My dear @katiecat446 sent me this M A S T E R P I E C E this morning and yeah, this is essentially Father Baelor for the upcoming a hymn for the sinners (the cassock stays on just as the armour)
Summary: As you deal with the aftermath of your encounter with Mike, you two clash again. And how else to solve your differences than by a long and thorough… power exchange.
Word count: 2.5k
Warnings: DARK CONTENT, MDNI, minors and ageless do not interact, NSFW, explicit, rape/NON-CON, non-consent, dead dove do not eat, no physical description of the reader, mentions of female genitalia, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns used, degrading language, p in v, unprotected, creampie, praise kink, spitting, oral (f receiving), first draft, no beta, not proofread
DO NOT READ IF UNCOMFORTABLE WITH WARNINGS
I will delete/block all hate comments and tags. If you don't like the content, don't read it and feel free to block me. I am not responsible for the content you consume.
Notes: Continuation of Penalty, but can be read separately. I also have a rough idea for a third chapter.
Mike watched you wiping your tears from across the field, your teammates consoling you a little. At first, you tried lying, saying it’s the sun, the migraine, the period, but your friends knew better. He knew better. Mike gripped his clipboard, a frown marking his face. He hated seeing you like this. Against his better judgment, he decided to come closer.
“You said it yourself, babes,” your best friend had her arm around you, moving tear-soaked strands from your face, “he never wanted to fuck you. It’s important, you know it is.”
You just nodded, that pain half-laugh momentarily escaping your mouth.
“I just didn’t think it would hurt this bad,” you mumbled, trying not to burst into another crying fit. “We’ve been together for so long, and otherwise he was perf-”
“No. Fuck no,” your friend immediately interrupted. “Your needs were not met. And you don’t owe him a relationship just because he didn’t force fuck you when you were tired or sick. And didn’t you say that even when you did manage to do the nasty, he’d only cum jerking off? Come on, you owe yourself someone better.”
Mike had to admit, he wholeheartedly agreed. Someone better, how nicely put. Him.
“Stop clucking,” Mike growled at you two, waving at your friend to get lost.
“Coach, no, please, she’s really not-,” she tried, she really tried standing her ground for you, but you knew it was futile.
“Don’t make me fucking tell you again.”
With that, she mouthed a pitiful sorry at you and made herself scarce. You wiped your tears, tried to fix your hair a little. You could have carried on with your relationship, pretending nothing happened, not provoke Mike anymore and then think of him every time your boyfriend managed to get his dick up for you.
Except you couldn’t, for two reasons. First being that Mike wouldn’t stop, provoked or not. Second, you weren’t sure you wanted him to stop. The guilt was eating at you, absolutely, but there was also something freeing about the whole situation that Mike forced on you.
“I’m sorry, Coach,” you mumbled, your eyes momentarily drifting to his.
Mike didn’t say anything, his expression unreadable. And then, just as you wanted to do more drills, he grabbed your face, holding your chin between his thumb and index finger, the rest of his long fingers pressing into your throat.
The reaction in you was immediate: breath hitching, heart beating, palms sweating… And pussy wetting.
Mike was looking at you from behind his glasses like he wanted to eat you or drag you into the locker room to fuck the tears out of you. Instead, his lips curved into a rather smug smile.
“Good girl,” he whispered, sending another pleasurable jolt through you.
It didn’t take long for him to start screaming at you again when, not even forty-five minutes later, you kept missing your free kicks. Literally all of them would go wide over the net, not even close to the beam.
“Stop over-extending your fucking leg!” Mike yelled, already halfway to you, watching you fumble yet another kick. “These are rookie fucking kicks, what the fuck are you doing?”
You could hear him working himself into another hoarse throat situation, straining his vocal cords to the maximum. Not that you weren’t frustrated with yourself and your lack of follow-through and precision, mangling something that usually came with such ease to you. You felt pathetic. You were pathetic.
Even your teammates were at a loss for words, probably ascribing your lack of performance to your temporary emotional upset. You just wanted Mike to stop screaming at you, because if he managed to get you in your usual state, you knew you wouldn’t be able to keep your mouth shut.
“What now, Micha-,” you cut yourself off in the middle of the yell, swallowing the rest of his government name, reminding yourself he asked you not to use it.
“Other goal,” Mike growled, staring daggers at you. “Now.”
Just what you needed, spending the rest of the practice running drills with Mike. Alone.
“This is all your fault,” you spat out bitterly, watching Mike’s knuckles turn white and the clipboard caving under his grasp.
“Shut. Up. Fucking brat.”
It wasn’t that bad, actually, once you cooled off. Well, partially at least, still pressing your jaw shut, feeling the burn in your calf after repeated shots. You were tired, sweaty, and frustrated, and more tears threatened to burst out of you any second now. Luckily, the coach called the whistle, but before you even blinked in that direction, Mike crowded you.
Standing in front of you, making sure no one could see you from that side of the field, his eyes quickly darted around to see if anyone was paying attention.
Then, he turned back to you, brows furrowed, jaw clenched, and that flush spreading all over his face and neck.
“From now on, you will keep your mouth shut. You don’t talk back, and you don’t speak when I speak. Got it, angel?” his voice dropped on the last word to a throaty whisper.
You noticed how big his pupils were and how his lower left eyelid twitched. Mike took a step towards you, your nose almost touching his chest. Your breathing deepened again, and you looked up at him, wondering what he had on his mind.
“Open your mouth,” Mike whispered, his voice making you tremble.
You had no idea what he wanted, but you obeyed. Slowly, you relaxed your jaw, eyes still trained on Mike’s.
“More,” he mumbled, his eyes falling to your lips, watching your tensed tongue resting behind your teeth.
When he was finally happy, he spat in your mouth without a warning. Wet warmth spread across your tongue, drops landing over your lips and around them.
Sharply inhaling through your nose, your eyes fluttered shut, overwhelmed and aroused.
“Every time you open your mouth,” he watched you swallow every last drop, your tongue greedily dragging across your lips, “remember that only good girls get this.”
“Yes, Coach,” your eyes were still closed, the musky scent of Mike’s sweat still reaching your nose.
“Off you go then.”
**
“You okay?” your teammates rallied around you in the locker room, some faces concerned, some curious, some rather smug.
“Hm? Yeah, of course,” you dismissed them, but they still prodded.
“Why did he grab your face like that?” one voice asked, and you couldn’t really pinpoint who brought it up.
“He did what?” another voice piped up, and suddenly everyone was crowding around you like you were a wise old grandmother telling a scary story to a bunch of wide-eyed children.
“Ughh,” you growled, irritated to the bone. “I just struck a nerve, and he lost it a little. What’s new, right?” you laughed it off, putting on your best nonchalant face, shrugging.
The voices started again, everyone talking over each other, and not even your friend could tell them off. Clucking, as Mike said, was the correct word. You pinched the bridge of your nose, trying to breathe.
“All right!” you finally yelled. “I get it, this is obviously taking too much attention from the game and the team. “I promise…” your eyes drifted from face to face, and then you looked at your captain, a woman you expected much more of than to allow these verbal offences, “that I will set all my differences aside and talk to Mike. And now, if you excuse me, I need to cry a little bit more.”
It worked, their excitement immediately dropped in disappointment that you wouldn’t trash Mike some more. You suddenly felt stupid for even doing so; venting in the locker room was common, but this personal beef you and Mike had for literal years had obviously been nothing but entertainment.
No one cared how much you suffered when his comments started, no one cared about your problems and issues; you were nothing but a class clown, a court jester. It washed over you, the wave of realisation, followed by sadness, disappointment, and emptiness.
You took a deep breath. No more.
**
It was two in the morning, and you were still tossing and turning, trying to sleep. Mike still hasn’t kept up with his promise, and you started to believe he only said it in the heat of the moment.
Pulling your eye mask down your face, you turned around, happy that at least you didn’t feel like crying anymore. And then you heard it, a beep and a door creak, but you still decided to pretend you were asleep, deep breathing and all.
Mike laid down next to you, gently, his arm enveloping you, immediately settling between your tits, before grabbing one.
“You smell so good, angel,” he whispered against your neck, inhaling deeply. He was hard already, again, pressing his cock against your ass.
You finally stirred, trying to reach for your mask, but Mike caught your wrist.
“Leave it on,” he chuckled, his lips dragging over the strained muscles of your neck, enjoying the warmth of your skin.
“I’m gonna make you so happy, angel, I know I can,” Mike cooed, pushing his tongue in your slightly open mouth, teasing a breathy moan out of you.
“Yes, Coach,” you mumbled between sloppy kisses, your hands dragging Mike closer and closer, until he was on top of you.
And then he started moaning, deep, throaty sounds that sent little jolts through your whole body, pooling heat directly in your pussy, tiny little spasms shocking their way through your abdomen.
His fingers, extended, drew a line starting at your throat, going lower, playing with your nipple, and even lower, slowly dragging over the thin fabric of your tank top, until he reached your panties, an obvious wet spot blooming.
He teased you through the soft cotton, his fingers pushing in a little, then dragging all the way up towards your clit, then back down again; you arched your back into Mike, begging in your mind for him to just move your panties to the side and stick his cock back in, and stay like that until morning, fuck you into the mattress.
“Did you wear these for me?” he teased, his fingers playing with the bow on your panties and sliding over the lacy parts.
“Yes, Coach,” you whispered, enjoying the way his tongue dragged over your throat, your heart hitching even higher at the vibrations his chuckle made against your sweaty skin.
“Good girl.”
And then he slid lower, his lips leaving sticky wet kisses on your collarbone; somehow he managed to pull off your tanktop without disturbing the mask, his mouth immediately closing around your nipple, his teeth grazing it.
He grabbed both of your tits, pressing and massaging, and you couldn’t do anything but moan, enjoying how much Mike wanted you.
“So pretty when you’re so needy,” he breathed out, going lower and lower, until he reached your panties. Mike started sucking and teasing your clit through the fabric.
Your whole body writhed in pleasure as you reflexively pushed your hips towards Mike’s mouth.
“Let me hear you, angel,” he mumbled, hastily removing your panties too, guiding both of your legs over his shoulders. He gently pushed one finger inside you, then the second one too, laughing at how greedily your pussy swallowed them.
You whimpered, jerking your hips, when he tried to push the third one.
“I know, angel, I know,” he cooed, “but we need to stretch you properly, don’t we? It barely fit the last time.”
He returned his attention to your clit, goading you towards the orgasm, feeling how your pussywalls started to tense and flutter around his fingers, listening to how your moans fell into needy whimpers; your hand grabbed his hair, and Mike couldn’t help himself but moan against your pussy.
“You taste so fucking good, angel, I can’t get enough,” he mumbled, his thumb now drawing tight little circles over your clit.
“Mike,” you moaned, overwhelmed, immediately biting your tongue. For a moment, you got scared he’d punish you, especially now since you were so close, that knot in your stomach threatening to explode.
“Good girl,” Mike moaned against your mound. “My good girl.”
When he felt you coming, he immediately lowered his head, greedily lapping up your juices as your body trembled in the best orgasm of your life. You had no idea how loud you were or what exactly you were saying, so thoroughly overwhelmed and overstimulated. But Mike wasn’t finished with you, far from it.
As your body relaxed, he pulled out his fingers, sucking on them, watching as your pussy glistened. You whined a little at a loss, but he replaced it with his cock soon enough, your legs still draped over his broad shoulders.
In one quick thrust, he pushed in and folded you up, hitting deeper than before. It was still a stretch, his big, fat cock spearing you in half. You whined in pleasure, begging Mike to fuck you hard.
“Fuck, angel, I can’t even think,” Mike kept snapping his hips, barely delaying his own pleasure to watch your tits bounce up and down and feel your nails against his skin. You lost all sense of time, tasting yourself repeatedly on Mike’s tongue, your hands pulling at his hair and drawing blood on his shoulders, as you kept begging and begging.
“Tell me you’re close,” Mike whispered, “because I want to flood your pussy so badly.”
“No, Coach,” you mumbled in response, “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, my poor baby angel,” he teased a little, “how about you take that mask off, let me see those pretty eyes, hm?”
“Please come into my mouth,” you begged, finally looking at Mike’s flushed, sweaty face.
“What?” his hips stuttered, slowing down.
“I want to taste you, please,” you pulled him in another desperate kiss.
Mike tried, he really wanted to indulge you, but before your lips even touched, he started coming with long, hoarse grunts, his mind and body overcome by the amount of your desire for him. You could feel it, Mike emptying his balls, the hot sticky seed spilling in you, dripping out of you.
“I’m sorry, angel,” Mike mumbled, falling forward after freeing your legs from his feverish hold. “Next time, I promise.” His lips went back to the same spot where they were the last time, just behind your ear, as he started to suck tiny bruises into your skin.
You groaned.
“Tell me I don’t have to wait three to five business days again. Didn’t you boast every night, angel, I want you to come around my cock every night?” you mocked him, imitating his manner of speech.
“Behave,” he breathed, somewhat amused.
“Yeah, yeah,” you countered, rolling your eyes and pouting.
You could still feel his cum dripping out of you, sticking you two together, his hot breath on your neck making your nipples harden again. You were so insanely insatiable, needing Mike to go again, last longer, fuck all your holes, or at least the ones his cock could fit into.
“Behave,” he gritted out, his hand falling onto your throat.
You smiled smugly at him, suddenly feeling his limp cock twitching against your thigh.
If you like my writing, all interactions are greatly appreciated-`♡´-
Summary: After you mouth off to Coach Mike one too many times, he decides to properly punish you.
Word count: 1.9k
Warnings: DARK CONTENT, MDNI, minors and ageless do not interact, NSFW, explicit, rape/NON-CON, non-consent, dead dove do not eat, no physical description of the reader, mentions of female genitalia, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns used, degrading language, mocking, dacriphilia, p in v, unprotected, creampie, sorta cheating (reader has a boyfriend), abuse, first draft, no beta, not proofread
DO NOT READ IF UNCOMFORTABLE WITH WARNINGS
I will delete/block all hate comments and tags. If you don't like the content, don't read it and feel free to block me. I am not responsible for the content you consume.
Notes: This is not a normal relationship. This is dark content.
“What the fuck did I tell you?” Coach Mike screamed at you, his voice going high in his everlasting irritation.
“Yeah, yeah,” you dismissed him, rolling your eyes, causing that smug giggle in your teammates. Not that any of them would ever dare to disobey him or any other coaches.
“Stop being such a fucking bitch,” he said through his teeth, his face grimacing, jaw clenching impossibly tight. He was holding his glasses in his fist so tight you were sure he had already broken them.
“Takes one to know one, Michael,” you spat back, a vicious sneer lighting your face.
“How many fucking times,” he got in your face, tensions growing so high your teammates were already stepping in, “did I tell you to stop calling me that?”
Your lips formed in an exaggerated pout, mocking Coach Mike, as your teammates dragged you away, still amused, but asking you to dial it down a couple of notches.
You were a topic often discussed between the staff, your sharp tongue and aversion to authority becoming almost mythical. Your personality quite entertained most, but Mike had taken a particular dislike to your attitude, and although he initially tried to resist, he started to take it quite personally when your hurled insults reached him.
So much so, in fact, that he decided to teach you some manners.
You could swear you heard a faint sound of your hotel door opening, but surely, it was just your imagination playing tricks on you, that treacherous in-between feeling before completely falling asleep deceiving you. Except when you felt a warm body slide in next to you, sleep already having taken you so deep you were unable to move, you knew you weren’t imagining it.
Your heart rate spiked in seconds, then calmed somewhat when a familiar scent reached you, then spiked again, confused why Coach Mike would enter your room in such a manner.
He pressed himself against you, his hand resting snug against your mouth; all sound, if you made one, would come out muffled, but at least you were jerked fully awake.
“Not so mouthy now, are we?” you could hear his smug, sanctimonious sneer as his hips ground against your ass in shallow thrusts. He was already hard, so hard you wondered if anyone had ever been so hard just getting in bed with you.
“You smell so fucking delicious,” he whispered against your ear, “I should have done this sooner.”
Alarms started to go off in your head immediately, and you tried to move, but Mike leveraged his whole body to quickly get on top of you, pressing you hard into the mattress, his hand still glued against your mouth.
“This will be the last time I tell you, hm,” he muttered, his lips finding your neck, pressing hot kisses that gave you goosebumps, “stop mouthing off, and stop fucking calling me Michael.”
His hand gave way a little, just enough so you could speak.
“Do you get paid to assault the players, Michael, or is it just a hobby?” you couldn’t help yourself, bitterly spitting out the first thing that went through your mind, still desperately trying to get him off yourself, jerking and thrashing your whole body, trying to move.
He groaned, pressing his forehead to the back of your head, pushing you even deeper into the mattress, his chest pressing against your back.
“What the fuck,” he said through gritted teeth, “did I just tell you, hm, angel?”
His hips continued their little thrusts, his hand snaking its way around your throat, putting you in a tight headlock. His voice and that mocking nickname he used rang in your ears.
“From now on, it’s yes, Coach, and no, Coach, got it?” As he was saying it, he flexed his muscles, effectively tightening his grip around your throat.
You strained to breathe, gulping for air, tiny tears forming in the corners of your eyes.
“Yes, Coach,” you whimpered, defeated and deflated.
Mike immediately relaxed his arm, leaning closer.
“I’m just teaching you a lesson, you annoying spoiled fucking brat. And you are the only one that needs to be taught, because everyone else knows how to behave.”
“Yes, Coach,” you whimpered again, your throat nestled in the crook of his elbow.
Leaning slightly on his side, his legs still enveloping yours, he pushed his other hand under your shirt, groping your tits and rolling your nipples under his fingers.
“Do you like that, hm?” his mouth continued leaving wet marks all over your neck and shoulder, his sneer filling your ears.
“No, Coach,” you whispered out, unsure if Mike was even listening to you.
“No? Are you sure, angel?” his hand slid down into your wet panties; he moaned loudly into your ear, pleased with what he found there.
“No, Coach,” escaped your lips as you closed your eyes.
Mike finally kissed you, claiming your mouth in a sloppy, aggressive, almost bruising kiss as his fingers explored your pussy; one of his long fingers gently penetrated you, his thumb rubbing circles over your sensitive clit.
“You’re so tight,” he groaned, “how the fuck will it fit, hm? Do you think I’m too big for you?” Mike continued to ignore your rigid body under him, thin fabric doing nothing to stop the sliding of his cock between your ass cheeks.
“Yes, Coach,” you whispered, barely audible.
“You are dripping. Are you that desperate to be fucked, angel?” he continued talking, biting at your lips, pushing his tongue in and out of your mouth, his spit spreading all over your cheek. He pushed another finger into you, slowly massaging your tight walls, preparing you for his throbbing cock.
A lone whimper escaped your lips.
“Fuck, angel,” Mike breathed out, fevershily pulling his cock out of its confines. You couldn’t see it, but you could feel it, warm, heavy, and leaking against your bare ass. Mike quickly pushed your panties aside and snapped his hips, sheathing himself all the way in.
The stretch burned, sending a quick bolt of pain through your pussy, and you yelled out, causing Mike to extend and push a couple of his fingers into your mouth. They lay heavy on your tongue, and you bit down, cautiously first but harder after, in one last, desperate try to fight back.
Unfazed, Mike simply tightened his arm around your throat without a warning, causing you to desperately open your mouth seeking more air.
He kept thrusting, splitting you on his cock, moaning your name, still holding you in a headlock. His cock spread you so deliciously, and it felt so agonisingly good to be punished by Mike in this way, even if you were feeling so guilty about it.
“Does your boyfriend fuck you like this, angel?” he taunted, capturing your surprised exhale with his mouth. He continued to fuck you hard, slowing down from time to time to drag his cock halfway out before pushing all the way back in, almost like he was rubbing it in, the fact that you were obviously enjoying him so much.
“No, Coach,” you finally admitted, more tears flooding your face, “he doesn’t really fuck me at all.”
Your voice was hoarse, but at least you felt a little better, admitting something that was weighing so heavily on you for so long, even if that admission was to Coach fucking Mike, who was currently fucking you under his full weight, his arm around your neck making you feel deliciously dizzy.
“Oh, angel,” he pressed a quick kiss to your temple, “you should have come to me sooner.”
You couldn’t tell anymore if he was making fun of you or not, his cock making you feel so insanely, devastatingly good. You wondered how he was pounding into you for so long and so hard, not losing an ounce of his strength or determination.
“Coach?” you whined, biting at his flexed bicep. You couldn’t think at all anymore; your mind was lost, floating, and your body palatably overwhelmed.
“Yes, angel?” Mike laughed, his hand groping at your tits again, pushing your tank top up.
He was still in his official team kit; hell, he didn’t even bother to take off his shoes, so consumed by trying to, in his own words, teach you a lesson. He did mean what he said - he should have done it sooner. He wished he had done it sooner, not to teach a brat like you manners. No, Mike regretted not enjoying your tight little cunt earlier, listening to those obscene wet sounds it was making under the constant assault of his fat cock.
“No one ever fucked me like this before,” you immediately buried your face away from him, pressing it against his arm, your cheeks burning.
“Poor baby,” he cooed, sweat from his head and neck dripping all over you, “poor, poor baby angel. Do you want me to stop?”
“No!” you yelled immediately, before biting your tongue. “No, Coach,” you tried to play it off, but Mike was already chuckling in your ear.
“You look so good under me, angel,” Mike was babbling now, his hand pulling both of your wrists, pressing them together against the pillow. “Every night, angel, I promise you. I want to feel you come around my cock, pretty girl, I want to hear all those little pleas from those pretty lips,” he kissed you again, moaning at the same time, looking at your fucked out, cock-drunk face.
You didn’t want it to stop, the heat in your cunt giving you one of the best feelings you’ve ever experienced, topping even some mediocre orgasms you had. You now moaned and whimpered freely, your teeth grazing at Mike’s lips and chin, your tongue darting out trying to find his. Unable to form any words anymore, you’d only let out tiny sounds that seemed to encourage Mike to be even rougher, snapping his hips at you, burying you further into the mattress.
“I’m coming, angel,” he muttered into your ear, biting at your earlobe, pressing his nose there. “I’m coming, and I’m coming in deep.” His breath was hot, his deep voice thundering through you as Mike chased his final pleasure, his final claim.
Mike started cuming into you, but still thrusted shallowly, trying to enjoy everything your pussy would give him. His groans filled the room as he stilled on top of you, his sticky seed spilling deep inside your battered walls, and then leaking out around his cock.
He stayed on top of you for a while, relaxing, listening to you trying to breathe, and then, with a long groan, lay down next to you, his arm still wedged under your neck.
“You can tell that loser of yours to fuck off,” he muttered, his voice falling into that angry growl, “because I’m not giving up on that cunt.”
He pulled you closer, observing your red eyes and puffy lips with great attention, tangling his fingers into your hair. He wasn’t frowning, but you knew he was completely serious. What his deluded mind initially envisioned as a punishment unleashed something in him, and you knew that when Mike wanted something, he’d always get it.
And what if deep down, you wanted it as well? What if you too wanted to feel your panties soaked with his cum night after night, Mike on top of you fucking you into the mattress until the only thing on your mind was his cock? What then?
You bit your bruised lip, your mind scrambling like crazy. Are you really going to put your pleasure, yourself, first? For a crazy fuck like Coach Mike?
“Yes, Coach,” you whispered, awfully close to dissociating.
Mike smiled.
“Good girl,” he whispered back.
If you like my writing, all interactions are greatly appreciated-`♡´-
Hi! Can you write anything involving HammerAnvil + Niece!Reader?
girllll yes — i know you love those two, let me cook let me cook. (first time writing something like this I apologize !!) ⋆ baelor targaryen x niece!reader x maekar targaryen.
ᵎᵎ warnings. afab!reader, +18, targcest, dubcon?, smut, piv, threesome, implied age gap, rough sex, creampie, power imbalance, overstimulation, mean!maekar, praising.
Two large hands gripped your hips from either side, the cold metal of his rings sending shivers racing up your spine as they brushed against your bare skin. The sensation made you twist and writhe against the ruined sheets, but Baelor was strong — his hold firm yet never cruel. His thumbs pressed into the soft flesh of your belly, leaving two shallow indentations.
“Do not fear, sweet niece,” Baelor murmured tenderly, gazing down at your flushed face. “If pain overwhelms you, I will be here to comfort you. Just keep your body still and relaxed for us... can you do that?”
You nodded softly, holding his gaze with wide, glistening eyes. Gods... How had you ended up in bed between your two uncles? You didn’t know. You didn’t want to think about it. The only thought circling desperately in your mind was that Maekar did not look like a gentle man.
Baelor knelt on the bed near your head, while Maekar positioned himself between your spread thighs. You felt as though you might combust — naked and vulnerable between two powerful older men who could, and would, do whatever they wished with your body.
Maekar growled low in his throat. Your gaze snapped to him as he took his thick cock in hand, stroking it once, twice, before aligning the blunt head with your dripping entrance. The sight of how utterly undone you were for them ignited a dark satisfaction in both men, though Maekar made no effort to hide his.
The first tentative press of his cock against your folds made you instinctively try to shift your hips, but Baelor’s fingers tightened in warning.
“Be gentle,” Baelor cautioned his younger brother, his voice carrying a quiet expectation. “You do not want to make a poor impression on her first time with you.”
Maekar merely grunted, shooting Baelor an offended look before turning his gaze back to you. “As if it matters. She will have plenty of chances to learn to love it, I’m sure.” His voice was rough as he pushed forward another inch, deliberately slow. “Won’t you? You’ll let Baelor fuck you right after, like a good girl?”
You nodded without hesitation. The motion earned a sneer from Maekar, who promptly drove forward in one powerful thrust, burying himself to the hilt. Your back arched sharply as a cry tore from your throat, pleasure and pain crashing through every muscle in a dizzying wave.
Baelor hushed you gently, his palm smoothing over your belly with surprising tenderness, as though searching for the outline of his brother’s cock beneath your skin. The rough, cool press of his rings against your heated flesh slowly eased you, your slick walls fluttering and stretching to accommodate Maekar’s length with shocking ease.
“That’s it,” Baelor praised in a low murmur, stroking that same spot as Maekar began to move inside you. “Keep that rhythm.”
“Don’t tell me how to fuck,” Maekar snapped. Baelor only answered with a tired, knowing smile.
With every thrust, Maekar’s heavy balls slapped against the curve of your ass, the lewd sound mingling with your breathless moans and gasps. One of Baelor’s hands slid down between your thighs. You bit your lip hard as his fingers found your swollen clit, rubbing quick, precise circles that made your cunt clench greedily around Maekar’s cock. The younger brother let out a deep, guttural groan and tightened his grip on your thighs.
His pace grew more erratic the longer his brother touched you, each thrust deeper, harder, more desperate.
Your whole body trembled between them, caught in the relentless rhythm of Maekar’s hips and the expert torment of Baelor’s fingers. The pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your core, winding like a spring until you could barely breathe.
“Look at her,” Baelor whispered, voice thick with arousal as he watched your face. “She’s close. So beautifully close.”
Maekar’s only response was a feral growl. He leaned forward, bracing his weight on one arm as he drove into you with punishing strokes, the wet sounds of your coupling filling the room. Baelor’s fingers never faltered, pressing and circling your clit with devastating precision until the coil inside you finally snapped.
You came with a shattered cry, back bowing off the bed as your walls pulsed and fluttered violently around Maekar’s cock. The orgasm tore through you in blinding waves, leaving you shaking and gasping.
The tight, rhythmic squeeze of your climax pushed Maekar over the edge. With a rough, broken groan, he buried himself deep and spilled inside you, hot pulses of his release flooding your fluttering cunt. His hips jerked erratically as he rode it out, grinding against you until every drop was spent.
Baelor watched with hungry eyes, still stroking your oversensitive clit in slow, soothing circles as you whimpered through the aftershocks. Only when Maekar finally pulled out with a satisfied grunt did Baelor move.
He shifted smoothly, taking his brother’s place between your trembling thighs. His cock —long, and already achingly hard— nudged against your slick, cum-filled entrance.
“My turn, dearest,” he breathed, leaning down to brush a surprisingly gentle kiss against your temple. “Let me show you how well I can take care of you.”
With that, he slid into your soaked heat in one smooth glide, Maekar’s release easing the way. A soft, broken moan escaped your lips as Baelor began to move — deep, rolling thrusts that felt entirely different from his brother’s roughness. Where Maekar had been raw and demanding, Baelor was sensual, almost worshipful, drawing out every spark of lingering pleasure until you were whimpering beneath him once more.
He would not be rushed. Not until he had wrung every last trembling climax from your exhausted body.
1 ⧽. if you could sit down and finish any one of your wips without anything stopping you (time, tiredness, etc), which fic would you choose? tell us about it if you want!
2 ⧽. if you could sit down and finish any completely new fic without anything stopping you (time, tiredness, etc), what would you write? tell us about it if you want!
3 ⧽. what's something you like about your writing?
4 ⧽. is there an au or trope that you haven't written before, but would want to try?
5 ⧽. is there a certain kind of fic that feels the most satisfying to finish? any reason why?
6 ⧽. if you were to write a part two/sequel to a fic, what fic would you want to write it for?
7 ⧽. is there a fic you wish you received feedback on, but didn't get any/much? this ask game is asking someone else to then give feedback on said fic, pretty pretty please!!!
8 ⧽. what part of [insert fic] is your favorite?
9 ⧽. tell us about a wip/idea that you're excited about!
10 ⧽. what genre is generally the easiest or most enjoyable for you to write? which is the hardest?
11 ⧽. if you were to rewrite [insert fic] with [insert different character/ship] how do you think it might change?
12 ⧽. what's a song or two you associate with [insert fic]?
13 ⧽. do you have any writing projects/goals/plans you're working on/want to work on?
14 ⧽. is there anything outside of your normal content that you want to write?
15 ⧽. if you wrote a fic called [insert title] with [insert character/ship] what do you think it might be about?
16 ⧽. if you wrote a fic called [insert title] what character/ship would you want to write it for?
17 ⧽. are there any songs you want to write a songfic for?
18 ⧽. how do you want your writing to feel to your readers?
19 ⧽. give a hint/teaser about something you're writing without any context or explanation! tease us haha
20 ⧽. answer any one of the other questions that you want to!
notes: headcanony little drabble, afab/fem reader, implied age gap, pregnancy, slight nsfw.
modern!maekar just wants to come home to you, his pretty wife, at a reasonable hour every night. fuck a business dinner. why would he want to spoil a perfectly good steak frites with dull small talk and discussions about stocks and shareholders? and gods forbid his father asks him to represent the company at some stuffy conference, or a company retreat, or a fancy gala. he's not baelor; he doesn't have any patience for pointless socialization with people he couldn't give less of a fuck about. after a long day full of meetings and conference calls, he wants to take off his cufflinks. put his phone on do not disturb. and (most nights) fuck you like a man starved. his ideal night would end by 9pm with you naked and sated next to him.
so you're a bit suspicious now that you're pregnant and you're doing your makeup for the third dinner party in one week. there was a charity gala last weekend. a fundraising luncheon the week before. you've given maekar's credit card a hell of a workout, shopping for dresses that can accommodate your growing baby bump and your packed schedule.
it's not that you dislike this sudden change in character. the food's usually quite good at these things anyways. you enjoy getting dressed up, flaunting the jewels maekar buys you, chatting about your plans for the nursery, and feeling maekar's hands wander from your waist down to your ass as the event goes on. you've always loved how he introduces you, that low rumble of my wife like it's a boast and a threat. and gods know you love how most of these little soirees end with him rucking up your dress and giving you a mind-numbing orgasm as soon as you get home.
you just want him to admit it. he likes showing you off. you can tell from the possessive hand that never seems to leave your belly, wedding ring glinting on his finger, just in case it wasn't already obvious that the swell underneath is his work. you can tell when you're gossiping in the car home and he's disparaging some elderly shareholder you'd both had the displeasure of conversing with. three wives and no children, you know, he'd scoffed, that man couldn't get a rabbit pregnant. you can tell from the way he makes love to you afterward, all needy and riled up. it's some primal instinct deep down. showing off his good work.
"i think you just like parading me around," you tease him while you fix his tie before leaving. "i'm like a walking shrine to your virility. ought to wear a shirt with your sperm count on it, it'd be easier."
"don't know where you get your ideas from, woman," he grumbles. "that's disgusting."
there's a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. maybe he'll never admit it. you're happy to keep playing along.
✦ maekar targaryen x niece wife! reader ⋆ just a lil thought... about how vocal you are in bed — so shameless that even baelor can hear you through the walls. +18
a long, throaty moan tore from your lips. your back arched in a sinuous curve, pressing your hips back against maekar as he fucked you from behind with deep, relentless strokes.
“close your mouth,” he growled, breathless. “by the seven hells, quiet yourself.” his fingers dug into your hips, holding you firmly in place as he drove into your cunt again and again.
you had been entangled for some time now, yet you showed little inclination toward silence — or even discretion. the unfortunate knights stationed beyond the door were undoubtedly hearing every shameless sound you made. so too was your father, baelor, who was likely twisting his rings with weary resignation, eyes closed, silently praying that his brother would finish claiming his daughter and be done with it.
“I… I can’t,” you gasped, a dazed, half-witted smile curving your lips as his cock plunged in and out of you with wet, obscene sounds. you were so slick, so utterly soaked, that your body welcomed every inch of him with greedy ease.
he snarled in frustration. your body shuddered as he drew back slowly, only to slam forward in one savage thrust, striking that devastating spot deep inside you. pleasure tore through your nerves like lightning.
and you cried out... loudly.
“then bite the pillow,” he commanded. one broad hand glided down the elegant line of your spine before gripping the back of your head, pressing your face firmly into the silk.
a soft, foolish giggle escaped you, muffled against the cushion that was quickly darkening with your saliva. from that angle, you could still glimpse him sidelong — his handsome face twisted in a potent blend of ecstasy, irritation, and shame.
how would he ever face his brother again after this? the walls were thick, yet your cries seemed determined to slip through them. of that, he was certain.
“have you not heard me?” maekar hissed through clenched teeth. he seized a fistful of your hair and pinned your face harder against the damp silk. “I said bite.”
only when you finally obeyed did his voice soften with dark satisfaction. “good girl,” he exhaled, listening as your moans were deliciously stifled.
he watched from above as your body continued to move in perfect rhythm with his — arching wantonly, offering him deeper access, your eyes fluttering with bliss while drool trailed from the corner of your mouth and down your chin.
with a low curse, maekar lowered himself fully over you, pressing your body into the mattress. his thrusts grew fiercer, more demanding, his cock pulsing inside you with urgent need.
“ugh. come here,” he murmured hotly against your ear, his breath caressing your flushed cheek. “turn your face to me.” a flicker of envy for the pillow stirred in him. “I will silence those fucking sounds myself.”
the moment your teeth released the silk, his mouth claimed yours in a fierce, devouring kiss. His tongue plunged deep, swallowing every moan, every desperate whimper.
“yes… moan for me now, you wicked creature,” he rasped between kisses, his body growing taut as release approached. he drank down your cries of pleasure, feeding you his own guttural groans as your inner walls fluttered and clenched around him, milking him with desperate pulses.
a raw, ecstatic sound broke from your throat as he gave one final powerful thrust, flooding your depths with thick and hot pulses of his seed.
when the last tremors had faded and exhaustion settled over you both, he withdrew with a heavy sigh. he rose, fastening his robe, and tossed yours toward you with casual authority.
“clean yourself and go to your father,” he said. “I expect you to apologize. otherwise, I doubt I will be able to meet his eyes on the morrow.” his voice dropped, laced with both exasperation and lingering desire. “damnable woman.”
heat flooded your cheeks as reality descended like cold water. you had been so utterly lost in the feeling of him moving inside you, in the way he possessed you so completely... oh, no! what have you done?
maekar fixed you with one last stern look, yet you caught the faint, satisfied gleam in his violet eyes.
“what are you waiting for, niece?” your husband prompted. “go. perhaps this will teach you a measure of decorum next time.”
I'm so fucking sorry. my head still throbs but my soul decided to speak up 😮💨
Maekar is the softest, most gentle when his babies were newborns he just likes to smell them, rubs his cheeks on them and loves his wife, plays with her hair and gives soft touched. HOLD ME BACKKKKK everything is just so soft and gentle and loving. Literally when his quietly speaking to dunk in ep 6 that’s just him. He is still related to Baelor and Dearon, he gets his gentleness from them.
Soft
Pure mush!!!! So cute!
“Can I have my baby back?” You ask smiling at your husband and newborn son. The man ‘offering’ to look after him while you spent some time with the boys before bed.
“He’s my son.” Maekar says rubbing looking down at the cooing babe in his arms, the little boy holding his father’s finger in his little hand.
“He’s mine too.” You laugh, not minding that he’s stolen your baby from you. Happy he loves his children so much, him not always able to show it.
“You got to carry him for nine moons, let me hold him now.” Maekar say turning away from you as if you were going to steal the babe of him. You just wanting to kiss him.
“But-.”
“I’m sure the older boys would love some time with their mother.” He tells you, him having been working all day and unable to be with your sons.
“Would they now?” You ask raising an eyebrow at your husband. Daeron and Aerion both sleeping as it’s late. You having just read Daeron back to sleep. You giving your husband a look. “Stop sniffing him.”
“I’ve missed having a newborn.” Maekar muses swaying slightly with the boy, while kissing his forehead. “You’re already more well behaved than your brothers.”
“Maekar.” You say sternly giving him a look. “It’s time for bed.”
“Wife.” He teases a smirk apart in his face, him at his happiest with you and the children, a newborn babe in his arms.
“You get so mushy when we have a baby.” You say rolling your eyes while you get ready for bed. Letting him cuddle Aemon for a while longer, the babe needing to actually sleep in his crib for a change.
“I love you.” Maekar whispers to you later while you cuddle in bed, your head resting on his chest while he holds you close to him. All the children sleeping in their beds.
“I love you too.” You say kissing his chest softly. Tired but also wanting to spent time with just Maekar.
“Can we have more?” He asks quietly as if saying it any louder would scare the idea away.
“Isn’t three enough?” You ask, happy with any amount of children you have.
“Just a few more?” He whispers kissing the top of your head, already picturing a future with more children.
“We’ll see.”
“Thank you.” He says softly, loving you and the children more than anything in the world.
“What for?” You ask in genuine confusion, not knowing what you’ve done to warrant being thanked.
Hello Orson-pope!
Can I please request Maekar, Baelor, and Lyonel reacting to their wife teasing and touching them before a serious meeting? I would love to know how they would feel when she leaves them high and dry and what they would do once the meeting is over. Thanks so much!! 💕💕
High and Dry
Pairing: Maekar, Baelor, Lyonel x fem!reader
Word count: 4.3k (approx. 1.4k per character)
Warnings: MDNI, NSFW, smut, explicit, no use of Y/N, no physical description of the reader, mentions of female genitalia, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns used, sex, p in v, unprotected, rough sex, dirty talk, first draft yolo, no beta
Maekar groaned, finally tearing himself from you.
He only meant to give you a quick goodbye kiss, for the day that is, but you quickly turned one kiss into two into a passionate kiss that had Maekar humming against your mouth.
“One more,” you asked with puffy lips, your arms draped around his neck.
“Fine,” Maekar grunted before pulling you closer again, his tongue finding little resistance.
You didn’t have to touch him to know how painfully hard you were making him, Maekar’s huge hands splayed across your back, his fingertips pressing in, his head dipping lower…
“You’re going to be late, husband,” you smiled, pressing a quick peck to his lips.
This time, Maekar swallowed his groan.
Around dinner time, the door to your chambers opened without a knock, in a way you knew Maekar was entering. Still, you pretended to be deeply engrossed in the book you were reading, expecting Maekar to huff and puff a little before leading you to your bedchambers.
“Did you find that amusing?” his gruff voice loomed over you.
“Hm?” you feigned ignorance and innocence, though a tiny smirk gave you away. Looking up to Maekar through your lashes, you could tell he was in a particular mood, especially when he tossed his cape over the closest chair.
“Undress,” he ordered, and if you thought you could tease him a little more, the tone of his voice left nothing up for discussion.
Slowly, you stood, unlacing your dress without any sense of urgency, but Maekar waited for the whole Gods-forsaken morning. His lips crashed onto yours, all teeth and bite, his hands tugging, pulling, and breaking, a distinct sound of the fabric ripping filling the room.
Soon, you were standing bare in front of your husband, his lips leaving a trail of bruises over the sensitive skin of your neck, his hands roaming your body. His hot breath was making you so wet, your hands finally cupping his cock through his breeches.
“Fuck,” Maekar finally grunted, his teeth gliding over your shoulder. He took a couple of steps back, slumping into a chair, taking in your figure.
Your mouth watered at the sight of Maekar freeing his cock, and you immediately went to kneel.
“No,” he rasped, stroking himself. “Come here. Fuck yourself.”
He immediately hooked one arm around you as you straddled him, the other grabbing your ass; slowly, without any preparation, you lined up the tip of Maekar’s cock and, with a deep breath, slowly started to sink on it.
It hurt, but you wanted it badly.
Watching a red flush creep up Maekar’s neck and how he was so desperately swallowing all his moans made you feel so eager to please him, so with a painful yelp, you sat all the way down.
Maekar’s hand flew to your neck to steady you as your whole body trembled, speared on his cock; he pulled you against himself, your hands bracing against his chest.
“Now you know how I felt the whole morning,” he spat out, but you knew your husband.
There was no bite in his words, and he even pressed a quick kiss to your temple. You rolled your hips slowly, feeling how Maekar’s cock throbbed inside you, and he finally let out a long groan, his head falling between your tits, licking and sucking.
You continued rolling your hips a little faster, listening to Maekar muffle his groans and moans on your tits, his teeth grazing your hardened, sensitive nipples. It unlocked something in you, being completely naked and him fully clothed, for reasons you could never understand.
Your legs were trembling already, but you were determined; you knew Maekar was going to punish you properly in the evening, take your time with you and keep you on edge for hours, denying you over and over again. It was a gift, your current time together, a loving treat before he’d unleash on you.
But now, his cock was spreading you, mixing a little pain with a lot of pleasure, your body nothing but a vessel for Maekar to relax into a little. Or a lot, you smirked to yourself, feeling ropes of cum already leaking out of you in the middle of his surprised orgasm.
“Fuck,” he muttered after his breathing returned to normal. “I need to change out of these fucking clothes.
“I have to go, my love,” Baelor whispered, still holding you close as you sat in his lap.
“You’re always in the meetings, My Prince,” you protested, your nails lightly scratching the skin at his nape, just as you knew would drive him wild. “I never see you anymore.”
You pulled him into a deep, tender, intimate kiss, feeling the pressure in his breeches against your thigh. Baelor’s hands tightened around you, and a breathless moan escaped your lips, going directly to the Crown Prince’s cock.
And then you pulled away, watching his differently coloured eyes go all glassy and unfocused, his hands falling to your ass, gripping it, but letting go when you stood up.
He watched you depart his solar, trying to remind himself that duty called, but wanting nothing else but to follow you back to your shared chambers.
It wasn’t that late when Baelor finally made his way to you, at least not by Baelor’s standards. He could barely pay attention during the meeting, his mind constantly drifting to you, to that kiss, your body pressed against his.
He found you asleep, a book splayed over your chest, one hand still atop it; you dozed off in the middle of a chapter. Baelor gently removed it, making sure to slide a bookmark inside, before carefully putting it aside.
You wore nothing but his favourite shift, a dark red silk that was transparent in certain light — the one you wore on your wedding night.
With a new sense of urgency, Baelor undressed, sliding under the covers next to you. He has missed you and your warmth, his cock stirring to full hardness when a first sleepy moan escaped your lips.
“Baelor?” you whispered, your heavy-lidded eyes meeting his glassy ones.
Usually, Baelor would be patient, controlled, measured. But those kisses you shared before his meeting reminded him how much he loved to let go, lose himself in you.
“You’ve been teasing me the whole day,” Baelor whispered back, his lips capturing yours as his fingers slid over your breasts, pinching your nipple through the flimsy fabric.
You just moaned in reply, one of your hands tangling in his hair, the other one sliding back to his nape, your nails dragging over the skin; Baelor sighed in your mouth, pressing his tongue deeper, climbing on top of you. You could feel his cock already, hard, hot, and leaking, before his fingers found their way lower, exploring your heat.
Not for long, as when he was satisfied that you could take him without too much preparation, Baelor impatiently bunched up your shift, his muscular thighs forcing yours wider apart, exposing you fully to him. He tried, Gods know he tried, to give you enough time to get used to the stretch, but when your cunt started to greedily swallow him, Baelor had to admit he was just a man.
He sheathed himself fully, drawing an audible moan out of you, selfishly chasing his own pleasure. He knew now exactly how you liked it the most, which spots to hit and how hard, and how slowly to drag himself out before feverishly fucking back into you. None of it mattered now, as Baelor kept fucking you into the mattress.
You loved it.
So much so that your moans and whines became louder than the slapping of the skin on skin, your nails lodged firmly into the skin of Baelor’s back, trying to bring him as close as possible, feel his warmth and his sweat. When your back arched off the bed into him, and you started babbling his name, Baelor’s lips finally turned into a satisfied smirk.
He would never admit it, but he loved getting back at you.
You couldn’t help yourself tease but Lyonel a little before every meeting, just kissing him for a moment too long, or wearing his favourite perfumes and oils.
“You little minx,” Lyonel would breathe out every time, willing himself to leave and tear himself from you.
Today, however, you were feeling particularly naughty, standing on your tiptoes, tangling your hand in Lyonel’s curls, your tongue swirling around his.
“My Lord,” an embarrassed young servant tried again, not looking at you two, his cheeks and ears burning.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Lyonel muttered, physically moving away from you, until you cupped his cock, that was.
You could feel it harden under your hand, confines of Lyonel’s breeches still secluding it somewhat.
He practically jumped away from you, his mouth falling open.
“Wife, how dare you start this before my meeting?” there was a certain level of dramatics in his voice, almost as if he was personally offended that you were going to leave him high and dry.
But you just winked at him, pressing a rather chaste kiss to his cheek, and ushered him out of the solar.
You were pretty proud of yourself, occasionally chuckling to yourself as you continued to read your book, waiting for Lyonel to return. It would be some time, you guessed, as this meeting was important, although you didn’t bother too much to find out why.
Imagine your surprise then, when Lyonel returned to the solar with pressing urgency.
“Done already?” you frowned, wondering who and what offended him now.
“No, no,” Lyonel mumbled, walking to you, unlacing his breeches. “We’re taking a short break.” He led you behind his desk as you laughed.
“Take it off,” his head indicated to your dress.
“Lyonel, here?” it was your turn for fake dramatics, especially as Lyonel already had you in his solar, multiple times.
“Take it off, or I’ll take it off,” his voice was impatient and so, so needy.
He pulled his breeches down a little, just enough to free his cock, before sitting down. You watched him stroke his cock, flushed with blood already, looking painfully hard.
“Were you this hard this whole time?” you teased, slowly unlacing our dress, trying to give Lyonel a show.
“Hurry the fuck up,” Lyonel barked, getting seriously impatient.
You didn’t listen, because when did you? So Lyonel took matters into his own hands, turning you around with a surprised shriek from you, and bending you over the table.
“You need it that badly, husband?” you listened as he bunched up your dress and your shift, his cock already sliding between your folds, coating it in your slick.
With a sharp thrust, he sheathed himself completely inside you, causing you to fall further forward on the table as a painful yelp tore from your lips.
No matter how hard or how often Lyonel fucked you, it always took some time to get used to the merciless stretch of his cock.
But this time, Lyonel wouldn’t grace you that time, irritated and a little angry you spurred him on in the first place, chasing his own pleasure.
“Fuck, fuck,” he moaned out, his hands pulling your hips to meet his thrusts, the cold of his rings burning into your skin.
“I needed this,” Lyonel grunted as he continued to plunge into you, “I needed you.”
His babbling always sent such pleasurable jolts through you, sometimes even more than his cock. But you liked it, when he took, when he used you, when he was so desperate to fuck you, he adjourned his meeting.
You listened, with a smirk on your face, as Lyonel’s breathing became erratic, a tell-tale sign he was close. He gripped your hips even harder, stilling inside you before spilling his seed.
“I’m not done with you yet,” he whispered, slapping your ass before quickly lacing himself back up and returning to his meeting.
If you like my writing, all interactions are greatly appreciated-`♡´-
Pairing: Aymer de Valence x Prostitute/Wife!Reader
Attention please: Dark content ahead! Read the warnings carefully before proceeding! +18 content, I’m not responsible for your online experience.
Summary: You’re Aymer’s fav prostitute, but he becomes obsessively addicted to you, with catastrophic consequences.
Warning(s): Dead dove do not eat, blasphemy, r*ping, non-con/dubious-con, forced marriage, murdering, possessive behaviour, violence, threatening, blackmailing, unwanted orgasm, presence of blood, explicit sexual content, explicit language, prostitution, p in v, fingering, choking, open ending, not so good ending.
All of the characters involved are adults.
3k+ words (I’m shocked)
A/N: No AI involved, all of my garbage is mine, and I'm still human.
English is not my first language; my apologies for any eventual mistakes.
Don't copy, translate, upload, or use my works anywhere.
This is dedicated to my muse and my favourite writer of Sam Spruell's characters, @orson-pope
Tag List: @californiablues88 @ghostlybfgf @risefallrise
Like, Comments and Reblog are always welcome :D
✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:
Butterfly
The wedding was celebrated privately. There was no music, no flowers, no beautiful dress and no guests. But still, it was valid. No matter if the priest had a dagger at his throat, and the only witnesses were the Earl’s men. You had been picked up in a hurry from the brothel that you called home without giving you time to get dressed properly, but Aymer decided your unseemly clothes were ideal for the church.
You came back from the dissociation where your mind was taking refuge when the priest called your name with a trembling voice. Teary eyes filled with hope gave you the awareness that his life was in your hands. A wrong answer, and Aymer would have ordered his death.
“Do you take this man as your husband?” He repeated. “My Lady…”
“She’s not a Lady, my dear priest. God only knows how many cocks she saw.” Aymer’s eyes weighed on you like stones as he spat out his disrespect with disgust, causing widespread amusement. “But I’m sure our Lord will forgive her for her sins, in the end. Right?”
The priest nodded frantically, humouring him without hesitation, too scared to pronounce a word outside the ceremonial lines. Aymer's sharp teeth showed up in a cruel smile. “I already forgave her, that’s why we are here today. I want to make her a respectable woman.”
It was free humiliation led by jealousy of seeing you with another man, which was ridiculous considering your profession. When Aymer tasted you for the first time, he became addicted. A woman who submitted to him uncomplainingly and satisfied his whims was liquid gold for his limbs. And he took his time to ruin you in every way he wanted.
“Aymer… please. I will be your wife, but don’t get him killed.” You begged, trying to sound convincing.
“Are you dithering to marry me to keep him alive?” It was a trap without a possibility of saying the right thing. “What if I order his death right now, and I will lead you in chains around the country until we find another priest to marry us?” His irritation pressed through his gritted teeth.
“I do.” You answered in the blink of an eye, taking his hands in yours in a desperate attempt to keep him calm, and you repeated your answer while looking at the priest, nodding with no hesitation. You even brought out a smile, pretending to be happy with it, with the mere hope he would have been pleased, at least.
But Aymer hated being fooled. His mocking smirk faded instantly, and his eyes, lost in yours, revealed a furious calmness that made your toes curl with terror.
“In the name of our Lord, I pronounce you husband and wife.”
In the wake of those words, with a sudden and firm grip of your hair, Aymer dragged you out of the church, ignoring your whimpering of pain. “Kill him.” He ordered his men.
A few hours before…
The cheap incense failed its purpose to cover the smell of sweat and sex, but inebriated the senses like a good drug regardless. The dim light of the candles, strategically placed to hide imperfections, helped to give an erotic aura to turn on the customers’ desire.
The entrance was for those who didn’t have much money or decency. A tangle of naked bodies addicted to wine and orgasms writhed on the pillows and carpets of the floor. A good advertisement for the hesitant ones, an invitation to come back for those who enjoyed the treatment.
Aymer entered the brothel with a smirk painted on his face and an already half-hard cock in his pants. It was a circle of hell, but it was his favourite place since he met you. The memory of your body, your voice, and your smell filled his mind throughout his journey. It didn’t matter in which corner of the country he was; he always came back to you.
It wasn’t love. It wasn’t devotion. You were only his favourite whore, and the only woman who could handle him just right. Or at least, he was convinced of it.
Heavy steps crossed the room, ignoring everyone around but the Mistress, who approached him in a hurry. The woman was visibly terrified, and she had all the reasons to be. She was breaking their agreement for you to be always available if he showed up.
“My Lord. We were expecting you in a few days.” She stood in front of him, who didn’t slow down even for a moment.
“And yet here I am. Where is she?”
“Ser, she’s not ready yet.” Her broken voice followed her stumbling pace as she walked backwards. “Please, allow me to introduce you to another beautiful flower. You will not be disappointed. Hanna, Catherine!”
He suddenly stopped; his irritation was palpable. “I don’t fucking want flowers. I want her.”
“And you’ll have her, My Lord. I'm just asking for a few minutes.” She tried her best to show a reassuring smile, but showed only hesitation.
The silence that followed was thick with fear, and Aymer tasted it as if it were a delicious cake. He loved the power he had over the frightened people, those who indulged him only to save their useless lives. He drew his sword and pointed at Hanna’s throat. The poor woman stood still in sheer fright and whimpered as she silently started to cry.
“No, please! No, Ser!” The Mistress begged for Hanna’s life. “Upstairs, the second room on the left.”
Aymer didn’t knock at your door because he was horny, you weren’t a lady, and he was paying well for your services. It was a real shame when he witnessed you entertaining another man. Those familiar moans escaped from your mouth like a song while your body moved so elegantly as you rode him. Those same movements you used to offer to him, those same vibrations of your throat that thrilled his senses as he fucked you. Your sweet scent was everywhere, but the stench of that worm was polluting the entire room.
“Wait for you to turn outside, please.” You moaned and turned your head as if the invasion of your room was routine, but your blood ran cold in your veins when you recognised Aymer. You moved out of the bed quickly, covering yourself with your robe and bowing at him, something really annoying for your customer.
“Hey! I didn’t finish yet! Come back here, you wh…”
The man couldn't finish his complaint, because Aymer cut off his head with one clean blow of his sword. It was the first time for you to see his true nature, the beast behind the man, the satisfaction in his eyes as he stared down at that lifeless body. The blood of his victim was still warm when he took you, face pressing against the wall, nails scratching the surface. Aymer cared to leave the sword belt on the floor, but he was so eager that he had time only to drop his trousers to his ankles and pull his hauberk enough to free his cock. The chain mail around his chest was cold and uncomfortable against your naked back, and your toes struggled to keep you balanced. Each thrust inside you was claiming and brutal as he cared to keep you firmly in position.
“I got you, my beautiful butterfly. No one else will have you.”
It was the only thing he said right before marking you with his seed, as if he needed to wash all of your customers' fluids off you.
What happened next was a series of events beyond your control.
✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧
The spiral staircases leading to his chambers seemed endless as he kept dragging you around by your hair. You hit his back and his arm with all your strength, lamenting and begging, but he didn’t slow down, until you stepped on your robe and fell on your knees. Aymer lifted you by your weight, pushing you against the cold, stony wall. His grip around your hair was still too strong. “I teach you what it means to make fun of me.”
“I was trying to save his life, you monster! You sow death wherever you go.” You hissed back, showing an anger he had never seen in you. He liked it, even if he would have never told you, not to ruin his whims.
“It was better when you were a whore. All buttering and sweet, always ready for me.” He pushed a hand between your legs, pressing as much as possible to feel something through the light fabric. “Do you remember when I bought you the first time? You were wrapped up with fine silk like an expensive gift, and adorned with flashy jewellery.” He lowered his voice. “Fuck, your tight cunt was heaven, even when you bled for me.”
Of course, you remembered. Aymer’s face at that moment would have remained indelible in your mind for the rest of your life, as the breathless pain pervaded your intimacy, just because he couldn’t restrain himself from taking you roughly. Even the Mistress was sorry for you, but she couldn’t do anything in your favour. Refusing what Aymer de Valence wanted meant death.
“I would bring you back if I could, but there is only a pile of burnt wood left and a bunch of dead whores.”
“What?” You sighed. That revelation broke you enough to make you sob, even if you promised yourself you would have resisted. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but there he was, licking your tears and growling with wild desire. “My poor butterfly. I took you from your cocoon by force, but I assure you, no other men will fuck you. It will be like at the beginning. Promise.”
You suddenly realised what Aymer meant and the possible reason behind that wave of violence that led him to kidnap you from the brothel, burn it down and kill everyone else in the middle. He was in love with you, or better, he fell for the idea of having a compliant, gentle woman, happy to stay with him. Someone who could love him despite his sins. It was your professional role; it was what you learned from your job, accepting all the customers, no matter what their lives were outside the brothel. Aymer forgot the reality in favour of a sweeter fantasy, something that he never had in his life, the love of a woman.
In the last stretch of the way to his chambers, Aymer dragged you by your arm, giving your scalp immediate relief. The doors opened with a sharp blow, and he threw you inside with such impetuosity that you stumbled to avoid falling.
You knew you never stood a chance, but you could control it. It was your job, it was what your Mistress taught you, it was the only thing that allowed you to survive him. Your mind suddenly relaxed, reminding yourself that you already went through it. You knew Aymer de Valence. That was your power.
You wiped your tears and walked to the table to pour two cups of wine. “Alright, husband. I have no intention of fighting you. Moreover, we are married now, and you have all the rights to me.” You approached him with calculated steps, trying to show confidence and offering him the wine. “I didn’t thank you for saving me from a life of misery.”
Aymer caressed his teeth with his tongue as a conscious smirk appeared on his face. He took the wine from your hand and drank it all in one sip before throwing the cup against the wall with strength, making you jump out of your skin. He slapped your hand that was holding the other cup, making you drop it and wrapped your nape with a firm grip.
“Don’t play with me, wife. You were happy to be a whore, your cunt let you earn a lot of money with no effort.”
The mask you built to survive anything he was planning vanished, and something else emerged from your heart. Rage.
“Let’s make this quick, then.” You said in a strangely calm tone, staring into his eyes fearlessly.
The light blue of his eyes darkened as he watched you shed your robe, his gaze sweeping over the curves revealed. A flicker of something primal ignited in his expression, replacing the cold contempt he had worn moments before. He let you go, moving back enough to take a full view of your naked body.
“Quick?” He repeated with a dangerous edge to his voice. “I don't recall agreeing to that arrangement. I was promised a wife, not a transaction.”
He moved around you like a predator studying his prey, and you mirrored his movements to be prepared for what was next. “I don't remember making you such a promise.”
“Is that so? She didn't have time to tell you. Your Mistress sold you to me in exchange for all his girls.” His large frame moved slowly with purpose as he closed the distance between you two, his boots were heavy on the stony floor.
The heartbeat pulsed into your ears, appalled by his words. “What?” You asked in a faint voice, causing his animalistic laugh.
“Too bad she’s not here to confirm it, but it doesn't make a difference now since you’re my wife now.”
Your eyes moved from him only to land on the fireplace poker. He looked in the same direction, his eyebrows shot up at your defiance, his lips curling into a smirk that was equal parts amusement and irritation. “Do you want to hit me with that?”
You replied with a mere attempt to reach the fireplace as quickly as you could, somehow already aware you wouldn't have made it. Aymer moved fast without giving you an escape. His hands came up to grip your arms firmly, painfully, his touch rough and demanding. “Do you think you can dictate terms in my chambers? I am Aymer de Valence, and you will learn your place.”
He dragged you to the bed, throwing you on the mattress as he dropped his trousers and slid his robe off his head without ceremony. He didn’t need to wait for an excuse to take you, but he always liked to play a bit before consuming his meal.
You knew he liked it when you were all sweet, purring, and praising into his ear, and taking him completely as if he were the only man on Earth. That’s why you fought. “Touch me, and I’ll drag you into hell with me.” You roared like a lioness.
“I'm sure we'll have fun down there together.”
When he spread your legs, you slapped him. Once, twice, and the pace of the slaps increased when his shock turned into amusement. Your body slipped down under him easily, as he pulled you to him and pushed a couple of fingers into your cunt. The sudden invasion made you tense up, boosting his excitement.
“Are you sure you want to play this game? I’m going to hurt you.”
Your strategy of toying with him in your favour broke instantly. The helpless situation where you were and his guttural laugh led you to fight more strongly, turning your slapping into fists, but even when his lip started to bleed, he didn’t move away from you.
“I'm beginning to think I may have gotten the better end of this bargain.” He spat some saliva and blood on your cunt as lubrication, and it was the last thing you heard before his hardness penetrated your intimacy with disrespect. You tried to relax your body as much as possible to avoid physical pain, but effortlessly. You were already exhausted by the journey, the wedding, and the general violence your mind and body suffered in the hours before, to resist any longer.
He slipped inside you easily, moving your hands from his chest, above your head and squeezing your wrists at every thrust. The familiar scent of his sweat, the texture of his skin and every damn scar you knew so well dragged your mind back to the past months, when you used to be his paid whore; when even if you pretended to be pleased by his attention, the sex was different. He has always been rough and generally disrespectful, but he let you peek at his caring side, the same side where he kept the love he felt for his sister and nephew like a treasure. The beast had feelings.
That was what betrayed you, because in those months, you felt pleasure when you lay with him. And even if it was a bad joke of your mind to protect yourself, your cunt became wet and your skin sensitive to his rough touch.
“Keep tightening, my love. Your cunt is heaven.”
You weren’t tightening for his pleasure, but for yours. It didn’t matter, though; he was having what he wanted. Your broken gaze, humid with tears, moved away from his aroused face.
“Don’t you dare. Look at me.” He commanded.
You deliberately took your time to meet his feral eyes again, but your expression remained emotionless. If he wanted you angered, fighting or broken, you gave him indifference.
“I feel nothing, husband.” Your tease was a hazard, but how satisfying his rage was. You were ready to take the blow. The grip around your throat was so strong that you couldn’t breathe, and while the remaining air was slowly leaving your lungs, he felt enjoyment in having your life in his hand. His pelvic movements became erratic and faster; he wanted to reach the final pleasure without killing you, but still, keeping you on a thin wire.
“Yes, fuck… that’s it. Do you feel it?”
Yes, you felt it. Your body trembled with the unwanted orgasm, shaking with intensity. Damn, it was better than all the fucks you did for work in your whole life. You hated it, but you needed it more. Your face was red, as tears wetted your temples and your fingernails sank into the flesh of his hand around your throat. You couldn’t beg using your voice, but the feeble hope for his mercy filled your heart. When his cock emptied into your womb and his guttural voice filled the room, he loosened his clutch to let you take one last breath before passing out.
You woke up the following day, dizzy, with a huge headache and suffering every time you swallowed. Dark marks were printed on your throat and wrists as you checked your body in the mirror. Aymer was gone, but you didn’t know for how much, and you knew he wasn’t done with you yet.
A Dangerous Distraction Masterlist ✦ Main Masterlist
Summary: You expected the grumpy older man from the bar to disappear after one night. Instead, Maekar decided one evening with you was not enough.
Word count: 2.5K
Tags: 18+/MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, Modern AU, part of the “A Dangerous Distraction” world but (maybe?) could be read as a standalone, age gap(reader is in her mid 20s, Maekar is in his early 40s), they first hooked up, then he takes her out on a date, kissing, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, English is my second language
Please let me know if I’ve missed anything!
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, setting, or story of A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms. This work is a fanfiction created for enjoyment and non-commercial purposes only.
Author’s note: A request (kind of?), a comment by @litteblues just got the cogs in my brain moving and I finally got to write it hahah the ending is a bit different, but I hope you all enjoy it!
Your first date with Maekar began much the same way your last one did, by checking the time every few minutes.
Which was utterly ridiculous.
You survived being stood up the night before. You survived what was supposed to be a one-night stand with a handsome, infuriatingly gruff older man. You even survived discovering said older man wanted to take you out to dinner immediately the following day.
And yet, you were nervous.
Standing in front of the mirror, you smoothed an imaginary wrinkle from your outfit and told yourself it was because this was different. This was not a chance encounter anymore. This was not just a reckless decision made after having a few drinks, to soothe a bruised ego.
This was a date. An actual date with a man who fucked you like a god, and wanted more, wanted you.
The doorbell rang at precisely seven o’clock.
Of course he was on time. From what you had seen so far, it would have surprised you if he was not. You took one final look in the mirror and smiled, before rushing to open the door.
And immediately forgot every coherent thought and anything you were about to say.
Maekar stood on the other side, one hand tucked in the pocket of a dark coat. He looked entirely too handsome for a man who seemed permanently irritated by the existence of other people.
In his other hand he held a bouquet of the freshest roses you have ever seen.
For a second, you simply stared. He cleared his throat.
“These are for you.”
The gesture was so unexpectedly sweet that it caught you completely off guard. Your cheeks warmed.
“They are beautiful.” You accepted them carefully before leaning forward to kiss his cheek. “Thank you. I am just going to put them in a vase, will be right back!”
You disappeared inside to find a vase, trying very hard not to smile even wider.
When you returned, Maekar’s eyes immediately found yours. His gaze softened almost immediately. The change was subtle, but you noticed it.
And, annoyingly, so did your heart.
“You look nice.” He said.
Not beautiful, not stunning, just nice. That coming from someone else would have been underwhelming. But coming from him, it felt sincere and more genuine than any elaborate compliment ever could.
“You do not look too bad yourself.” You smiled. “Like you managed to get some proper rest after last night.”
He scoffed, but you could see his mouth twitch.
“Brat…” He muttered under his breath, making you giggle slightly.
When you got to the car, he opened the door for you.
“Where did you get your manners? Before Aegon's Conquest?”
Maekar gave you a long look. “Just get in the fucking car.”
You laughed and obeyed.
You liked that he was a gentleman. A grumpy gentleman.
The drive should have been awkward. You had known Maekar for barely twenty four hours and you slept with him. Now you were sitting in his passenger seat while he drove you to dinner like this was a completely normal progression of events.
Instead, it felt strangely easy.
The city drifted past outside the windows as Maekar navigated traffic with the same focused concentration he seemed to apply to everything else in life.
You stared shamelessly at him. His large hands rested loosely on the steering wheel. His brows were furrowed in concentration, though to be honest you suspected it looked like that even when he was relaxed.
“You know…” You said eventually. “For someone who spent most of last night acting like talking to me was a burden, you seem awfully committed to this date.”
“I warned you, I do not do things halfway.”
“Oh, that is so romantic of you.” You could not help but tease.
“You got flowers.”
“That is just one thing.”
“And now I am taking you out to dinner.”
“You are really setting the standard high, old man.”
A loud scoff escaped him, and you took that as a victory.
Silence settled comfortably for a few moments after that. The city drifted past the windows and you found yourself studying him again.
The lines at the corners of his eyes, his neat silver-blond beard, the strong line of his jaw, the broad shoulders that filled out his coat. He was definitely older than you would usually go for a man, but you did not mind.
Your gaze drifted lower then, almost unconsciously. There was no wedding ring. You noticed it the night before, and you noticed it again now.
But a man like Maekar did not simply exist in a vacuum. There had to be some history, past relationships, a marriage perhaps. An entire life you had yet to learn more of.
The thought lingered for a moment before curiosity got the better of you.
“Do you have kids?”
Maekar sighed immediately.
“What?” You asked, confused.
“Nothing good has ever followed that question.”
“You are just being dramatic.” You retorted.
“No, I am not.”
“Yes, you are.” You pouted. “Come on, tell me!”
His fingers tapped once against the steering wheel, as if he was contemplating whether answering was worth the headache.
“Six.” He almost whispered.
You stared. “What?”
“I have six children.”
You nearly choked. “Six?!”
“Yes.”
“Six actual human children?”
His expression flattened. “No, I have six dragon children.”
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “Holy shit, Maekar!”
“You fucking asked. No need to make a big deal out of it.”
“Six children?” You repeated.
“Yes.”
His jaw tightened and he stared at the road. You leaned back in the seat, whistling.
“That explains so much.”
He shot you a look. “Explains what?”
“The permanent scowl. It is there because you have spent years arguing with younger versions of yourself.”
He rolled his eyes, but you could see he was fighting a smile. Warmth spread in your chest at that. Then another thought occurred to you.
“Which one is your favourite?”
Maekar just stared at you. “I do not have a favourite one.”
“Oh, you absolutely do.”
“No.”
“Come on. You know exactly which one.”
“I am not continuing this conversation.”
“Coward.”
His grip tightened on the steering wheel.
“Fine, different question then!” You grinned. “How much do you know about them?”
He frowned.
“What kind of fucking question is that?”
“A normal one.”
“It is not.”
“It is. Humour me, please!”
Maekar sighed again.
“I know their birthdays.”
You nodded. “That is a good start.”
“Their favorite foods, and their allergies.”
“Expected.” Your smile softened slightly.
“The books they liked as children. The movies they still pretend not to like. I know which one calls when something goes wrong and which one pretends nothing is wrong until it has become a disaster.”
Something warm settled in your chest, because he answered without hesitation, without having to think. It was like those details lived permanently inside him.
You looked at him for a long moment.
“What?” He asked.
You shook your head.
“No, it is just…” You looked out the window briefly before glancing back at him. “You have no idea how incredibly attractive this is.”
The silence that followed was immediate, and you watched the tips of his ears turn red. Actually bright red. For one beautiful second, Maekar Targaryen looked completely caught off guard.
“Are you blushing?”
“Stop it.” He almost growled.
Your grin widened and his ears grew redder. And for the rest of the drive, Maekar refused to look at you.
The restaurant Maekar had chosen was nothing like the one where you had spent forty-something humiliating minutes waiting for a man who never arrived.
This place was quieter, the lighting was soft without being dim and the tables were spaced far enough apart to allow privacy. The low murmur of conversation never rose high enough to become distracting.
It felt like the type a restaurant someone like Maekar would choose because they genuinely liked it, not because it was currently fashionable.
This realization should not have affected you, but it did, because it meant he had put thought into this, into you.
The hostess greeted him by his surname. You immediately looked at him, following him to your table.
“She knew you. Do you come here often?”
“Not that much, no.”
Dinner unfolded slowly after that. It was mostly you who spoke, because he was not the sort of man who filled silence simply because it existed.
But when he spoke, you listened. And when you spoke, he listened too. And not the polite kind where someone nods while waiting for their turn to speak. The real kind, the kind that made you feel like every word mattered.
You told him about Rowan’s inability to mind her own business.
“She sounds exhausting.” He grumbled.
“She can be sometimes.” You nodded, sipping your wine.
“Yet you are friends with her.”
“She is my best friend, and I love her.”
“Hmm.”
You narrowed your eyes. “What does that mean?”
“It means you are also exhausting.”
You nearly dropped your glass. “Excuse you, I am delightful!”
“You are relentless.”
“That does not sound like a compliment.”
“It was not.”
You could not help but laugh at his honesty.
Later, the conversation drifted toward books, then travel, then work. Then somehow to memories. You discovered Maekar spent years coaching various sports teams because one child had joined and the others eventually followed.
“Are you telling me you volunteered for that?”
“Fuck no, I was coerced.”
“By your children?”
“They are surprisingly effective negotiators, the little fuckers.”
You laughed. The sound earned one of those rare, fleeting smiles from him. And suddenly you wanted another one, then another.
You found yourself watching him while he spoke, the movement of his hands. The slight furrow between his brows whenever he concentrated. The dry humor that appeared unexpectedly and disappeared just as quickly.
Every glimpse beneath the stoic exterior only seemed to make the problem worse.
Because for the life of you, you could not understand why you suddenly wanted more. Not just another date, or more attention.
You truly wanted more of him, his thoughts, his company, his opinions. You wanted to know what made him laugh when nobody was watching. Whether he made coffee before breakfast or after. Whether he was impossible to deal with when he got sick. Whether he let people take care of him at all.
The thoughts arrived completely uninvited. And once they started, they refused to leave.
It was absurd. You had known him for barely more than twenty four hours. That was nothing, a blink, a moment.
And yet every time he looked at you, every time he remembered some small detail you had mentioned, every time that guarded expression softened for half a second, you found yourself wanting to know what existed underneath all of it.
By the time dinner ended, you felt slightly unsteady. Not because of the wine, though you were sure it had not helped, but because of him.
The drive back was quieter than the rest of the evening. The city slid past in soft streaks of gold and white. Maekar drove with the same steady focus. Every now and then, you caught him glancing at you, and you would glance at him.
When you finally reached your building, the car rolled to a stop and the silence changed.
You turned your head slowly, and found him already looking at you.
The air between you felt different now. It was charged in a way that made your skin prickle.
“Are you going to kiss me, old man?” You asked softly, tilting your head. “Or are you going to continue staring at me like that?”
His eyes darkened slightly, and then he simply leaned over.
The kiss was immediate, firm and unapologetically him. His hand came up to your jaw, steadying you as if he needed to make sure you stayed there, that this was real. You melted into it without thinking. Then just as quickly, he pulled back a little, far enough to make you chase the absence of him. His thumb lingered against your cheek before he withdrew completely.
He got out of the car first. You stayed for a second longer, trying to collect yourself, trying to remember how breathing worked normally. He opened your door again without a word.
You walked together to your apartment, the distance between you small enough to feel dangerous, close enough to become aware of your own breath.
“Thank you for dinner.” You said when you reached your door, smiling. “I had a great time.”
“You are welcome.”
The silence was different this time, somewhat heavier. His gaze held yours without wavering. And for a second you saw it, the raw hunger underneath everything. How he did not seem capable of wanting anything halfway. This sent a strange rush through you, excitement and fear.
Because suddenly you could imagine how easy it was to fall in love with him. The thought hit you hard enough to steal your breath and Maekar noticed.
He cupped your cheek with a carefulness that did not match the weight behind his stare. His thumb brushed over it gently, eyes flitting to your mouth and then back up.
Maekar said your name, and it sounded so different in his voice. It made your pulse stutter.
“Yes?”
For a moment you thought he was going to kiss you again. You wanted him to kiss you again. You wanted to feel him again.
“You should go inside.”
Your brows shot up. “What?”
A faint curve touched his mouth.
“You came up with me all the way just to send me to bed? Alone?!” You let out a short, incredulous laugh and pushed at his chest, but he would not move away.
He huffed. “I brought you home.”
“Same thing.” You pouted, before saying quietly. “I was hoping for more than just a kiss…”
“And what were you hoping for?” He asked, voice lower now.
You felt your back hit the wall, your eyes not leaving his.
“You know what…” You whispered, looking at his mouth. “I want all of you.”
“Greedy girl.” He huffed a laugh. “You had my attention all night, and you still want more.”
“I could never get enough of you.” You admitted. “Is that so strange?”
His grip tightened slightly at your jaw and the way he was looking at you sent a jolt to your core. He did not answer you. Instead, he lunged forward, pressing his lips against yours hard. You gasped into his mouth, a sound that was swallowed instantly as he devoured you. His tongue forced its way past your lips to claim every inch of your mouth.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He pressed you against the wall, leaving no space between you. He kissed you with a starving intensity, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, pulling and nipping at it until you whimpered.
When he finally pulled away, the sudden absence of his heat felt like a physical blow. You were left staring at him, your lips swollen and tingling, completely disoriented. Maekar rested his forehead against yours.
“Do you want to come inside?” You asked breathlessly.
His eyes held yours for a long moment, and something in his expression shifted.
He did not say yes. He did not say no. He simply pressed his lips against yours, the space between you disappearing again.
Your heartbeat quickened, hard and loud enough that you were certain he could hear it too.
Because I could not figure out how to properly add and reblog my taglist to a scheduled post, I am skipping it for now. I did not want to risk missing anyone or picking and choosing unfairly. We will be back to the regular taglist once I am back from my holidays!
