his stomach. It's a lovely sight, and a rare one for you to admire unabated. Usually by the time you get him in full nude, he's already wanting so badly all of him is flushed and throbbing. Sometimes, you catch glimpses of him when he's changing or stepping with you into the bathtub. He's gorgeous in both forms, and everything that comes between, but soft, Duncan acquires a different kind of beauty. He's guarded and private. Keeps his arm nearby, ready to cover himself if your eyes stay too long. Still heavy, still wide, still large enough to slap loudly against his thigh, but gentle in a way that asks for delicate handling. Lots of him to hurt. Lots of him to love.
Above you, he stirs. "Don't inspect me like that, girl."
You glance up. His ears are red all over. "I've said nothing."
"I can hear ye thinkin'," he says.
"Can you?" you ask, disbelieving him slightly, because it's still odd to think that Dunk would have this sort of dirt in his mind. You know he's capable, based on everything that falls from his mouth when he forgets himself. You doubt, however, that he can tell you want him measured against your face. That you want him to slap you with it. To have him come all over from your forehead to chin, then spread it with his palm and kiss you. "Is there a point in me showing you then?" you say, pressing your lips to his tender side, still benign.
"Ah, fuck—" Duncan breathes. His palm closes over your nape. "You don't have to, girl. You don't have to—"
"Dunk," you say, brushing skin. You give him your heaviest-lidded leer and a girlish little pout. "What if I really, really want to?" Then, you allow your thinking flesh to take over and pat yourself on the cheek with his tip.
His face does a slow, wonderful thing. Such boyish bewilderment. He fights himself there. You can see all the but let me and c'mere and I want to sort ye out first appearing and passing, until all that's left is please. God, yes, please. Take me, please. Break me, pretty, pretty please and thank you.
"A-aye," Duncan says. "All right, just—just mind yourself, yeah?" He brushes hair off your cheek and bands it in his fist.
You nod. Adjust your belly over the pillow and bring your face closer to his lower stomach. It makes a warm bolster under your cheek. Then, you wrap your fingers round the thickening base and guide his hidden crown into your mouth.
"Ah, shite—" he hisses. His head knocks the headboard; thighs quake.
There, he's pliable still. Supple enough that you can press him to your palate, squeeze a little. You lick over him flatly, then tense your tongue into a tip and let yourself brush under the foreskin to taste whatever he's weeping out for you. Your fingers play at his balls—roll them, compress, then let the whole weight rest in the hollow of your hand. Higher, you start sucking him into hardness.
"Oh, sweet girl," Duncan breathes. It makes your cunt tighten some, because your favourite version of him begins to surface: rendered loud by incapacity to keep himself together. Unmanned, even before the main pleasure arrives. He massages the tendon of your neck with his thumb. Murmurs, "Christ alive, ye feel s'good. Ah God, right there. Right there, oh—"
You release him with a wet smack. Gather the spit from the top and guide it down in slow strokes, pulling on skin to reveal him bit by bit. When you look up, his glasses have slipped a little. There's damp above his upper lip, and his mouth hangs open.
"Do you like it?" you ask.
Duncan nods.
“Talk to me,” you say.
His eyes jump to yours. “About what?”
Your wrist moves up until you close his crown in your palm. You twist there. Watch him suck in a sigh and feel his hips lift towards you. "That," you say.
He laughs weakly. Duncan knows the charm of a lover saying exactly what they want. He adores it on you. Every time he hears fuck me harder, or worse, breed me, put a baby in me, he has to squeeze his eyes shut and invoke all sorts of unsexy things in order to last. He knows you like it on him too, so he tries, despite the way getting so exposed has him burning all the way from chest to scalp.
"Fuck," he grits when your thumb presses on the fold under the head. "Ah, fuck, make me hard girl. Put yer mouth back on me, please—"
So you take him back. Since he's asked so nicely. You flatten your tongue and drag it slowly through the tender join beneath the crown. The right there. His belly jerks so sharply that the hairs on it brush your forehead. And then you just… keep him. Suck on him and warm him up until you can feel the flesh getting hotter and roping with blood that swells his veins. He's breathing audibly through his nose. Below, you cradle his thick root in your hand. Massage it, and scrape your nails through the fuzz. Right where he grows out from his groin you press your fingers down and rub them in circles, making his balls come up tightening in response.
Slowly, he begins to fill your cheeks. It feels safe to be there. Special too, because despite Duncan always nodding to your you are allowed to want things, he's still learning. It's almost as if he's used to taking second-hand pleasure from whatever service he's providing. So, you don't tell him this is for you as well. That there is a whim underneath it to check if you are able to wring your man clean without opening your legs.
His thigh firms beneath your cheek. “Slow,” he breathes. “Aye, like that. Christ, look at ye.” A thumb passes over your temple.
Your eyes take him in. Belly bare and quivering. One knee knocked wide to give you room, foot planted as if he needs to brace against the bed. His face has gone helplessly honest. Every stroke of your hand travels visibly through him. “Do ye like it?” he asks.
You let him slide from your mouth, wet and darkened. “Very much.” Then, you kiss the vein on his underside. One small peck. Another, bolder, until your lips part and tongue comes out to make out with his cock. He moans, loud, and squeezes your neck. "Too much?" you ask.
“N-no." He shakes his head. "That’s lovely. Do it again.”
"Mm," you hum, guiding your nose lower. It lands in the webbing of his sack and hauls air greedily. There's a whine, so pretty-sounding you have to rub your thighs together. You lick him all the hard way between the two seams: balls to slit. There, you stop and tell him, "You keep talking."
"Jesus," he whispers. "What're ye doing to me, girl? Put your tongue on me again."
His fingers thread through your hair. His fist closes. There's a small tug you feel at your roots. It makes you moan against him, and Duncan throws his head back.
Yes, this, you think. Show me, tell me. Bear your throat to me. He's not the one to manhandle you, despite having all the necessary equipment. Even when he hauls you, lifts you, holds you, it's all done so considerately sometimes you want to outright tell him that bodies don't break so easily. That it is sometimes nice to nurse a bruise a lover has left you. The hand in your hair is a first. There's an itch within it, a small wicked urge to guide you down. Maybe choke you on him, a little. You pretend he's pushed harder than he did, and swallow as much of him as you can.
“Oh, fuck me,” he whispers. "Oh, my good girl. My best girl, oh fuck—" His pelvis rolls into your mouth. You look up again, waiting. "Yer so—" he manages. "So soft. And warm. I like it when—ah—when ye use your tongue like that. Round the head. Aye, just—" His eyes go shut when your tongue circles his crown. Fingers twitch. "There," he pants. "Oh God, there. God, ye know."
Oh, you do know. You know exactly where his skin pulls tight, where the vein underneath makes him shudder, how far you can take him without your jaw beginning to ache. You know the sound he makes when you play with him like that. You know he will hold his breath until you touch his thigh and remind him to let it out, and still, hearing all that you know already makes it so much sexier. Makes him, in some profound way, even more yours than he was to begin with, and for a moment you forget there is a pregnant belly between you. It's just you, pleasuring your darling in the evening of some nameless day, because you both forsake calendars on the weekends.
Duncan's getting lost in it. It's difficult for him to remain this useless, and near impossible to comprehend that someone would pay his cock so much attention. It makes him want terrible things. He yearns to see your hand jerk him off until he's all sloppy with his own body's drool, preferably while you bite on his lip and have your palm round his neck. When he closes his eyes, an entirely scummy image forces itself into his mind: his cock, sliding in and out of your mouth. Just a little. Shallow, but enough to see your cheeks filling and hollowing. He rubs his fingers on your scalp. “Can ye look at me?” he asks.
You lift your eyes.
His brows draw up. “Oh, girl.”
He's meaning to ask you. His thumb strays to the corner of your lip, right where it shines with spit. He wipes it and spreads it towards your temple. With that tiny pressure your jaw slacks. Tongue lolls out. You lower yourself onto his belly and keep looking up. He gives one, shy roll of his hips. Your mouth pulls in a soft smile. "Is that all right?" he asks.
There's a nod. A hum, too. Your hand stays banded round his base, so when he moves, he's sliding through both things at once. He keeps staring at you, searching for anything that would tell him no, and finds yes everywhere. "Sweet girl," he murmurs. "You've such wicked mouth. That's so fucking lovely." All of it whispered, though there is no one to overhear him.
"Ye always make me feel so good," he says. Cradles the back of your head again. "And yer so pretty. Keep lookin' at me." A swallow.
There is one more thing Duncan wants, but it will give him away horrendously. He starts touching you. Rubbing your back. Brushing through your hair, like he's trying to coax it out of you by begging with his body. You only hum some more and stroke between his root and balls. It's all very maddening. Finally, he brings himself to mumble, "Will ye—would ye roll your eyes for me? Like ye do when you're cross, or when… when you come—oh, please—"
He watches it happen like it's a car crash he's about to be in. Your eyes widen first. Then, recognition settles in them, horrifying and gorgeous, and then oh—your lids flutter and irises travel from one side to the other, and Duncan gasps out your name. "Fuck," he grits. "It's my favourite sight in the whole world. God, I'm close. I'm so close—"
He keeps fucking himself through your fist to your mouth, and reaches the breaking point. His back leaves the pillows. "Fuck, keep going," he breathes, bowing over you. "That’s it. That’s my girl.”
There's a familiar marrow-wring, just this time Duncan is mildly guilty for arriving at it. Stomach ceases to feel like it belongs to him and for a split second he is weightless and stuck in a moment right before the warmth spilling. It's so good already he keeps gasping and moaning, until he ceases to move altogether and just watches the pulsing tip of himself, entirely sure the sight of him filling your mouth is going to destroy him.
Cock stiffens against your tongue. You feel the pull in his sack against your hand, and then the first spurt lands hot and salty; another follows. He groans through various things: your name, countless instances of shredded yes, sweet endearments, all that while you swallow, stroke, and his length throb between your fingers. His belly quakes, and the wave of it moves the whole of his torso. Below the shirt, his chest shudders too. You fix your eyes there and see his heart beating frantically below the breastbone.
Some of the spent slips out of your mouth onto his skin. It milks over the hairs covering his body. You're so enamoured by each of sights that you notice his hands on your shoulders only when he whimpers.
"Too much," he says. "Too much, girl, oh God—"
So you release him. He smacks against his stomach heavily. The shine of him spills around and you can't help yourself—you lick the softened head once and he jerks so violently the bed complains.
“Mercy,” Duncan wheezes. "Sweetheart, please—"
Whether the mercy comes or not, Duncan is certain he could take it. He will never again refuse you if you so much as breathe next to his cock. He knows exactly what he's getting out of going down on you. It's a thing that makes him feel most man of all, to have you clawing at his scalp and suffocating him with your thighs. To hear his name wrapped into moans is his favourite way of being called. That is his purpose in it. Now, he's dazed and confused and beyond blissed, and he's staring at you, staring at his softening cock.
"You're so fucking pretty," you tell him, all serious. "You have the prettiest cock I've seen."
It's so absurd, he giggles. Then laughs out loud, until you frown. Both of his hands get under your arms, and this time you let him lift you. He brings you up with great care and no grace, deposits you across his chest, then catches your jaw and kisses you. The inside of your mouth tastes of him. It's hot. The whole scene excites him so much, Duncan near loses his wits.
"I—" he starts. Hesitates. Dips a thumb in a bit of cum drying on your cheek. "Ye make me so bloody happy, lassie."
You sniff. Smile, then study him with a long glance coming from under heavy lids.
He's looking unbearably dear. Sweaty and pink all over his cheeks. His freckles stand out against the canvas of skin with blood flowing underneath it. You could bust him right there. Tell him you've just learned an extra soft spot on body that's already full of softness. But you decide to keep that one and instead make a mental note to roll your eyes at him in some near future.
Your finger taps his lips. "You know how pretty you are, right? And handsome too."
"Lass." It is at all possible for Duncan to go a deeper shade of pink, it seems. "Don't ye tease me now. I'm already finished."
"'m not," you say. Again, serious. You shift so that your belly fits next to his side. Your hands come to take his glasses off and cradle his face. "I find you incredibly attractive."
It comes out stupidly official, but somehow feels very important to get across. Your thumbs press below his eyes, where the skin is warm and damp. He keeps looking at you, though you suspect he hasn't hidden behind a wince yet only because without the glasses he cannot properly see. Maybe that helps. Maybe it can land cleaner if he does not have to read the whole look on your face.
“You are so handsome, Dunk,” you say. “And just… kind, and—”
The words begin to feel unsafe in your mouth. He's gone awfully still under your touch, shy and pained, as if praise is something that has to be suffered first and enjoyed later in private, when nobody can catch him needing it. This is your way of telling him. A smaller road to the same place. Something that might make him more secure without asking him to repeat it back.
These last few days have been better. Sleepy, sluggish, heavy in some obvious aspects, yet better all the same. The contractions are rare, nausea has left you near entirely, and life has settled into something gentler. You have managed to talk to Rowan a lot. She has been merciful enough to curb her own panic for your sake and lean instead toward being giddy about meeting her girl soon. Duncan has gone out with Raymun twice, and each time he came back with a one-pint flush on his cheeks and an overwhelming urge to kiss you, as if him and Ray had sat on bar stools talking about you and Rowan until missing became physical. Since then, both of you have been waiting for the sign from Ray that labour has started.
Besides that, some old grudges have been vanquished. Your complaints about Duncan coming and going have lost their place. Now he simply comes back, every time. He texts home in 10 when he is on the way, and you know it is only a figure of speech, yet it makes you excited all the same that he has started calling your flat home.
So now you try to tell him. Try to convey, somehow, that he means the world to you in flesh and soul, and all the other worlds you are not sure exist, though the science says they might. He has been doing and saying all the right things, except one. It is almost as if he is too stubborn to say it and his body decided to bleed it out through his pores instead. You know he asked for more time. That is all right. Still, the question of what exactly frightens him gnaws at you. If it is you, you reckon you can make yourself as innocuous as possible.
“Your mouth is lovely,” you say, trembling.
You kiss him once. He lets you. Sits there stunned beneath it, lips soft and parted, breath caught somewhere in the middle of him. You clutch his shirt and kiss him again. Then his cheek, then the place below his eye. “And your teeth,” you whisper. “I love your teeth. And your eyes. Especially when you can’t see a bloody thing.”
“Lassie—”
“You look so sweet without the glasses.”
Your breathing starts to go wrong: shuddery, uneven, too full for the size of your ribs. That animates him. His arm comes round your back, hand firming over your shoulder, and then he plucks you off him just enough to look at you.
“Stop, girl,” he says, frightened. “Yer makin’ yourself cry. What are ye cryin’ for?”
You blink at him. Feel the wetness only then, hot at the corners of your eyes and slipping down. Stupid. You want to tell him properly. Want it so badly your whole body feels too crowded with it, yet the fear of his face changing makes the words retreat. You do not want to corner him or make him feel he has to answer. “Because I need you to know,” you say instead. Your fingers stay twisted in his shirt. “Do you know how dear you are?”
Duncan blinks. His eyes are hazy without the lenses, looking into yours, then away, then back again as if the room keeps moving. He pulls you into him and tucks his face into your neck.
“I don’t,” he says there, muffled. “Not properly. Feels strange hearin’ it.” His mouth presses warm under your jaw. “But I like ye tellin’ me. Even if I look scared while ye do.”
Your hand comes to the nape of his neck.
That is when his phone buzzes on the nightstand. Once, then again. Three more pings come close behind. Duncan keeps holding you while he reaches for it, squinting painfully at the bright screen. “Shite,” he mutters. “I can’t see a thing.” He turns the phone towards your face. “Is it Ray?”
You read the texts with his arm still round you. “Yeah.” Your heart lifts and drops together. “God, it started. They’re at the hospital. He says to come in the morning.”
Duncan goes still for a second. Then he kisses your temple. “Will ye be fit to come? Are ye feelin’ all right?”
You nod and settle against his chest. He puts the phone down blindly and rubs your back, quiet now.
“Dunk?”
“Mm?”
“Will you let me do that more often?”
His hand pauses. “What?”
Your cheeks go hot. “Make you feel good.”
Something changes in the way he breathes. He reaches for his glasses then, gets them on, and looks at you for a long moment. “Sweetheart,” he says, rough and soft together, “how can ye even ask me that?” His thumb comes to your cheek. “I’d beg ye for it if ye didn’t offer." Then, quieter: "Will ye… let me?"
"Yes," you say.
You're not sure if this has settled anything or not. But is assuages enough. Afterwards you let him fuss, despite him being the one with his cock out and cum dried all over it. He showers quickly. Walks around the flat killing all the lights in his very dad-like fashion. Sets the alarms for tomorrow, then comes back to bed and gathers your back to his chest. His hands are wise: one rests on the belly over Aodhán's little kicks, the other covers the crown of your head. He's got his nose wedged into your shoulder and breathes there. The last thing you hear from him is a very sleepy, "You smell so nice, lassie."
Sleep comes easy. Waking not so much. Your bladder practically screams, so the alarm is merely a courtesy that saves you from bursting. You wring yourself out from Duncan's embrace, and by the time you're back he's sitting on the bed and staring at his phone with a hand over his mouth.
"Look," he says. "Fucking Christ, she did it."
You sit beside him and he tilts the screen towards you. There's a picture of Rowan, her red hair looking like some large bird's nest, cheeks and neck flushed, dark circles under her eyes. She's passed out. In her arms there's a baby, also asleep. Long eyelashes and incredibly bushy eyebrows for something so small. Below, caption says: Meet Róisín. Raymun sent it at 4 a.m.
"She looks like Rowan," you say, taking the phone from Duncan's hand to study the picture up close. "She looks exactly like her." It hits you, boulder-heavy, that in approximately four weeks you too will hold a small copy of Duncan and yourself.
Dunk blinks at you. "Ye alright, sweetheart?"
“I’m all right,” you say, and find that it is true enough to count. The feeling is large, yes. Unfriendly in scale. But there is no room for a meltdown when Rowan has just become someone’s mother. “Just strange. Seeing her.”
Duncan watches your face for another second. “Aye.” Then he takes the phone back and looks at the picture again.
It has touched him more than he expected. First, Raymun Fossoway, his best friend in the whole crooked world, has become a father sometime around four in the morning while Duncan was sleeping with his nose against your shoulder. That alone is enough to make the day feel split open. Raymun, who forgets where he puts his wallet twice a week and once tried to dry trainers in an oven, now has a daughter with furious eyebrows and a name. Second, there is the smaller matter of Duncan being next in line.
Soon. Soon enough that the word has begun to lose its general shape and sit on his chest.
You get up to pee again, then wash your face, then start talking from the bathroom about whether Rowan would want food brought in, or if flowers are stupid, or if flowers are allowed, and Duncan sits there a moment longer with the phone cooling in his palm. Last night returns by quieter routes. Your thumbs under his eyes. Your voice saying dear as if the word had been chosen with care. He heard it. He hears it still. He only wishes his body had not been so full of everything else that he sat there useless and never managed to say, You are dear to me too.
The words look simple now. Criminally simple.
“Dunk?” you call.
“Aye.” He rubs a hand over his face and moves. “I’m comin’.”
He dresses in the clothes nearest the chair, then changes the jumper because it has a stain on the cuff, then changes it back because the clean one has a neckline he hates. You pass the bedroom door with your hair half-pinned and one shoe on, and he feels the old fondness strike him in the side. After that he finds the car keys under yesterday’s newspaper, locks up, and follows you out.
In the car he hums under his breath. It takes him three streets to notice he is doing it. You notice sooner and look out the window with your mouth trying not to smile. He stops at a small shop near the hospital and comes back with flowers that are yellow and a little daft-looking.
“No lilies,” he says, getting back behind the wheel. “Thought they’d smell too much.”
You look at the bouquet. “That’s oddly thoughtful.”
“Oddly?”
“Deeply. Terribly. Very thoughtful.”
He gives you a glance and pulls back into traffic.
In the hospital there are white walls, blue signs and floor polish. It's too warm near the lifts and too cold in the corridors. Duncan takes your hand in the car park and keeps it. Across the road. Through the sliding doors. Past reception, where you both speak more quietly for no reason except that everyone else does. In the lift your fingers tighten round his when another family squeezes in with balloons and a foil packet of something that says IT’S A BOY. He rubs his thumb once over your knuckles.
By the maternity ward your palm has gone warm in his. Raymun appears before either of you finds the room number, looking as if somebody has shaken him violently and filled him with light.
“You came,” he says, then laughs at himself. His hair is flattened on one side. His shirt is buttoned wrong. There is a tiny white cloth over one shoulder like a military rank.
Duncan lets go of your hand to hug him.
It happens for a reason. There is a hug, then the flowers to pass over, then Raymun’s nervous pointing towards sanitiser, then the door handle under Duncan’s palm. Still, when he looks back, your hand is empty at your side. The fingers close slowly round the strap of your bag. Your face remains pleasant.
“All right?” he asks.
“Mm.”
Raymun, mercifully too dazed to notice weather in other people, opens the door.
Rowan is sitting propped up in bed like she has survived a duel and intends to give inaccurate statements about it later. Her hair has doubled in size since the photograph and now sits round her head in red disorder. Her lips are dry. One shoulder of her hospital gown has slipped. There is a water bottle on the table large enough to hydrate livestock, a half-peeled banana beside it, and the unmistakable square outline of a pad under the blanket. She looks ruined and victorious.
“Oh my God,” you say, and go to her.
“Careful,” Rowan says, already reaching. “I’m barely held together, hun.”
You bend awkwardly around your own belly and hug her anyway. Rowan shuts her eyes when your cheek touches hers.
“You did it,” you whisper.
“Apparently.” Her voice comes out hoarse and pleased with itself. “I kept asking if I could resign. They said no, can you imagine?”
Raymun makes a helpless sound from near the sink. “She told the midwife she was reporting her to management.”
“I was in pain.”
“You told her birth was a pyramid scheme.”
“It is.”
Duncan laughs, and Rowan’s eyes find him over your shoulder.
“Dunk,” she says, softening all through the exhaustion. “Come here, you massive thing.”
He comes carefully, though he has no idea what danger his largeness presents to the furniture, the baby, Rowan, or the air itself. The room has gained a new centre. He feels it before he properly sees it: a small bundled shape in the clear bassinet beside the bed. Róisín sleeps with one fist by her mouth, scowling hard in her dreams. One ear is folded at the top. Her eyebrows are Raymun’s, ridiculous and dark on a face still deciding what face means.
“Look at her,” Raymun says, and his voice breaks on nothing.
Duncan looks. The baby makes a thin squeak, not quite a cry. More hinge than voice. His heart gives such a stupid jump he nearly steps back.
“She does that,” Rowan says. “It’s normal. Everything terrifying is normal, they tell us.”
“She’s beautiful,” Duncan says.
Rowan sniffs. “She looks like a furious old man.”
“She does,” you say, laughing wetly. “She really does.”
“She’s so beautiful,” Duncan says again, stubborn about it.
Raymun’s face changes. He goes to the bassinet and spends far too long arranging his hands before he lifts her. Already he has the strange care of someone trained for this. Supporting the head. Checking the blanket. Moving with slow cautiousness and panic held between the teeth. He brings her to Duncan.
“Want to hold her?”
Duncan’s mouth opens. “I—”
“Ye don’t have to,” Rowan says.
“No, I want.” He clears his throat. “I want to. If that’s all right.”
Raymun places Róisín into him.
She nearly vanishes against Duncan’s chest. His arms make a fortress round a parcel. For a moment he looks horrified by the difference in scale. Then she settles. Her scowl deepens, as if she has found his heartbeat objectionable, and one tiny pink foot shifts under the blanket.
“Oh,” Duncan says. That is all.
You are standing beside Rowan’s bed with one hand over your mouth. Duncan sees you from the corner of his eye and looks down quickly, because something in your expression makes the room tilt. Love, maybe. Fear too. A look from the shore at incoming storm. His son moves in your belly under the dress, or perhaps Duncan only imagines it because he has another child in his arms and the future suddenly has weight and cheeks and tempers.
He looks at Róisín again. He sees naught of the furious old man Rowan speaks of. Only a child, precious and small enough to fit comfortably in his palms alone. To Duncan, she’s beautiful in some profound way. He holds her for a mere minute and already feels how hard it will be to give her back to Raymun. Then a horrific thought strikes him: how little love must there have been in the person who made him, if they looked at him and did not feel even a poor cousin of this. Or else what an ugly specimen of child he must have been. Red, strange, wrong in the face somehow. A thing easy to set down and leave. His eyes begin to sting.
“You look good with one,” Rowan says.
Duncan coughs and pretends he's red because of embarrassment.
Raymun sits on the edge of the chair beside the bed, then immediately stands again to fetch Rowan’s water. Rowan reaches for it too late. He is already there, cap unscrewed, straw angled towards her mouth. She drinks like she's been rescued from the desert.
“See?” she says after swallowing. “This is what they don’t tell you. You get a baby and also a valet.”
“I was always a valet,” Raymun says.
You laugh. Duncan looks at you over Róisín’s head. Your face has gone soft in a way that makes him want to walk across the room and press his mouth to your forehead for being so loving. He stays where he is. The baby’s folded ear is nearly touching his thumb. He would rather cut the hand off than jostle her.
Rowan follows his gaze. Then she follows yours back to him. Her eyes narrow with a new, exhausted brightness. “Christ,” she says, stretching and sighing. “I’m glad you two finally got on with it.”
Raymun freezes with the water bottle in hand.
You blink. “Red.”
“What?” Rowan says, flushed with the righteousness of operating on no sleep and several hormones at full volume. “I am. The circling was exhausting. I can say shite about Ray all day, and I will, but at least he was blunt with it. He saw me and went, right, you, and now look—” She gestures too widely towards Róisín. Raymun lunges for the water before it tips into the blanket.
“Easy,” he says. “Jesus, Red.”
“I’m only saying.” Rowan’s eyes have gone shiny. “People waste so much time pretending they don’t know what they know. It’s stupid. Look at them. They’re lovely.”
Duncan’s throat closes. The baby gives another little creak in his arms. He looks down at her, then at you, then at Rowan. Heat climbs his neck so fast it feels medical. “Ah,” he says, and tries for a laugh. It comes out wrong. “No, we haven’t—”
Raymun shuts his eyes.
Rowan stops smiling.
You do too.
Duncan burns under it. Three women looking at him, one of them fresh from labour and no less lethal for it, another tiny and wrinkled in his arms, and you with your face gone still in the way that means something has landed and will have to be found later.
“I mean—” he tries. Nothing useful follows. Róisín coos once. A wet, birdlike sound. Then her face folds on itself and she begins to cry. Duncan starts breathing heavily. “Oh, I’m—” He looks down in alarm. “I’m sorry.”
Raymun is there in a second. “It’s all right, mate.” His hands come out. “She’s just hungry. Wasn’t you.”
“A-aye,” Duncan stammers, and gives her back.
Raymun passes Róisín to her mother. The baby roots blindly into the blanket. “Ray, sweetie,” Rowan says, eyes still on Róisín. “Will you bring me a Twirl from the machine?”
“Aye. Course.”
“And take Dunk with you, hm?”
Duncan nods too quickly. Truth be told, he is ready to leave the room for a minute or forever. He cannot quite look at you. His gaze drops to your shoes. “Do ye want anything?”
“Just water is fine.”
“Aye.”
Raymun clasps his shoulder on the way out and steers him through the door.
For a moment the room is held together only by Róisín’s hungry little noises and Rowan arranging herself with a wince. Then Rowan looks up at you. Her face crumples at the corners. “I’m so sorry, hun,” she says. “I’ve said some awful things in the last twenty-four hours, but I had no idea. I saw you two and I thought—”
“It’s fine.” You sit on the chair near her bed and let your hand come to Róisín’s head. Her hair is unbelievably soft, damp in places, warm as something kept under a wing. “I think he’s just… overwhelmed.”
“I caused you grief, haven’t I?”
You do not want the room to turn towards you. Rowan is pale under the flush, and her hand keeps twitching near the baby’s back, counting, checking, learning. You take that hand instead and squeeze it.
“It’s all right,” you say. “It is what it is.” Then, quieter, “Now. Be honest with me. How was the labour?”
“It was fine,” Rowan says flatly.
“Do not lie to me.”
She sighs through her nose and looks at the ceiling. “It was horrible. But not as horrible as I thought it would be. All those stupid exercises they told us to do? They make sense. I hate admitting that. The breathing and the positions and the pelvic floor nonsense. It really helped.” Her eyes come back to you. “You’ll do good.”
You go quiet.
Rowan studies your face. “Are you scared?”
“A little.” Your palm settles over your belly. Beneath it, Aodhán shifts slowly. “I got so used to this.”
“The next thing is better,” Rowan says.
You look at her.
“It is,” she insists, hoarse and certain. “I promise you. I’ve never loved Ray more than I do now.”
That makes you smile. Rowan reaches out and touches your cheek with the backs of her fingers.
“He loves you,” she says. “I can see it.”
The door opens. Raymun comes in first with the Twirl and a bottle of water. Duncan follows behind him, looking so frightened that your chest hurts. Then he sees your face. The smile still there. The absence of disaster. He relaxes by one careful inch.
A thing happens then. For the first time, Duncan has a full conversation with you without either of you opening your mouths.
You give him a look that says act normal, calm down.
He blinks. Are ye cross?
Your eyes drop. Inconclusive. Then you look up again, and Duncan understands: later.
He can do later. He can do this much.
You stay another thirty minutes. Rowan eats half the Twirl and complains that nobody warned her newborns made such aggressive faces in their sleep. Raymun says he did warn her, actually, because he had googled it at six in the morning. Rowan tells him to not act so smart. Duncan stands near the foot of the bed with his hands in his pockets until you pat the chair beside you, and then he sits.
Róisín falls asleep in Rowan’s arms, mouth open, brows still drawn as if dreaming of some adult business. Not long after, Rowan’s head tips back into the pillow. Her eyelids lower mid-sentence.
You rise first. “We’ll go.”
Rowan opens one eye. “Come again.”
“Try and stop me.” You kiss her forehead. She catches your wrist for half a second and squeezes.
Raymun walks you both to the corridor. He hugs you hard and careful round the belly, cheek pressed to your hair. “Missed ye,” he says. “Love ye. You’ve got this.”
Your arms tighten round him. “You too. I love you too.”
Then he turns to Duncan. They clasp forearms first, formal for one second, and then Raymun breaks rank and leans into his chest. Duncan grunts under the contact, then pats his back. “Good man,” Duncan says, rough.
Raymun nods against him. “Yeah.”
When you walk down the corridor outside, Duncan’s chest feels awful. In the courtyard he wants to take your hand again. Instead, he twirls the car keys in his fingers and asks, “How are ye?”
“I… don’t know,” you say, hollow. Your steps slow. “Is there anything I should know about?”
He gulps down a thick glob of spit. “As in—?”
You stop completely. Then you look down at your feet. “How do you—Have you, um. Changed your mind?”
Duncan watches your hands. They keep fidgeting with your rings. “Or not,” you say, “and I just don’t know what’s been on it?”
He is taken aback slightly. It is not that Duncan does not know what he wants. He knows exactly. He just did not want it dissected publicly. “Nothing’s changed,” he says. “I’ve had my mind made a long time now.”
“I don’t understand what that means.”
“Lass,” he sighs. “I’m bein’ as plain with you as I can.” It comes out pained, and Dunk regrets it in an instant.
You huff. Nearly stamp your foot on the pavement, though the movement stops halfway and turns into something smaller and sharper. “You’re not.”
Duncan looks at you, surprised.
“You’re not,” you repeat, more annoyed now. “You say things round the actual thing. You do everything round the actual thing. Then someone says it out loud and you look horrified and start stammering about how we haven’t.”
His mouth opens, then closes again.
“You said you needed time. And I understand that, I really do. But I’m a month away from giving birth and would like to at least have an option to prepare for what comes next,” you tell him. “And being earnest doesn’t equal plain or honest.”
Something odd goes through him. Cornered, maybe. Frustrated, surely, though more with himself than with you. If he had only fallen to his knees and said I love ye madly, perhaps the whole thing would have settled itself. Instead he stands there with the keys biting into his palm and his heart making hard work of the obvious. “I ain’t lyin’,” he says, desperate.
You scoff and kick a small stone across the pavement. “You are not telling me the truth either. You’re not telling me much outside of when we sleep together.”
Something in Duncan boils over. “How else do you want it said, girl?” he asks, and hears his own raised voice too late. “I’ve been there all those months. I proposed. For God’s sake, I sleep with ye every other day and bathe ye and I am there all the damned time, and gladly.”
His voice breaks at the edge. Breath runs short. You only stare at him. “I’d be a real piece of shite if there was nothing coming afterwards,” he says.
There is no response. Duncan wishes, badly, that he could hold your hands now. His voice is very thin when he speaks again. “Ye really think that of me? Ye think I’d… I’d touch ye like that? That I’d braid your hair and sleep next to ye if I was preparin’ to go back to bein’ pub mates?”
“Dunk, I—” You hiccup. Your eyes begin to burn. “I don’t know. It happened to me before, so—” Your hands open uselessly between you, then drop back to your sides. “And you proposed right after I got pregnant. With, if I remember correctly, should we, not I would like to.”
His face tightens all over. “Since when does it matter how it’s done?”
You know where the thing is. It is right there for you to reach. A fistful of mud, a buried little pebble that will hurt him terribly if you throw it just right. So you reach. And you throw.
“Since you fucking tell me you love me while you’re still inside me and while your baby is inside me too and then you take it right back!”
Duncan chokes on something invisible. His chest heaves. His mouth moves once, then again, with no sound coming from it. Then his face cracks. “Because it was badly done!” he yells. “It was cowardly done.”
He turns away, rubs hard at the back of his head, then turns back again. “And I thought I’d been sayin’ it plain all the bloody time.” His hand lifts, pointing at you, though the accusation seems to fail halfway through the gesture. “Fucking shite—”
Then, he turns once more. Starts walking back and forth, one hand at his neck, breathing too hard through his nose. When he speaks, it sounds almost addressed to the pavement. “I thought—I thought you’d be with me after that first damned night, for Christ’s sake.”
“H-how?” you whine, patience snapping clean through. “If I don’t even remember what happened?”
Duncan stops. Scoffs, sharp and disbelieving. “You enjoyed it.”
“What?”
“You enjoyed it,” he says. “You enjoyed it so much you got pregnant with me. You came on my face first. Then I carried you to the bed. Then you said to carry on even though I had no rubber on me. And ye fucked me and told me we were goin' to be all right. Then you left and said you remembered naught of it.”
The words keep coming once they start. Too fast and entirely bare. Duncan looks almost sick with them, and unable to stop.
“Because I—” You gasp. “Because I don’t. Most of it, I don’t. You remember it? Dunk, how could you—”
The hurt comes up hot. Fury too. If only he had been brave then. If only you had been brave and asked outright. Months and months of both of you walking round the same buried thing, each with a different map. God, your head is spinning.
“What?” Duncan says, clipped. “Not tell ye? After that text you sent me, how could I not tell ye, is that it?”
“Well, yes?” He shakes his head. You reach for his arm and he slips away, too wound up to be held. “You don’t believe me,” you say. “Duncan, I was drunk—”
“You weren’t that drunk. You weren’t that drunk, lass.” His voice wobbles, then thickens. “You told me you wanted me. For a long time. And then you didn’t want me, and then you come back and we’re having a baby together and ye ask me if I wanna be around as if I would ever—” He wedges a hand beneath his glasses. His next words come wet. “Don’t do this to me.”
You go still.
“Don’t tell me ye were too drunk to be yourself when you said all that to me,” he says. “Don’t tell me I fucked one girl and got a different one pregnant. I’m bein’ plain. I’m bein’ honest, I’m just—” His breath hitches. “I just. I don’t know the right words.”
You stand there, stunned. Heartbroken, and oddly close to understanding. No matter how ridiculous all of this is, you both seem to be saying the same thing, just badly.
“I’m being plain too. I’m being honest too. So why are we here?” you ask. “Why did you never tell me?”
“Ye’ve always had someone,” Duncan mutters.
“Not when I got pregnant.”
“Cause I—I didn’t want to lose this. I want a… a family. Whatever shape it’s goin’ to have.”
Air puffs through your nose, unbidden.
“What? Don’t ye scoff at me, girl.” His eyes flash, hurt and cross. “Think on it a second before you tell me I’m thick. Look at the men yer with and look at me. Look at how ye acted when I finally got you into my bed—”
You step into his space and put both hands on his chest despite the size of him there, the heat coming off him, and the fact that he looks almost frightening with all that fear turned outward.
“Duncan,” you say, trying to find out if bravery still counts when it comes late. “Three years ago I wanted you to kiss me so badly. And then you didn’t, and avoided me like plague, and grew all judgemental on me—”
Your belly seizes. “Ah, shite—” You fold over the pain.
Duncan catches your shoulder immediately. “What’s wrong?” His tone changes entirely.
“It—it hurts,” you say, cringing. “Fuck, I need to sit—”
“Shite, sweetheart. Luv, c’mere.” He guides you to the nearest bench, one hand at your back and the other under your elbow. “C’mere. Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He sits with you. His palm comes to your stomach. “Where does it hurt?”
You close your eyes. “Here, it’s just—just a cramp.” You breathe through your mouth. “It’s just a cramp, but it hurts badly.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault, it’s a contraction,” you tell him. “Fuck—”
“Take my hand.” He grabs your palm and squeezes. You squeeze back, hard. “Breathe with me, aye?” You nod, though your chest has started to shake. “Girl, I said breathe, not cry.” His face bends in distress. “Why are ye cryin’?”
“I’m sorry, but—” You wipe clumsily at your eyes. “I’ve been—I’ve been eating at myself over whether I’m baby-trapping you all this time.”
“What?”
“You’re so fucking obliging you’d stay if I asked you. Don’t look at me like that, you know you would—”
Duncan stares at you as though you have just told him the shite-coloured onesie he bought was green all along and everyone has been lying to him for sport.
“And I do not remember shite because I’m fucking smaller than you and I don’t eat well, okay?” you grit. “Doesn’t mean anything I said wasn’t true. If I said I wanted you, it means I do.”
You keep squeezing his palm. His free hand rubs your back. Eventually the cramp loosens its teeth and goes. You draw a deeper breath, then look him in the eye.
“Duncan, I…” Your voice breaks, then holds. “I love you so damned much. I mean every word I say to you. But I want you to stay because you want to. Not because it’s proper or honourable.”
For a second Duncan hears nothing. His ears ring. His mouth goes dry. Deep inside him, it feels as though someone has put a blanket over his heart.
He is loved. So damned much.
All the anger and inadequacy lose their shape. What comes in their place is tranquility. Clean enough to frighten him less than it ought. Duncan breathes out, and the next breath comes easier. He cups your jaw, thumb resting near the wet corner of your mouth. “I want to,” he says.
You search his eyes. Then you nod. “Good.”
He nods back. His hand moves down to your stomach. “How’s yer belly?” he asks. “Ye want me to take ye home?”
“Please,” you breathe.
He helps you up slowly. “C’mon, sweetheart.”
For a while there is only the sound of walking. Your hand rests on his arm. His keys sit trapped in his fist. Three steps away from the car, you say, “Rowan’s so insane.”
“Aye,” Duncan says, and smiles. “I know.”
He helps you in, gets your seatbelt settled below the belly, then shuts the door. On the drive back, you doze with your cheek against the glass and one hand tucked under the curve of yourself. Duncan keeps the radio low. Every few minutes his eyes flick from the road to you, then back again.
At home, he carries you from the car. When you make a sleepy objection by the door and try to get down, his hold firms.
“Leave it,” he murmurs. “I’ve got ye.”
Somehow he manages the keys with you still in his arms. Gets the door open, kicks it shut behind him, and walks you straight to the bedroom. There, he sets you on the mattress and pulls the blanket over your legs.
“Sleep, my girl,” he says. “Rest some.”
You blink at him, bleary-eyed. A small sound of surrender leaves you, and then you turn into the pillow.
It is early afternoon, though October has already lowered the light. Duncan stands by the bed until your breathing evens. Then he goes quietly through the flat. Dishes first. Cups, plates, a fork with dried egg on it. He puts the washing on, checks the bin, folds the towels from the radiator. Small works. His hands know this part.
When there is nothing left requiring him, he changes into running clothes. At the door he pauses, listening back towards the bedroom. You do not stir.
Duncan takes one long breath, then steps out.
He knows the right words, after all. He has known them all along. His hands have carried them for weeks, passing them from task to task, hiding them in water, buttons, towels, food, the steady place beneath your belly. Now his mouth knows too.
Could I please request a modern!Dunk drabble with the losing virginity prompt? I was imagining the reader still being a virgin, feeling like everyone her age has already had sex, so she decides to finally get it over with by picking a random guy at a bar.I'd love for it to end with a little fluff.
You’ll Work!
Modern Ser Duncan The Tall X F!Virgin!Reader
WC:2.7k
Tags: fingering, car sex, sweet sweet Dunk, some liquid courage, groping, spit, fingers in mouth, Protected PnV.
A/N: I know this was apart of the Drabble request but I enjoyed this idea wayyyy to much to keep it brief lol!
“you’re lovely!” He said, too loudly in your ear. Your gals had gotten paired off with his friends, or teammates already, you couldn’t be exactly sure which they were.
“Thanks.” You response back, cupping your hand against the side of his ear so he could actually hear you. He was bent almost in half to be able to chat you up near the bar. Both of you just watching your friends dance. He seemed a bit awkward with his whole situation but you also knew you weren’t helping him out at all. One of your friends had mentioned you were a bit closed off…somewhat prudish.
Which you found laughable because what you desperately wanted was to just sleep with somebody. To just get it fucking over with by this point. You had waited a while, gotten through highschool without losing it to some shitty boyfriend after a school dance and then had just let it get away from you at uni, you were a full adult, living on your own, promotions in your Career, generally you felt rather fulfilled yet, this one thing still had not been done.
And it ate at you.
The big man took your short response in stride. Clearly he didn't mind pulling some weight in the conversation.
“just visiting or do ya live around er?” He pressed on. You eyed him a bit, looking at how he leaned one elbow against the bar top and his other made a full pint of Guinness seem like a short glass in his grip.
“I’m from here.” You replied and turned so you fully faced the bar. “Three tequila shots please.”
“Jesus-“ dunk blinked. That was alot.
“we can share.” You said while sliding one towards him, keeping the other two infront of you. You picked up a line and quickly downed the first one. He was still just awkwardly looking at the shot. You held your second one up waiting to cheers with him.
“I’m sorry-it’s just, I drove here.” He jabbered out. Lifting the half drank beer up. “I’m the designated driver of sorts.”
“you’ve got a car here?” You looked up at him, neck straining and when he nodded with a wrinkled brow you tossed back the second shot and looked at the third. Taking a steadying breath and then turning back to him.
“you actually think I’m lovely?”
“Yeah-i mean…:yes of course.” He motioned to you a bit as his cheeks flushed.
“let’s go out to your car then?” You phrased it like a question just before taking the third shot and moving the cup from his hand letting your hand remain there for him to hold at. “Yeah! Let’s go.” You smirked up at him taking a sip of his beer to get the nasty straight alcohol taste out of your mouth.
Duncan closed your hand up within his when you didn’t retract it and as soon as you slipped away from the bar and headed into the maze of people to get out the door and onto the street and followed. His hand shifting from holding yours to settling on your back and moving ahead of you a bit. People had to literally make way for him and so you could just slip in the space his broad body created as he muttered apologies while bumping people’s shoulders despite his effort not to.
“I’m parked around the corner.” He said a bit shyly. “Do you need a ride home, feeling sick?” He was worried suddenly, maybe you were unwell and just latched onto him for help? Then again…he had just watched you coherently order three shots.
“which one?” You took up his hand again and tugged him along…he let you pull him along. “I’m grand, just wanted some privacy with you.” He almost chokes at that. Privacy? In his car? Outside the bar?
“Green Subaru…” he blinks out and fishes the key out of his pocket unlocking the door which makes the lights come on. “What do you need privacy for?” He asked while tucking himself into the front seat. He got in first to make sure he could get the car on and get the AC pumping.
You ducked down hands planted on his wide chest and mustered all the courage those shots had given you so you could press your lips to his. Duncan’s hands flew from the wheel to your side and then back to the wheel before he muttered a “Gods” against your warm lips and his hands settled on the side of your thigh and back of your head, brining you into the car and onto his lap.
His long arm reached down to push his seat back further with the lever and the back rest eased into a wider angle as well giving you both some space. You’re the one that shuts the door sealing you both inside.
You kiss for a while. Kissing was safe for you, it was ground you’ve covered before. Dunks hands palming at the upper part of your thigh, fingers occasionally brushing the cheeky lacy underwear you were wearing under your skirt was new. Uncharted. Your lips got a bit uncoordinated and he noticed the nerves.
He pulled back and his big hand rubbed your cheek smiling up at you. Just making sure you were okay, giving you a second to breath. If you diddnt want to kiss anymore then this could stop, he would walk yoh back inside the bar to your friends and everything!
“I’m a virgin.”
You just blurted it out, needing to get that disclosure out of the way. The poor guy under you was blushing bright pink and seemed to be trying to come up with something to say. He wasn’t sure if he should assure you he hadn’t been trying to do anything more than makeout and hold you or if he should ask why you would be telling him that.
“but I want to have sex…preferably right now with you.”
“fuck-“ he was hard, to be fair he’d been feeling a little hard since you were smushed against him in the front seat and he could taste the mildly minty lipgloss you were wearing on his tongue.
“sorry, shite, I’m a idiot sorry.” You sat up right away and shifted off of him and onto the padded center console.
“No Doll!” He grabbed your knees right away and rubbed them. “Hey, you are not an idiot, I just-I was surprised it all!.” Now he felt like an arse. You’d been honest with him about what you were wanting and he hadn’t responded as carefully as he should have.
“I don’t know if I can help you though?” He explained, delicately when you looked back up at him, some hope back in your features.
“I have a condom.”
That was going to be his excuse as well, that was easier to explain than his real hesitation.
“I just don’t want to hurt you….physically.”
“so don’t, I just want to have sex I dont need to have kinky sex.” You plopped back down on his legs and rubbed your hand against his shirt, fingers trailing over his stomach dangerously close to getting near his bulge.
“I don’t have lube in ma car doll.” He laughed while cupping the side of your neck. You really were pretty, and he was just drawn to you for some reason. Maybe because he really liked to be chosen. Even if it was for some arbitrary reason you had still looked at every lad in the pub and opted to ask him.
You smirked as your hand settled over his crotch and gently palmed him. He let you explore as long as you liked, didn't try and get your hand under his trousers because he didn't want to push you into something you weren’t ready for. Eventually Dunks deep breathes and hushes whines started to make you quite wet and so you leaned in and kissed him, his hands all over your body made you even slicker, specifically when his fingers dug into the meat of your backside and you groaned into his mouth. Pulling back when he twitched against your palm.
“we have spit… Right?” That could be lube, all natural, you needed it to work. Luckily dunk was so worked up but this point that you probably could have suggested something even less sensible and he would have complied.
The car meant neither rod you got fully undressed but his fly came open and his pants and briefs got shoved down under his arse. Your panties hung off your ankle caught on your shoe and both do you laughed a bit because each of you was sort of mess. You nervous and unsure about mechanics and dunk was uncoordinated and crammed. The giggle died in your throat when his hand moved so his fingers could slide against your slit. You were already pretty worked up from what he felt and you could sense your body gushing some from the thrill of being touched by somebody else there.
“mmmm.” You exhaled and heaved his shoulders. “Higher.” He smirked, glad you weren’t afraid to tell him what felt right. It made him less nervous about minding your comfort later. He wouldn’t have to guess you’d tell him. He leveled his thumb over your clit and let his ring fingers pressed in and out of your core so you had something to squeeze around.
“I’m close-“ your stomach knotted and you gripped his trap muscle. Thighs squeezing and his free hand steadied you at the waist. “Fuck me!” The figure of speech flys out of your mouth as his finger on your clit tips you over the edge. He’s snickering as you pant against him for a moment.
“fuck you?” You look up at him hazy from the climax and from the shots.
“oh shut up…i was just…i was having a orgasm.” You defend and the big, kind man, you met a hour ago kissed your bitten lips.
“I’m happy to oblige the request.” He teased. “Just need a little bit of…” his fingers, wet from your pussy still press to your lips. You part them and relax your jaw and tongue so he can do what he needs. “This…easy doll.” He nods reassuringly as his fingers press against the back of your throat and your gage hard against them, your fingers gripping his bicep as he pulls them out. Wet with sticky thick spit.
“I know it’s going to hurt, and that’s okay.” You say while he spreads your spit all over his dick. He really was huge…you probably weren’t helping yourself with him being your choice of this loss of virginity mission but now you wanted it to be him. You felt comfortable with him being the one to do this.
“I’m gonna be gentle doll, and you’re not going to have all of me in ya.” His hand was pushing against your back brining you up into position over him. “You sit against this.” His hand gave your ass a rough squeeze. “Not my thighs.” He would make sure the last few inches of him were kept away from you. “Okay?” He asked as your chest pushed against him and you could feel his tip brushing against your silky folds.
“o-okay” you swallowed down the nerves and kissed him, wrapping your arms around him and squeezing as his tip spread you open. You groaned low against his neck where you now hid and Duncan’s restrained moan vibrated against the side of your head.
“fucks sake-“ both of you hissed. You because he was so big and him because you were so snug. Everything felt delicious and like to much!
“your so lovely…really fucking lovely doll.” He grunted out hips moving slightly as he held you still. He had hoped you wouldn’t feel as good as you did because that made being restrained and responsible wayyy more difficult for him. He wanted to rut up into you, push your down and feel your ass squirm against his lap as your body adjusted to him we your poor cervix opened up to accommodate his length.
“fuck…fuck.” You were trembling already, clit dragging against a vein on his shaft and your walls were clenching against his girth. You felt completely filled. “Fuck Duncan-“ you gripped harder to his back, likely leaving nail marks in his skin even with his shirt on. “Fuck that feels good”. You gasp and his hand on you bottom pressed high against your back smushing you against him, he needed to thrust, but he couldn’t when you were sat so low on him. With your body lifted up more he could pump the six inches he had stretched you with in and out of your warm core.
“gods doll you feel so good.” He caught your jaw with his mouth and kissed you there. You smiled at the feeling, it was tender and tickling because of his slight facial hair.
“this feels good.” You kiss him, “this feels really good dunk.” And that’s music to his ears. To hear that he was making a woman feel nice, a virgin no less!
“Can you come again?” His grip tightened because he was finding himself really close to finishing but he knew the moment that happened that the build up for you would stop. He wanted you to get a second orgasm first.
“mhm…mmm y-yeah i wanna.” You pant looking down to see where he met you and you groaned at the sight. He was glistening from your spit, your first release and a bit of blood as well. “Kiss my neck.” You pull him by his hair down to your chest and he might at the skin sucking on different spots, moving quickly enough that you wouldn’t bruise. It was the huffing that he was doing that really tipped the scale for you again. That he was making it very clear how good you made him feel, how tight you were and how lovely and how badly he needed to come.
The moment he felt your pussy flutter around him and your jaw go tight as you groaned he let go and you felt the strange warm sensation. His cum was contained in the condom but it was still something starling and new so you looked down quickly and Duncan’s hand flex. Pulling you back against his chest and keeping you there. He wanted you close still, especially as he still had a few spurts of cum to get out.
“that was lovely.” You whisper arms still around him and you looked up at him with a dopey grin. “Thank you.”
“That was thrilling-you don’t need to thank me for that doll.” He looked down at you, his hair sticking to this sweaty temple and he pecks your lips. “Let me take ya home?” He didn't want you walking around or having to wait in the bar for your friends when you really should get clean and lay down.
“your good to d-drive?” Voice quavering when you moved to rise off of him. You felt sore and raw now and he saw the wince.
“grand, promise.” He reached back to grab a coat out of the back seat as you pulled your panties back on. “Here sit on this.” He urged spreading the jacket on the passenger seat before you slipped over. He turned the cars lights on finally when you were settle into the passenger seat and he reached over your shoulder to pull the seat belt across you and click it into place.
“let’s stop at a drive through and get you something.” He suggested. “I’m fucking starved too.” He just wanted to be with you a little longer, make sure you felt okay and at ease.
You two ended up parking outside a fast food place for at least two hours. His hand rubbing your inner thigh and laughing at every little comment you made while sucking down a soda and sharing some fries with him.
He ended up taking you back to his after that because your eyes were heavy and you were half asleep against his window. The drinks, thrill and physical release all crashing down on you at the same time. He made sure you were in his bed and left a note on the side table that was over your phone next to a water and Duncan bundled in on his little sofa. He’d wake with a serious ache in his back but that was well worth you feeling comfortable!
Dunk Masterlist, Lmk if you want to be added to a dunk taglist
Tags: jealousy, grumpy Maekar, bratty wife, somebody from her past looking a little toooo long, “making up”, F orgasm, Fingering.
WC:2.7k
Summary: When you, Your husband, and all the children travel to your families seat you are out of the Summerhall bubble for the first time since losing your vision and Maekar realized that people take advantage of knowing you can’t see them. Thank you to @ferchu1990’s comment for inspiring this one!
There was a familiarity that hall you grew up in still held. Things had changed, greatly, new paint stained the walls and the shades color had been altered, new painting acquired and hung but you did not see those cosmetic changes. It still smelt the same. The halls still had drafts you recalled and the door to the chambers you had slept in until Maekar arranged for you to be brought to Summerhall for your wedding to him still creaked just as you recalled.
You were deeply changed though, age, demeanor, blindness.
“Come Egg,” Maekar fought his son from your handhold and you released him at once moving deeper into the room, hands slightly splayed out before you incase something had been moved. But your vanity was exactly where it had been when you left it. “You’ll behave for your grandmother.” Daella was already attached to your mother’s side. Savoring the attention and the new dress that your mother had promised the little girl.
Maekar delivered egg to your mother. You did not see the concerned look she gave him, the worry that a mother never shook for her child. This new version of you was still so new for them.
“I can join you mother,” you began to say just at the door creaked. Maekar was already closing it. “I should go, incase they get uneasy. They are strangers to them after all.”
You stilled when his heads hands settled down onto your shoulders. “I have faith your mother can handle a winging child.”
You laughed, dryly. “Are you saying that you imagine I winged?” Fiend offense.
“no…gods no, I speak of your sisters.” You laughed and the action of that eased your tension some.
“thank you.” You whispered turning to face him and tucking your cheek to his collar. You were glad he had orchestrated this moment alone. “It’s just been overwhelming.” You admit. The carriage had made you feel sick, all the movement with not ability to lock your eyes on a landmark in the distance, and then having two toddler to deal with and three other groaning sons. It had been a test for you.
You only got sick once, only needed to call the end to a day of travel earlier than anticipated once. Maekar did not fault you for either of this instances. Truly he hated that it was becoming clear that lengthy travel would be complicated for you. He did not want your world to become small. He did not want you to feel suffocated by him, by Summerhall or by the family you two had built together. That was why he had organized this trip, getting things in order for it to occur before you had even thought of suggesting it.
“You should rest for a bit.” He thought and kissed the top of your head, which had you lifting your chin, distant, unfocused, eyes pointed towards his. “Don’t-“ he saw you about to shake things off and say you were alright to go have tea and show the older boys around and sit with your father for awhile. “I can manage conversation with my good father and your mother only wants to fuss over the children. Now is a good time for you to lay down for a bit.” His hand wraped around your hip and easily moved you back until you were sat on the edge of the bed. He knelt down and undid your boots, putting them at the foot of the bed for you. That was where you always kept your shoes now.
You reached a hand down after crawling under the covers smiling slightly when his rough palm rubbed against yours. “Stay until I fall asleep?” You requested and then settled back against the pillows when the bed dipped from his weight.
“I must admit,” he muttered hand in your hair soothingly pushing the little hairs at your hairline back. “I am looking forward to fucking you in this bed later.”
“Maekar!” You flushed deeply and pulled your hand from his to cover your face a bit. “Gods you are unbelievable…this is my parents home.” You scold.
“Your parents surly must recall what a, was it lively that they used? daughter they raised!” He chuckled to himself at the memory. “You’ve brought with you five children my love, I hardly think they assume we keep separate chambers.”
You rolled over onto time side and pressed your head against his lap. Fingers slipping under the bottom of his jacket and running over his tunic.
“I was strong willed…I hope they did not think me a whore…” your nails dragged against his back. “You know as well as I do that I was very much pure when we married.” You reminded him eyes closing.
“I recall.” He leaned down and his nose brushed against yours. Your lips parted and ran against his stern ones. “Quite the eventful evening, I’ll not ever forget that.”
“the look on your face…” you smirked and his teeth bumped yours. You quickly pursed yours to peck at him. “I can still see you then.” You admitted against his lips. You were glad that those images still lingered so distinctly in your memories.
His headed pivoted and you whimpered when his beard dragged against your sensitive neck. “Maekar-“ your hand squeezed against his back the moment he started to kiss at you there. “You said I needed to rest.” You reminded him and turned your head towards him cutting off his kissing. “And we agreed, no marks.” You whispered to him. Sighing a bit when he sat back up and his thumb rubbed over where he had been slightly sucking.
“Can I go back on my word?”
You laughed and shifted back into the comfortable pillows shaking your head. “You can certinly try…but I’m stubborn, as you know.”
Your husband just nodded looking down at you, laid against the light bedding and the brightly embroidered quilt. “Yes, I do know that.”
You liked feeling the tenderness on your neck when Maekar sucked a mark onto your skin…and you had worn them proudly before losing your sight, but now you worried that people saw you…saw the mark and thought you a woman who was just being tampered with without your knowledge. You did not enjoy people thinking you’d hide them if only you knew. You knew, you did not want to hide them.
Maekar did as you asked, stayed until you were asleep, and then stayed a little longer. Just watching you, soaking in the relaxed expression on your face and calming himself from listening to your soft snoring and then he willed himself to not crawl under the covers and join you because he knew you’d have his neck if your children were all left alone to likely terrorize your poor parents for much longer.
Approximately two hours later he was following Daeron down a hallway he saw him discreetly slip down, but his persuit stopped when he heard you. Your chuckle.
Giggle.
Outright laughing?
Maekar was a man that normally walked with a sure gait but he found himself stopping and starting his feet a few times over before his curiosity got the better of him and he could not help but investigate what was amusing you so much.
“you turned my tongue blue for a week!”
Maekar lingered in the open doorway, watching as you held your chest as you laughed and nodded.
“you were a wonderful patient! It is a shock you are even alive to this day.” You were speaking to one of the younger guards, a man who had come to stay in your fathers hall as a household guard when you were five and ten.
“your little potions were most harmless.”
“tinctures.” You corrected. “I thought myself a maester not a witch.”
“you thought yourself a great many things my lady. Your imagination was boundless.”
Maekar’s fist tightened, the guards words were far too familiar with you for his comfort but it was the way that the man was gazing at you that was really making his blood boil. That his hand was tightening at the hilt of his sword and he was shifting closer to you. That his eyes were taking their time in studying all the ways you’d changed since he last saw you. That you still had a youthfulness but motherhood had alerted you, widened your hips and swelled your chest and the pretty young lady he had often escorted into the nearby city had matured into a proper woman.
“Was yours?” He cut in. You turned slightly towards his voice.
“Maekar,” you held a hand out to call him to your side. “This is Ser torent, he may-“ you were trying to introduce the two but Maekar had put aside his manners as soon as he interupted your nostalgia laced conversation.
“was your imagination boundless, Ser?” He bit out and your hand waited to feel his because you heard his footsteps approaching.
“no, my prince, it was not.” He spoke lowly and seriously, he sounded guilty honestly which made the entire interaction all the more strange from your point of view. Why did he sound caught?
“I’m sure you tried quite hard to not let it run wild…restrain it now too.” He warned and suddenly you felt Maekars strong arm wrap wound your side. It pulled you back a bit and when your arm flew up to reach for something other than your husband to steady you Maekar shifted you fully so both of you were facing away from somebody you considered a old friend.
“let go!” You snapped hands pushing his away from you and when you turned towards him he caught a cutting scowl. “This is my home,” you remind him, jaw tense and voice low. “Do not be rude-“ you began to warn him but maekar cut you off.
“Your honorable guard has peered at your tits three times since I’ve been in the doorway.” He informed you and your hand flew up to cover yourself a bit. Feet shifting with unease and frustration. You didn’t like imagining being gawked at-but you also thought Maekar was being a jealous petulant child and so you did not exactly want to fold into his arms.
“you should be flattered a man envies what you have.” You eventually responded, lips twitching slightly by the end because it was not exactly what tin really wished to say but it was the only thing you could think of at the moment that wouldn’t fully give your husband that satisfaction he looked for.
“It’s not a crime to be viewed, to be desired…” you added and heard feet that were not Maekars shuffle out of the room. He must have had quite the fearsome expression if ser Torent was fleeing the scene of your argument.
“you wish to be gawked at? By a man who is not your husband?” He questioned you and your arms crossed over yourself while your brows raised.
“Perhaps it is just nice to still no I am pretty-“
“you know very well how fucking beautiful you are woman, do not jest with me.”
“do not coddle me!” You stepped back when his boot raised from the floor you knew he was in pursuit of you. “And-“ you took in a breath that got stuck in your lungs as you attempt to fight through the frustration and insecurity that was pushing you to say things you really should not say. “Do not wait for me in bed.” You settled on saying. You’d stay in one of your sisters olds rooms, or sleep with aemon perhaps?
He did not understand, did not get why you got so snippy and angry with him when these moment came up. When he was just trying to look out for you, it was like it bothered you that he cared? That he did not want anything amiss occuring. He hadn’t yet come to the conclusion that you weren’t yet used to needing his judgment on situations. He’d been protective before, pointed looks and well placed possessive touches of your at tourneys or feast but you had always know why is was happening, had been able to manage the situation yourself, his involvement was sweet but hardly needed. You needed it now and that drove you bloody mad! Feeling less competent.
You took it out on him because there wasn’t really anybody else you could so he suffered the groans and tense moods and tonight he suffered sleeping alone in your childhood bed. He was very much awake just thinking about you, thinking about what he could say or do and how to resolve things. He was now ever going to be able to just stand there and way men ogle at you when you had no clue! He couldn’t. When the door opened he blinked through the darkness and for a second thought it was one of the children paddling in. Because their breathing was fast and they scurried to the bed. But when the bed dipped he knew it was you.
The thunder outside, that he had barely been paying attention to had drew you back to him. The storm so erratic over the rolling hills that you could not calm yourself enough to sleep, startled by the clapping thunder.
neither of you said anything for a while, until he cleared his throat.
“you are holding your breath.” He finally said after a few mintues of you laying their silently and jumping a bit each time the thunder boomed.
“it’s startling.”
He grunted in agreement and the mattress shifted, he moved closer to you and that had your body slipping down the divot towards him.
“can we delay our fight?” You whispered into the room, that was dark for both of you given the hour.
“for how long wife?” His arm laid over your side and his head pressed to your back, his nose nudging between your shoulders and it calmed you some.
“ Indefinitely, please.” He chuckled drly moving his jaw to your shoulder and you felt his lips mouth at the side of your neck.
“I can agree to that.” He sucked a bit at the spot where your collar and neck met and you reached an arm back to cup the back of his head keeping him there.
“leave a mark.” He barely heard the request, but when you moved back against him he understood what you wanted. What you needed.
“Whose wife are you?”
“Yours,” you whimpered at he sucked a dark bruise into your neck. “I’m your wife.”
“I am your husband.” He growled. “You are mine to look at. Only mine”
“yours, yes….only yours.” Your head rested back against him, lips parted open as you moaned. “Maekar-“ you whimpered legs squeezing together beneath your night gown and within seconds his hand had fished up the fabric and pulled your leg back so it rested over his leg, giving him perfect access to your cunt. His fingers rubbing softly at first against your pearl and then quickly increasing the intensity.
“you’re beautiful.” He spoke lowly to you while you squirmed and took every attention his fingers gave your cunt. “My gorgeous wife.” He doubled down. “So pretty I want to light every bloody candle in this room to see your face while you cum against my fingers.”
“ugh!” You turn your face into the pillow and bit down on your lip to hush yourself some. “Fucks sake-mm please don’t stop!” You growl and he nods kissing the tender spot on your neck.
“I’m not going to stop pretty girl…I know you need this.” He hummed as your face wrinkled and thighs shook. “Go on, let me feel it.”
You came against his hand with a deep vibrating groan and then instantly flipped over to hide in his chest. Cheek pressed over a scar and hands wrapped around him gripping to his back.
“you are the most beautiful woman in all the seven kingdoms.” He informed you and kissed the top of your head, warm hand rubbing up and down your back to soothe you. “But that does not mean any man can look upon you as a husband does-as I do.” He clarified.
The thunder boomed outside but this time you settled against him, no jump, no fear, no concern about the unknown while his heart beat in your ear and his hands held you tight.
Tags: hurt/comfort, Targcest, reader is depressed and acting out, discontent about arranged marriage, mourning Baelor 😭, brothel setting, girls kissing😚, Daeron being a munch, Reader discovering kissing and self pleasure, Daeron cuming untouched (my personal fav), reader is lowkey mean to him.
WC: 4.5k
Summary: After Ashford, after losing your father and losing your credibility. When every decision is taken out of your hands, Daeron, your soon to be husband offers you one the day before you marry . (Part 1 here not needed but good background)
Nobly, it was determined, by Prince Maekar, that a marriage between you and Daeron was the only way to settle the whispers and prevent any further destruction to your reputation.
You assumed it did far more for his own guilt than anything for you though. He wanted to fix his mess, but nothing would stop him from being a kinslayer now, you knew that-he likely knew that too so he was just set on ensuring his eldests wrongs would be dealt with, that his brothers daughters reputation be preserved!
Except there was nothing amiss between you and Daeron. You had sworn to your uncle that nothing more than sleep occurred and you had dragged Daeron before his father multiply times and made him address the issue. Maekar was more inclined to believe you than his drunken son though so all attempts were unproductive.
When you returned to Kings landing you pleaded with your mother to put a stop to this. That it was madness, that you would never sully yourself-you were just upset, scared, mourning and you needed somebody to ground you. Your cousin Daeron at the time had felt like the only option. Now of course you wished you’d of just found what little comfort there was to be had in your own tear soaked pillow. But the past could not be changed.
Your father was dead, court thought you a whore, and nobody listened.
You’d gone from the perfect daughter, the lovely poised intelligent princess to erratic and acting like a mood little girl. Your mother was overcome with grief-with fear of the uncertain that laid ahead for her, your brothers and you. Baelor was the pillar of your family and now he was gone. It was hard not to feel like everything left would just crumble.
You already felt as if you stood in rubble. Everything felt like chaos. Each fitting with the seamstress, every check in with your grandmother the Queen, every day when the maester felt at your stomach waiting for a hardness that would never develop. Nothing was within your control you were just moved about.
It was maddening. You’d gone from upset, to angry to desperate and now you were just….completely withdrawn.
There was hardly even grief for your father still, selfishly you had begun to grieve yourself, your life, the future you’d imagined. Daeron Targaryen was not cruel, not ugly or dull or really anything glaringly horrible…he was just not who you planned to marry, who you would have chosen and father had promised you a choice in the matter.
You had no choice, so you stood before the looking glass and stayed still as they took in the gown, you let your grandmother decide on the food that would be served, and in the septons study you remained by the window looking out. Silent as he muttered on about what would be expected of you. Both of you during the ceremony.
Daeron did not know how his family found your disengagement so unalarming? He knew you must be doing quite poorly if he seemed to be the party that was more involved in conversation with the septon!
“cousin-“ you did not look over at him. Blinking down at the garden through the stained glass. Unmoved. Father had said you could go on strolls with visiting lords there, it was just outside his study, easy for you or one of your ladies to go to him if a conversation was going terribly. You liked going right to him after and debriefing, explaining what you liked or what you found puzzling or even just that you thought them visually undesirable. He never looked down upon you if their looks were the only thing you cited distaste for. He wanted you to be picky; his position allowed you the privlage of being particular.
“our names will go in here,” you looks towards your cousin voice only because his physical presence was to close now to ignore. A book messily laid out across his forearm and he pointed at a blank page. It would be were the maester began your family…his and your joint history. Started when the Septon binds you two together before gods and men. “Do you wish to be listed first?”
“It matters not.” You turn away from him. This didn’t matter. This was the first thing you’d been asked for your opinion on and it was about placement of your name in a bloody history record?! You were too angry and lost to see he was trying to be kind, trying to engage with you in some way.
“very well, we can have me first…and then every addition there after be labeled Daeron Targaryen as well.” He was trying to jest, you had been amused by him in the past.
“why is it always the husband name?“ you bit out and looked down at the book again, glancing over the page beside the blank one. There were practically seven Aegons you could see within one family’s lineage. “Narcissism disguised as tradition and honor…” You grumbled. Daeron even caught the fleeting eye roll.
“you do not like my name?” He pokes. “The name of our great king….quite noble and handsome sounding I think.”
“it’s fine,” you sigh and push the book away. “I just do not think it so fantastic that it must be passed down to every third child born with the blood of the dragon.” You huff, eyes leveling up at his now that the large hook was closed. The Septon, smartly, stepping in to grab the book from Daeron before it became a projectile!
“Very well,” he leaned against the window frame opposite to the one you were stood against. “We can just use your name.” He settled and looked over your face, seeing some of the irritation and general discontentment fade. “Yours is certinly pretty enough to be written all across that page.”
He can see your jaw tighten, you eyes sliver some and knows you are likely trying to find some way to reply cruelty. These snappy responses and harsh quips were new to you, a practice thing that was only coming out because of the situation you found yourself in. You were kind, he knew joy was your nature not this contrarian act!
“my ever charming cousin…what a generous husband you shall be.” He’s not stung by remark, mostly because he’d watch you just conjure it up in your mind for the past minute.
He does not say anything else…does not shift to follow you when you lift one side of your skirt to retreat back to your chambers now that this business was finished.
Later, after a few hours spent looking at the ceiling in your rooms, willing your moonblood to come as some final effort to clear your name you realize that Daeron was attempting to offer you some autonomy. It was small and truly meaningless. The position of your names on the page. But he had asked, had sought out your decision and was going to see to it that your will be executed.
That was more of a choice than anybody had offered you since your father died. And you did have a feeling on the topic, you did want your name first, as silly as that desire was you did have it!
You tied your robe around yourself and slipped into slippers to pad down the halls, Daeron’s chamber was in a entirely different wing than your own so it took you some time the reach him but when you did you’d been so lost in your own thought about this matter, the marriage, about ashford and him and you and everything that you simply pushed open his door.
“I want my name written first. Read first on the page. I was the crowned Princes’s daughter, I should be first.”
“fucking hell-“ he cursed, shock not anger, his cup of wine spilt over his tunic and he looked up from his chair at you, his heart still beating fast from the surprise of your entrance. “I did not need a reasoning, just a decision from you.” He stood up putting his cup down and going to find a cloth to dry his hands with.
“I didn’t want you think it was for selfish reason.” You admitted.
“I would have been fine if it had been…” he did still think you wanted your name first, both of you were grandchildren of King Daeron neither of you were inherently superior…especially not now that Baelor had died. “Im not opposed to selfishness.” He muttered while taking his tunic off and pulling a new one on. Walking back to the small table to refill his cup. “You’d be in good company if you were a selfish princess.”
You wished you could be selfish, you were trying desperately to be selfish but everybody seemed so set on choosing what you were. A gracious princess, A kind daughter, a well mannered grandchild to the king, a wife to your oldest cousin. It made you furious and so you pushed that anger out of you towards him because he seemed to be the only person that would even indulge listening to you!
“They say I’ve wasted myself on you.” You swallow. “Chased pleasure and cursed myself.”
“oh-I am a curse to others now? not simply just personally cursed…” He chuckled at the thought. Maybe these gossips were right, you did look perpetually downtrodden and though he knew part of that was because you missed your father he would be dull to not assume the prospect of marrying him contributed a good deal to you general discontentment.
His eyes lingered on you for a moment. Before he spoke again “You should leave, before they find you here and have reason to be more suspicious of our behavior.”
“They already think I’m likely carrying your babe.” You mutter
“and we both know you are not, so why feed the vipers conspiracy?” His light eyes focused on you, the slight bags under them showing a thread of seriousness.
Was he attempting to tell you what to do now as well?
“you’ve never made a attempt to combat people’s perception of you before Daeron. Let’s not begin the honorable act now.” The truth was he cared very little for propriety. He was a drunk and known to frequent whore houses, everybody knew what he was his reputation was settled. Yours wasn’t. He knew People still respected you and he had no desire to be the reason your honor was brought further into question.
“I’m to go to bed now…” he lied. “You should rest as well, morning will come quick.” The wedding would come quick is what he truly meant.
You swallowed down your frustration and left his chambers without another word. Sinking back into one of the benches carved into the wall a few doors away. You did not want to go back to your room yet. Your maids would be there, likely your septa and depending on how your mother and her grief had faired that day then she may to be waiting to help prepare you for morning too.
The concept of it felt suffocating and you wanted air…so when you heard footsteps and they revealed your cousin, poorly concealed with nothing more than a hood, walking out one of the exits of the keep you decided, thoughtlessly to follow. You stayed quite far behind him, overestimating his awareness, you really did not need to wait again corners until he was rounding the next. Darron wouldn’t have looked back. He was far too focused on clearing his head for a bit.
You knew in theory what he did and where he was going, people were not quiet about their critiques of him. Those accusations were confirmed when you watched him slip into a brothel while you lingered across the street.
You had not thought this far ahead, really you hadn’t been thinking outside of whatever moment you presently found yourself in since your father died. You only had the energy to focus on whatever was happening right now.
That limitation, lacking any future outlook had made things more difficult for you, made you less like yourself, less thoughtful and considerate and just reckless.
That was how you found yourself crossing the street, pushing open the door tk a whore house when you should have gone back tk the keep, been scrubbed in a bath and tucked into bed. But your mind just didn’t contain the energy to think about consequences at the moment.
The perverse sounds filling your ears and thick musky aroma overwhelming your nose as you looked around, quite a few eyes on you.
“I wish to see Prince Daeron.” You announced, hands folded in front of you making it clear how unsure you were about the environment. The blush giving away that even their thin gossamer gowns were scandalous in your eyes.
“He pretends to go by a different name here.” A older women climes in. Voice warm and honeyed as she stepped to you, reaching out touching your hair and tucking the now messy braid over your shoulder. “But I will bring you to him.” She assured. “Were you followed?” She asked when just the two of you went down a hall. She nodded when you shook your head no. “Very good, we want to trouble.”
“nor do I.” You swear. Clearly she knew who you were. You had taken after your father mostly, and unlike most of your cousins you looked remarkably plain for a Targaryen princess, at least, that is what you recalled the lords and ladies whispering when you were a child. The fact that a whore knew you were Prince Baelors daughter, a princess, it gave you more pride then it should.
”M’lord.” She knocked on a sealed door. There was no answer but you could hear the gratuitous moans through the door.
“Daeron!” You banged your fist on the door and within a second you could hear shuffling. Surely he had not just heard your voice? Surely his cousin was not here in the middle of kings landing within a brothel after nightfall!
“what is the seven hells are you doing?” He could barely open the door and pull you in at the same time. He just knew you needed to be concealed. Gods forbid somebody saw you here? You’d both be reamed no doubt. His father may just strangle him to death!
“I followed you-“ you pulled your arm from his grip, eyes betraying you as you kept glancing down. He was very much naked and you had never seen a man in this way before. “I wanted to see where you went.”
Daeron’s head hung low and you saw how deep his breath was because his pale shoulders shrugged.
“you know where I go.” It came out softly but you could tell that he was growing tired of you…or your behavior as of late.
You looked away from his eyes because he was giving you a look at made you feel sad and insecure and like the most dim girl in the realm!
“What if I wanted to learn?” You were ringing out hands together.
“you cannot be here, why are you insistent on getting yourself into more trouble darling?” Nobody had called you that since you were little. Your mother had struggled to come up with your name and so everybody had just called your darling…because that was the best description of you. The term of endearment had stuck even once you had a true name.
“she wants to learn…let her.” A woman came up behind Daeron her hand rubbing over his shoulder and settling on his chest. “Is she the one you are marrying?” She whispered while kissing his ear. You watched him nod gravely, he knew he should dress and take you back to the keep. He knew that was the proper thing to do. But…the idea of telling you no, of disregarding your decision right now? He just couldn’t do it, he knew that was what had gotten you so out of sorts to begin with.
Daeron and you stood there, a few feet apart and he just stared at you for a while, clearly hoping that the uncomfortable moment might spur you to turn and leave. But being here, him naked, the silence, the closed door, being beyond the keep and the pressures of it, it softened you slightly.
When your eyes dropped, again, to the lower section of his stomach one of the woman smirked and looked back at another whore I. The room nodding her over to you silently before she lowered her hand from your cousins chest and wrapped her fingers around his cock. He was still soft but the prince was quite well endowed even in this state.
“you don’t need to be scared…” her lips trailed against his jaw. “He’s quite a generous lover.” She assured. “Gentle…giving…and very good at listening.” She squeezed the base of him and you swallowed when Daeron groaned. You were so entranced by the vein in his neck and how his stomach tensed that you did not even realized your robe had been removed by the second woman.
“what does that mean? Giving?”
Daeron shuttered out a groan more because of your soft words than the stimulation he was feeling against his cock.
“So naive, your betrothed enjoys all part of a woman body…he get drunk of their moans.”the woman smirked “she can’t stop looking at you…at it.” Her voice taunted in Daeron’s ear and your cheeks went bright red.
“don’t-“ his voice wavered so he had to stop and clear it. “Don’t tease her.” The whores found it sweet, he was being protective of you in his own twisted little way.
“touch him.” The one next to you, whose fingers had undone your braid fully, urged.
“I can’t…” you blinked, looking a bit drunk yourself. You eyes big and deep like they were when you had sat on the floor with him infront of the fire and downed an entire flagon of wine to numb the heartache at Ashford. “Not till we wed.”
He was grateful that you still had some sense but a greedy part of his resented it…just your eyes on him had his cock pulsing. He’d always cared for you, liked that you spoke with him and didn’t harp on his downfalls, but seeing you intrigued by what he does, how he looks…it had grown a hunger for you within him.
“Fuck-“ his eyes fluttered and nose wrinkled because he was completely stiff now and the woman’s fingers felt so soft, he wanted more contact, needed more.
“I want to know what’s going to happen when we…when you bed me Daeron.” You moved forward yourself this time. Sitting down on a lounger. Posture perfect and you’d seem quite poised if it wasn’t for how your chest heaved with from the thrilling nerves!
“kiss her back.” You requested, and your eyes got deeper when he immediate turned his jaw towards the women that was pressed to his back and sealed his lips to hers. Your legs squeezed together under your skirt.
“w-with tongue.” He response by laping into the woman’s mouth, backing her up to the very lounger you were in and crumbling down into it a mere foot from you. Your eyes watch the two glistening tongues slide together and your hand gripped the fabric in your lap.
“what now?” He looked up at you, eyes focused on yours. He was genuinely waiting for more instruction.
“what generosity to you offer?” You questioned and the woman that had undone your hair sat just behind you, hand playing with the strands loosening your posture slightly. You mother had attempted to comfort you, to take care of you but you were to angry that she would not put a stop to this marriage maddeness that you refused to accept any comforting touch from her. But you’d needed it, desperately.
“I feast between a woman’s thighs.” Shame left him half way through the sentence when you leaned back against the woman behind you. Her hands gently rubbing at your scalp and down your arms.
“their cunt.” She whispered in your ear. “He puts his mouth there.”
“Do that now.” You demand of him and when his large hand grabed your knee you tense and pull your leg up. He thought you mean to you?
“you can’t touch me….not yet. Not now.” The woman’s fingers under him snickered, she knew she’d be the tool used to demonstrate, the stand in for you. “We could not give the vipers more to work with…could we cousin?”
He regretted saying that earlier, he wouldn’t have if he had known it was going to prevent him from hiding his face against you and locking until your cried. Tears of bliss and pleasure and release instead of sadness. Gods he wanted to do that for you, wanted to make you feel safe and loved and considered!
“You torture me.” He groaned but dropped off the lounger and maneuvered the whores legs over his shoulders. “Do you plan to be like this for the rest of our lives?” He jested and you smirked a bit, just for a moment and gave him a demure shrug. Perhaps you would, If it pleased you!
When you nodded to the woman’s body Daeron went quickly to work, hands holding her legs massaging the flesh there as he peppered kisses all around the heated area. Waiting until he could see some wetness develop naturally before he drooled against her folds and slurred at her clit. His eyes kept flickering up to you, each time you were in a deeper state of unrest and need. When he caught your lips pressed innocently to the womans behind you his hand let go of the thigh it held and reached to hold your ankle. His thumb rubbing against your stocking leg softly, just letting you know silently that he was here. Right here, watching you too. He was grateful that this time you didn’t pull away.
“Her lips are soft…you’ll like them.” The woman reported to him when you two partied, your lips red and puffy from the uncoordinated pecking.
“fucking hells!” The whore grabbed at Daeron’s sandy hair and pulled his face in further. Legs tightening against the side of his head and that unfortunately blocked his view of you so he squeezed your ankle more firmly and then rubbed his hand up your long calf until his hand found home behind your knee. “Ugh!” She came with a loud grunt. Release all over his face when her thighs finally eased and Darron could both breathe and see you again.
The prince blinked a few times, concerned the lack of oxygen had his vision failing because what he saw was your neckline compromised with your chemise revealed and your hand sunk under your skirt.
“this feels nice…” the breathless whimper is directed towards the woman that you were leaned against, she had told you that you should touch yourself there, under your smallclothes. You have been squirming around so much while Daeron pleased the other woman that she knew you had to be quite aroused. The sound your fingers were making as they rubbed frantically against your slit confirmed her suspicion.
“you smell so good.” Daeron groaned shoving his face against your knee and rubbing the tender skin behind it. “So wet.” He wanted to taste you. That desire own increasing when the woman shifted your skirts up and you opened your legs a bit wider. He could see your frantically pushed down tights and small clothes and when your hand shifted in a certain way he could see a large position of your cunt. Mostly just your mound but even that was enough to have his cock jumping against his stomach.
“Daeron-“ your hips lift up suddenly, all this sensation was new to you and therefore a somewhat overwhelming.
“I know it feel strange.” He sits up on his knees a bit taller and climbs up onto the lounger when your face shifts to hide and your fingers still. “Darling keep going.” He urges and when his hand cups your inner thigh you widen your legs, skirt pooled high over your hips and you looked at him
“we can’t-“
“we won’t…” he rubs your legs soothingly and looks from your face to your cunt, which he could see fully now. He could see the proof of your shared blood curled at the apex of your thighs, soft and light and bright silver. “I won’t do anything I shouldn’t…you said not to.” He reminded and you nodded weakly sitting up just a bit to shift your head from laying back on the whores shoulders to the warmth and familiarity of his neck.
“this feels odd, like my stomach hurts.” You whisper and he smiled, his hand running up and down your back.
“that is normal…keep going. Please.” His own cock long forgotten because all he wanted right now was for you to feel this relief. To feel what true pleasure was, to do whatever you wanted which wasn’t losing your maodqn head. It was watching his devour a whore and learning how to touch yourself.
You settled into his hold a bit more and bit at your lip as your fingers started up again. Swirling mostly over your clit this time because you were smart and realized it felt lovelier when you focused on the pearl than the rest of what was below it. Daeron’s hands hesitated before moving each time you groaned and squirmed and he needed to support some new part of you. He whispered his requests for permission every time and beamed when you mostly granted them.
“Oh, oh mmm oh seven fucking hells!” You gasped as your first climax washes over you and you trembled against him. He’s cock throbbed and when he looked down he realized that at some point while he watched you touch yourself he’d painted his own lap with his seed. If he wasn’t so enticed by soaking up every second of you in this state he probably would have been slightly ashamed but he didn't have time for that now. He didn't want to miss one breath, one whine or tremble. He needed all of it. All of you.
“I’m a mess.” You finally laugh, one of those elated post climax things that woman so often did. It was almost always tears or giggles and you’d cried far to much so your body gave you a much needed break.
“we can clean you up princess.” One of the woman said and went to soak a cloth for it. They would ensure you looked untouched before Daeron slipped you out of this establishment and back to the red keep.
For a minute it was just you and him on the lounger and you felt slightly shy about everything that had just transpired. Your hand, the one that had been between your legs lifted to push a feather off his jaw. “Yiu really don’t mind if the maester puts my name first?” You ask him quietly. His eyes blown wide still and breathing ragged.
“whatever you want Darling,” Daeron swears and his face turned into your hand eyes closing as he inhales your essence. “Anything.”
Ps. idk why but this took me painfully long to write even though I have a thousand ideas for how these two will interact down the line, the build up was just challenging 🤷♀️
pairing: shitty baby daddy!aerion targaryen x fem!reader
summary: … the county fair is full of games nobody can really win ⟢
wc: 2.4k
content warning: 18+ mdni | fluff!! | angst | aerion is pining again | mentions of alcohol/smoking | valarr<3 <3 <3
masterlist ────୨ৎ──── taglist
By the time the fair opened its gates the following weekend, the late summer heat had settled over the Crownlands like a heavy blanket. The air was thick and humid, and the sun was beating down on the dusty parking lot where cars and trucks gathered in clusters. Colorful banners fluttered lazily in the light breeze, and the smell of fried food and popcorn wafted through the air, drawing people toward the entrance.
Aerion pulled his truck into a spot near the back. The engine had been making a strange noise all week, but he'd managed to ignore it—prioritizing the new battery he'd installed in your car instead. Now, as he cut the engine, he hoped it would start again when they were ready to leave.
Maegor was already bouncing in his seat; he had his face pressed against the window as he took in the bright lights and spinning rides visible beyond the fence. Aerion couldn't help but smile at his son's excitement, even as he felt his own nerves begin to surface.
You were meeting them here. Maybe. He’d suggested picking you up, but you’d insisted that if you decided to come, you’d drive separately, which he understood even if it stung. Three years of living somewhat separate lives had created boundaries that weren't easy to cross anymore, even for something as innocent as a family trip to the fair.
"C'mon, bug," Aerion said, unbuckling his seatbelt. "Let's go in. And what do you say if your mama shows up?"
"Say daddy got me here on time," Maegor answered promptly, parroting the response they'd practiced.
"That's right. She'll be impressed."
Aerion helped Maegor out of the truck, grabbing the small backpack with sunscreen, wipes, a change of clothes, and cash for the games. As they walked toward the entrance, he kept scanning the parking lot, half-hoping to see your car pull in, half-terrified that you'd actually show up and he'd have to navigate another afternoon of pretending he wasn't still in love with you.
The fairgrounds were already bustling with families enjoying the afternoon. Children with sticky faces ran between booths, older kids gathered near the rides, and couples shared food on benches under the shade. It was the kind of place Aerion had avoided as a teenager—too many people, too much noise—but he'd found himself looking forward to bringing Maegor here, sharing something that felt wholesome. Something that was nothing like his own childhood.
"Where first?" he asked, lifting Maegor so he could see over the crowd.
"'umper cars! An' the ducks! An' the fish game!" Maegor listed, his voice rising with excitement.
They made their way through the gates, paying the entrance fee, and were immediately confronted by the overwhelming noise and color of the fair. Maegor's eyes were wide as they stood in line for the bumper cars. He was chattering a mile a minute about how Cousin Valarr said he would get him any car he wanted when he turned sixteen.
Valarr had visited that Thursday. He'd come by the shop to deliver some parts and had ended up staying for dinner at Maekar's. Maegor worshipped his cousin, hanging on his every word about the city and the company, the cars, and the enormous headquarters that overlooked King's Landing. Aerion tried not to let it bother him. He really did; none of it was Valarr’s fault. But every story about another dealership opening, or another shiny company truck parked outside some glass office building, reminded him that there had been a time his father should’ve been standing beside Baelor. A time when Aerion himself would’ve probably ended up there too. Instead, Maekar had chosen his pride, and Aerion had inherited it.
"He said Mommy could have one too," Maegor added, looking up at him. "A pretty one with—"
"Yeah, well, Val likes showin' off," Aerion cut in. "Don't mean anythin'. Your mama likes her car just fine."
Maegor seemed to accept that, considering he was turning his attention back to the ride as they moved forward in line. But Aerion couldn't shake the irritation that had settled in his chest. He knew Valarr had only been kind—hell, he'd been trying to make the kid happy—but the reminder of everything Aerion couldn't give him stung more than it should have.
They were nearing the front of the line when he caught sight of you through the crowd. You were standing near the entrance, looking around with a small smile as you watched the groups of people pass by. The sight of you hit him right in the chest. You were wearing the same sundress you wore to the car show the last time you were all out together. Your hair was down in waves, and you held your hand up to shield your eyes as you scanned the fairground.
For a split second, Aerion considered staying where he was. Just getting on the cars with Maegor and letting you find them after. But then Maegor spotted you and let out a yell that turned multiple heads in his direction.
"Mommy!"
Your face lit up when you saw your son waving frantically. Aerion forced himself to breathe normally as you wove through the crowd, reminding himself at least twice before you got to them that this was just a day out with the boy. Nothing more.
"Hey, sweet boy!" You scooped Maegor up as soon as you reached them, spinning him around as he giggled. "I was looking everywhere for you two."
"Daddy got me here on time!" Maegor announced proudly.
You set him down, smoothing his hair as you smiled at Aerion. "You did. I'm impressed. Did your daddy tell you to tell me that?"
"We practiced!"
Aerion felt a flush creeping up his neck. "We didn't practice nothin'—kid came up with that himself."
"Sure he did. Thank you for bringing him."
"Just thought he'd have more fun with both of us. 'Specially since you've been workin' so much."
The line moved forward, and it was their turn to board the bumper cars. Maegor insisted on riding alone, despite being barely tall enough to reach the steering wheel. Aerion helped him buckle in, then moved to the car next to him. You found a spot across from them and waved at Maegor before the ride began.
For the next three minutes, Maegor laughed hysterically every time Aerion rammed into your car. His high-pitched giggles carried over the noise of the ride, and you were laughing too, your hair flying as you tried to steer away from his persistent attacks. Aerion found himself watching you more than he was focusing on driving, mesmerized by the carefree joy on your face.
When the ride ended, Maegor ran over to you, still breathless from his earlier laughter. "Mommy, you're the worst driver ever!"
"I seem to recall your daddy teaching me how to drive, so whose fault is that really?"
"Hey now," Aerion protested. "I taught you just fine. You were the one who kept gettin' distracted."
"By what?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.
"You know damn well what."
You did know. You'd both been distracted by each other constantly in those early days, when even a simple drive to the grocery store felt like an excuse to be close. Aerion remembered parking in empty lots where the windows fogged up, your laughter turning into something else entirely as hands explored and promises were made. He pushed the memory away before it could take hold, focusing instead on Maegor, who was now asking about the next ride.
The afternoon passed in a whirlwind of sugary treats and the constant sound of Maegor's delighted laughter. You rode the small ferris wheel, where Maegor insisted on sitting between you and holding both your hands as the car swayed gently at the top. Aerion won a plastic sword at the ring toss. You won a ridiculous stuffed octopus after popping balloons with darts, which Maegor immediately declared was joining his "army."
It was during the fish game that things began to shift. Maegor was determined to win a massive stuffed bear that was nearly as tall as he was, but his coordination wasn't quite there yet. After his third unsuccessful attempt, his bottom lip began to tremble.
"I can't get it..."
"Hey," Aerion crouched down beside him. "It's just a dumb toy. You already got a sword, plus that octopus."
"But I want the bear," Maegor whined. He was one more inconvenience away from crying.
Aerion saw you move before he could start. You’d always been quicker to catch the little things like the hitch in Maegor’s breath and the way his little fists clenched when he was trying not to tear up. By the time he turned his head, you were already kneeling beside your son, rubbing a hand up and down his back. "Bug, maybe we could try another game? Look, they have—"
"No! I want the bear!"
"You'll get the damn bear, Maegor." Aerion grabbed his shoulder, turning the boy to face him. "But you ain't about to raise your voice at your mama 'cause you can't win some rigged game."
"But—"
"No buts. Now, d'you wanna try again, or are we done here?"
Maegor's chin wobbled, but he nodded. Aerion exchanged a quick glance with you before turning back to the game attendant. He didn't let Maegor play alone this time. He stood behind him, guiding his hands slightly as they worked the mechanism together. When the little plastic fish finally landed in the moving bucket, Maegor nearly passed out from the excitement.
"I did it! I did it, Daddy!"
Aerion couldn't help but laugh at the pure joy on his son's face as the bear was handed over. The thing was so big that Maegor could barely carry it, so you ended up holding it while Aerion carried Maegor on his shoulders with the octopus and sword stuffed into his backpack.
As they walked away from the game booth, you fell into step beside them. "That was nice of you, Aerion. He would've been crushed."
"He was bein' a brat. Just didn't want him makin' a scene."
"He's four," you said gently. "Emotions are big when you're little."
"Well, he gets that from his mama. Always has been sensitive."
"Is that right? And what about his temper? Where does that come from?"
"Fuck off. I ain't got no temper."
You laughed. The sound of it made him turn his head to look at you, catching the way the sun caught in your eyes. You were looking up at Maegor with your nose scrunched like you did when you were really happy, and suddenly, Aerion was overwhelmed with the memory of all the times he'd seen that exact expression when it was directed at him.
"Want some funnel cake?" he asked abruptly, gesturing toward a food stand.
"I thought you didn't like sweet things."
"Maegor does." He didn't mention that he also wanted to see you lick powdered sugar off your fingers, but the thought was there nonetheless.
"Okay, funnel cake sounds perfect."
The three of you found a bench a ways off from the petting zoo and food vendors. You and Aerion shared the sticky pastry while Maegor talked about his plan to sleep with all of his new stuffed animals, and his dragon, of course. Aerion tried to focus on his son's excited chatter, but he kept getting distracted by you. By the way you carefully tore off pieces of the funnel cake, by the sugar dusting your lips, by the way you listened to Maegor with your full attention, making him feel like the most important person in the world, which to you he was.
It was the same way you'd always listened to him, back when he'd had big dreams and even bigger insecurities. Back when he'd believed he could be the man you deserved, before he proved himself wrong time and time again.
It was maddening how easily he could slip back into wanting you. You hadn't slept together in months—not since the night you'd called him crying because the plumbing had burst and he'd spent six hours fixing it, only to end up on the floor of your living room with your legs wrapped around him and his face buried in your neck. He'd woken up at 4 AM and driven home feeling like the biggest piece of shit in the Crownlands. It should have been enough time to get over the taste of your skin or the sound of your sighs, but when you hugged him for getting your car running last week, his mind and body remembered exactly how well you fit together. And sitting here now, watching you laugh at something Maegor said, he felt that same pull he'd felt when he was eighteen and being called an idiot by his father for wanting to charge you for a tire. The same pull that had him glued to the seat at the diner until he could justify talking to you again.
The moment was broken when Maegor suddenly announced he had to go to the bathroom. Aerion stood up, but you waved him back down.
"I'll take him," you said, already gathering the remains of the funnel cake. "You can watch the bear."
Aerion grunted out his agreement, watching as you led Maegor toward the restrooms. Left alone with his thoughts, he pulled out a cigarette. As he lit it with slightly shaky hands, he knew he should quit, especially with Maegor getting older and becoming more aware of everything, but some habits were too ingrained to break easily. That, and he didn't really want to. The smoking helped. The drinking helped. He knew it didn't really fix anything, but it took the edge off. Because the edge was the problem. That constant simmer that threatened to boil over when he least expected it. The same temper that had ruined his relationship with you, the same pride that kept him from properly apologizing. The constant feeling of not measuring up. The nights when he'd look at his son and wonder how the hell he was going to make sure he didn't end up like him.
"You look like you're plotting something."
He recognized that voice the second he heard it. He didn't even need to look up to confirm; that nasty feeling crawling up the back of his neck was enough. He knew the moment that he did, his otherwise perfect day would be ruined by the sight of a polo shirt and polished leather shoes in the middle of a county fair.
Warnings: Overstimulation, restraints and gages, Rough sex, tears, dom Maekar, lots of aftercare, PnV, mentions of facial, pee, creampie
WC: 1.4k
Summary: Maekar makes your birthday quite memorable!
You were struggling so fiercely under him that your hand had reached back and started to pull at his hair.
The struggle. Your struggle. It egged him on more, made his hips hit harder against your ass and eventually when your knees started to wobble against the bed his palm pushed harshly against your lower back until you crumbled and were flat under him.
“UGH!!” You cried around the gage in your mouth. The poor red ball probably would have deep indents from your teeth by the end of this.
“you want this-you need this don’t you baby.” It made his cock throb when he used that term of endearment when you were in those sort of position. He liked using slut of whore too but there was something about using such a innocent nickname while you were in such a compromised position that made his fucking balls ache.
You nodded into the mattress, whimpering when he tore one of your hands down so you couldn’t rip out his hair and he pinned your wrist to the middle of your back. You squirmed at the stretch in your shoulder that it caused but honestly you were too spent to move around much at all and the pressure of his weight above you made what little strength you still had impossible to use.
Maekar pounded into you and the prone position had your thighs shaking as your cervix was battered against. He was so big and felt even larger now than he did when the sex had started tonight because you were raw and swollen now.
“oh…good girl.” He nodded, sweat dripping down his temple and more lingered on his chest from exerting himself so much. “I feel that-feel you coming.” He leaned down and growled in your ear. “Can’t control it can you baby?” He sounded feral as you gushed around him again and cried into the mattress.
Your face squished against the damp sheets, wet from your tears and drool and some of the cum he deposited earlier onto your face and let seep into the small space between your lips and the gag. You’d been at this for hours now, Maekar had taken a little blue pill while you ate the dinner he made for you, it was your birthday, his gift to you was going to be mind numbing sex.
Marathon sex.
Rough sex.
He had delivered, more than delivered by this point. You had no idea what the number was but it had to be over ten times that you’d climaxed, he’d cum in your mouth, in your cunt and painted your ass licking it into your clenched hole.
You were on the edge of what you could be able to handle. It felt so good, but also too good in a way that felt out of control and frightening. In the way where I’d him cock or hand or even the sheets brushed your clit you were losing your mind and another orgasm was around the corner. Each climax just built in the remnants of the last one and so you never really got a break. Your stomach ached from straining and your cunt was a swollen mess and even Maekar knew it was rapidly approaching a state of rawness that he wouldn’t be comfortable playing with any more.
“nooo! No no I can’t-I” Your feet attempted to lift up a bit but there were belts secured around each of your ankles and the end of the bed. Keeping you from kicking them up, keeping you from being able to do any thing but ease back against him more.
Maekar’s one hand left the small of your back and he pushed your hair to one side so he could see your face and that let him make out your slurred speech a bit better.
“you can…” he slammed his strong hips against your plush ass with newfound force and he felt the air push right out of your lungs. As if he was fucking it from you. “Don’t run from it…hey?” He could feel you losing focus, drawing away from the moment mentally. He stopped the thrusting motion just long enough to feel how desperately your walls were clenching around him.
“Don’t be scared baby.” His hand ran up the length of your sweaty back and when he held the back of your neck and turned your head to the side he kissed your wet cheek, just a soft peck, pounding himself deeper against your cervix as he lingered there. Feeling your hold body jolt. “Shhh…if you let go I’m going to cum so hard…you want to be filled up don’t you?”
You nodded but your voice, just a whine, sounded nervous. Markers other hand slipped under your prone body and you shook your head when his palm pressed up against the low spot of your belly. It was so hard when normally it was soft to the touch.
He chuckled realizing what was making you so uneasy. “Your going to pee if you cum again? That’s okay…that’s okay baby.” He kissed your shoulder and began to move his hips, not fall, just deliberately deep hitting that special spot in you over and over. “I’ll take care of you, clean you up, it’s okay baby. I promise. I want you to make a mess.”
He stayed over you. Chest warm and stomach strong as he melted himself into you, his hand slipping down lower and he rubbed at your clit knowing that it would tip you over the edge. If Maekar was another man, less strong and dense you probably would have bucked him off simply because of how powerful this orgasm was and how it made your body jolt and try and crawl in on itself.
“good girl! Fuck-fuck good girl let go for me-gods!” The moment he finished inside of you your body eased and you pressed fore cheek harder into the mattress, the rubbed of the ball gage squeaking from how hard you bit it as you released your bladder and panted because that felt like a climax itself!
Maekar had to catch his own breath for a second before he could deal with you, your shaking and wetness and all the comfort and reassurance he knew you needed. When he felt blood return to his head he first undid the gage. Hand wiping your sloppy swollen lips and he kissed you softly. Whispering how perfect you were as he pulled himself out of your raw cunt. Soft shushing as you winced at the feeling of it.
“I made a mess…I’m sorry.” You were still in a whiny haze when he stopped kissing you.
“I asked you to do that, don’t apologize. No apologizing. Right? You did so so good, no sorry my love.” He remainder you as he undid the belts around your ankles and rubbed them soothingly for a moment. “Don’t move, give me one minute.” He instructed. You obeyed. You liked obeying him, he did always look after you.
When Maekar returned it was with wet wipes, a few towels and some clothing for you.
“I love you, you felt so good. Did that feel good for you?” He asked after wiping your lower half clean and then shifting you up to a clean spot on the bed to dry you.
“y-yes, really good.” You were still shaking, which was normal. It took you a long time to come down from something that intense.
“good,” he rubbed your cheek and then applied some Vaseline to your lips and the spot where the connector on your cheek was pinched the skin a bit. “Let gets this on.” It was a shirt of his, one that was enough you wouldn’t feel constricted at all, but it also let you feel very covered. “And these,” he knelt down and guided your feet into the boxers legs and slowly pulled them up until they rested around your hips. “Arms up.” He urged you and then scooped you up off the bed completly brining you into the living room and setting you down on the soft couch.
You weren’t sure exactly how long had passed but when you next opened your eyes you were snuggled in his lap and he was holding a straw to your lips urging you to drink some water. You complied and then gave him a soft smile because he’d rubbed your back as confirmation that you were doing good. “Just this and then you can sleep baby.” He whispered in your ear and held up a little jam sandwich for you.
“your so nice…” you murmured mouth half full of your first bite.
Maekar chuckled and kissed your forhead “you’re the only person that ever says that about me.”
My one boring tip to anyone in their 20s is to resist the temptation to rot in your room every time you get a free moment. Dismiss any neuroses you have about going outside and "being perceived". Be a dictator about it, plan your hangouts like they are binding commitments. No excuses! Go to the bar with your friends. Be kinda hungover at work. Socializing is like exercise; even if you don't feel like you want to, you should still do it because it's good for you.
