The only lady deemed worthy of marrying the newly crowned king of Westeros was you, shy and scared of intimacy you must battle the court as a new wife and queen
Baelor Targaryen x Lannister! Reader
Word count: 3,681
CW: MDI, 18+, smut, age gap, arranged marriage, loss of virginity, self inflicted angst? priase kink, uses of good girl. reader is described as having golden hair and implied as being shorter than Baelor. no other physical despcriptions.
Masterlist | one | two
Authors note: this is basically the same as the original golden one shot but with a few edits and lady Florent name drops to fit into the world of pretty in pink ! (Don’t worry if you don’t want to read it’s an mainly just for my self to make it make more sense in my head for part two )
When the decision was made for King Baelor, heir to the Iron Throne, to take a new wife, one house took precedence over all others. House Lannister. Loyal and rich beyond measure, they were the perfect match to strengthen the crown. You were the perfect match.
Everything was arranged quickly, everything taken into account, the dowry, the guests, what gown, the flowers and the menu. Everything was thought of for you, everything except you and your feelings on the matter.
You had never met King Baelor, never so much as left the westerlands, and had spent most of your life in Casterly Rock, knowing little else but the endless walls and maze of the castle. You knew one day you would be forced away from your home, married to the highest bidder and your father, Damon Lannister, the grey lion, would happily see you become a queen. He loved you dearly, though the man was the very definition of ambitious; it shouldn’t have surprised you as much as it did that he had wed you off to the king. And yet it did.
The entire journey to King's Landing had been a cold one. You had refused to say a word to a single member of your family, choosing silence over their honeyed words and your brother's faux sympathies. Three weeks of travel, filled with your mother's tales of King Baelor, how perfect he was, how just. How he would one day be the perfect king and husband. You didn’t doubt he would be, everyone seemed to share the same opinion on the man. But that didn’t stop your fears.
You were marrying a man who had been wed before, and if the opinions and words of others held true, had been in love with. A man who had and lost children. What if he never loved you? Never cared for you? What if your marriage was cold? What if you were a wife in name only, a wife who would forever be haunted by the ghost of Jena Dondarian?
But you supposed the fate you feared was the fate most women in Westeros suffered. Your own mother hadn’t met your father before they married, and they had grown to be close as years went by, but unlike you, they also did not have an age gap of twenty years between them.
Your only comfort was that you would not be alone. You knew Lady Florent, the wife of prince Makear. You had met her at your brother Tybolts name day Tourney two years prior, and had remained in close contact since. It was a small comfort but still did little to ease the fear of marrying a king, of being thrown into the duties of queen. A role you had no desire for for no want, a role ill suited to you.
She had been the one to tell you, a letter sent with kindness and soft words. You knew your father had bid for your hand in marriage to the king, had offered riches and gold most countries would never see. You had begged Lady Florent to dissuade the council away from you, to offer the countless other ladies from across the realm, and she had tried but even she couldn’t argue with a dowry of your size.
Three weeks on the road had caused your mind to spiral. Three weeks of staying in inns whilst your mother prattled on about how fine a queen you would make one day. Three weeks, and you were finally arriving in KingsLanding. The streets became cobbled, and the stench you had smelt a mile away grew tenfold. The flower-scented handkerchief your mother all but suffocated you with as you rode through the streets did little to hide the reek of flea bottom.
The people of Kingslanding came out in masses to watch your family's golden carriage ride through the streets, to watch your family's knights with their golden armour, your father, the grey lion, leading his family and eating up every ounce of attention the crowds offered. They chased after the carriage, as if waiting for gold to fall at their feet. Your family's banners flew behind you as you rolled into the grounds of the keep, surrounding your wheelhouse in a practised show of pomp that your father loved so much.
Your father grabbed your hand, rubbing your knuckles in comfort, as you stepped out of the wheelhouse, your red skirts flowing behind you as you stepped into the courtyard, countless eyes on you measuring your every move. Watching each step, waiting eagerly for you to trip, to make a single mistake, watching every line of your face, waiting for some reaction, bar the perfectly posed face your mother had trained into you.
“My Lady,” you heard a low voice say. Your eyes were fixed on the countless eyes that watched you, your gaze not once meeting the royal family. They seemed to watch you even more closely than the court, weighing every breath with a magnifying glass. Your father cleared his throat beside you, squeezing your hand and drawing you into the man before you, your betrothed.
“Your grace,” you spoke softly, your eyes never meeting his as you took your hand from your father's and placed it into the awaiting palm of your betrothed. “It is an honour to meet you,” you curtseyed low, your eyes trained on the floor.
You lifted your head slowly, meeting the soft and kind smile of King Baelor. “It is my pleasure, my lady”. You gave him a shy smile in return as he offered you his arm, your gaze turned to your father, awaiting his approval nod before taking his arm.
Baelor had known you were nervous. He knew it the second he laid eyes on you. On your nervous and jittery form. How your eyes looked anywhere but at him. How you avoided his every question with perfectly trained flattery. He couldn't blame you in truth. Meeting the man you were to wed the day before your wedding was hardly a fitting courtship.
He had noticed how, at dinner, you tried to shrink into yourself, desperate to avoid any and all attention. Had only spoke to his goodsister Lady Florent, whose sadness had lifted slightly with the arrival of her friend. But Baleor was not a man who would take a stranger to wife. Even if that was what you were. He had wanted to summon you to court a moon before the wedding, he had wanted to know you and ease your fears. He loathed the thought of marrying a stranger as much as you, and yet that was what you were. It was a stranger who walked down the aisle of the sept to meet him.
A beautiful stranger whose hair shimmered in the sun as if it were made from pure gold, a stranger who, despite her nerves, wore a kind smile on her face. A stranger who was to be his wife, and Baelor would be dammed if he didn’t admit he wished to love. He had loved his first wife, and the thought of a marriage that would be cold and not as warm as strands of your hair sounded like a nightmare to him. A nightmare he was determined to avoid.
The dress you wore on the day of your wedding differed from the typical white dress most ladies wore on their wedding days. Your dress, instead, was the embodiment of House Lannister. A masterpiece of crimson and ivory, the bodice was a deep red velvet framed by intricate gold embroidery that curled like delicate vines down the dress, with skirts that flowed behind you, giving off the air of regal elegance. You walked with practised grace, your feet seemed to float down the aisle, the only part of you truly touching the floor was your maiden cloak. A deep red cloak covered in golden embroidery and the great lion sigil of House Lannister.
His eyes locked with yours for the first time as you approached the dias. Your arm loosened from your father's to join with Baelors. Your eyes turned from his the second the septon opened his mouth and began the marriage rites. Baelor’s gaze, never once leaving yours as the Septon went through the prayers, all while your eyes flickered to anywhere but his, your hands were clammy in his, hot and moist as the maester went through the endless prayers and hymns. His grip only tightened as the ceremony went on, hesitating to break his hold on your hands when it was time to cloak you under his protection. Your eyes met his hesitantly when he reached around to unclip your cloak, whipping your hands quickly on your dress as you stared at the same point in the ground.
“…Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger”, you both repeated, once he had cloaked you in the cloak of house Taragryen, the lion replaced with a dragon, a cloak that only seemed to elevate the regality of your gown.
“I am his, and he is mine, from this day, until the end of my days”
“I am hers, and she is mine, from this day, until the end of my days”, you both repeated, your hands joining once more, as Baleor lowered his head, and you both spoke the last part of your vows, tying your souls together for eternity.
“With this kiss, I pledge my love,” he spoke with the confidence that seemed oh so natural to him. You mumbled yours, nervous for your first kiss to be done before a sept filled with thousands of strangers.
The kiss was soft, not as chaste as either of you had expected, but soft and one he would describe as perfect. He lingered longer than he should have, but your lips fitted his so perfectly that he found he did not want to pull away. Even when cheers and claps filled the sept, or when your blush covered your face and neck, turning you nearly as red as your gown.
The feast was filled with all the pomp and circumstance that could be expected at a royal wedding. With food enough to feed all of King's Landing for the night, wine enough that even a room full of drunkards would struggle to drink it all. Baelor had not once left your side. Talking kindly to you throughout the night, and though you had been evasive at first, using courtly flattery to answer his questions, eventually you began to disregard your mother's relentless training, though you still shrank into yourself far too much for a bride on her wedding day.
“My King,” you began, noticing the hand he had placed on your thigh, a slight hitch in your voice as he squeezed your thigh softly.
“Baelor, please”, he corrected, softly, “I am your husband, please, no need for formalities,” he smiled, reaching for his wine and sipping it softly.
“Baelor,” you corrected, tasting his name on your lips “, I…I know we are strangers, but I wish to ask something of you.”
“We are husband and wife.” He corrected softly, his other hand coming to grab your chin to get you to meet his gaze, “You may ask me anything.”
You nodded, forcing yourself to meet his gaze, “May we…forgo the bedding ceremony? I do not wish for my clothes to be pawned off on me nor to be pawned off on you,”
He nodded, letting go of your chin and reaching forward to kiss your cheek softly, “Of course, I detest the tradition.” Relief filled your body almost instantly, relaxing into your chair, and your hand came to squeeze the one he had on your thigh.
“Thank you,” you sighed, smiling softly.
“Perhaps we could retire now instead, before the lords begin to discuss the bedding,” he offered. You looked around the room nervously. You had been at the feast for hours, you had danced and cut the pie. And the lords were beginning to get deep into their cups. You nodded softly, not meeting his eyes as you searched for the ones of your parents.
He stood slowly, offering you his hand, your mother sending you a reassuring nod as you took his hand slowly, a shy smile on your face as he led you from the hall and the jeering of lords and ladies alike.
You had little time to explore the keep before your wedding, leading you to rely heavily on Baelor to guide you to your marriage chambers. You felt more like a kitten than a lion as he guided you into the room, maids had lit the room with dozens of candles. Clothes laid out for the next day for you both. Wine and fruits were placed thoughtfully on the table beside the settee. You took in every inch of the room, hundreds of books seemed to fill the room, making you wonder how many books Aerys must have to be considered the more studious brother. Portraits of his sons sat on his desk, alongside a few toys that looked to belong to his youngest Matarys. Untouched and covered in dust as if moving them would destroy the memory of his son.
Baelor stood behind you, watching as you played with the rings on your finger, the nerves he had not long eased seeming to return. He cleared his throat, playing with his own rings on his fingers as he walked in front of you. He spoke your name softly, commanding your attention away from your nervous assessment of the room, “Are you okay?”
You nodded “yes”, a blush rose to your cheeks, “could you help me with my dress?” You cleared your throat, wanting to force the confidence you were lacking.
He wordlessly reached for the laces of your dress, undoing the intricate layers of ties that bound the dress together. Your hands reached to cover yourself as your dress pooled to the floor. Your hands reached out to pull out the endless gold accessories that filled your hair, as Baelor reached for his own clothes, reaching for his doublet as he watched you nervously pull off your copious amount of jewellery.
For the second time, the night, Baelor asked you if you were okay, walking towards you slowly. You were both in your small clothes now, little between you but the thin but of fabrics that did little to hide anything.
“Of course, I'm just nervous,” you said, looking up at him slowly. He reached for you. Pulling your hand to his lips, he placed a soft kiss on your knuckles.
He nodded softly, “Do you know what is meant to happen?” he asked kindly, roughly.
“My mother told me everything.” He let go of your hand, moving to stand closer to you, his hands wrapping around your waist. His head dropping down, and he places a soft kiss on your forehead. You flushed, feeling a flush of heat across your body, “would you…” you hesitated, your voice stuttering, “would you kiss me?”
A large smile filled his face before he finally dipped down and took your lips with his. Your mouth slotted perfectly against his, the kiss was more heated than the one in the sept. A soft gasp left your lips as he broke the kiss. His hands are squeezing your waist. His thumb traced your bottom lip, “so perfect,” he hummed, making your blush deepen.
You breathed deeply, reaching up to kiss him once more. Soft gasps fell from your lips as Baelor began to deepen the kiss, his tongue pushing into your mouth slowly. He dominated the kiss with soft confidence, his hands reaching to squeeze your waist and pull you closer to him. A soft moan escaped your lips, your hand falling to his bare chest. His lips never broke from yours as he began to slowly walk back to the bed. He fell back onto the bed softly, his hands reaching to pull you to his lap, only for you to take a step back, eying the bed with a nervous smile. Your hands are reaching for the end of your chemise. “Should I take it off?”
He tilted his head, “Only if you want to, darling” He leaned back against the bed, watching as you nodded before you shyly began to pull your chemise over your head, revealing your naked body to your husband.
You swore he groaned at the sight of you, his eyes hooded with what you could only guess was lust. You walked around the bed, his eyes following you as you crawled into bed, sitting against the pillows, your eyes locking with Baelor as he began to crawl towards you.
“We will take it slowly,” he reassured, crawling over your body and placing his arms on either side of your head. “At your pace,” he leaned down to kiss you once more, his lips soft, as his right arm began to trail along your body, caressing you softly as his tongue pushed into your mouth once more. His hand squeezed your breasts slowly, watching how your flush spread from your face down to your body. Your nipples hardened as he began to squeeze your breasts. He broke the kiss slowly, a trail of saliva connecting you as his mouth fell to your unattended breast, taking your nipple into his mouth, and placing teasing kisses across your breasts. “Good girl,” he hummed, watching how pretty your body reached to his touch. “Do you like that, darling?” he asked, as a moan fell from your lips, his hand trailing from your breast down to your waist and down to your thighs, “will you let me touch you?” he hummed, his hand reaching to part your thighs.
“Are you not already?” you breathed, as he placed another kiss on your breasts.
He smiled, reaching to press a soft kiss to your lips before resting his hand on your inner thigh, “Will you let me touch your pretty pussy?”
“Oh,” you flushed, parting your thighs at his words, your flush spreading even further down your body. “Yes, please”
“So polite,” he praised, kissing your lips softly again, before trailing down your body and parting your thighs to reveal your “pretty” pussy to him. His thumb reached for your bundle of nerves, rubbing soft circles on it as his tongue reached to lick between your folds.
A loud gasp fell from your mouth, your hand reaching to cover your mouth as he placed another lick across your slit. “Oh gods,” you moaned, as you felt his fingers reaching to spread your folds and reveal your pussy to him. He groaned softly at the sight of how wet you were. His tongue reaches to place another long, teasing lick across the length of your folds. His thumb still circling your clit as his tongue began to feast on you, lapping at your pussy, feasting on you, like a man starved.
Your head fell back against the pillow in a loud moan, even your hand couldn’t hide. Baelor broke away from your pussy, tusking at the sight of your hand. He reached up, pulling your hand away from your mouth. “Let me hear your moans, darling,” he said, his voice soft but commanding, reaching for both your hands and holding them against your stomach as he descended back down to your pussy. His hands never let go of yours as he feasted on you, as pleasure like never before filled you. His fingers began to circle your entrance, pushing into you slowly, a loud moan and gasp falling from your lips.
Loud moans spilled form your lips, “good girl.” Baleor praised you again, feeling his voice vibrate through your body, as you felt a wave of pleasure wash over you, his fingers thrusting into you as something snapped inside of you, your back arching off the bed, his name slipping from your lips.
“Did you like that?” he asked, breaking away from you. His hands are still holding on to yours. You nodded, “Be good, and tell me”, he commanded, pulling his fingers from you slowly. Leaving you feeling so completely empty.
“Yes, I did, thank you,” you breathed heavily, feeling the warmth of Baelor's body as he rose over you.
“So polite,” he praised. You felt his hard buldge in his small clothes, against your leg. He pulled you into a kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue as his hands reached to pull his length free, leaving you both completely bare before one another. “Are you ready?” he asked, gathering your slick across his length as he awaited your reply.
“Yes, please,” you breathed, reaching to connect your lips, focusing your attention on kissing him as he pushed into you. He stilled as he filled you, waiting for your go-ahead to move.
“Look at you,” he groaned, “you take me so well,” he praised into your neck, his thrusts starting slow. Your arms wrapped around his neck, preeing at the praise, “such a good girl,” he groaned, his hand gripping your waist, as he urged you to wrap your legs around him. His thrusts deeper at the new angle, hitting a soft, spongy spot inside of you.
“Faster,” you moaned, the sting you felt at first long fading into pleasure as he picked up the pace. Fast and deep, your pleasure racked through you, moans filling your chambers as you felt that coil inside of you tighten and snap suddenly. Your pussy is pulsing and tightening around his cock. He moaned into you, his lips moulding against your as his own wave of pleasure washed over him.
He breathed against you, his breath heavy, as he fell off your body, pulling you close to him. “You did so well,” he praised, holding you tight to him, as you felt a wave of sleep wash over you.
You turned into him, mumbling your thanks into his chest, before falling off into sleep. Your dreams were filled with Baelor as you thought that perhaps your fears of marrying an older man were completely unfounded.
Summary: You decide to try your new camcorder with Baelor. He hesitates at first, but once he sees what it can do, his curiosity quickly turns into excitement (even more than yours).
Warning: mdni, 18+, NSFW, riding, p in v, foul language.
“I don’t know about that,” he admitted, his voice strained. “It feels… exposed.”
It was Friday night. You and Baelor had opted to stay in, entwined in each other's arms on the bed. You had already brought each other to climax twice, and now you were proposing something a bit more adventurous.
A week ago, you had bought a new camcorder. It was still sitting in its box, untouched. Feeling bolder than usual, you had suggested filming the two of you together - just once - purely out of curiosity. You promised him you'd delete the footage afterwards.
Now, seating naked on bed, you pushed the camcorder towards him, silently encouraging him to entertain your little experiment. “Just trust me,” you said as you flipped the device open.
His eyes never left you. Uncertainty was written all over his face, plain and impossible to miss. “Please? For me?” you coaxed softly, leaning in close to brush the words against his ear.
He hesitated for a moment, before finally reaching out and taking the camcorder with careful fingers.
You didn't give him a chance to reconsider before you climbed into his lap. Your knees sank into the mattress on either side of his hips as you settled over him, acutely aware of the heat radiating from his body - a palpable force that made your skin prickle.
“Just hold it and record from below,” you instructed, trembling slightly.
Baelor’s grip tightened around the camcorder. He shifted against the headboard, angling the lens upward. “Like this?” he asked, voice edged with hesitation as he looked at the small screen.
“Yes, baby,” you breathed. You were already dripping, the folds of your lips slick and swollen. You weren't sure how much longer this new 'adventure' would last before it left you completely undone. But you steady yourself on top of him, wet heat of your center hovering just inches above his cock.
"I want you to watch every second," you stated before gradually sinking lower. The sensation of him stretching you open made you arch your back, a long, shaky moan escaping your throat.
"Oh god-" Baelor groaned. The small screen showed a striking image: you kept pushing until you felt his base, and a wet squelching noise resonated in the silent room as you completely seated yourself on him. You released a sharp, high-pitched moan, tilting your head back and exposing the graceful curve of your throat to the ceiling.
His eyes widened as he adjusted the camera. He held the device low, angling the lens to capture the point of impact. "Look at that," he said, voice rasped with need.
Any trace of hesitation was gone, only consumed by a raw, primal hunger. The uncertainty that had lingered moments ago had disappeared entirely as his eyes roamed over you. “Aren’t you a sight, my sweet girl?”
You started to move, lifting your hips and slamming back down. The awareness that he was watching through a tiny digital eye, capturing the raw, unfiltered reality of your pleasure, sent a jolt of adrenaline through you. So, you began to quicken your pace.
Baelor let out a choked sound, his knuckles turning white around the camera. "You make me feel good, baby" he hissed. He kept the lens focused, capturing the way your thighs trembled and how your pussy lips gripped him tightly.
"And you looking delicious riding me like this. I can see it... I can see you swallowing me whole." The vulgarity of his words only acted like fuel. You moved to pull him into a messy kiss, and a soft moan slipped between the two of you, feeding the intensity of the grind as your skin pressed together.
The sounds of your connection filled the room: the rhythmic, fleshy slap of your pelvis against his, the slick noise of lubrication being worked between your bodies. Your breasts bounced with every movement, nipples hardening into tight peaks.
At this moment, Baelor was no longer passive. While he kept the camera steady, his other hand reached up, gripping your hip with a force that could bruise to help quicken the pace. With a possessive energy taking over him, he began to thrust upward, meeting your descent with a fierce intensity.
"Oh yes- harder," you whimpered, your fingers digging into his shoulders. "Baelor, yes, p- please, harder!"
He adjusted his hold on the camera, wanting to capture every detail. He observed how the skin on your inner thighs turned a deep pink, how your clitoris was being pressed and stimulated by the base of his shaft with each thrust.
"You want it harder?" he roared. The sound of his voice reverberating in the bedroom. The friction was turning into an inferno. You could sense the wetness flowing, a blend of your own arousal and his pre-cum seeping out, forming a slippery, frothy lather that allowed every thrust to penetrate deeper.
"Look at the camera," Baelor ordered, his breath coming in uneven gasps. "Look at me, my love. I want to see your face while I ruin you."
He flipped the LCD around so you could see yourself clearly. You leaned forward, hair spilling around like a curtain. You looked directly into the lens, eyes glazed with desire, lips parted. On the screen, you saw yourself - tousled, yearning, utterly consumed by him. It only deepened the heat building within you.
Baelor's thrusts became frantic, his composure shattering. He was no longer merely recording; he was engaging in a visual feast of his own creation. He observed how his cock vanished into you, the skin stretching tight, and how your body jolted with each impact against your cervix.
"I'm going to fill you," he groaned, his voice faltering. "I'm going to put it all inside you, and we're going to watch it together." The tension in your lower belly tightened into a knot, a coil of electricity that refused to let go.
Baelor sensed that you were nearing your climax, so he reached down, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing it vigorously while you continued to ride him. Your internal muscles began to spasm, clamping down on him in tight. Without warning, you screamed his name, your head thrown back as a powerful orgasm surged through you. You felt your walls pulsing around his cock, milking him with every contraction.
He didn't hold back. With one final, powerful thrust, he drove upward, burying himself as deep as he could. He let out a guttural shout, body tensing as he came. You felt the hot, thick jets of his seed erupting against your cervix, wave after wave of pulsing warmth that seemed to fill you completely.
The camera recorded everything - the tremor in his arms, the way your eyes rolled back, and the raw, intense release. As the peak faded, you fell onto his chest, your skin glistening with sweat, heart pounding against his ribs.
Baelor didn’t move the camera right away. He kept it rolling for a few more moments, capturing the heavy silence in the room, the sound of your synchronized, labored breaths, and the sight of your bodies still intertwined, shaking in the aftermath.
After a while, he reached out and pressed the stop button. The red light disappeared. He set the camcorder down on the mattress and wrapped both arms around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. You lay there for a long while, the cool air of the room starting to dry the sweat on your skin.
"Well," Baelor whispered, his voice returning to its usual steady tone, though still tinged with a lingering tremor. "I think the camera works perfectly."
You let out a soft, tired giggle, snuggling your face into the crook of his neck. The scent of cedar and sex surrounded you, a intoxicating mix that made you feel safe and completely cherished. You looked up at him, a playful smile on your lips. "Do you think we should delete it now?".
Baelor leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear, breath warm on your skin. "In a minute," he murmured, lips finding yours. "I think I want to see if we can make the second take even better."
there was a comment in one of my other posts, and it was about duncan being a big boy. it had me thinking; delicious. scrumptious, delectable. WE all know he’s hung af
mdni 18+
You had always known Duncan was big. It was sort of DEFINITELY obvious. But knowing and knowing were two very different things.
The first time you saw his cock, you had stared. You couldn't help it. It was thick, so thick your fingers didn't touch when you wrapped them around it. It was long, too, with veins that bulged along the shaft and a flushed, leaking head that made your mouth water.
"Sweetheart," Duncan had said, his ears red, "you don't have to-"
"I want to."
You had taken him in your mouth, and you had barely fit. Jawbreaker.
That was then. This was now.
Tonight, Duncan was taking his time.
He had you naked on the bed, spread out beneath him like an offering. The candles were burning low, casting golden shadows across his broad shoulders, his muscled chest, the dark hair that trailed down his stomach. He was kneeling between your thighs, his hands stroking up and down your sides, his thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts.
"So pretty," he murmured. "So small."
He wasn't wrong. Compared to him, you were tiny. Your hips fit between his hands. Your waist was narrow enough that his fingers nearly touched when he held you. And when he looked at you like this, hungry, reverent, you felt like prey.
"Please," you whispered.
"Please what?"
You didn't have words. You just reached for him, and he let you pull him down.
He kissed you, muffling your moans into his mouth.
He kissed his way down your body. Your neck. Your collarbone. Your breasts. He took his time there, sucking your nipples until they were peaked and aching, his huge hands kneading the soft flesh.
"Duncan," you gasped. "Please."
He smiled against your skin. "Patience, sweetheart."
He kissed lower. Your stomach. Your hips. The inside of your thighs. He pushed your legs apart and settled between them, his broad shoulders forcing your thighs wide.
"Let me taste you," he said.
The moment he started pleasuring you, you cried out, your back arching off the bed. His tongue was thick, broad, and he used it like he was made for this, licking broad stripes up your slit, circling your clit, dipping inside you to taste your arousal.
He groaned against your cunt, and the vibration made you shudder.
"You taste so good," he said, his voice muffled. "So sweet. I could do this all night."
He licked faster, his nose pressing against your clit, his hands gripping your thighs to hold you open. You came on his tongue, your body shaking, your fingers fisting in his hair.
He didn't stop. He kept going, licking and sucking, until you came again, your hips bucking against his face.
"Duncan,,,” You whined, trailing off suggestively.
He kissed his way back up your body and settled between your thighs.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
"Yes. Yes."
He pushed inside you.
Just the head at first. You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders. He was so thick, stretching you open, and he wasn't even halfway in.
"Breathe," he said. "Just breathe, sweetheart."
You did. He pushed deeper.
You could feel every inch of him. Every vein. Every ridge. The way his cock pulsed inside you, hot and heavy. He filled you so completely that you couldn't tell where he ended and you began.
"Oh gods," you breathed.
"I know," he said, his voice strained. "I know. You're so tight. So fucking tight."
He pushed deeper.
And then you felt it.
His cock pressing against something deep inside you. Something that made your vision go white.
You looked down.
There was a bulge in your lower belly. A shape. The outline of his cock, visible through your skin.
"Duncan," you gasped. "Duncan, I can see-"
He looked down. His eyes went dark.
"Fuck," he said. "Fuck, sweetheart. You can see me inside you?"
You nodded, unable to speak.
He pulled out slowly, then pushed back in. The bulge moved. Disappeared. Reappeared. You watched, mesmerized, as his cock slid in and out of your body, visible through the thin wall of your stomach.
"You're so small," he said, his voice rough. "So small, and you're taking all of me. Taking my whole cock."
He fucked you harder. Faster. The sound of your bodies slapping together filled the room, wet and obscene. His hips snapped against yours, driving his cock deep, and you could feel him in your throat.
"I'm close," he said. "Are you close?"
You were. You were so close. You babbled incoherently, nodding.
He reached down and rubbed your clit with his thumb.
That was all it took.
You came undone, your body arching off the bed, your cunt clenching around his cock. And then, something else. A rush of wetness, gushing out of you, soaking his thighs, the sheets, everything.
Duncan groaned. "Did you just-"
You couldn't answer. You were still in the process of cumming, your body shaking, your vision white.
"Squirted all over me," he said, wonder in his voice. "Fuck, sweetheart. That's the hottest thing I've ever seen."
He kept fucking you through it, his hips never stopping, his cock driving into your sensitive, overstimulated cunt.
"One more," he said. "Give me one more."
You did. You came again, your body convulsing, your nails raking down his back.
He followed you over the edge, his hips stuttering, his cock pulsing as he filled you with his seed. He collapsed on top of you, his face buried in your neck, his weight pressing you into the mattress.
He bit your shoulder gently and didn't move for a long time.
When he finally pulled out, you felt empty. Hollow. His seed dripped down your thighs, mixing with the wetness already soaking the sheets.
Duncan disappeared into the washroom and came back with a damp cloth. He cleaned you gently, carefully, pressing soft kisses to your thighs as he worked.
reader turns down fratboy aerion because she's got a boyfriend. he tries to hit on her again later at her dorm, turns out her boyfriend is over. and who else would it be but his dad
oldschool
Modern!Maekar x Reader drabble
Note: More suggestive than smutty tbh, but I thought it was very fun to write!
“C’mon, babe, just one date. I’ll make it worth your while. You’ll be begging to ride the dragon.” You were almost proud of yourself for not stooping low enough to reply, “I already am.”
Unable to gloat, you instead fought the growing urge to pinch the bridge of your nose. Fucking Aerion Targaryen had cornered you in the library to ask you out. While you weren’t especially heartbroken about not having to continue reading Maester Thops’ account of the Blackwood/Bracken conflict, Aerion was about the last person you wanted to spend your time with.
“I am not your babe, Aerion. And I’m not interested in you. Is this about our group project in History of the Ancient Valyrians?”
“You had fuck-me eyes the whole time we–” You interrupted him with a swat of your book to his chest, though you felt yourself flushing a little. He was right, he had picked up on something. Just the wrong thing. Those looks had been aimed at your phone.
“I only paired up with you because Professor Belaerys asked me to. You don’t have any friends, Aerion, and I can understand why. You’re not my type. I’m–...look, I have a boyfriend, okay?”
He opened his mouth to protest – something along the lines of I don't believe you, you’re just saying that to get rid of me – but you used his momentary hesitation to make your getaway, stepping past him, and ignoring his calls as you returned to your dorm.
You knew you wouldn’t be alone for long. Earlier today, you’d been feeling naughty and had, after a short sojourn to the restroom, sent Maekar a picture of yourself, your top and bra drawn low to expose your tits. While he was a busy man, you were sure he could not resist bait like that.
Fucking hell, I’m in a meeting, he’d replied. You could read what he really meant between the lines. As soon as it ends I’m coming to spank your ass raw.
His glare as he crossed your threshold was all the confirmation you needed. You were in for a fun night.
The encounter with his son had all but fled your mind when he herded your body towards the bed, already in the process of undressing you, sure hands tugging at you with quiet authority.
“Where’s your cheek now, hmm?” he teased, hooking his thumbs into the loops of your jeans. “Or have you suddenly decided to be good?”
You smirked, presenting your throat like an offering. “I’m always good.”
Deciding to indulge you, he began kissing down the line of your pulse, teeth grazing and worrying your flesh. You sighed into it, knowing that he loved leaving bruises. Your hands sunk into his pale hair, mussing it from where he kept it slicked back – he insisted it looked professional.
“Fuck, yeah,” you whimpered when he found that spot at the junction of your shoulder that made you feel small and trembly, “right there.”
His smirk was something you felt, rather than saw. “I know, sweet girl.”
You were about to start unbuttoning his pants, drooling for a taste of his cock, when a sudden “What the FUCK!” had you raising your head in alarm.
It seemed that Maekar hadn’t properly closed the door in his haste to have you.
His son stood in the doorframe, gripping it as if about to faint, his face pale save for two blotches of colour high on his cheeks. “I thought you said I wasn’t your type,” he muttered miserably – though with an undertone of accusation, “and you’re here fucking my dad?”
“I was about to fuck my boyfriend, thank you very much,” you told Aerion irritably, using his father’s body as a shield from his gaze. Maekar, on his part, had barely twitched when his second youngest disturbed you. His hand remained on your ass, gripping it possessively.
“As to my type– I didn’t want to tell you like this,” you sighed, “but I simply prefer oldschool.”
summary: you and your husband baelor going on your 3rd anniversary vacation
c/w: fluff, you're just a very spoiled wife who's glowing because you're loved rightfully by your husband
a/n: miss him sm, i have a lot of ideas and concepts for off campus but i can't bring myself to write it, not after i write for my dear husband baelor
It's your 3rd anniversary, you and your husband are going on vacation. You've been busy with your work more than he is, like what he always teases you because your work consists of pilates, going on for pretty brunch, matcha with your coworkers, and more.
He never complains about it because he knows it's not something to complain about. He'd ask about your day at the end of his long, tiring day while praising you for working hard and going through your day while he kneads your sore back and treading his fingers in your scalp.
And now you're exhausted, so you asked your husband to plan all of this anniversary vacation, for you've made the whole plan, itinerary and stuff for the previous anniversary and any trips you went. He just agreed and kissed your hair lovingly while murmuring in that soft, gentle voice of his. "Anything for you, sweetheart."
Now here you are, tangled in the bedsheets on a hotel room with an amazing view. No, you didn't have sex last night. You remember checking in, walking in the door, and throwing yourself on the bed.
Your hair is a mess now, like how it always is when you wake up. But your clothes are changed, soft sleepwear cling to your skin, and your face feels light, clear. Someone must've removed it so you can sleep comfortably.
Someone in question is currently in the shower, the sound of water seeps in through your ears. You still move lazily in your bed, don't find it in yourself to get up. After a few seconds, Baelor comes out of the shower, towel in his hips. He immediately smiles once he sees you awake.
"You sleep good?" He asks with his raspy voice from the morning hour, leaning down to peck a kiss on your lips.
"Very. A mysterious man removed my make-up and changed my clothes last night, isn't it intriguing?"
He shakes his head at your antics, though the small smile you can still see in his lips. He walks towards the window to open it, warm sunlight seeps through it.
"If that man happened to be your husband, is it still intriguing?"
"No. I wouldn't be concerned about it." You put your hand on your closed eyelids. "Also, is it not too early for morning sunlight? I can barely see."
"It's 9 am, sweetheart."
You look at the digital watch on the night stand. "Then where is my croissant and coffee?" You ask in the most pleading, spoiled tone possible.
"I already asked for them to be brought to our room. Figured you'd wake up by now." He says as he casually searches for his shirt. You look at him with a smitten look in your eyes. Ah, your perfect husband. You always thank the lucky stars that night he asked you to marry him.
"And why are all showered and ready this early morning again?" You ask him in a suspicious tone. "I was not warned you'd still be a morning person on our anniversary vacation."
You can see him huffs a smile. "I'm going for a quick run. We'll see and walk around the city after you eat your breakfast in peace, yes?" Now you remembered asking him to plan the whole vacation AND make all the decisions for him and for you because you want to relax and enjoy your peace. So you can't really argue.
"Approved. I also want to wear the prettiest dress for my walk today." You raise your brows.
"Understood." When he leans in again, you grab his jaw and kiss him longer, your hand feeling the stubble on his face. He gives you one last smile before walking out the door.
Not long after, you enjoy eating your breakfast in bed, scrolling through your phone. Then you take a quick shower and when you step out of the bathroom, your beautiful dress is already laid up on the sheets, along with your heels. Your skincare and make-up products are on the vanity table.
You glance up at your husband, a camera in his hand. "I hope I'm not getting it wrong. Fujifilm xm5, right?"
You smile like a fool in front of the bathroom door, still wearing white bath robe. "Yeah, right."
"Okay. I'm gonna get ready now."
The weather is warm and sunny, making the city look even more beautiful as you walk around slowly, your arm linked with his while the two of you wander through the crowded streets. Soft laughter and distant music fill the air, and every now and then, his thumb brushes absentmindedly against your arm.
"It's really beautiful here but it's so hot." You complain as your hand fans your sweaty neck.
"We can get gelato after taking that turn." He says as he fixes your hair gently so it doesn't get in your sight.
"How do you know that?"
"I did my research." He shrugs casually.
"You did, didn't you? You're just my perfect husband with your perfect plans and research, aren't you?" You say teasingly as you pepper the side of his stubbled jaw with your little kisses and he just chuckles.
Arriving at the booth, you're baffled because there are too many interesting flavors so Baelor decides one for you. After that, he leads you to the nearest canal, and that's when you know you're gonna go for a gondola ride. He immediately greets the local gondolier, which indicates he already booked it in advance.
He offers you his hand as you climb into the gondola, while the gondolier says something about your enchanting look in his broken English, and quickly comes up with remarks. "A woman can't be this beautiful if her husband ain't treat her right." You wink at Baelor playfully and he shoots you a look, clearly entertained with your generous praises.
You settle comfortably in your seat as the gondola sways softly beneath you. You look around to soak in the view when you hear a sharp click of the camera.
"Look at you now, being professional with your camera." You look at Baelor with poorly hidden amusement.
"I just know when to capture the perfect view."
You snort. "Oh my god, who taught you that?"
He shrugs carelessly while looking at the result in the camera. "Hard not when my wife is the best view among the beautiful city."
Your cheeks tint pink at his words. While you and Baelor are lost in the moment, the gondolier looks at you two fondly.
Baelor takes a lot of pictures of you, and he's a little bashful when you insist you take turns. The gondolier offers to take pictures of you both and you surprise your husband by kissing him on the lips when you ask him to kiss your cheeks.
When you're finally back at the hotel, you look at the previous pictures. They are beautiful and perfect. His voice catches your attention.
"Do you want to get dinner now?"
You look at him from the bed and eye him from head to toe shamelessly. He raises his brows, though he doesn't really deny his small smile at your intent.
"Can we skip to the good part?"
You give your most innocent look possible as he walks towards you.
"That is one thing I can't deny myself."
He says with a gentle, playful smile before you grab his shirt and push him down to the sheets. Your giggles echo the hotel room but it's not long because he muffles it with his kiss.
he's just perfect ain't he, btw i have an acceptance announcement to my dream major and uni in hours, hope i get in and wish me luck guys! 😋💓
evening light came streaming in through the windows of your chambers, lighting the space in a soft yellow glow as the sun begins its journey behind the distant hills. dappled sunlight catches in your eyelashes as you blink from where you hunch over on the bed, writhing on your hands and knees.
your husband’s hands are tight on your hips, gripping the flesh as he splits you apart on the thick of his cock, grunting little obscenities as he ruts you deeper and deeper into the feathered mattress, your hands and knees pressing indents into the silk.
but you’re wriggling too much. you can’t help it. pleasure sits hot in the pit of your womb, a sticky sort of pressure in the base of your spine too, and you just can’t help the way you wriggle your hips to chase it away, or tremble on your hands and knees when it starts to be too much.
you can’t help it, but maekar can.
you pitch a whine from the back of your throat as his cock spreads the wet clutch of your pussy apart, dragging deep towards the plug of your cervix as he ruts into you, hips smacking against the flesh of your arse. but that’s when you feel it—the solid mass of his chest and abdomen as he leans over you, crowds you, then the thick, scarred column of his arm as it wraps around your throat.
you yelp when he hauls you up until you’re kneeling with him, your sweat-slick back flush with his chest. the corded muscles in his arm contract as he pins your neck into the crook of his elbow, his head coming to rest directly beside your ear.
you suck in a gasp at the new angle and the way the head of his cock pushes up deep inside you. the pressure makes you keen, moaning his name as he traps you against his chest. your hands find his arm, nails dimpling the sun-kissed skin, as he noses at the shell of your ear, his hips rucking upwards.
“you’re restless today,” maekar mutters, tip of his cock nailing that perfect spot inside you. you mewl, clutching his arm as your pussy flutters around him. he pants against the pulse point below your ear. “you just couldn’t kneel there and take it, could you? were you waiting for this, sweet girl?”
his cock hits deep, the velvet ridges along the length rubbing against the slick walls of your cunt. you take him so well, squeezing tight each time he thrusts in and out, slick dribbling from you as he takes what he needs.
you whine in response. “no, maekar, i’m—”
“s’alright, s’alright…” maekar coos, his other hand curling around your waist to press flat to the mound of your lower belly. “i’ve got you, sweet girl. can’t go anywhere now, can you?”
the strong mass of his arm presses tighter to your throat, and you suck in a sharp breath. you hold his arm too, anchoring yourself as he fucks you, your entire body shifting with each of his movements. he’s grunting in your ear, and a couple of damp, white strands of hair fall across his forehead and rub near your temple.
“that’s a good girl, that’s it,” he whispers, feeling your pussy flutter around him. he’s holding you firm against him, the space between you nonexistent and boiling hot. the hand on your belly presses in, the added pressure making you cry out his name. he kisses your cheek softly. “s’alright, don’t fuss, sweet girl. just take it—just fucking take it.”
you can’t do much but take it, really. you’re pinned to his body, heat radiating from him. the bed creaks softly as his hips slam up against you, and he groans right in your ear. you moan his name in response, the vowels stretched around a whine, and he kisses the heated skin of your cheek again.
“my sweet girl, my best girl,” your husband rambles, breathing harshly as his cock ruts in and out of you, the wet heat of your cunt sucking him in. he groans, “i think you’ll take my seed just as well as you take my cock, won’t you?”
you whimper, gasping through the sound as the head of his cock grinds up against that spot inside you that has stars exploding behind your eyelids. the heat in your belly and the pressure in your spine threatens to shatter within you, and you clutch maekar’s arm in support as he fucks you. he groans, revelling in the tight squeeze of your pussy and the way slick dribbles from you, wet across the seam of his balls as he moves.
“she’s begging me for it,” maekar utters, holding you tightly as you flutter around him. “she wants me to fill her, doesn’t she? she wants me to fill her, sweet girl, i can feel it.”
you moan. “maekar, please, please, please—”
“i know, i know, i’ve got you,” your husband mutters, kissing your cheek as the heat and pressure inside finally overwhelm you. he feels your body seize up, your cunt clenching vice-like around the thick of his cock, and he knows you’re on the edge. his hand on your lower belly presses down even firmer. “let me feel you.”
you splinter from the inside out, orgasm racking through you as heat bursts like stars in your veins, and the pressure in your belly dissolves into the marrow of your bones. you come with his name on your lips, moans filling your chambers as your body trembles against his, nails digging into the scarred skin of his forearm. he fucks you through it, trapping you against him as you tremble and whine, pleasure flushing through your veins.
“good girl, there we go,” he mutters, practically bouncing your spent body back onto his. your head rolls back onto his shoulder and he plants a wet kiss to the junction of your jaw. his hips snap, then snap up again, and he growls where he kisses you, his balls drawing tight. “gods above, you’re so fucking tight. she’s begging for a babe, isn’t she? cunt’s pitching a right fit—doesn’t want to let me go.”
you mewl softly, eyes closing as maekar barrels towards his own release. there’s a sharp pressure in the base of his spine, and you can feel the desperation of his movements as he chases that pressure towards its breaking point.
maekar groans, thick and rumbling. “i’ll spill inside you, alright, sweet girl? fill you with my babe—fuck, you always look so fucking good when you’re with child, when you’re round with my babe. yeah, fuck—fuck, my sweet girl, my perfect girl—”
he’s rambling now, and that’s when you know. maekar groans your name right against the shell of your ear as his hips stutter, the arm around your throat pinning you back as he spills inside you. the pressure in his spine snaps and spreads, and he moans deep from his chest as the heat of his orgasm crashes over him. his cock nudges deep inside, right at the base of your cervix, and paints you in thick, hot ropes.
being filled has you leaning back into his hold, whimpering across a sigh as he ruts a few more times, emptying himself completely as your pussy pulls tight, milking him. he kisses along your jaw, cradling you as his cock jerks, then softens where he’s buried, slick and seed drooling slowly from where you connect.
“there we go…” maekar whispers, large hand rubbing across your belly as if that’ll help the taking process. he kneads the soft fat there with calloused fingers. “nice and full, sweet girl.”
you whine, pliant in his arms, blinking the setting sunlight from your eyes.
he kisses your cheek. “always do so well for me—” another kiss, then another. “—i love you, sweet girl.”
I would love to see a Maekar fic where he reveals his insecurities about not being good enough, and feeling ignored by his parents.
Guarded Heart
Maekar Targaryen x f!Reader
Summary: A trip to King’s Landing exposes parts of your husband’s past he’d rather keep hidden.
AN: Okay I read this and loved it and then for some reason it was like so hard to write lol like I wanted him to seem desperate and sad but still in character? The challenge was so fun though love making him suffer. Hopefully I did it justice I hope you enjoy!!! <3
Warnings: Smut, angst, weepy man, insecurity
3.3k Words
“I guess some men are meant to rule, and others meant to follow orders.”
It was certainly meant to be harmless. A jest delivered by a drunken lord who didn’t know any better. You felt Maekar tense at your side, shoulders drawing up and a puff of air leaving his nose. His voice rang out across the table, quieter than you’d expected but no less deadly.
“What the fuck did you just say?”
You’d arrived in King’s Landing that afternoon, tired and sore from the long journey from Summerhall. Maekar had extended you his hand as you stepped from the carriage, a sheen of sweat on his brow and a look in his eye that did not mask his irritation. Baelor had invited the two of you to court for a much needed break from a household of children. You loved each of them as your own, despite their challenges, but there was no doubt the six of them had worn you out.
It was a welcome request- at first. What you’d hoped would be a relaxing visit, sharing some much-needed alone time with your husband, became hours spent entertaining guests, listening to lords vie for royal favor, and dining with members of the court. Baelor insisted it would only be temporary, that you’d be able to whisk the Anvil away once the thrill of another Prince present wore off. So far you’d had no such luck, and it seemed like the conversation was taking a grim turn.
Lord Rosby continued, undisturbed by your husband’s tone:
“I speak on behalf of the Realm, I think, that we are thankful our good Prince Baelor will someday rule, and not the bloodied soldier.”
You grabbed Maekar’s leg under the table, desperate to keep him in check before he said- or did- something his father would later have to apologize for. By now Baelor had heard his name, turning from his seat to listen wearily to the lord.
“The Hammer swings hard, and the Anvil takes the hit, aye?”
Maekar made to stand, but his older brother was already there, hand on his shoulder pressing him back into his seat. The heir had a way of speaking that eased tensions, but you were not sure if even Baelor could calm the storm brewing.
“My brother, the Prince, has seen more battles than most, certainly more than you,” He started, “I fear you may be out of your depth in talks of war, Lord Rosby. See to it that you educate yourself on the Targaryen dynasty, before attempting to critique those who truly rule.”
His intonation was that of a King, but you’d now known Prince Baelor long enough to know that he did not take kindly to false claims thrown at his little brother.
“Of course, my Prince.” The man stuttered out, “There's no question of Prince Maekar’s particular skill at brutality, I only meant-”
“You meant that my brother’s ferocity makes him unfit to lead.”
Baelor walked around the table, stopping before his guest.
“Do not forget how the Targaryen’s gained their seat in this Realm.”
He nodded to the door, and Lord Rosby stood quickly, awkwardly bowing to the table before leaving. You threaded your fingers around Maekar’s, his hash brow set as he looked up at his brother.
Baelor addressed the table.
“Please, pardon my interruptions. Return to your conversations, please.”
His command of the room was decisive. Quiet chatter began again, though most guests were still stealing looks at your end of the table.
You turned to your husband, who was now quietly seething.
“Darling, you can relax your jaw now.” You tried to joke, stroking his arm. Maekar grunted, keeping his face pointedly at his plate.
It was going to be a long evening.
*****
Maekar slammed the door to your chambers hard enough to rattle the flames in their candles. Your eyes widened, turning to watch as he angrily tugged at his sword belt. The buckle was caught, and he growled as he struggled with the clasp.
“Would you like some help, darling?” You softly questioned, stepping closer.
Your husband rolled his eyes, scoffing.
“Do you think me some kind of imbecile? Don’t waste your time nagging, woman.” He grumbled out, hands still fixed to his belt.
You huffed.
“Fine, do it yourself then.”
He didn’t acknowledge when you turned, skirts swishing around your legs as you stomped off toward the balcony. You gripped the rail, looking out across the tumultuous waters of Blackwater Bay; your mind swirling like the waves crashing on the rocky shore.
How were you to help your husband if he wouldn’t let you?
Tears pricked in the corners of your eyes as you hung your head. So rarely did Maekar take such a tone with you. You’d feared him when you first met, so severe, so hardened, but months of marriage had taught you to look past his exterior. He’d been nothing but devoted to you, duty transforming into the tender love you shared.
It didn’t make him any less complicated.
You knew some, about his family, his past, but Maekar was not the kind of man to so readily share his sentiments, even with you. Several times, you’d tried to pry, asking him of his life as a child of the King, but often you were met with short answers and nonsense. You could tell he was avoiding the subject; so often he would move on quickly, complimenting your hair or asking after your family.
Had the words said in jest at dinner really hit him so hard?
They hadn’t been particularly funny, sure, but they were certainly not meant to hurt. How clear it was, how much Baelor loved his little brother, and would never think him some spare, but maybe Maekar felt differently.
You stiffened when you heard him step out onto the balcony, hastily whipping your eyes. Maekar sighed.
“I am sorry, my lady, for upsetting you.”
Your husband only called you that when he knew he’d done something wrong. He came up beside you, close enough that you could feel his body heat. His lavender eyes pierced you, but you did not give him the satisfaction of contact.
“I only wanted to help.” You bit out, a waver evident in your voice. Maekar stepped closer, coming up behind you and resting his hands on your waist. You wanted so desperately to turn into him, to let him bring you into his arms, but you kept your hands planted on the cool metal rail as he rested his forehead against your hair.
“Why do you even care what some stupid lord says?”
Maekar was silent for a moment, chest rising and falling against your back before he responded:
“It- it is complicated.”
You finally turned to look him in the eye.
“Then help me to understand! It hurts my heart to see you this way.”
His large hands squeezed your hips, before turning you back around, tugging you solidly against him. Strong arms encircled you, keeping you firmly pointed to the sea. Here he was confusing you; where Maekar was usually so confrontational, so combative, now he could not even gaze upon your face. It dawned on you, then, that perhaps he did not want you to see him so vulnerable. You’d learned, over the months of proximity, to read his expressions. The tight clench between his brows when he was perturbed, the set of his jaw when he meant to silence himself, the unrelenting stare he gave you when he needed your touch.
You softened your voice:
“My dear husband, there is nothing you could say that I would upbraid you for. I would have no problem finding Lord Rosby now, let him hear what the Anvil’s wife has to say about him.”
Maekar snorted against the top of your head.
“Do not get yourself into trouble over me, wife, I assure you it is not worth the concern.”
Gently, you gripped his arm that banded across your shoulders.
“It is to me.”
“You are probably the only one who feels that way.”
You leaned farther back into him, tilting your head back in an attempt to read his expression. He was so often cranky, rude, stormy, but his voice now sounded almost insecure. It was not a pleasant noise.
“Surely not! Just tonight, Baelor stood in front of the court and defended you.”
He took a moment to respond.
“My brother could not let our family name be tarnished, nothing more. I do not need him defending me.”
“Do you truly think no one cares for you?”
Maekar’s silence answered your question. Slowly, you wiggled from his grasp, moving to look up at him while staying close. He squeezed his eyes shut at the pain written on your face.
“I have never doubted your affections, sweet girl, but those of my family, I cannot say.”
You waited for him to continue, taking his larger hands in yours. He sighed again, looking out over your head at the water.
“I have struggled-” He gritted his teeth, “To find these words my whole life.”
Your thumb stroked over his knuckles, urging him on.
“It has been difficult living in Baelor’s shadow.”
There it was.
A few words, and an explanation for every tense capital visit, every trip to Dragonstone, every event evolving the dragon house. The gruff armor he wore, defenses up against anyone who dared get too close. Maekar continued:
“It is no secret he is the favorite, and I could not resent anyone for believing so. He is the best of us; I would die to protect him. It does not make it any easier.”
“Make what easier, darling?”
“Everything- everything comes so effortlessly to him. Cleverness, swordsmanship, chivalry, the kind words our mother favors so,” He grimaced, “All things I have had to work tirelessly for. To attain half of what he has, and it is still not enough.”
He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours. It was strange, to see him speak so openly of jealousy, of raw emotion he kept so tightly concealed.
“I will never be able to work hard enough to have what the gods gave him so freely.”
“What is it that you desire that you do not have? Are you not happy?”
You took his cheeks in your hands, holding his head against yours.
“Do not doubt what you have done to me; I have not known such happiness in so long. Often, you are the only thing keeping me from running my sword through someone.”
You huffed out a laugh, brushing your fingers through the silver of his beard.
“I am not good with words, wife. I only meant that I fought, tooth and nail, all my youth for the care my mother and father put into him. It has made me forbidible in battle, sure, but only distanced me further. My only wish as a child was for someone to acknowledge my efforts.”
“No one would deny your strength or skill, my love. You have proven to the realm time and time again that you are priceless to our safety. It is thankless, sure, but you have not bent or broken for any hardship.” You answered.
Maekar bent forward, tucking his head against your neck. You slid a hand into his hair, the other finding purchase between your shoulderblades. He wrapped his arms around your middle, clutching you to his body like you might disappear if he loosened his grip.
“In my old age I have understood why I was ignored in favor of him. Baelor is the heir, it is only appropriate to dedicate time to him and his achievements. He is a better man than I will ever be, this I know.”
“You obviously do not know, husband. What do you know of how safe I feel in your arms? How, even when you are strict, our children can be certain that you care for them? Baelor is a good man, sure, but he is not you.”
Maekar released a noise against your throat that you’d never heard from him before.
It almost sounded like a sob.
“I will never stop trying to deserve you, my lovely wife. Even now, so unbecoming of a Prince, and you still treat me with such kindness.”
You pressed a kiss to the side of his head.
“You do not have to be a Prince here, you can simply be mine.”
At your words, Maekar bent, sliding an arm under your knees to pull you up against him. Your arms came around his neck as he brought you back inside.
“Maekar, what are you doing? I am trying to comfort you.” You giggled out, as he laid you on the bed.
“Trust me, dear girl, you have given me more than you know. Let me show you how thankful I am for you.”
Gone was the misty-eyed man from outside; now he gently took your hem in hand, sliding it up your legs to tug the material of your gown over your head. You noticed that he avoided meeting your eye, but you did not mention it. He’d already shone you so much of himself already, you did not want to hurt him more by pressing further. You let him undress you until you were bare, underneath him and covered by his body.
“Will you not kiss me first?”
Your Prince was not one to deny you your pleasure, and leaned down to press his lips to yours. One arm came under your back, pulling you up to meet his mouth. The other hand gripped your face. You whimpered at the intrusion of his tongue, gently lapping against yours as he explored a place he knew so well. Entirely at his mercy, you gripped his shoulders as he pressed his hard thigh against your heat. You rubbed yourself against him, grinding down on his leg as he moved it to meet you.
“It is my job to take care of you, my love,” He mumbled against your lips, “That extends to our marriage bed.”
Maekar kissed across your cheek before sliding his mouth down your neck. He nipped the skin there, sucking what you knew would be a mark tomorrow. You let him continue, secretly enjoying the idea of him claiming you in front of the court. All too soon, he continued to move, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your sternum. He paused, kissing the side of your breast before gently biting the soft flesh.
You whined, and he continued his onslaught of kisses until he was met with the warmth between your legs. Slowly, so slowly, he licked a stripe up your cunt, pressing a kiss to your clit when you arched your back.
“Hush, girl, I will not tease you tonight.”
Then, he devoured you.
Maekar slid his tongue between your folds, lapping at your juices. You groaned and ground your pelvis down against his face when his nose nuzzled your clit.
“Thats it, you’ve been so sweet to me tonight.” He mumbled against you, drawing another whimper from your mouth. His long fingers found your opening, dipping into the warm wetness with a firm thrust. He curled the two digits into you, letting you ride his hand to chase your high. The pads of his fingers found the rough, spongy spot deep inside you that made your toes curl and your head spin, and he latched his mouth firmly to your clit as your thighs began to shake.
“Go on, take it from me.” The vibrations from his deep voice pushed you over the edge. The orgasam crashed through you, shakily moaning his name.
Maekar slowed his movements, removing his fingers but continuing to make out with your pussy. He pressed soft kisses across your inner thighs, licking and nipping the flesh and pausing to suck a mark close to the apex. You attempted to push his head away halfheartedly.
“What happened to no teasing tonight?” You could hear how trembling your voice was.
“I cannot help it, dearest, you have made a beast of me.”
You smiled, gently tugging his hair in an attempt to pull him back up to you. Maekar complied, crawling up your body and pressing a kiss to your lips. So rarely was he this tender, and although he was not smiling, you could see the relief plainly on his face. You could also feel how affected he was by you, throbbing against your inner thigh.
Maekar let out a grunt when you tried to shove at his shoulders.
“I am trying to take care of my bride, you are interrupting.”
You pushed again, smile growing across your face.
“I’m not done comforting you tonight, husband. Lay back and let your wife love you.”
You’d find no complaints from him there. He pushed himself up, arms flexing as he laid beside you, propped up against the soft pillows of your bed. You followed, swinging a leg over his thighs and sandwiching his hard cock between your bodies. He groaned, gripping the fat at your hips and attempting to tug you closer. A hand on his chest stopped him.
“You will let me care for you tonight, my love, as you always care for me.”
Slickness coated the base of his cock and down his balls as you leaned close, kissing across his jaw, down his nose, over his scarred cheeks. As you lavished him in affections, you lifted your hips, leaving one hand on his shoulder and using the other to notch the head of his length at your entrance.
The two of you both let out a groan as you sunk down onto him, sheathing Maekar fully inside. You began rolling your hips, languidly grinding his tip against your cervix. His cock stretched you so beautifully, a delicious tightness only he could give you.
“Maekar, my dearest, you mean so much to me.” You whispered. The Prince pressed his face to your chest, mouth open against your skin as you rode him. Your hands found his silvery locks as his tongue flicked your hardened nipple. He took the bud into his mouth, sucking as he palmed your other breast.
“That’s it, darling. Let me have all of you.”
Your hips stuttered against him, the white thatch of hair on his pelvis rubbing against your clit. You could feel him twitching, his hands hot at your back and his mouth hot on your chest.
“Let go, Maekar, you do not have to prove yourself to me.”
The Anvil came, warmth coating your insides. He held you so tightly, grinding you down onto him to fill you. His thumb rubbed softly at your clit to bring you with him, and you followed him over your own crest. Your body shuddered against him, falling against his chest with your arms around his shoulders.
“My lovely little wife, how good you are to your man.”
“Mmm yes, you are my man.” You kissed his brow, and then his lips. Maekar took your head in his hands as you licked into his mouth. Leisurely, you kissed him a moment longer before tucking your face into his neck. You made no move to remove him from your cunt, allowing the ultimate connection between you for a little longer.
“You will tell me, next time you feel like you cannot keep up, instead of snapping at me, husband.”
Maekar hummed, stroking your back.
“I am sorry, my heart. That was certainly unprincely of me, and when you have been so kind.”
You kissed below his ear, and he shivered.
“You must not mistake my kindness for pity, surely you see how much I love you.”
Maekar took your face in his hands, pulling it back enough to see you.
cw: arranged marriage, shameless headstrong reader!!, enemies to lovers (they're enemies in maekar's head), bickering!!!, tension, bedding ceremony!!, non-consensual touching(not by maekar), grumpy maekar, jealousy, over protectiveness, possessiveness, body worship(m!receiving), prone bone!!, manhandling, nose riding, spitting, pussy sniffing, spanking!!, fingering(f!receiving), oral(f!receiving), p in v, dirty talk!!, slight breath play, headlock!!, biting, degradation, praise, hate fucking for one sec, a sprinkle of angst, insecurities, self worth issues, (8.9kw)
a/n: english is not my first language so i'm sorry for mistakes/repeating words!! im nervous to put out a bigger piece than usual aaaa. i will do maybe two to three parts!! this will be an au! so if you have any questions or requests about this pairing, let me know muehehe! i love them so much lol
credits: gif @/goodsirs divider @/feimingo
“i did not believe you wished for witnesses to our coupling, your grace.”
“it is tradition—”
“oh, so it is. a tradition in which half the court will see your wife bare as the day she was born. does that excite you?”
“excite—”
maekar took a deep, steadying breath, trying very hard not to snap at his newly betrothed. or throttle her. was it truly too late to call the arrangement off? a prince of the realm could do as he pleased, after all.
“it excites me in the same measure as a court meeting about grain taxes does, wife,” he grunted, fingers tightening onto the half-empty goblet of wine in his hand. he would need way more than that for what was to come in a few moments. maekar would drown himself in numerous barrels if it would spare him from having to pretend to fuck his wife in front of tens of courtiers and ladies in waiting. oh, and a maester. how could he have forgotten? the gods also needed to be witnesses to such a sacred arrangement. the more people see the proof of his virility, the better. they should invite the whole realm if they are so eager to see him perform his husbandry duties.
“grain taxes,” was heard from his right, your voice deadpan as you sneaked a glance towards him, a huff falling from your lips. “it pleases me that my lord husband would associate us having a moment of unbridled passion with the ever ardent intricacies of grain taxes,” your lips twitched, a little smile in the corner, cheeky.
he could feel the vein in his temple pulsing. a headache was on the way. and even then, it couldn’t even come close to the one that was already in his presence. he could’ve asked all the healers in the seven kingdoms, and none of them would be able to cure him of the ever-lasting migraine that was his wife.
a wound without a cure. a curse without benediction. a grueling fate without end, at least for now.
“unbridled passion?” he almost bristled at the words. the assumption that there will be anything but a poor attempt at make-believe on his part grated on his nerves. “i would have hoped that you would not delude yourself into believing we shall be doing more than a farce of this, wife.”
maekar was not about to engage in any intimate endeavors with his new wife. the court should be more than pleased that he was even willing to go along with this to begin with. having sycophants linger near their royal chambers while they were supposed to get lost in the throes of passion was unnerving enough. he will have to make it seem like the consummation happened, like he was on the other side of the door, pleasing his wife and proving the realm he was still a man in his prime, capable of desire. figures.
“a farce?” you probed, eyebrow raised, the arch of your mouth thinning in displeasure. “you would make a sham of our consummation?” the tone of your voice seemed almost… offended, as if you couldn’t believe your husband would even go to such lengths to avoid bedding you.
that timbre of your voice made his brows furrow, lifting the goblet of wine to his lips to stall his response, glancing to the side over the rim of the cup. he allowed himself a furtive glance towards you, enough to notice the slight narrowing of your eyes. you were opposing him, just as you have been doing since ink touched scroll a fortnight ago, when both of your fates were tied by duty and vow.
“not a sham,” he corrected, although he was not sure it held much truth. “i am sparing both of us of the dreadful act of having to touch one another more than necessary, which i was of the impression would please you. not make you look like a scorned child.”
there was a long, tense silence before you spoke again, voice barely above a whisper. “you would think it dreadful to touch one another?”
maekar paused for a moment, taken aback by the note of disbelief underlying your words, making him turn to look at you fully now, needing to see why you would have that reaction to such a simple truth. “by the looks of it, wife, you do not seem to share my sentiment?”
there was a sharp glint in your eyes now, the poise in your posture faltering for a moment, giving way to tension, before you gathered yourself. “not in the slightest. i deem it preposterous that you would even think of it in such a manner,” you retorted, chin lifting, proud. “or, is it perhaps a ploy to conceal your dignity, my lord husband?”
“my dignity?” his voice dipped low, almost cautionary, making it clear that your next words should be chosen very carefully, lest you wish to start something maekar was not sure you had the wits about you to see through.
but you did not seem frightened in the slightest by his attempt to dissuade you.
“yes,” you reinforced, head tilting just so to the side, feigning innocence. “are you so unassured in your virility that you would devise such schemes to keep it from being questioned? i reckon it is normal for a man of your station to care so deeply about these things, but such lengths are truly ridicu—”
your words were cut off by rough, calloused fingers pressing into your cheeks, hard enough to stall your speech as maekar leaned into your space. he was gripping your face, keeping your gaze on his, not giving you an inch of room to even tilt your head one side or the other.
“one more word out of you, and i swear to all the seven,” he snarled, purple eyes slanted in a glare so scathing it could burn you whole, like dragon-fire. he felt the moment your breath hitched, the short puff of air brushing his fingers. “i will throttle you right here, in front of all these good-for-nothing lickspittles.”
he was expecting your demeanor to change. for fear to cloud your vision and reason to come back to you. for apologies to tumble unbidden from your mouth, hoping to appease and coax him into being merciful.
no wife, no woman of his will look him in the eye with so much fervor, insulting one of the qualities he was boastful about. his virility? maekar had sired six children. a feat worthy of praise. a testament to the strength of his seed, to the potency of it. to how easy it was for it to take root in a fertile womb and conceive heirs for him.
his newly betrothed had some nerve trying to undermine the one thing the whole realm knew to be true.
with that same nerve, you looked maekar in the eyes and smiled. a quirk of your lips, eyes lowering as the pressure of his fingers rose, half—lidded with something akin to satisfaction, as if you wanted this to happen, waiting for your husband to lose control and exert that temper you knew flared at the slightest provocation. too quick now, after a fortnight of constant instigation from you, feeling like his fuse grew shorter and shorter, and now it was only a matter of time before all hell broke loose, inevitably.
your tone was soft, but the challenge beneath it was unmistakable. “did i perhaps touch a nerve, my lord husband? is it truly so easy to have you rattled? enough to grasp me like a brute, where anyone can see? and at our wedding feast, no less.” the more you talked, the more honey weaved through your words. but it wasn’t sweet, not in the slightest. it burned. “have manners been forgotten by a prince of the realm? i would've thought you more courteous than this.”
you were toying with him, like a cat would a mouse. and maekar targaryen had never been faced with such a thing, with a woman who dared bare her teeth back at him after he showed his. it made the ancient blood that flowed through his veins sear under his skin, hackles raising as if he was a dragon in human form, ready to breathe fire onto its enemies and leave smoke and ash behind.
the gods knew to take dragons away, for if they were still roaming around them now, maekar wouldn’t have hesitated to feed his novel betrothed to his own and watch from the sidelines, not missing a moment.
the thought made his fingers dig even harder into her cheeks, the soft skin dimpling under his blunt nails. your lips were pursed because of the pressure, and maekar will not admit to himself how his scathing glare flitted to the way they formed a pout, glistening still with the wine you were drinking prior. you looked ridiculous. that’s why his eyes lingered before returning to hold your gaze.
“you don’t deserve my manners,” he downright growled, a sound so deep and rumbly, like a dragon made flesh, leaning in until your noses almost touched, but he won’t allow more contact between you two than what he was willing to offer. “you don’t deserve anything that i have to give,” he almost spat, his broad chest heaving slightly, as if restraint was becoming hard to grasp. “i do not want to give you anything, you insufferable wench.”
your eyes widened for a moment at his words, but yet again, there was no fear, no offense, not even a sliver of rebuttal. only pure delight, as if his harsh words were music to your ears.
maekar did not understand. why were you not cowering? why were you not mellowing out? why in gods name were you tipping your head forward, close enough for your breaths to mingle.
“but you will, my lord husband,” came your whisper, brushing against his rough lips, as if you wanted him to taste the resolve in your words, the defiance in your tone. “i am your lady wife. what is yours, is mine.” another twitch of your lips, now higher, more pleased, like a cat that got the cream. “and i shall have it, even if i need to take it from you by any means necessary.”
“you know not of what you speak—”
“and neither do you,” you interjected, firmer this time, your gaze lowering to his lips for just a moment, as if pondering a secret only known by you, before lifting to make eye contact again. “your riches do not interest me. the crown i could do without. your name is nothing but an ancient thing that binds me to you,” you had his attention, to his absolute dismay, and it visibly pleased you.
“what i want,” a pause, leaning in enough to let your lips brush his, making him recoil, before he stubbornly held his place, not wanting to show how much the contact unnerved him. “is you, my lord husband.”
you must’ve had too much to drink, maekar thought. what you were saying made no sense to him, sounding like a lie the simpering women would whisper into one’s ear when they wanted to climb into their beds and rut on their cocks to solidify their station. it must be a ploy to try and soften him, to make him pliant and susceptible to future indulgences of yours.
you wanting him? why in gods name would that interest you in the slightest, when many other things should garner your attention, those which were mentioned by you. it should’ve been his gold, his station, his name, his connections.
not him. never him.
“do not think yourself so clever,” he spat, feeling his frustration mount, underlined with a begrudging sense of confusion, which he chose to ignore. “to believe that i shall fall for these empty words of sentiment,” maekar continued, fingertips squishing more of your now flushed cheeks, but not enough to bruise. he was not a brute to mar a woman, let alone one tied to him by marriage, contrary to rumors and whispers. “so do not waste your breath, my lady. it will do you no good, and i am not inclined to listen further.”
he thought that would be sufficient to shut you up, to make you see reason for once since you wed, and stop you from pushing nonsensical notions like they were fact. but you didn’t. his words seemed to only fuel the fire in your eyes, and he could feel the way your jaw clenched just so under his grip, resolve surging.
“i will prove it to you,” fell from your lips, solid and resolute, as if there was not an ounce of apprehension beneath your tongue. “one day, you will see that i speak truth,” a deep, steadying breath passing between your mouths, as if you were holding back something of great weight. “you will rid yourself of this meaningless whim of yours and accept what i am willing to give.” you spoke it as if the future was as you saw fit, and he had no say in it. it enraged and perturbed him in equal measure. “or you won’t have a sliver of peace in my presence.”
as if that was any different from how things have been since the papers were signed. maekar has not had any modicum of repose since he was cursed with a bothersome woman like you. the gods must jest at his expense now more than ever for the hand he was dealt.
“you have a lot of nerve for a—”
“and now, as the night grows near, we shall encourage the lord and lady towards what they surely are most expectant of! their bedding!”
the words boomed among the feast, ripping them apart from one another as every pair of eyes in the hall turned towards them, more attentive than ever.
maekar almost winced. he hated bedding ceremonies, for he would rather walk on glass barefoot than be subjected to such foolish nonsense. but alas, the court demanded it in fear of maekar showing reluctance towards another bride after many years of being a widower. so, he relented, kicking and screaming internally when it was brought to his attention, but anything to shut the mouths of courtiers and realm alike.
maekar did not look to his side. something in his chest pulled him away from meeting your gaze after the charged conversation you had. he hated that your words had been enough to unsettle him, even the tiniest bit.
instead, his eyes followed a group of way too eager lords who were rounding their high table to hoist you up and out of your seat. had they no shame in being so zealous? to let their hands grip at you, lifting you above their shoulders, fingers too rough against the fine silk of your wedding gown. where had decorum gone?
the sight made irritation spark in his gut, especially when he could hear your squeals of delight and the lilting sound of laughter that spilled unbridled from your lips as you were carried away to the royal chambers. it’s like you reveled in this whole travesty. in men touching you so shamelessly while hooting and hollering ribald jokes, one more salacious than the other.
in his case, being tugged on by simpering ladies was nothing but a nightmare come to life, but he had to bite his tongue and go along for the sake of tradition. maekar would’ve rather your hands on him, trying to rid him of his ceremonial cloak and vest, than a bunch of unknown women with too much nerve and too little propriety. he knew you better than he did these squealing birds.
your mirth was ever present when maekar made it to the chambers, his eyes narrowing to slits as he saw the way one of the lords was handling you, too ambitious in the way his fingers were nearly ripping your gown to the floor, leaving you clad in only a thin chemise. and he wasn’t the only one. the rest of the mindless, idiotic sycophants even dared to let their grubby palms smooth down your curves as they hollered more japes.
the ladies tending to him were more reserved, probably sensing maekar’s prickly nature, his body language so stiff they could barely get his tunic off, now half open, letting the broad expanse of his chest peek through, smattered with fine white hairs.
“a sword needs its sheath, don’t it, my lady?” exclaimed one of the men as his rugged fingers jerked your chemise down your shoulders, exposing the soft mounds of your breasts to the air, nipples hardening into dusky peaks. maekar’s breath stalled for a moment at the sight.
and like a beacon, every lord in the room had no shame in taking it all in, mouths open like panting bulls, some even licking their lips as if wanting to taste, making maekar’s restraint thin.
“gods, i wish my mother hadn’t weaned me, for your breasts are a sight to behold, my—”
“that’s enough,” slipped from maekar’s mouth, regretting it for a moment, before he pressed on. “keep your hands and your words to yourself if you wish to still draw breath where you stand.”
his tone was sharp, brooking no argument, if the people in attendance were smart. enough to cut every single jest, straightening the backs of every man in the room like clockwork, their mouths shut so tight their jaws trembled.
“y—your grace—”
“get the fuck out of the room before i decide to turn my wedding night crimson with the blood of the lot of you,” he barked, taking one step closer to where they stood, and it was sufficient to make them scramble, almost tripping over themselves to stand on the other side of the door.
the ladies remaining were uncertain of what to do, how to proceed. they haven’t undressed the prince like they meant to, hovering near maekar, almost trembling themselves.
“ah, ladies, do not fret,” you lilted, sweet like honeysuckle, stepping towards maekar, one hand lifting to press against the opening of his shirt, fingers spreading, brushing through the fine chest hairs. “i shall have the pleasure of undressing my husband myself. these muscles will know my touch alone.”
and for all the bravado he showed earlier, maekar could barely breathe under the bold touch of your hand, soft fingers brushing through the smattering of white onto his skin, reverent, as if you liked the sensation. and your words, spoken so saccharine, but he could tell it pleased you. having him to yourself. gods, what was wrong with you?
“now, off you go,” you continued, leaning into maekar’s space, pressing your bare breasts against his arm, his bicep cushioned between them. “my husband is ever eager to consummate our marriage, and i do not have the heart to make him wait any longer.”
maekar’s breath left him in one fell swoop, half from the feeling of your lush flesh pressing against his arm, and half from your words. you were a temptress, and the want to throttle you was coming back full force now, just as it was at the feast.
the door closed no long after, leaving you alone in the shared room, but not without company, for the lords and ladies, accompanied by one maester, had to hover on the other side, awaiting no doubt sounds of pleasure to waft through the mahogany wood.
“i’m pretty certain one of them was drooling while looking at my breasts,” you whispered, as if it was a secret, as if maekar hadn’t seen the hunger in their eyes and wanted to rip out each eyeball from their sockets with his bare hands.
“that does not concern me,” came his response, narrowed gaze dropping to where your hand still caressed his chest.
“mhm,” a pause, before your chin lifted, peering at him, a quirk to your lips. “i’m also certain one of them was eager enough to grope at them. i felt it.”
“which one?”
he hated the way he bristled, eyes traveling even lower now, to where your breasts were pushed up against his bicep, cushioning the corded muscle. god, but you had nice tits. they looked good squished against him, but he didn’t give that thought too much attention. he just liked tits a lot, is all. yours held no significance than, let’s say, a whore’s would.
the smile you gave him as soon as the inquiry left his mouth was so self-gratifying, he almost took his words back.
“i thought it did not concern you, my lord husband,” you reminded him, pressing even closer, the hand onto his chest drifting down, deft fingers slowly popping open the buttons on his tunic. “why the sudden interests, hm?”
maekar’s hand shot up to stop yours, halting your progress in undressing him, chest heaving slightly as he grit out, feeling tense as a coiled spring now that you two were alone and so, so close.
“stop it. we are not going to—”
and his words dissolve into a punched out groan as your hand trailed down to his crotch, where you seemed delighted to find him half—hard, and have no shame to press the heel of your palm into the growing thickness, rubbing in a slow downward motion.
“no?” you breathe, and the smile you give him is syrupy. he swears he can taste it, your words almost mocking him for his weakness, for the reaction his body had to… all of this. “then why are you hard, my lord husband? was the touch of all those ladies so satisfactory that it aroused you?”
and maekar wants to say that, yes, he got hard from those stupid court ladies feeling him up and tugging at his clothes, and not from the sight of your breasts pressed up against him, pebbled nipples brushing against the satin of his tunic. and definitely not from thinking how well his mouth could fit around one of them to suckle and lap at like a dog.
these feverish thoughts were just a result of not having seen a woman half—bare in years, and his body was betraying him by plaguing his mind with debauched scenarios that would never happen. that should never happen. he couldn't let himself show intimacy in such a way.
“because you keep touching me,” he snapped, harsher than he would have wanted, but he was so tense, and your hand felt too good, a fact which would never reach your ears. “even though i expressed no desire to want such a thing.”
your hand did not stop, whatsoever, continuing to rub slowly over the now fully hard cock in his breeches, making his breathing come in short, angry puffs against your cheek.
“then stop me,” you offered, only leaning closer, as if goading him into trying. “you’re a strong man. i reckon you could overpower a lady if you wanted,” then your lips pursued, thoughtful, and you continued. “unless… the stories i’ve heard about the anvil’s prowess were only tales for sleeping children?”
maekar knew what you were doing, playing him like a fiddle, making him lose all reason and succumb to your whims against his will, as if he were a weak man. as if he couldn’t discern between what he wanted to do and what you wanted him to do.
and still, he was powerless when challenged, like you knew his visceral need to prove himself to you, or anyone else. the gnawing ache in his chest whenever someone dared question him in any aspect of his life.
but more so, when his strength was disputed. undermined.
it did not even take a blink of an eye until he had grabbed you by the arm, hauling you over to the bed, pushing you backwards until you fell, sprawled against the furs and pelts, which cushioned the fall.
his weight pressed you into the mattress like the anvil itself, his knees bracketing your hips, holding you where he wanted you, wide-eyed and breasts jiggling with every breath. for a moment, he reveled in the surprise etched onto your face, before it turned into a cheeky smirk as your hands wasted no time before brushing down his chest again, seeking to undress him.
“so eager, my lord husband,” she whispered, still a bit breathless from the rough manhandling, but delighted beyond measure. “do not tell me that you’ve been secretly aching for this?”
maekar scoffed, scowling down at her from above, even as his breath hitched. gods, no one had touched him like this in so long. not with this teasing familiarity, and not on a night meant to be cold and ceremonial, even if they had never lain together. hell, even stood next to each other for more than duty demanded in the last fortnight.
your hands were warm, picking at the buttons like you had all the time in the world, and it grated on his nerves, even more so when he saw the smirk on your plush lips widening the more skin you uncovered.
he caught your wrist, firm enough to stop your exploration, holding it over his chest for a tense moment, before releasing it, brushing it to the side so he could take over, undoing the buttons himself. maekar rationalized that it was because you were agonizingly slow, and your touch annoyed him, the feeling of your fingertips brushing his skin prickling, leaving gooseflesh behind.
the tunic fell away swiftly, leaving him bare-chested, a mountain of corded muscle and sinew, veins traveling along his forearms and down his throat from how tense he was. your eyes drank him in, mouth parting in a sigh, overly pleased, as if the sight of him alone unraveled you.
it did not take long for your hands to follow the same path your gaze did, pawing shamelessly at the broad expanse of scarred skin, brushing over the smattering of thin white hairs onto his chest and down his navel.
maekar’s skin prickled further under your touch. he could feel your fingers over every scar. the one from dragonstone’s training yard when he was still a boy, the thin line across his ribs from a valyrian steel sword graze, now traced by curious, gentle fingers. but equally desirous.
the low rumble from his throat slipped without his permission as you continued, now groping at the thick muscles of his biceps and pectorals, sighing while you did it, breathy and satisfied, as if the feel of his muscles pleased you. being audacious enough to sink your fingers into the skin, to squeeze and feel every inch you could get under your palms. and he couldn’t do anything but watch you, feeling his breath hitch as he saw you lick your lips, slow and habitual, as if you didn’t realize you did it while feeling him up.
the prince could not get his bearings anymore. his breath came faster now—shallow, uneven. each one of your touches burned like fire, leaving behind a scorching trail. your hands were not those of a shy, hesitant maiden. no, they felt like a claim, like you were worshiping his body with shameless delight, exploring every hard ridge and dense muscle as if you’d been starved for it, as if you’d been waiting to do it.
“gods, husband,” slipped from your mouth as he felt a particularly lingering touch down his abdomen, your nails scraping along the skin, making the muscles ripple. “but you are a sight to behold,” you almost moaned, gaze half—lidded with nothing but unrelenting hunger. “you look delicious enough to eat,” you continued, downright purring now, like a feline playing with your food, daring to brush your hands down his shoulders, and along his arms, nails prickling at the protruding veins along the way. “so big and strong.”
you must’ve had way too much to drink. there was no other explanation as to why such words would come out of your mouth, why your palms touched him like you wanted him. that could not be. no one wanted him. no one should’ve wanted him. he was a hardened warrior, a widower, a father of six, a man who didn’t need—
gods above… delicious? how could you call him something so absurdly ridiculous? as if he were a feast laid out for your personal consumption. as if his body was made to be admired—devoured in its entirety—by her shameless gaze and persistent hands.
“how come no lady pounced on you sooner, hm?” you had the nerve to question—still touching him, mapping out his body like it was yours alone to do with as you pleased—as if there was a line out the door of ladies wanting nothing more but to jump on his cock and have their way with him. what preposterous notions had you in that head of yours? you must’ve hit it when you were a child, to think such perceptions.
his jaw tightened, trying to regain some sort of upper hand against you. “no lady is as impudent as you,” he reproached, his lip lifting in a half snarl, like a beast held at bay. “as adamant to touch something that isn’t yours—”
“isn’t?” you interjected, nails digging into the meat of his abdomen, hard enough to leave red crescent moons behind. a mark of yours, as if punishing him for even daring to say such a thing, when he knew you were bound by vow beneath the old gods and the new. it made maekar hiss, like a dragon challenged, ready to retaliate. “you are mine, by law and by vow,” you firmly stated, nails biting at skin anew, scraping down, painting red indent lines along ivory. “just as i am yours,” maekar had half a mind to snap, to bite, to do anything to stop the words coming out of your mouth, but you did not waver. “yours to have, yours to take, yours to touch.”
a beat, your chest heaving now, too, just like his was, only softer. “so touch me, husband,” provocation again, in your tone, in your gaze, in every single inch of your body. “unless you do not know how? has your prowess deserted you in the years of widowing?” maekar was moments away from strangling you, his fingers twitching with the urge to just wrap them around your throat and squeeze until not even breath slipped past your lips. but he had no such luck, for your next words stalled him, unmoving.
“shall i scream for all those court vipers to hear?” you incited, eyes narrowed, nails still deep into his skin, but he could barely feel the sting over the pounding in his ears over your goading. “shall i let the whole realm know that my lord husband is incapable of even touching his lady wife? of being man enough to make her feel good? instead of standing there gaping at a pair of tits like a green boy in his first whorehouse, incapable of—”
maekar’s eyes flashed—anger. humiliation. and something he couldn’t name, but it burned in his gut, spreading all the way down to his cock, hard enough to split stone now. it was surely the adrenaline of it all, his nerves on high alert, heart pounding so hard in his chest he could taste it in his mouth. nothing else. it couldn’t be anything else. not with you.
you were baiting him again. mocking his hesitation and reluctance to touch you, tone biting, just as your nails have been on his skin. words spoken like a commoner, not even close to the speech of a highborn lady, now wife of a prince of the realm. a targaryen.
he couldn’t continue like this. not with your hands on him, with your eyes watching him like you wanted him, like you desired him. with your—gods, with your tits bouncing with every breath, enticing him to forget all about your insolence and dip down to mouth and slobber all over them like a fucking dog until you moaned and arched against his tongue and teeth and—
his hands were rough, not enough to bruise, but firm as he grabbed your hips, holding onto the fat there and flipping you in one swift motion. not gently, not romantically.
dominant, like he had no doubt you would stay where he put you, where he wanted you, face down into the furs and pelts, hips angled backwards by his steady grip, bare breasts squished against the mattress, as was your tummy.
“m—maekar—,” you shrieked, surprised and muffled into the bed now, but he didn’t want to hear a word from you now, one palm dipping towards your shoulders, pressing down, keeping you in place. a silent command—stay there or else.
he was breathing hard, like a bull after a good run, nostrils flaring, broad chest heaving, eyes trained on the way your body looked beneath him now, arched, at his mercy, under his strong hands, held in place exactly as he pleased. no longer playing by your whims, no longer unnerved by your gaze or touches. no longer making him question things he was not ready to untangle.
his face was hot, hotter now, as his eyes traced the curves of you, the way your chemise hiked up your thighs, letting him get a peek at your rear. gods, what were you doing to him? maekar wished he could forget the way your ardent gaze devoured him whole, as if he were a god among men, as your tone dipped into sweet honey, sultry and purred.
nothing could unnerve him anymore. he was no longer shackled by—
a whine. pitched and demanding, slipped from your lips as your hips wiggled in his grip, pushing your rear back against him, brushing against the bulge in his breeches, ample flesh jiggling from side to side, catching his gaze like a beacon. “d—do something, you useless brute!” you demanded, back arching with the grace of a feline, pleading for attention without much preamble. still shameless, still without an ounce of decorum.
maekar’s breath left him sharply at the sight. your hips swaying, arse sticking out in unabashed invitation, like you were a cat begging to be scratched, petted—or worse, claimed. how dare you? he thought, incredulous as to how a woman could be this unashamed in her desires—in her want for… him. for this brute, as you called him so brazenly.
a brute, was he?
well, if he were such a brute, then he would act like one, and put you in your damn place once and for all, solidifying his place in this marriage and proving you wrong.
slowly, akin to a predator stalking his prey, his hand moved back towards the fat of your hip to join the other, thumbs digging slightly into the curve where waist met ass, feeling the warmth of you through the silk. you were burning, and he barely touched you yet. what a debauched creature you were.
and then, because you begged with that wiggle and sway, he answered. no longer useless, as his hands slid lower over plush cheeks, palm flattening over one rounded backside, and gave a sharp, resounding smack, making the silken flesh jiggle from the impact.
maekar expected a yelp, a rebuke. not a loud, pleasured moan, like a woman possessed, mouth parting against the pelt under your cushioned cheek, eyelashes fluttering, as if savoring the sting of the strike.
“gods, yes, yes,” you sighed, already pushing your arse back towards his palm, wanting more, like a greedy little thing.
his eyes darkened, the purple obscured by the black now, a flush crawling up his throat at the way you sounded, as if he offered you salvation and damnation both. like you’ve been waiting for this very moment since the wedding feast—his hand smacking your ass like a fucking degenerate commoner. and now you want more.
he didn’t hesitate.
smack. another sharp spank landed, not harsh enough to hurt deeply, but firm and stinging through the fabric of your thin chemise.
“look at you,” he grit out, mocking but reverent in equal measure as he hiked up your chemise to your hips, revealing the heated skin of your arse, where his palm smacked, marking you with ardor. it gave him a thrill like no other to see the labor of his punishment on you.
“arching and begging for it like a fucking cat in heat,” he continued, palm smoothing down the flush of your skin, but not to soothe. just to feel the heated pulse of the flesh there beneath his fingers.
it made his cock twitch in his breeches.
even more when he realized you weren’t wearing any small clothes, as a lady should. like a bride would on her wedding night.
gods, you were audacious beyond measure. he didn’t know if it angered him more than it thrilled him.
“no smallclothes,” he noted, tilting his head, as if assessing the expanse of bare flesh now at his disposal. maekar could even see a peek of the folds of your cunt as you continued to arch into his touches. and you were wet, almost dripping onto your thighs, onto the bedding underneath. his spanks have gotten you aroused. “not even a commoner would be this immodest.”
“don’t need them,” you retorted, only trying to push backwards more, relentless and needy. “they’ll only get in the way of you putting your cock in me.”
all the gods above, that mouth on you was lethal.
the words made a ragged, bitten-off curse fall from his mouth as his fingers moved to spread the globes of your rear enough to expose your pussy better to his gaze.
“drenched,” maekar breathed—still hang up on the way you mentioned his cock in such a raunchy manner, unbefitting of a lady—not being able to tear his eyes away from how soaked you were, and only dripping more, your hole clenching around nothing, as if already taunting him inside. “making a mess all over yourself, like you belong on streets of silk than in the bed of a prince.”
he couldn’t help but lean down, but not towards where you were softest. not yet. his rough lips pressed to the warmth now seared onto your arse, only hovering for a moment, before he pulled back his lips to bite, sinking his teeth into the ardent flesh. gently at first, just a slight press of canines. a dragon claiming what he marked.
then he kissed it. a hot, open—mouthed press that warmed the aching skin even more. no finesses, no romance. just raw possession now, letting you know with teeth and tongue that you belonged to him entirely now, and not the other way around. gods and vows aside. he was not yours. but you were his.
you couldn’t help the soft sounds falling from your lips, every touch from your husband burning. a true dragon’s claim on his hoard. no longer distant, no longer resisting that primal instinct you knew lay dormant within him, just waiting to be taunted out.
“a—ah, you could always move your mouth lower, my lord husband.”
lower.
said in such a sultry, daring way, as if you thought he wouldn't, as if you needed to coax him towards your cunt.
maekar exhaled slowly, the flush on his throat only blooming more insistent with every word from you, each more sweltering than the other. he even forgot about the courtiers lingering on the other side of the door. the thought only made his flush deepen, traveling all the way to the tips of his ears, reddening his cheeks along the way. he’s sure they heard the spanks. gods, they’re gonna think him a barbarian who slaps his wife around for pleasure. and it was only your fault for goading him into such things.
he couldn’t let shame burn too hotly in his gut, choosing to distract himself by slowly peppering kisses up your thighs, tongue laving across the skin, pulling more breathy sounds out of you. every press of lips was deliberate, each one slower than the last, inching where you wanted him most, where you smelled strongest. tangy, musky, and just a bit of sweetness, all dripping out of you, the more attention he gave.
for a prince of the realm, the way he comported himself tonight should’ve been shameful, but he couldn’t think about propriety and etiquette as his nose brushed along your folds, inhaling deeply, searing your scent to the back of his throat as he groaned aloud. fuck, fuck, fuck.
it felt perverted to trail the tip of his nose along your drooly folds, spreading them just so, nudging them apart, coating himself in your juices, mouth dropping open in a near growl.
the sound that got out of you was more like a yelped moan than anything, but you pressed your hips back, as if itching to hump your pussy against the bridge of his nose. and maybe one day, he would let you do just that, but today he had other plans, as he let the tip of his nose bump against your chubby clit, brushing against the silky skin.
“yes, yes, yes, right there,” you whined like a mantra, having no qualms in moving your hips, grinding down helplessly in hopes of pressing the tip of your husband’s nose more firmly against the bundle of nerves at the top of your pussy. “feels good, husband, gods—”
just this. just you humping his nose like a fevered whore, getting him soaked with your slick, enough for it to drip onto his reddened cheeks and even down to his lips, urging him to lick at them, tasting you on his tongue.
that was enough to urge him to stick his tongue out and lave at your pussy, a broad, firm flick of it, greedily soaking up all the wetness he could. maekar would drink from you if he could. if such a thing as the nectar of the gods existed, he was sure it wouldn’t come close to the taste of your cunt on his tongue.
your moan was loud, pulled from deep within your chest, melting you from head to toe as your husband continued to lap at you with a greed rivaling a thief's, stealing the sweetest sounds from your throat, the combination of his nose bumping into your clit and his tongue parting your folds almost making you go cross eyed from pleasure. “don’t stop, don’t—fuck, maekar, don’t stop licking.”
even like this, you were demanding and bossy.
“y’taste good, wife,” came muffled from between your thighs, accompanied by wet, slurping sounds, so lewd and arousing, it only made you drip onto his awaiting tongue more. “if i knew this was all i needed to do to keep your mouth shut,” a suck against your quivering hole, obscene enough to make even you flush. “i would’ve had you spread open right after we signed the papers,” a huff against your wetness, before he nudged his nose against your clit anew, grinding it in slow circular motions, making you shake. “it would’ve saved me a fortnight of peace.”
his words only made you seek his touch more, hips grinding with more fervor, seeking as much pleasure as he could give. “you should’ve,” you retorted, airy and soft, molded around a mewl as his tongue replaced the tip of his nose, circling your clit firmly, your eyes almost rolling back into your head from how good it felt. “should’ve taken me, too. put your cock to good use and render me speechless.”
as always, you were relentless. here he was, drowning in your pussy, and you wanted more. he should’ve left you like that, a sprawled mess onto the bed, aching and whining, showing you the importance of patience. of gratitude. of restraint.
but, alas, he has lost the will to make you suffer, to want to see you crumple, and now only desired this version of you. needy and pliant and pleading for every inch of him like a good wife would.
and even then, he couldn’t forget all the lip you gave him, all those jabs and ceaseless fussing.
your husband was not going to give you everything you wanted when you wanted it. not on your terms.
maekar drew back from between your folds, your juices smeared over the bottom half of his face, coating his beard, glistening in the candlelight, and twirled his tongue around his mouth for a few moments, before spitting right onto your quivering hole, thumb following to spread the wetness around. it was vulgar, but it made you whine louder. so he did it again, a bigger glob of saliva this time, dripping from your entrance to your clit, before trailing down onto the bedding.
“filthy,” he rebuked, as if he wasn’t the one dirtying you with such unabashed lewdness. two thick, calloused fingers swiped through the mixture of slick and spit, gathering it generously before feeding it into your hole, slow and methodical, all the way up to the second knuckle.
and curled, brushing against spongy walls.
“gods—,” you cried out, clenching around his fingers, as if sucking them deeper. it made your husband growl, punishing your greed by curling the digits again, dragging the rough pads along those spots which made your pitch higher, your thighs quiver. “more, maekar,” you pleaded, pushing your hips back, grinding onto his fingers, ass jiggling from the way maekar’s wrist slapped against the bottom of your rear. “need more, ah, need your cock. p—put your cock in me already, you brute—” you tried again, but he ignored you, only adding a third finger, stuffing you more full, placating you. but teasing you in equal measure, like the brute he was.
that seemed to frustrate you more, whine gurgling from your throat, hips gyrating with more insistence. “n—not enough!” you gritted, so, so impatient, focused on getting the only thing you truly wanted. “a true husband would’ve had his cock in me by now! a—are you, ah, fuck,” a harsh flick of his wrist interrupted your protests, deterring you for a moment, before you continued, brows furrowing. “does your prick not work anymore, my lord husband? are you afraid i won’t be satisfied?” the words tumbled out of your mouth unbidden, throwing every taunt at him in hopes of him biting.
“is it so small that it’ll leave me asking for your fingers again or—”
silence.
before a weight settled over your back like a blanket, so warm and sturdy, pinning your upper body onto the pelts ruthlessly, stealing the breath from your lungs, leaving you winded for a few moments.
“shut up,” was growled against your ear, so low and vicious it made your now empty hole quiver and drip even more slick. gods, where had his fingers gone? “you insufferable, wanton wench,” his words dripped with so much venom it made a delicious shiver run down your spine, more than delighted to have him pressed along your back, shoulders to hips, feeling the hard length of his cock press along the folds of your pussy through his breeches.
one of his hands fumbled with the fastenings, pulling himself out, thick and girthy, guiding the head towards your folds, smearing his precum all over the silky flesh as he panted against your ear. “you don’t deserve this,” he rumbled, gliding the cock-head slowly along the wetness, before slapping it against your clit. once, twice, like small love taps, barely giving you any stimulation. “but i’ll give it to you anyway,” he inched back towards your entrance, repeating the lewd motion, precum coating the throbbing hole with each slap of the head against it.
his arms moved, one settling by your head, elbow pressed into the mattress so he can curl all that muscle and sinew against your neck, cradling your head between his forearm and bicep, the crook of his elbow pressing softly against your throat, making you gasp, choked and whiny. your husband had you in a headlock, squeezing just so, just enough for you to feel his strength and what he could do with it, if he wished.
it made you moan shamelessly, palms coming to curl around the muscle there, nails digging in, making maekar hiss, and flex just a bit more in retaliation, before relaxing the squeeze.
“please, husband,” you pleaded, a little breathless from the hold of his arm, pushing your hips back against him. “take me, fuck me, have me.”
music to maekar’s ears. having you so desperate, begging for him so sweetly, letting him place you how he wanted and keep you there, his weight keeping you pressed to the bedding, your hips tilted up by his other hand, which now slowly pushed the head of his cock into your glistening hole, still careful, even with all the pent-up frustration and arousal. he never meant to hurt you, no matter how much you infuriated him.
a loud, suffering groan brushed your ear as he bottomed out, feeling how tight you were, how wet and warm and gods—he could die in your cunt. in this greedy, hungry thing, which pulsed and throbbed and squeezed around him like it wanted him deeper.
you were no better, practically drooling over his bicep, shameless moans spilling freely, loud enough to be heard by the courtiers, perhaps the whole castle. pleasure overtook you, urging you to babble, fingers gripping at his muscles like a lifeline. “have me, husband,” you repeated those salacious words, clenching around him tightly. “t—take me like a real man, not a green boy who—”
the hand that guided his cock inside snapped upwards, clamping over your mouth, thick fingers pressing into the flush of your skin, rendering any more comments to silence.
“shut,” he ground out, dragging his hips back before snapping them forward, thrusting inside you. “your insolent mouth, woman,” rasped against your cheek now, as he set a firm, ruthless pace, navel slapping against the flesh of your ass, making it jiggle, the sound echoing through the room.
your sounds of pleasure were muffled by his hands, slobbering all over the inside of his palm from how much you were drooling, moans and cries barely making it past the rough fingers pressed to your lips. maekar could’ve winced at the feeling of wetness, but it only thrilled him more to have you like this, mindless with bliss from how deep his cock reached, the tip hitting that one spot inside your gummy walls that made your nails scratch at his bicep and your tongue lolling out, pressing against his palm, even daring to lick.
every thrust brought him closer to the edge, feeling the telltale sign of heat at the base of his spine, spreading into the pit of his stomach. and by the way your sounds could barely be silenced anymore, so were you.
his pace quickened, hips snapping against your ass harder, rutting into you with fervor, close to snarling against your ear from how good it felt. gods, your pussy was made for this. for him. coating his cock, making tendrils of slick stick to his navel and the backs of your thighs from how wet you were, the sounds squelching and filthy. “pussy so good, wife,” maekar rumbled, the praise slipping from his mouth. “so good for your husband’s cock.”
his wife was getting close, he could tell; her hands now clawing at the one of his onto her mouth, making him slacken it just enough for her to cry out, garbled and supplicating.
“spend in me,” you mewled, little ah, ah, ah sounds muffling against the inside of his palm, now coated with your drool. “give me your seed, maekar,” the pleading continued, making his thrusts falter minutely. “let me have your seed, husband.”
you sounded so desperate, so… earnest, as if all that happened led to this, to you asking for something a husband should give freely, without a shroud of doubt. like a future where you might end up round and full with his child was something you would be pleased with. it was too much for him. he won’t be made to believe that such a forthcoming was meant to be sound, especially when you were overcome with pleasure.
maekar found himself shaking his head, palms pressing back against your mouth to silence any more begging, to cease such ramblings from a woman who didn’t mean what she was saying, even if your words almost made him cum inside of you moments ago.
“i—i can’t,” he groaned, low and shaky, as if pained. “i won’t, wife.”
you want closure, maekar's sons want to get you two back together
cw : modern au. age gap.reader is 20s and maekar is 40s, bimbo reader. old grump!maekar. (have tagged non-con as the first part contains that and there is reference to it) insecurities. angst. anxiety. arguing. degrading words. foul language. crack. heavy smut. pussy eating. p in v sex. confessions. cream pies. 18+ MDNI
a/n: i got so carried away with reader interacting with maekar's children. pure crack for a while but i hope you enjoy the 6k+ words in this one. i've aged up some of the children and before you question the plothole for them all not being around as much, think of them as being at private school.
recluse neighbour series
you are responsible for the content you consume. make sure to read warnings before proceeding with any of my fics
“I feel stupid,” you whine at Daeron.
Your hands tug on the skirts of your dress, re-adjusting it for the third time this afternoon. It lifts up again when you walk backwards, trying to look at yourself in Daeron’s wing mirror to make sure you look absolutely perfect —only you don’t, your dress is too short, your mascara slightly smudged and your hair seems to be falling out of the bun you fixed it into this morning.
“I can’t do this.”
Your voice cracks as you twist around to face Daeron.
His eyes widen, pushing the door closed as he notices you try and reach for the handle, not letting you scurry away any time soon.
“Relax,” he tells you, repeating what he said in the car getting here, and in your room when he helped you get ready. “Breathe.”
You do just that, sucking in a large gulp of air before huffing it all out.
Daeron nods as you do it, repeating at least three times before turning around to notice the gardener and what looks to be a cleaner looking directly at you. They probably think you're crazy.
You shake your head, making a horrible squeaking noise but Daeron clicks his fingers to snatch your attention back to him.
“Don’t look at them, look at me,” he says and you really try to—
—only your eyes flicker, noticing another figure stepping out of the grand house, silver hair and a frown that almost mirrored his father’s.
“What the fuck is she doing here?” Aerion shouts across the drive, before storming over it.
You're quick to step behind Daeron, continuing your hyperventilating that borderlines crossing over to a panic attack.
“Woah.” Daeron steps in front of his brother, blocking his path. “Listen, listen.”
“How do you expect me to listen to her?” Aerion snaps, darting sideways back and forth, trying his best to get past his brother.
“Because—”
“ —When she’s the sole reason our father—”
“ —listen to me.”
“ —has been a complete an utter mess—”
“ —Aerion, if you just—”
“ —and she has the audacity to come here of all places—”
“Aerion,” Daeron shouts, snapping his brother out of his trance. “Would you just listen for fuck sake?”
Aerion grows quiet, and you catch a glimpse of him as you pace behind his brother. His brows furrow together for half a second before they drop, eyes widening once again and he points at his brother.
“Are you fucking banging her?”
Daeron rushes to come to your defence, waving his hands about in the air while your breathing quickens, staring between both brothers like you couldn’t genuinely believe this is seriously happening.
“Woah, woah,” Daeron’s panicked tone gives way and he bends down slightly, reaching his brothers level before asking, “Are you fucking insane?”
“Well I mean—”
Aerion’s words are cut off by you, gasping for breath like a fish out of water.
“Oh my god, people are going to think we’re together.” You motion between you and Daeron, grimacing at the idea before letting out a strangled wheeze like you’re seconds from passing out.
“Uh— and what’s so wrong with me?” Daeron asks, completely falling off topic as he narrows his eyes at you.
“First of all I wouldn’t do that to your father.” You point at him, shaking your head “ —and second…” you trail off, looking to the side, clearly not wanting to finish this answer.
“I’d be a great bang actually,” Daeron goes to defend, turning his body to look fully at you. “And I wouldn’t do the same to my father either.”
“Good to know,” you retort back, before returning to your pacing again. “I’m going to be sick.” Louder. “I’m going to be SICK.”
“So you’re not fucking?”
“No.” You and Daeron both shout back in unison.
“This slut—”
You gasp, stopping your pacing and standing right in Aerion’s face. “What did you just call me?”
He steps back, before facing up to you fully. “I called you a slut.”
You go to hit him, a pathetic slap landing right on his shoulder. When it doesn’t give the impact you want it to have, you go again, only for Aerion to hit away.
“After how you treated my dad, I think it’s justified,” he adds, hands falling on his hips.
“I am not a slut, little boy,” you snap, hitting him again.
His hands come out to defend his face, trying to dodge your weak hits from hitting his face. “I’m like four years younger than you.”
“You make it seem like it’s ten with the way you lack maturity.”
“Stop, you’re going to scratch my face.”
“Enough, both of you,” Daeron tries to intervene, stepping in between the pair of you.
You’re not entirely proud of what happens next, although you can say for certain it’s not entirely your fault but at some point you find yourself on Aerion’s back, arm wrapped around his neck as you hold him in a headlock with a familiar child wrapped around his leg, aiding your attack.
“Who’s the child?” You ask, staring at the violet eyed boy gnawing at Aerion’s leg.
“Another one of your boyfriend’s sons,” Daeron grunts out, trying desperately to get you off his brother’s back.
“Oh you must be Aegon,” you gush, lips twisting into a wide smile. “I wish we could have met in better circumstances.”
“Get her off me.”
“Call me a slut again.”
“What the fuck is going on?”
You drop then, falling backwards onto Daeron, face looking up to find the face to match the voice. It’s gruff in tone, not nearly as deep as the one you’re used to but there are certain similarities and you’re not surprised to see the older brother you’ve heard about before standing there. Baelor.
—Again, you just wish it was under better circumstances.
All three boys scramble for answers, trying to convince their uncle on what the actual matter on hand is. Only he ignores them, looking directly at you and stepping forward, making you swallow nervously.
You might possibly be sweating—
His hands grab one of yours, holding it as he gives you a warm smile.
“We’re happy to have you,” Baelor says, like there really is nothing else to it and the simplicity takes a weight you didn’t realise you’d been holding on your shoulder. “Daeron has filled me in on everything.”
“Filled him in on what?” You hear Aerion ask, hitting Daeron in the stomach.
“All of you inside,” he directs his nephews, leading the way for all of you.
You follow along, Daeron waiting for you to grab your things before you make your way together.
“Oh, happy birthday by the way, Aegon,” you call out to him, making the child turn back his head. “I got you a few things that I heard you might like.” You hold out the gift bag in question, passing it to him.
“I like you already,” he says, nodding in approval. “You can call me Egg.”
If not for the fact Maekar adored his children, he’d never attend these sort of things. Birthday parties had never been his thing, loud obnoxious family members he spent months isolating himself from being the first ones to corner him on his arrival, he fucking loathed it. Half the time he stopped with the whole farce of putting on an act for other family members, only for his older brother to remind him that appearances sometimes do matter.
He could care less. The reason he is here is partially for the two teenagers and one child that seem to be running about the party already, and his three other children that seem to be following his older brother through the door from the house.
While it’s been a hard four months, he can’t help but smile at the sight of them. Especially seeing his youngest son so happy behind his brothers, holding a pink gift bag in one hand and your hand in the other.
Your hand.
Maekar almost drops the bottle of beer in his hands, stumbling back and hitting backwards into a table slightly. His hand grasps the edge of the table, lifting his lips back into a small smile as he apologies to the people around him before stepping away completely, looking back towards you.
You— who is holding his youngest son’s hand, walking side by side with him. You’re wearing a white dress that falls mid thigh, one that hugs the curves of your body, one that he specifically remembers picking out for you. Your hair is pinned out of your beautiful face, a few loose strands managing to fall out perfectly.
Fuck, he could kiss you right now. He wants to walk up right up to you and plant a soft kiss to those glossy lips, pull you into his side and tell you how fucking sorry he actually is. Because he is fucking sorry.
You— who is being dragged directly over to him, his son tugging at your hand making a beeline for his direction, not even giving him a second to recover from your abrupt arrival.
“Look what I found,” Aegon beams up at him, swaying your hand back and forth before dropping it. “She’s pretty.”
It takes you a second to look up at him, eyes seeming to find sudden interest in the grass blades by your feet before your eyes even meet his gaze. He notices how you swallow, how you nibble on the inside of your mouth before trying to offer him a smile.
“Hi—”
“What are you doing here?” He asks, it comes out rushed, more irritated than curious and he curses in his head when he notices your smile drop and your fingers begin to fidget in front of you. “I didn’t mean—”
“Daeron brought me here actually,” you tell him, only to shake your head, fumbling with your hands. “Not like that—”
You both grow quiet, eyes meeting as you both try to think of the words to say.
“Can we keep her?” Aegon asks.
“Well I was planning to stay,” you tell him, sweetly smiling down at the boy.
Aegon beams again, and Maekar can’t help the way his heart warms at the sight.
“If that’s okay with you, of course?” You turn back to Maekar, glassy eyes looking at him like you’re desperate he will say more.
He wants to. He does but he settles on, “Well if you’ve been invited—”
“It’s my party and I want you to stay.”
You look at Maekar then, and his words get caught in his throat. He didn’t think he’d have this opportunity laid right out in front of him. Didn’t even think he’d get the chance to see you again.
“You should stay,” Maeker tells you, with a firm nod. “I want—”
“Uncle Baelor said there’d be fun things to do,” Daella appears out of nowhere, cutting her father off. The teenage girl looks half bored, eyes scanning the garden before falling back down to her phone. “But I don’t see any fun things.”
“Well maybe if you—”
“Dad,” another voice whines, his youngest appears. She huffs, tears flooding her waterline. “Aemon won’t let me play on his phone.”
“Why don’t you just—”
“Ask Dad for his phone,” Aemon appears behind her, rolling his eyes.
They begin to fight for his attention, his four youngest children cutting him off as he scrambles to speak. He looks over to where you were just standing, noticing the space empty and you walking off to another side of the garden.
He doesn’t follow you— he can’t, he needs to occupy his children. But there’s a part of him that wants to follow you, wrap his hand around your wrist and keep you planted by his side all night. He settles on watching from a distance, keeping his eyes glued to you and making sure there’s no chance you’ll fall out of his line of sight. Not until he gets the chance to talk to you— even then, he doesn’t think he’ll let you go that easy.
The first hour is the hardest, standing in the corner thinking to the point you’ve gone so unnoticeable you’ve blended in with scenery. It’s not till you’re approached by Aerion with his tail tucked between his legs, do you remember that you’re not just someone looking at this garden party from the outside.
He mumbles something, so quiet you can only catch a syllable of it and you’re not even entirely sure he’s talking to you until you notice he’s staring at you waiting for some response.
“Huh?” You ask.
“I’m sorry,” he says through gritted teeth, looking out into the garden again. “I don’t think you’re a slut.”
“Oh.” You nod your head, not sure exactly how to reply. “I’m sorry for hitting you and the other stuff.”
He stifles his laugh then, turning to you with a smug grin.
“What?”
“I think Aegon biting my leg hurt more than any of your slaps.”
You laugh too, slightly feeling a bit more relieved.
“Truce.”
He places a hand out for you to shake, and it only makes you laugh harder.
“Truce,” you agree.
Things seemingly fall into place after that.
You thought it’d be awkward talking to Maekar’s other children, a bit forced from you like you’d be trying too hard to impress them, to make yourself fit in. But when the others make their way over, conversation seems impossibly easy, natural.
Daella compliments your outfit and shows you videos on her phone she finds funny, Aemon joins in at some point, trying to seem disinterested at first, only to find himself scooting closer, commenting on the video. The two youngest seem to adore you, trying to pull you into their silly games, tugging at the sleeves of your cardigan for your attention.
Hours pass without you really realising, it’s not long before the sun is hiding behind the bushes and the youngest are being taken up to bed.
Most people have gone at this point, only closest family members still lingering around and you find yourself feeling out of place. Maekar is now where to be seen, and a part of you feels slightly disappointed that this might be the outcome of today, that you came here for nothing.
You press the beer to your lips, only to realise it’s empty and realise it might be time for you to go home. Only when you scan the area for your ride home, he bumps into you, a bit more intoxicated than you think is safe for him to drive.
“Empty?” Daeron asks, pointing at your drink. “Think we ran out in the kitchen but there’s more in the cellar, I think?” His eyes look over at Aerion, eyebrows rising as goes, “There is more in the cellar, right?”
Aerion nods for a second, before his eyes widen a bit and fall on you. “More in the cellar.”
“There’s some in the kit—” Aemon chokes on his words, Aerion hitting him in his stomach.
“I’ll show you to it,” Aerion says, pulling you away from his brother and taking you back inside before you can tend to him.
You go through a few different corridors— one to the left, then another left again and a right, and then possibly another left, you can’t exactly remember—before you find a door that leads to stairs.
“Just down here,” Aerion directs, flicking on a light switch next to you.
You stare down the stairs, the lights flickering before fully settling into a low light just below you. You look back over at Aerion and he’s already smiling, slightly mischievous.
“You’re okay to find your way back, right?”
He’s already gently nudging you forward before you can answer him and you don’t think you have the confidence to say no.
It’s cooler than you expected, a stark difference to the heat outside and you find yourself hugging yourself for warmth, taking slow steps down the stairs. Once you reach the bottom of the stair case, all you find is wooden cases that line up in rows of many, all filled with bottles of wine. No fridge, and while you’re certain the cellar’s cool enough to keep the possible beers you’re searching for cold, you can’t find them.
You could get lost in the cases of wine you find down here, keep turning corners until you can’t find your way back to the staircase in the dimly lit room. The possibility sounds better than going home which you’re certain you’ll have to do when you go back up those stairs.
There’s no point in lingering in a place you’re not entirely wanted, even if you haven’t got the closure you wanted. Another day, maybe.
There’s a creek, the wooden door you came through minutes ago opening again, or possibly another one you don’t see. Your eyes look for the noise, footsteps soon follow and then he stands in front of you.
Your stomach clenches, hairs standing on edge as you take him in.
His beard is grown, white fur covering his face instead of his normally shaven look. It’s trimmed and so is his hair, cut and styled like he dressed up for the occasion. It’s not his normal slept in look, not the one you’ve grown accustomed to but you can’t help but admire it all the same. If only he’d take a step closer, you could run your fingers through it, possibly even nuzzle your face—
You swallow, turning away from and trying to shut out the thoughts. Your fingers find a bottle in front of you, focusing on it like you had any more interest in it than any of the other bottles around you.
“I came to get beer,” you tell him, pulling the bottle out. You look at it, holding it by the neck in front of you. Anything to stop you from looking at him. “But all I can find is these wines. Ma–ma.”
He steps closer and you stumble on the word, letting out a harsh breath.
“Maidera,” he sounds out the word, voice deep, almost possessive as his hands reach out for the bottle, closing the distance even more. “My father said you should never hold a bottle of wine by its neck.”
Your eyes lift up to look at him, arm falling to the side of you, entirely focused on him and the way he’s practically inches in front of you. He’s so close you can feel the warmth radiating off him, even in the cold room your body feels ablaze just being near him. Your fingers slip when he makes a sudden step closer, the bottle dropping to the floor with a crash.
“I’m sorry,” you say, instantly rushing to pick up the broken bits in the red puddle.
“Don’t.”
Hands stop you, one falling around your wrist and the other positioning itself on your waist to halt your movements and you feel yourself stepping away from him as he takes another step, falling into the case behind you.
“It’s okay,” Maekar whispers, the hand from your wrist cupping your cheek, his thumb wiping a single tear away.
When did you begin to cry?
“I’m sorry—”
“Please,” you cut him off, tears lodged in the back of your throat. You don’t think you can hear this, don’t think you can have him this close to you right now. “I can’t—”
His body presses you up into the wooden case behind you, trapping you completely in one swift movement and all words die on your lips. Your eyes don’t look up at him first, they trail from his open collar, to his thick neck, stopping momentarily at his Adam's apple and the way it bops slightly as he swallows, then it follows to his chin, his lips, his long nose till you meet his gaze, settling on those deep purple eyes, that almost match the colour of the plum wine that sits at your feet.
You didn’t come here for this— yet your eyes flicker to his lips and you feel the heat crawl up your neck at the thought of all the things he could do to you right now. All the things you’d let him do if it pleased him.
“I’m sorry,” it comes out through clenched teeth, like he struggles to say but not like he doesn’t want to.
You shake your head, trying to regain some sense of composure with him this close— with him breathing his words on your face. “I didn’t come here—”
“You’re going to hear me,” he tells you, words almost coming out as a growl. “You’re going to listen.”
You nod like it’s even a question.
“I am fucking sorry,” his words sound strained, caught in the back of his throat like something else is threatening to spill. “I was scared and stupid.”
“Stupid,” you repeat, staring at him through a teary vision. “Really stupid.”
He nodded in agreement. “Really stupid.”
“And…”
“ —and I was scared that if you got too close, became a permanent piece in my life, that I— that I—” the words get lost and his eyes almost look wet as he stares back at you. “ —that I wouldn’t be able to cope the moment you decided to leave.”
“Who says I was going to leave?”
“My brain, my thoughts—” his fingers brush your hair behind your ear, and you close your eyes at the touch, leaning into it. “You’re too good for me. You got so much going for yourself and I—”
Your eyes open, flickering between his eyes, searching for something. Your hand falls resting against his own, holding it against your face. “Tell me.”
“You’re entirely perfect and I’m a man that barely leaves his house. I have six children.” His eyes widen and eyebrows lift as if to accentuate his point. “Six kids.”
“I met them,” you reply like it’s simple. “They’re great.”
He smiles at that. “Yeah, they are.” A tear slips from his eyes and your own hand falls against the side of his face, wiping it away as he’d done for you. “I don’t see myself having any more children, nor do I desire it.” He waits then, a silence sitting between you both like he’s expecting you to react in a way or say something.
You don’t.
“There will be things in this life that I can’t give you. Things that you could get elsewhere.” He sucks in a harsh breath, lips trembling. “A life elsewhere.”
“I’ve never really wanted children,” you honestly tell him. “Nor do I think that’s ever really been in the cards for me.”
“I don’t want you to just say that because—”
“I’m not.”
He grows quiet then, still unmoving.
“I have told you what I want. We’ve talked about it, the simple life and other things.”
He hums in agreement.
“Never once did I say I wanted children or—or—” you swallow, struggling for breath as you hold back tears. “I just wanted you and you–” tears slide down your cheek, heart clenching as your fingers run through his soft mane. “You kept pushing me away.”
“Wanted?”
The question sits between you both as he rests his forehead against yours, as his lips inch closer to your own, threatening to close the distance.
“Wanted?” He repeats, almost angrily.
“You know I still want—”
He doesn’t even need you to finish it, his own lips crashing against yours finally. It’s different, a desperation driving him as his lips move fervently against yours like he can’t get enough. You lean in closer, deepening it and opening your mouth for him, just as you do your legs.
“Need you,” you mutter between kisses—between his tongue sliding against yours, battling for every ounce of control that you’ve already given him, or maybe it’s control over his own body, losing it over to finally giving in to you.
“Not as badly as I need you,” he whispers, his low tone running right through you, making you shudder.
You feel how much he needs you, legs opening for him, one of them wrapping itself around his hips hoping to draw him in impossibly closer. Even through his trousers you feel him, hard and wanting, the bulge pressing up against your stomach, making you clench at the feel of him.
You go to slide your hand between you, creating the tiniest bit of space between you as your arm falls down, hand trailing down his stomach, right down past his belt, till it presses against bulge.
He sighs, deep and guttural into your lips, before his own hands fall to your ass, hoisting you up like you weigh nothing.
At no point does he break away, walking you from the case back into the stone wall, pressing his body flush against yours again. Your legs wrap around him, positioning your crotch perfectly against him and rolling your hips right against his.
“Going to fuck you here,” he tells you like you don’t have any choice in the matter, and the thought of it turns you on. “Going to fuck you up against this wall and then I’m going to take you up into the room upstairs and then fuck you some more. You got it?”
You nod, mouth falling open as he presses himself against you again, cock even harder than before.
He drops you gently, and in those few seconds your feet touch the ground, you tear at each other’s clothes. His t-shirt first and then his trousers, before his hands are back on you, slipping the dress from your chest, bunching it at your waist, his mouth following, pressing feverish pecks against your breasts, all the way down to your stomach.
Your thighs squeeze together when he reaches your lower stomach, lips dragging themselves till they reach the edge of your panties. He lets out a breathy laugh at the way you rub your thighs together, and his purple eyes almost turn back when you puff out your lips down at him.
“What have I said about pouting?”
You pout harder, proving your point. “Stop teasing me then.”
“Taking my time, sweetheart.” The pet name rolls off his tongue so smoothly, and it makes your chest tighten all over again.
“Or just giving yourself time to warm up,” you remark, biting your bottom lip to stifle the laughter. “Haven’t lost your touch yet have you, old man?”
Your panties come down in one swoop, torn down your thighs till they’re dangling around your ankles. He gives you a look, a pointed glare that knocks that amusement straight out of your chest— well, most of it at least.
Maekar doesn’t seem in the slightest amused but you know him and you know it’s all for show. Especially when his own lips curl into a smirk at the way you sigh at the feel of his hands wrapping around your thighs.
“Can’t a man just enjoy himself?”
You go to bite back but you barely manage a syllable out of your mouth before you gasp at your wet pussy being exposed to the cold air.
It’s his time to laugh, noticing how soaked you are barely a few minutes in.
“I don’t think I can take any more teasing,” you tell him, pure desperation dripping from your tone. “Please.”
He presses his up against your cunt, prying your legs open further before getting a good whiff and humming in some sick delight.
“You’re such a pervert, old man.”
“You best cut it with that old man bullshit.”
“Or what?”
You snicker but it dies quickly, your perverted old man diving right into your cunt.
He doesn’t waste any time gliding his tongue from your dripping hold all the way to your sensitive clit. You can’t even resist him, bucking your hips towards his face to chase your own pleasure. And not once does he push you away, if anything he deepens it, pulling your legs over your shoulder, and holding your hips up against the wall.
He’s there for a few minutes, finding a rhythm between lapping at your clit to pushing his tongue deep into your hole. Until he’s found the perfect amount of stimulation, one that has you grinding your pussy against him, nose against your clit while his tongue works its way inside your gummy walls.
He pulls back for a second, only an inch, enough to see his lips wet with your slick, eyes still glued to your own. “Missed tasting this.”
You can barely mumble a coherent sentence out before he’s shoved himself back down again, sliding his face to pay more attention to your clit. He sucks on it then switches to lapping at before going between the two till your thighs are clenching around his head. He chuckles into you and you feel the vibrations in your pussy and feel that coil tighten even further in your stomach.
“Maekar,” is pretty much all you can manage as you circle your nub with the tip of his tongue, before another harsh moan is torn from your throat.
You feel yourself falling over the edge, the tipping point getting all that closer with the way he eats out your pussy. You think he feels it too, tongue working faster against you, and his grip almost bruising against your hips like he’s signalling for you to let go.
You do and he doesn’t let up for a second, holding you against him like he didn’t need to breathe, like the last bit of oxygen left was between those thighs of yours.
Even when your toes begin to uncurl, and your body stops twitching, he doesn’t stop like he’s got something to prove. It’s you that has to shove at him, swatting your hands at his head, trying to push away his unyielding body. He lets up eventually, slowly unhooking your thighs from his shoulders, and working his way back up your body.
He leaves a wet trail against your skin, sloppy kisses from your cunt up to your lips before resting his forehead against yours.
You’re both a breathless mess and even though you expect all seriousness from the old man in front of you, you’re met with a smug smile.
“Think you’re funny, hmm?” He growls into your lips.
“You love it,” you reply, wrapping your leg around his hips. You feel him, the tip of his hard dick leaking against your thigh and you smile back. “See you can still get it up then, old man?”
His hand slaps down hard against your cunt, and you gasp at the harsh touch, only for your abused pussy to leak further onto the floor.
“Aren’t you supposed to be making it up to me?”
His fingers breach your walls, two thick digits hooking themselves inside your tight hole making you moan.
“Not fair.”
“I don’t want to play fair.” His fingers slide all the way out, then back in again, nice and slow until you find your hips pushing down against him. “Want to ruin you.”
You sigh then, head falling back against the wall, eyes falling closed as you feel the digits stretch out your walls. “You’ve already ruined me, Maekar,” you tell him, all amusement lost from your tone. “You ruined me the first time you took me against that stupid couch.” Your eyes open then, looking deep into his eyes as your hand finds the back of his neck. “And then you spent the next few months ruining me for any man that could possibly come after.”
“That bad, sweetheart?” he asks.
“That good.”
His fingers slip out of you, leaving you empty and cold, practically panting against the wall like some animal in heat. Your hips go to find him but he keeps them firmly planted with one hand, while the other lines his cock up against you.
“Is this what you want?” He questions, sliding his long cock against you. “Want me to mold your walls back to the shape of my cock? To the point it won’t be satisfied by any other?”
You nod, pathetically quick, mumbling out a small, “Please” that has him stroking his cock while staring down at you.
“How did I ever think I’d manage to cope without you?” He asks, more to himself than you, staring down at you like you’re the most precious thing to walk into his life. “Haven’t even came properly since you left me, did you know that?” You feel him then, his cock nudging against your entrance, an inch of him slipping inside. “Takes me almost hours and even then I have to use those videos you sent me just to finish.”
It shouldn’t sound so sweet but it does, your heart hammering in your chest just at the thought of that old man swiping back on old videos of you. It’s nice to know that he’s stuck on you just as much as you are on him.
“You like that don’t you?”
His cock slides back out, sliding over your clit and back down to your hole again. Back and forth. Back and forth— till your pussy is clenching around the inch he gives you, trying to suck him in.
“Like the thought of me completely hung up on you.”
You nod, letting out a small whimper when he slips out again. “Please.”
“Please, what?”
“Please fuck me.” You pout again, wrapping your hands around his neck to pull him closer. “I need you to fuck me.”
He hoists you up then, beefy arms flexing as they pull you up against the wall, positioning you in the perfect spot. His arms hold you still, both hands hooked underneath your knees as his sheer strength keeps you planted. All before his cock slips into you, agonisingly slow, making sure you feel the curve of his dick, all the ridges and the veins, all till his balls are pressed up against your ass cheeks.
You whimper when he pulls all the way out, hands falling to his shoulders, nails digging into the flesh when he slams himself all the way back in. You moan at the harsh thrust and moan into his mouth as he ruts into you, setting a rhythm like he means to punish you, and punish himself at the same time.
You clench around him, once and then another time, unknowingly as you feel his balls slap against your cheeks. It feels all too good, his cock hitting deep into your walls, making you barely able to breathe. Even the way he holds you up, giving you no sort of escape, no reprieve from him as he just takes. Takes. Takes. —takes everything you have to give him, your wanton moans, the slick that seems to ooze out of you with every push of his hips and that fucked out way you continue to pout at him.
“Don’t let me go,” you plead with tears threatening to spill from your eyes. You hold him flush against you. Your bare tits pressed up against his hard chest, pussy clamping down on him like you’re scared he might leave. “Don’t ever fucking let me go.”
“Promise I won’t,” he swears into your lips, fucking you harder like he wants you to know how badly he means it. “Promise I won’t ever be that stupid again.”
“I think—” you feel, your whole body tensing at the feel of him inside of you. Each thrust is harsher than one before, an intention set behind them.
Your back arches slightly— it’s all it can really do in this position— as you come undone all over his cock, an all consuming feeling taking over your body. You don’t even moan, you scream some semblance of his name, again and again like you’re begging him for it. Begging for him—
—Begging him to cum, to fill you up completely, to remind your needy hole just how good it felt to be fucked by him. It’s what he does, staring deep into your eyes as your pussy continues to flutter, groaning into your soft lips as he spills himself inside of you.
You swear you feel his cock twitch inside and the feeling of it makes your eyes roll back in sweet delight. You don’t want him to stop. You want him to hold you right there as he fills you up over and over again— to continue fucking his cum back into your walls until you’re unable to speak, until he’s spilling out of your hole on to the floor.
He slows though, the last few thrusts sloppy against you until he stops. His head dropping to your shoulder, placing a chaste kiss there as you both simmer in the sound of your ragged breathing.
“You feel ruined yet?” He asks after a minute and the question makes you giggle.
“No.” You shake your head, smirking as he looks at you.
He’s flushed, red in the face with a sheen of sweat coating his forehead. His hair is ragged and you can’t help yourself as your fingers run right through it.
“Too much for you, old man?”
He rolls his eyes, tutting at the nickname but you see the corner of his lips fight to keep down the smile. “No.”
“I want it again.”
“How?” He asks, his eyes drifting to the ground. “Want me to fuck you on that floor, hmm?” His lips kiss yours gently, then press themselves against your cheek. “Have you bent over with your ass in the air?” He nips then, right at your chin, shoving his half hard cock right up to the hilt inside of you. “Or you want me to take you upstairs, fuck you slow and deep on the bed.”
“Will we have to be quiet?” You ask between a moan, as he licks at your neck.
“Don’t think I have it in me to be quiet right now.”
“On the bed then,” you tell him, clenching your pussy around him. “Want it slow and sweet.” He lifts his head up and you melt at his warm smile. “Want you to fuck me so good that I’m unable to speak unless it’s your name.”
“That might take a while,” he chuckles before kissing you, a kiss that sucks the very breath from your lungs. “But I do have to make up for lost time.”
You nod in agreement, smiling back at him. “That you do.”
dividers by @/chrisssiren
a/n: reader didn't put up much of a fight but i don't think i would either.
Ooo could we have more yandere! Baelor? Maybe wifey (stark?reader from a precious ask) defends Baelor (because people really dislike the Dornish at this time period and give him shit for it) and he just falls even more in love with her?
I love the way you write these stories they're always a nice read!
Hi Anon! Thank you so much for the request! I hope this is what you wanted!!
Protection Goes Both Ways
Yandere!Baelor x wife!reader—in which you defend him and he realizes you are the same.
Related to this fic
TW: 18+ MDNI NSFW. Sex, reader is pregnant. Reader threatens violence on a lord. Baelor is obsessed and possessive but he came off more of a lover boy in this one. Sorry!!
To Baelor, you were everything you were the sun and the stars and the sky. The universe. You were every bit of magic that this twisted world provided, everything good and every possibility.
He lived in you.
His spirit and soul and heart and mind. It was all yours, all forever yours. To do with what you would as long as you were loyal. You were his, formed by the gods for him alone. The gods of any faith, any belief. He didn’t care.
Whichever one made you was his was his God.
He would obey whatever edict they proposed because they gave him you and that was all that mattered because you were all that mattered.
You were his everything, the North Star that guided him home, the sun that shone through his days, the moon that lit his nights. You were everything to him, his wolf in dragon colours.
His wife.
His life.
The one he protected with a ferocity unlike anything that anyone had ever seen before. A Lord made a passing comment? Suddenly, he wasn’t such a noble lord any longer. A lady mocked you and the North? Guess whose son was sent to the Wall to man the forces. Anything hurt you?
The thing was destroyed.
Because the only thing that mattered was you.
What Baelor didn’t understand though, was that protection…protection goes both ways.
***
“Your doublet is crooked,” Baelor hears you call and he turns to glance over his shoulder, watching as you step towards him, deep red gown swishing, the bodice encrusted with rubies, enough that your gown is stronger than any armour on a soldier’s body—powerful enough to turn any blade away.
“How can you tell that from back there?” he asks you, turning to face you, watching as your lips twitch up, those perfect, plush lips formed to fit against his exactly. The lips that he has seen in a variety of ways—smiling and laughing; chapped from cold and parted with desire; wrapped around his fingers, his cock; everywhere and everything.
“It’s the magic of a wife,” you reply and it’s not just the fact that Baelor can see your smile, but rather that he can hear it—he can hear the laughter in your voice, the joy of simple moments and being together.
He knew when he saw you, wrapped in white and grey, the name of Stark upon your identity that you were his, designed for him and you had agreed to him because you understood too. You knew the creation of the Gods, the ideas that had long remained in all the kingdoms whether the Andal faith, the Seven or even the Old Gods. You knew what you were created for, who you were created for.
He knew when he saw you that you were it. You are all there is and ever will be. The beginning and the ending of his world.
Because you are his world.
“I am eternally grateful for those powers then, my love,” he tells you, his hands reaching for you, grasping as you reach up, adjusting his doublet, his hands on your wrists, just gentle, just resting, thumb pressing into your pulse point, taking in your strength, the one that beats through him.
“You should be,” you reply, the smile not disappearing, only shifting and changing. Deepening. “They are the only things keeping you presentable these days.” He cannot help but laugh, the sound low and husky, rich in a way that yours isn’t. In a way that is a perfect match to yours.
“You are right,” he whispers, his voice dropping lower as he steps towards you, drawing you against him, the small swell of your stomach just pressing into him, reminding him of what grows within you. What is forming and growing and changing—the proof of your love. “I would be nothing without you.”
“Don’t say that, love,” you tell him, one hand resting on his chest, doublet now secured and the other drifting to cup his cheek. “You are everything and you did exist before me, after all.” He can feel a stirring in him at your words, your touch, the sight of you before him so plainly his that it hurts.
“I am nothing without you because you are everything,” he tells you, his voice fierce as he watches you, his life, step closer, can feel your lips press against his skin, the touch nearly enough to destroy him.
“You keep saying things like that and I shall never be the same again,” you whisper and he can feel his heart twinge, sing at your words. All he wants to do is lock you in this room, protect you at all costs and carve out the eyes of anyone who looks at you, but he cannot.
He cannot because that is not expected of him. He’ll just have his guards do that for him, people who do not have expectations placed upon them.
And locking you away would only hurt him, that separation from you, his everything. It would utterly destroy him.
“Are you ready for this ball?” you ask him, your voice cutting through his spinning thoughts, cutting straight to the heart of him in only the way that you can, his body and mind attuned to you and only you.
“If I must,” he whispers, voice growing huskier as his hands slide along the curve of your waist, feeling the way the stones give way to silk, the only material close to the softness of your skin.
“You must.”
***
The ball is utterly dull; the only bright spot, your hand linked in his, the feeling of your skin against his palm, softness against roughness. Princess against prince. Your hands are a study in perfection, adorned in rings and a contrast to his own. Perfection.
That is what you are, in totality: Perfection.
Baelor can do nothing but watch you, his captivating wife. He watches as you eat, as you drink from a goblet, as you laugh and speak, your eyes on his as his are on you. He delights in the feeling of your attention, of you. Of you always and forever.
He knows he must be here, must do his duty as the Hand of the King and as the heir but he wants only to be with you alone, either in you or on your, holding you or kissing you, watching you sleep or watching you writhe under in absolute ecstasy. It doesn’t matter.
As long as he has you.
“Your Grace,” calls the voice of a Lord, one of the young ones, a man from Reach, one who fancies himself powerful because he was suckled on the teat of nobility when in reality he is far from it.
“My lord, what is it you need?” he asks the man, his hand tightening on yours, thumb stroking over the spot between your thumb and index finger, long strokes, just the way you like it.
“A few of us,” he says, gesturing behind him at the crowd of men, of lords behind him, “were wondering what it is you are planning to do with the trade agreements? We understand that you…may not be the best for the job.”
“May not be the best? Whatever do you mean, my lord?” you call out and Baelor’s grip on your hand tightens, trying to pull you back for your attention should be on him not them. You should look and speak to him. “What are you implying of my husband?”
“I mean no offense, my princess, but your husband’s…loyalties must be questioned, after all. I mean, he is…Dornish. I would wonder the same of his sons, a Dondarrion does not erase a Dornish sin. Your child will be…better as you are a Stark, my princess. Stronger blood to fight the sin.” Baelor can feel his heart in his throat for a variety of reasons—the want to rip the lord’s throat out for insulting him and his children and his mother; the want to rip out the lord’s throat for his comment of you and your unborn child and the want to rip out the lord’s eyes for the way he traces your body as you rise.
“My lord,” you hiss, lip curling back as if you truly are a wolf like your house banner suggests, “I suggest you. Hold. Your. Tongue or else you might find it gone. Here, in the Keep, they have more manners, but if you spoke to my father like that in North…he’d cut your tongue from your mouth with your own dagger. Do not insult my husband or my children again or else the Keep’s rules be damned, I will have your tongue. And anyone else’s tongue for that matter. You speak against me, you speak against my husband, you sow suspicion—I will gut you and leave you to the wolves…and they like to toy with their prey. Do you understand?”
Your voice is dark and dangerous, accent heavy, eyes blazing with the fury of a thousand suns as you look at the weak and simpering fool of a lord, someone now cowering in his boots, fear written across his face.
“Understood,” he eeks out, forcing a small smile before stepping back and turning to his group of men, expecting them there, only to find them all scattered. Gone.
No one dares fight against a wolf.
Not when a wolf does what a dragon doesn’t—rips out your throat before you can blink.
“Husband,” you whisper, turning to him, face softening and voice lightening as your hand comes to rest on your stomach, eyes warm and bright and loving, “I tire of the festivities. Can we leave?”
“Whatever it is you want, my love,” he whispers and in that moment, watching as you turned from perfect wife to brutal defender, one willing to yield to violence for him, he knows something he didn’t truly understand before.
That you love him as he loves you and that he loves you even more knowing there are no holds barred, that he is yours as plainly as you are his.
That protection goes both ways.
***
“Harder! Baelor—please, harder!” you cry out, hands white-knuckled in the bedsheets, body sweating and glistening, eyes pupil-blown and breasts moving in time with his thrusts. It didn’t take long for arriving in the room to turn into a joining, his mouth hungry for yours, desirous for the wolf and its sharp teeth.
And now, he’s here, inside you, feeling every inch of you, the warm and wet walls that clench and flutter around him. He’s here, hearing every cry you make, the strangled sounds and breathy cries and earth-shattering moans. He’s here, seeing every reaction your body has, the way you swell with child, natural and magical, every inch a goddess in human skin.
And gods, you feel so good, your wet walls clinging to him, clenching as he slams forwards, your face twisting in pleasure as he presses his lips to your collarbone, licking away the salt that’s gathered there, tasting the flavour of your skin and sweat, feeling the velvet softness of you, his mouth moving lower, capturing your nipple just as he slams forwards again, the pace brutal and punishing, yet gentler than before, safe for the child yet not dulling the fire between you.
He circles his tongue around the bud as he thrusts in and out, one hand stabilizing himself, the other circling and pressing on your clit, the pressure just enough to heighten things for you, but never overwhelm you, not yet enough to make you shatter around him. He can feel you arch up and into him, cries leaving your perfect lips, cries that want to send to him over the edge.
He pulls his mouth from your breast with a pop that echoes even around the lewd sounds of your bodies joining into one.
“I love you,” he groans as he slams forwards one more time, applying more pressure on your clit, bringing you over the edge, walls clenching so hard around him that it’s taking all his willpower to hold on for just a little longer. “You are mine.”
“And you’re—mine!” you cry, body starting to relax after your orgasm, after the release of tension and in your words, the simple claiming, it’s enough and so he draws back, slamming forwards one more time, up and in, harder than before, enough to have him releasing, your walls still clenching around him, reacting but relaxing as he pulls out, utterly spent and satiated as he draws you close, pulling you into his arms, his circle of touch and love and affection.
Of protection.
“I did not expect you to act the way you did tonight,” he whispers and you wiggle in his arms, to face him as best you can considering your condition, eyes still glazed from pleasure, yet a tinge of worry running through.
“Did I act too harshly? Did I do wrong?”
“No, my love,” he whispers, pressing a kiss against your shoulder blade, tender and loving. “I am just used to being the protector, not the protected.” You let out a small laugh, a breathy chuckle before pulling his hand from your bump up to your mouth, pressing a kiss against his knuckles.
“Protection goes both ways, Baelor. You are mine and I am yours and we both protect that which is ours. Both ways.”
And Baelor has never felt as loved as he does now and has never loved you as much as he does now. Because he understands—you are the same.
Summary : After years of hardship, you finally realise your dream of studying journalism at one of the country’s most prestigious university. Everything would have gone well, if not for your encounter with a tall, handsome man who just happened to be one of your professors.
Chapter 12
Tags : modern au/ age gap : Reader is in her late 20s and Baelor is in his mid 40s/ teacher-student relationship/fluff/flirting/smut/oral sex m!receiving/praise kink/reunion sex/cum swallowing /dirty talk/18+ MDNI
Taglist : @marosemarry @simonedk @blue-aconite
On the 28th, you were oddly calm. The days prior to that, you had been jittery, your thoughts filled with Baelor's promise. You had cleaned your flat inside and out and finished all your homework, determined to spend as much time with him as possible before you were pulled back into your respective roles. You had taken a nice shower, scrubbed yourself squeaky clean and your skin smelled of your favourite lotion, soft and glowy. You had put on Tanselle's jumper and a comfortable pair of leggings. You were humming to yourself as music played on your phone, finishing your cleanup, when the bell rang. Looking through the peephole, your heart started to beat wildly against your ribs when you saw Baelor. You took a breath to calm yourself and opened the door.
“Hello there,” you smiled.
He looked you up and down, his eyes lingering on the sweater. You swore you could see a flash of heat in them before he dragged them back to yours.
“Hello, darling. May I come in?”
You stepped to the side, inviting him inside with a bow. You closed the door. He looked around your living room. You were suddenly acutely aware of the peeling paint and the outdated, mismatched furniture. He looked as alien in your flat as you did in his townhouse. Still, it warmed your heart to have him close again. His attention went back to you then. With a splitting grin, he grabbed you by the waist, pulling you into a passionate kiss, your bodies melting into each other. You had missed him. You had missed his strong hands cradling your face. The smell of his cologne. The bristles of his beard. The way he touched you with no hesitation, no tremble in his sure hands.
“I've missed you,” he said in between kisses.
“I did too. So much.”
Bending the knee, he lifted you in his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist. You purred when you felt his erection against your centre, rubbing yourself against it like a cat in heat.
“Yeah, you missed me,” he chuckled.
He walked into the living room as if he owned it, deposing you on the couch before covering you with his body. Your lips never left each other for long, and your skin started to heat up. His weight pressed you into the worn cushions of your couch, a delicious anchor that made the peeling paint and mismatched lamps fade into oblivion. Baelor's kisses deepened, his tongue exploring your mouth with a hunger that matched the ache building between your thighs. You tangled your fingers in his salt-and-pepper hair, pulling him closer, your body arching up to meet the hard line of his erection straining against his trousers.
One of his hands slid under your jumper, fingers splaying across your bare stomach, tracing the soft skin there with a reverence that sent shivers racing over you.
“Gods, I've thought about this every night,” he murmured against your lips, voice rough with need.
His other hand cupped your breast through the fabric, thumb circling your nipple until it hardened, drawing a soft whimper from your throat. You rocked your hips against him, the friction of his clothed cock against your leggings making you clench with anticipation.
“Baelor,”you breathed, breaking the kiss to nip at his jaw, tasting the salt of his skin. “I need you. Now.”
He chuckled low, the sound vibrating through his chest as he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, those mismatched blues and browns dark with desire.
“Eager little thing. But first, I want that pretty mouth on me.”
With deliberate slowness, he shifted, sitting back on the couch and unbuckling his belt. The metallic clink echoed in the quiet flat, heightening the tension coiling in your belly. You slid to your knees between his legs without hesitation, the carpet rough against your skin but forgotten in the heat of the moment. Your hands worked his zipper down, freeing his thick cock. It sprang out, heavy and veined, the tip already glistening with pre-cum. You licked your lips, heart pounding as you wrapped your fingers around the base, feeling the heat pulse under your palm.
“That's it, darling,” Baelor whispered, his hand threading gently through your hair, not pulling but guiding. “Look at you, so hungry for my cock. Open up for me.”
You leaned in, tongue flicking out to lap at the bead of pre-cum, savoring the salty tang before swirling around the head. He groaned, hips twitching slightly, and you took him deeper, lips stretching around his girth as you sucked. The fullness in your mouth made your core throb, and you hollowed your cheeks, bobbing slowly, taking more with each pass.
“Fuck,” he praised, voice a husky murmur that washed over you like warm honey. “Such a good girl, sucking me like you were made for it. Your mouth feels perfect.”
His fingers tightened in your hair just a fraction, encouraging your rhythm, but he let you set the pace, his free hand stroking your cheek tenderly. You moaned around him, the vibration drawing another curse from his lips. Your hand pumped what your mouth couldn't reach, twisting slightly. Saliva dripped down your chin, but you didn't care, lost in the way he filled you, the way his praises made you feel powerful and desired. You glanced up, meeting his gaze, and the raw affection there made your chest tighten.
“Beautiful,”he breathed, thumb brushing your stretched lips. “My beautiful girl, taking my cock so well. I could watch you do this all day.”
The words spurred you on, and you sucked harder, tongue pressing along the underside as you deep-throated him, nose brushing his pubic hair. He hissed, head falling back against the couch, but his eyes stayed on you, drinking in every movement. Pleasure built in your own body from the act alone, your leggings dampening as you ground your thighs together.
After what felt like an eternity of wet, slurping sounds and his whispered encouragements, you pulled off with a gasp, strings of saliva connecting your lips to his cock. Your hands trembled as you reached for the hem of the jumper, ready to strip it off, but Baelor's hand caught your wrist gently.
“No,” he said, voice firm and laced with heat. “Keep it on. I want to fuck you while you're wearing my colours.”
His eyes raked over you, the possessive glint making your pulse race.
“It looks stunning on you, darling. Makes me want to ruin you right here.”
A flush crept up your neck, but the command thrilled you. You nodded, rising, the jumper hanging loose over your leggings. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you as you shoved the fabric aside just enough to free yourself from the leggings and panties, kicking them off in a hurried tangle. His cock nudged your slick entrance, and you sank down slowly, inch by inch, the stretch burning sweetly as he filled your pussy.
“Fuck, Baelor,” you gasped, bottoming out with a shudder.
He was so deep, pressing against every sensitive spot, and you paused there, adjusting to the fullness while his hands roamed under the jumper, thumbs brushing your nipples.
“Ride me,” he urged, voice a low growl. “Show me how much you've missed this.”
You began to move, hips rolling in a steady grind, the friction sparking pleasure that made your toes curl. The couch creaked under you, but you didn't care, focused on the slide of him inside you, the way his cock dragged against your walls.
“I've missed your cock so much,” you confessed, voice breathy as you lifted and dropped, taking him deeper each time. “It's so thick, fills me perfectly. And you... gods, I've missed you.”
He groaned, one hand sliding up to cup your face, pulling you into a messy kiss as you rode him harder.
“That's my girl,” he praised between thrusts, his hips bucking up to meet yours. “Fuck yourself on my cock, baby.”
The words ignited you, and you quickened your pace, bouncing now, the jumper's fabric brushing your skin with each movement. His free hand gripped your ass, spreading you slightly, fingers teasing the crease there but not pushing further, just enough to heighten the sensation. Pleasure coiled tight in your core, building with every slap of skin, every whispered
“Good girl, take it all.”
“I'm close,” you whimpered, nails digging into his shoulders through his wool jumper. “Baelor, please…”
“Please. Come for me, darling,” he commanded softly, thumb finding your clit and rubbing firm circles. “Let me feel you.”
The orgasm hit you like a wave, your pussy spasming around him as you cried out, body trembling in his arms. Stars burst behind your eyelids, and you rode through it, grinding down to prolong the bliss, waves of heat pulsing through you.
As you came down, panting, he lifted you off him gently, his cock slick and throbbing.
“On your knees, love,” he said, voice strained with his own need.
You slid down without protest, kneeling once more, mouth opening eagerly as he guided himself between your lips. He thrust shallowly, fucking your mouth with controlled strokes, his hand in your hair.
“Good girl,”he rasped, and then he came, hot spurts flooding your tongue, salty and thick.
You sucked greedily, milking him dry, swallowing every drop until he softened. Pulling out, he cupped your jaw, thumb wiping a stray drop from your lip before you licked it clean. You both caught your breath, him slumping back on the couch, you resting your head on his thigh, the jumper still warm against your skin.
“My filthy girl. You drive me wild,” he murmured, fingers stroking your hair affectionately.
You smiled up at him, sated and cherished, the flat feeling like home with him in it. He pulled you up, wrapping his arms around you. You didn't know how long you remained like this, enjoying the peacefulness in each other's arms. There was no need to fill the silence. That lasted a while, until a curious meow made you jump. Nyra was perched on the armrest of the couch, her green eyes observing Baelor. She slowly moved, walking on your bare legs, before settling on your chest.
“Nyra, this is Baelor,” you declared. “Baelor, this is her Highness, Rhaenyra of the Gutter.”
He gave you a long look, his eyes twinkling.
“Did you name your cat after my great-great grandmother?” He tilted his head.
“Seemed fitting. She's a bit spoiled and haughty, like a princess, despite the fact that I found her in the garbage.”
He laughed. Nyra eyed him carefully before sniffing in his direction. He held out his palm to her. And to your greatest surprise, she started to nuzzle against it, a satisfied little chirp coming out of her.
“What the fuck?” You breathed.
“What?”
“This is a first. She hates men,” you pointed out. “She even hissed at Dunk and he's the nicest person ever.”
“Well, she must sense that her mistress likes me,” he said smugly, his eyes drifting to your exposed cunt.
You gave him a withering look.
“If you make a pussy joke now…” you threatened.
“That would be in poor taste,” he admitted, even as the corners of his mouth betrayed him.
You got up, putting your underwear back on. Baelor lounged on your couch, your cat cuddling up to him.
Unbelievable, you shook your head.
“Do you want something to drink?” You called out from the kitchen.
“Just water, please.”
You brewed a cup of hibiscus tea, your thighs rubbing against each other. You felt sore, used in a way you had not been in weeks. The echoes of your orgasm still lingered, pleasure humming underneath your skin. When you came back, Baelor was ruffling through a leather duffle bag. In your passion, you had not even noticed it.
“I got you a little present,” he declared.
Embarrassment outward in your chest. You had gotten him something as well, but you had not expected him to get you anything. Which was stupid, as the man had been nothing but doting from the get go. You sat on the couch, sipping on your tea, as he finally found it. It was a small, square package, wrapped carefully in white paper. He held it out to you and you weighed it in your hand.
“What is it?”
“Why don't you open and find out?” He raised an eyebrow.
You unwrapped it slowly, revealing a velvet box. You opened it. Inside, laid against red silk, laid a leather watch. Not just any watch, you noticed. Yours, that you had broken a few weeks ago, and left on his nightstand. He had changed the bracelet, the cold metal replaced by black leather with a scale pattern. You ran your finger on it.
“You’re all really trying to turn me into a dragon,” you smirked.
“A happy coincidence that Tanselle had the same idea as me. Try it?”
You did, offering him your wrist. He tied the leather around it, closing the metal clasp delicately. He held your arm out, admiring the jewel against your skin.
“I don't want to sound like a git but I think I made a good choice,” he smiled.
“You did.”
The leatherwork was beautiful, intricate in the way only something handmade could be. You kissed him.
“I love it,” you whispered. “Thank you.”
He hummed, pressing his lips against your temple. You jumped to your feet.
“Stay here, I've got you something too!”
“You're already a gift!”
“Ugh, lame!” You shouted from your room, making him laugh.
You bent to retrieve the present hidden under your bed. It was a small thing but you hoped he would like it. You had spent days trying to find it. Most copies had sold out in a day. Lucky for you, one of the perks of working at a bookshop was the previews you could get. He was playing with Nyra, who had apparently decided he was her new favourite person, when you came back into the living room. His mismatched eyes twinkled when he saw you.
“There you go. It's not much but it made me think of you,” you mumbled, offering the package to him.
He took it gingerly, pulling on the tape to open it while you twisted your fingers eagerly waiting for his reaction. He finally held the book in his hands, turning it over. As soon as you'd seen it, you knew you would get it for him. It was a collection of tales from the Age of Heroes, with original medieval illustrations. This was not a first edition but the cover was bound in embossed leather. You had even written an email to the publishing house to see if it was possible to get it signed by the author. When they had learned it was for THE Baelor Targaryen, they had agreed quickly.
“It’s a small thing, really,” you chuckled, playing with a strand of your hair. “But it made me think of you.”
His eyes blinked up at you. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“I love it. It’s really thoughtful. I actually don’t think I have this one. Thank you, sweet girl.”
His hand grabbed yours, pulling you into his lap, Nyra jumping away just in time to avoid being crushed. Held safe in his arms, you let yourself be lulled away, his lips peppering kisses on the top of your head. This was nice. Peaceful. You both drifted off, the scent of his jumper filling your nose and his fingers tangled in your hair. When you awoke, dusk had settled, painting your living room in pink hues. Baelor's arms were still wrapped around you, his chest rising and falling steadily beneath your cheek. Nyra had curled up on the armrest again, her tail flicking lazily. You shifted slightly, and his mismatched eyes fluttered open, meeting yours with a soft warmth that made your heart ache.
"Missed this," he whispered, his voice rough from sleep.
His fingers traced lazy circles on your back, pulling you closer. The days apart had stretched too long, each moment without him a quiet void you'd only realized now, in his embrace.
You nodded, pressing a kiss to his jaw.
"Me too." The words hung between you, heavy with unspoken longing.
His hand cupped your face, thumb brushing your lips before he leaned in, capturing them in a slow, deep kiss. It wasn't rushed or demanding, just a gentle melding, tongues touching softly as if relearning each other's taste. He stood suddenly, scooping you into his arms with effortless strength. You laughed softly, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carried you toward the bedroom, Nyra watching with mild disinterest from the couch. The door clicked shut behind you, sealing out the world.
Baelor laid you down on the bed, the sheets cool against your skin. He hovered above you, shedding his clothes with unhurried movements, jumper first, revealing the lean muscles of his chest, then pants, his cock already half-hard and curving toward you. You reached for him, pulling off your underwear, your body humming with anticipation. He settled between your thighs, his weight a comforting press as he kissed you again, trailing his lips down your neck, your collarbone.
"Want you so much," he murmured against your skin, his breath warm.
His hand slid between your legs, fingers parting your folds gently, finding you already slick. He stroked your clit in slow circles, drawing a soft gasp from you, his touch reverent, like he was memorizing every shiver. You arched into him, hands roaming his back, nails grazing lightly.
"Please, Baelor..." The plea was quiet, laced with the ache of absence.
He positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging against you before he pushed in slowly, inch by inch, filling you with a tenderness that made your eyes sting. You both groaned softly as he bottomed out, pausing to let you adjust, his forehead resting against yours. His mismatched eyes locked on yours, full of affection and raw need. He began to move, thrusts deep and measured, each one pulling you closer to the edge. Your pussy clenched around him, wet and welcoming, the friction building a slow burn of pleasure.
His hand intertwined with yours, pinning it above your head as he rocked into you, hips rolling in a steady rhythm. Kisses peppered your lips, your cheeks, whispers of "please” and "missed you" blending with your shared breaths. You wrapped your legs around him, urging him deeper, the longing unraveling into pure connection. The pace stayed soft, unhurried, every slide of his cock inside you a promise of more moments like this. Your free hand clutched his shoulder, bodies moving as one, until the tension coiled tight. You came first, a quiet wave crashing over you, your walls fluttering around him as you moaned his name.
He followed moments later, burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a low groan, his release warm and filling. He didn't pull away, staying connected as your heartbeats synced, his arms wrapping around you in a protective hold.
In the fading light, tangled together, the world outside faded. Just you and him, together again. He nuzzled against the skin of your neck.
“Can I stay here tonight? I’ll order food, if you’d like” he bargained, as if he needed to do such a thing.
“Of course.”
You jumped into the shower together.
“Think of the planet,” you had argued.
You were squeezed together int the tiny cubicle, his hands massaging soap onto your skin. You liked this. Too much, perhaps. This sort of close intimacy where touching wasn’t even sexual, just comforting and familiar. You had to raise yourself on your toes to shampoo his hair, musing that no man his age should have such soft and voluminous hair. It really was unfair. He ordered from a nice Yi-Tish place while you dried yourself. From the open door, you watched him pace in your kitchen in his pajamas, basking in the familiarity of the scene. Him, pausing to lean against your counter and scratching your cat’s head as he ordered dishes you didn’t even know the names of. The tip of your tongue burned to ask him the question you wanted to.
What are we?
Are you my boyfriend?
What am I to you?
It was way too soon, way too complicated, to try and put a label on it. For now, you were satisfied with just having him any way you could. You came up behind him, your arms wrapping around his waist, burying your face between his shoulder blades. He took one of your hands and pressed a kiss against your palm. You waited for the food to arrive on your couch, news outlet in the background, your feet propped on his lap. He ran downstairs when the doorbell rang.
“Careful Grandpa!” You teased him. “Wouldn’t want you to fall and break your skull!”
He gave you the piercing look you had started to associate with him. The food was delicious. He regaled you with tales of his family, how his youngest nephew, Aegon, had decided to shave his head, helped by his older brother, and Maekar's fury at the sight. He even showed you a picture of the boy, smiling from one ear to another and not looking sorry one bit.
“Serves Maekar right,” he smiled. “He was the troublemaker growing up.”
“And I’m sure you were not.”
“I was a delight. I was just very clumsy and I kept breaking antiques and running into doors or down the stairs. Broke my nose twice,” he said, pointing at his slightly bent nose.
Afterwards, you laid in your slightly too small and creaky bed, your head pillowed on his chest.
“I apologise in advance for the back ache you’re going to have in the morning,” you mumbled.
“It’s worth it,” his arms tightened.
Again, with the disarming and careless sincerity.
“I have another present for you, by the way,” he declared.
“Baelor Targaryen!” You hit his chest lightly. “I’m going to end up spoiled and entitled if you keep this up.”
“What is my purpose, if not to spoil you?” He teased, fingers skimming along your spine. “Besides, this one is a little self-indulgent.”
You tried to imagine him doing something selfish and failed. But then again, his presence in your life, in your bed, was proof he wasn't always so noble.
“Can I get a clue?”
“Just know that it's one of a kind.”
“Fine,” you grumbled, letting your head fall in the crook of his neck.
A Dangerous Distraction Part 2 (Modern!Maekar Targaryen x reader)
Masterlist ✦ Part 1
Summary: You were invited by Maekar to attend a work event, but when another man approaches you, the night ends much earlier than planned.
Word count: 7.5K
Tags: 18+/MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT, Modern AU, porn with some plot, and some angst, established relationship, age gap(reader is in her mid 20s, Maekar is in his early 40s), explicit smut, unprotected sex (p in v), oral sex (m and f receiving), vaginal fingering, some spanking, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, Maekar feeling insecure and possessive at the same time, English is my second language, proof read twice
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: The long awaited part 2 :) Thank you for your patience all! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it! As always, thank you for all the likes, comments and reblogs <3
“When do you think Maekar would agree to go on a double date with me and Raymun?”
A small laugh escaped you, not even looking at Rowan as you flipped through the dresses, fingertips brushing against the fabrics softly.
“Rowan, I am surprised he even invited me to this.” You said, a little bit exasperated.
“He would be a fool not to invite you.” She replied immediately, smiling. “I still cannot believe you are dating a guy a decade older than you!”
“Close to two decades, actually.” You corrected and glanced at her then, amused as she guffawed.
For the past few months, it became quite clear to you that Maekar had really meant it when he warned you that he did not do things halfway. Not his work, or his decisions.
And certainly not whatever this was between you.
You did not put a label on it. Not out of fear, because you were not afraid of commitment, but because it did not feel necessary to rush into defining it to something.
But you were not going to pretend that this was casual.
Not when he looked at you the way he did, not when he showed up for you every time, not when he let you into his space bit by bit.
This was not some fleeting affair, you both knew that. And yet there were still lines that were not crossed.
He had yet to meet your friends and family. And it was the same case for you.
You did not meet his sons, nor his eldest brother whom he adored, and not the rest of the family. You knew they existed in the shape of stories he told you in quiet moments, in the way his phone sometimes lit up with their names, in the subtle shift in him when he spoke about them. But they were still separate from what you had with him.
You knew his brother knew of your existence, Maekar told you about it, and his elder sons had an inkling their father was seeing someone, but you still had to meet them.
If you were being honest with yourself, that sat somewhere uneasy inside you. But you chose to ignore that for the moment. Even if part of you had already started to wonder how long that “for now” would last.
“So, about that double date…” Rowan prodded again. “Really, when do you think we should go on one? It would be so much fun!”
“Not sure…” You hummed, pushing another hanger aside. “Let me get through this work party though. Then we can talk about double dates and social group integration.”
You were surprised he had invited you to his work event and you knew that for a man like Maekar, that was not an insignificant step. If anything, it was the closest thing to a statement he was willing to make.
He told you about the event a couple of weeks ago.
It had been late one evening, while both of you were in bed, sheets tangled around your legs. Your body was still warm and draped over his, your cheek resting against his chest as you idly traced patterns along his skin. Meanwhile, he had his arm around you, finger moving slowly through your hair, his breath uneven.
It was one of those rare moments where he was not entirely guarded, where his control had loosened just enough to tell you about it.
“There is a work event.” He said, voice still rough from everything that came before.
“Hmm?” You murmured, half-distracted.
“You are coming with me.” He said deliberately.
That made you still, your hand frozen mid cares.
“Am I now?” You lifted your head slightly, looking up at him.
“Yes.” His arm tightened at your waist.
It was not a question, and not a request either. It was just a statement, and that made it all the more significant.
“Ugh, fine!” Rowan sighed dramatically, her voice bringing you back to the present. but then smiled. “But now we are finding you a gorgeous and sexy dress!”
Some time later, after far too much browsing and not enough deciding, she chose two dresses and shoved them into your arms.
You blinked down at them.
“Rowan-”
“Just. Try. Them.” She said, steering you towards the fitting rooms.
You sighed, letting her.
Once the curtain slid closed behind you, the noise of the store muted a little as you focused on trying out the dresses.
You slipped into the first one, a simple cocktail piece in soft black. It was all clean lines, with a modest cut at the front, an effortlessly elegant piece. It hugged your body just enough without drawing too much attention, the kind of dress that made you look polished and put together.
You studied yourself for a second. It was nice, safe, pretty in a way that would not cause a scandal.
The moment you stepped out, Rowan took one look at you and shook her head immediately.
“No!”
You laughed. “You did not even give it a proper chance.”
“I did.” She said, waving her hand dismissively. “It is giving ‘pleasant colleague.’ We need ‘his downfall.’ Go back and try the other one.”
You rolled your eyes, but disappeared behind the curtain again.
The colour of the second dress was in a deep and rich variant of your favourite colour. The fabric was heavier in your hands, like it was meant to fall a certain way.
You slipped it on, zipping it at the back, smoothing it down your sides.
And when you turned toward the mirror, you paused.
It was a sleeveless one, with an elegant neckline that framed your collarbones and drew the eye just enough. The structure of it hugged your waist before falling smoothly over your hips, following your shape in a way that felt deliberate without being obvious.
Nothing too revealing, or excessive.
Just… perfect. Impossible to ignore.
You stared at yourself for a moment longer than you meant to.
And when you stepped out slowly, Rowan went very still. And then she squealed.
“Yes! Oh, that is the one!”
You turned slightly, the fabric moving with you, smooth and effortless. “You really think so?”
She walked toward you like she was inspecting a masterpiece.
“I do not just think it!” She said. “I know it.”
You glanced at yourself in the mirror again, a small smile on your lips.
Rowan crossed her arms, a slow, satisfied smirk forming. “Maekar is going to lose his mind.”
You laughed, but it came out softer than expected.
“He will probably act like nothing is happening.” You said.
Rowan gave you a look through the mirror.
“Oh please!” She said dryly. “That man already struggles to behave around you.”
You bit your lip slightly, remembering. The way his control slipped sometimes. And the other times it did not, because of how tightly he held it, like it cost him something.
Your fingers smoothed over the fabric at your waist.
“He will definitely notice.” Rowan added, quieter this time.
You looked at your own reflection again.
“Yes, he will…” You agreed, still smiling.
You knew he would.
Rowan clapped her hands once.
“Perfect!” she said. “Then you are definitely getting this dress.”
Then, with a wicked smile, she winked at you through the mirror. “And I cannot wait to hear how badly he handles it.”
⚬ ⚬ ○ ⚬ ⚬
Music was echoing softly throughout the apartment as you fastened your earrings with careful fingers, dancing to the beat in your lace underwear. Humming the tune, you checked yourself in the mirror, adjusting the necklace and a few strands of hairs that were out of place.
Maekar was going to be here at any minute, and although you knew that man did not tolerate tardiness, you still took your time to look good.
You were fighting the clasp of your bracelet and finally put it on when the doorbell rang.
“Shit!” You yelped, scrambling to the door and nearly slipping on the floor as you hurried down the hallway, before yanking the door open.
“Fucking hell! How are you still not dressed?!” Maekar said as he stepped inside, adjusting his coat, his voice sharp with impatience. But his eyes roamed over your body, as he took the state of undress that you were in.
You nearly whined as you looked at him.
It was borderline unfair how extremely handsome he looked. He wore a dark blue suit, tailored to perfection. The fabric sitting clean against his shoulders, his chest, his waist, every line of him precise and controlled. The colour made his eyes sharper and colder. Except they were not cold when they looked at you.
“I will be ready in ten minutes, tops!” You said quickly, pecking his cheek and backing away quickly towards the bedroom.
“We need to leave in five!” He sounded exasperated.
“Honestly Maekar, that is just poor time management on your part.” You said over your shoulder, laughing.
He groaned out your name, annoyed, rubbing his face with his hand. “That is not how it works. You were supposed to be ready on fucking time.”
“Oh, you really think after you see me in this dress we will leave on time?” You teased, biting your lip as you winked at him.
He paused for a moment, before dryly saying: “Do not make me drag you out of here over my shoulder.”
You laughed, disappearing into the bedroom. “Do not threaten me with a good time, babe!”
A loud scoff followed you.
He stayed in the hallway. Of course he did, because both of you knew that if he had followed you in, you would not be leaving the apartment at all. You could easily picture him, arms crossed over his chest, his back straight. His patience would be thinning by the second, pretending he was not listening for every single movement you made.
You took your sweet time anyway, just enough to make it intentional.
When you finally stepped out into the hallway, Maekar was clearly about to say something.
But he did not.
For a moment, he just… looked at you.
You stood there, framed by the warm light, the dress catching it in a way that deepened the colour, making it richer and dangerous in a quiet way. It fit you exactly as it should. Nothing excessive, or loud, but simply impossible to ignore.
His eyes moved slowly, from your face, then down, taking in the line of your shoulders, the curve of your waist, the way the fabric followed your body.
“Maekar…” You called out to him softly.
A moment passed before he looked back into your eyes. Smiling, you moved towards him, turning your back to him and gathering your hair over one shoulder.
“Zip me.” You said sweetly, glancing over your shoulder at him.
Inhaling deeply, Maekar stepped closer and the shift in the air was immediate. His presence filled the space behind you, his heat radiating at your back, the faint scent of his cologne wrapping around you.
For a second he did not move to touch you. You looked up at him.
“Maekar…” You prompted him.
His hand finally came up, knuckles brushing lightly against your back, before he found the zipper. The contact made you breath hitch. He noticed, because of course he did.
The zipper slid up slowly, the sound soft in the quiet space around you. His knuckles grazed your spine again, like it was not entirely accidental. When it reached the top, he did not step back. His hand stayed where it was for a second, before it shifted to your waist, then at the front, pulling you flush against him.
He buried his nose in the crook of your neck, his beard tickling it as he inhaled your scent deeply.
“You wore this for me.” He grumbled. It was not a question, but a simple statement of the obvious.
You tilted your head back, a slow smile forming. “Maybe.”
His grip tightened. “You should not have worn this.”
You pressed a kiss to his cheek, lowering your voice.
“You told me I had to be there.” You reminded him. “But you did not say that I had to behave.”
He growled loudly, and something flickered in his eyes then, his pupils blowing a little.
“Fuck…” He muttered under his breath, pressing a kiss to your neck. “You are going to kill me tonight.”
“Oh, I know.” You laughed a little, pleased.
You turned then, slowly, until you were facing him fully, no distance between you. “But I still need you alive… for later.”
His hands gripped your hips tightly. His gaze dropped to your mouth, and for a moment neither of you moved.
His hand cupped your jaw firmly and he pulled you in for a kiss. It was slow at first, his lips molding against yours like he was tasting something sweet, like he already decided he was not going to stop. You exhaled softly against his mouth, your hands finding his suit instinctively, fingers curling into the fabric. Groaning, he deepened it a moment later, just enough to make it dangerous. Just enough to make it very clear to you this could spiral.
You could not help but let your fingers slide up to his collar, tightening slightly as you kissed him back, matching him in ferocity, moaning as he sucked on your lower lip.
Then you pulled back, barely.
“Maekar-” You whispered, his lips brushing against yours before you stopped him with a small laugh. “You are going to ruin my makeup.”
Pressing his forehead against yours, he did not move away.
“If you did not want that…” He said lowly. “You would not have asked me to zip you.”
You smiled, breath still a little uneven. “That is not why I asked you to do that.”
“Hmm, maybe not…” He agreed, eyes still on your mouth. “But it is what you wanted.”
You shook your head, amused, though your fingers were still resting against his chest.
“You are unbelievable.” You pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “But we better leave now, or we will be late.”
He rolled his eyes, huffing. “Now you care about time?”
You just nodded, the smile never leaving you. His thumb brushed once along your jaw before he finally let you go. He stepped back just enough to give you some space, but one of his hands still lingered on your waist.
“You are not leaving my side tonight.” He said.
“Good.” You said. “I did not plan to.”
That seemed to settle something in him. His grip tightened once more against your waist, almost thoughtful, before he forced himself to step back again. Just enough to regain some sense of control.
“We should go.”
“Yes.” You agreed, pulling out your from the wardrobe and putting them on. “You just need to stop staring.”
That earned you a look, half warning, half something darker, something that lingered just beneath the surface. Then finally, he sighed, stepping back and reaching for the door.
“Fucking hell, come on.”
As you passed him, his hand found your waist again. Like it had every intention of staying there.
⚬ ⚬ ○ ⚬ ⚬
The elevator ride to the restaurant was quiet. It was not awkward, it was never that with Maekar. But it was charged in that sort of humming way you were starting to recognize. His hand rested at your lower back the entire time, like he needed the contact as much as he insisted you stay close to him.
The doors opened to the rooftop, and for a moment you paused.
“Holy shit…” You said under your breath.
The city stretched endlessly below. Lights spilled in every direction, glass towers reflecting each other in gleaming lines. The restaurant itself was all polished surfaces and soft gold lighting. The tables spaced just far enough apart to feel exclusive. Conversations overlapped in low and polished tones, the kind that never rose too high and never revealed too much. Waiters moved like choreography, precise and invisible.
Maekar did not look at the view. He looked at you first, taking in your amazed gaze, a soft look in his eyes. And then he turned, watching the room, assessing the space in front of him. He was already aware of who was here, who mattered, who would need his attention.
He guided you through the crowd with a quiet precision, his hand steady at your back. He acknowledged people just enough to satisfy them, but never enough to invite them in.
“This is a farce.” He muttered under his breath as someone passed you with a glass of champagne. “A fucking circus.”
You glanced at him. “A circus?”
“For clients.” His gaze swept the room again, sharper this time. “Making people feel like they are part of something important.”
You smiled faintly. “And you do not enjoy this at all?”
“Fuck no.”
“Yet here you are.”
His gaze shifted to you then, something sharper behind it. “I do not have a choice in this matter.”
You studied him for a second. “But you kind of do.”
He huffed under his breath. “Not at my level.”
“Oh…” You nodded slightly, understanding settling in.
“And Baelor?” You asked. “Your other brothers?”
A brief pause enveloped you, as his jaw tightened a little.
“Baelor is already here.”
You followed his gaze instinctively, as he looked into the crowd.
“Aerys avoids these when he can.” He added dryly. “Claims they are a waste of time.”
You smiled faintly. “Well, I guess he is not wrong.”
“No.” Maekar agreed. “He just does not have to pretend otherwise.”
“And Rhaegel?”
Maekar’s jaw tightened slightly. “He has never come, not since…”
He did not elaborate further. And he did not need to, because you understood that this was as much as he was willing to talk about that here.
Your hand brushed lightly against his arm, before grabbing it tight. Leaning a little closer, your voice was low enough for only him.
“You know, I am proud of you Maekar.”
He stilled, before his head turned toward you, brows pulling together slightly, not in confusion, but wary in a way.
“Why?”
You smiled softly.
“Because you helped build something that requires all of this.” You nodded at the space and the people in it. “Even if you hate it. Even if you would rather be anywhere else.”
The noise of the room faded for a second, as his gaze held yours longer than it should have in a place like this.
“You should not be…” He murmured, but there was no real conviction behind it.
“Well, I am.” You said. “You better learn to deal with it.”
He snorted. Then quietly, almost reluctantly, he said: “You make this more tolerable.”
Your smile softened. “That is high praise coming from you.”
“It is.”
You were about to respond when you felt it, eyes lingering on you. You caught a few glances, the ones that were not subtle enough to be missed, and the ones that were not hidden.
You knew why. The age gap between you two was obvious, and in a place like this, it was a statement. But you did not care, for you had walked into this knowing exactly what this relationship would look like to others.
But Maekar, he noticed. And although he did not react outwardly, his posture stiffened and his scowl deepened.
You leaned closer again, fingers gripping his arm tight.
“Relax, babe.” You murmured. “They are just looking. Ignore them.”
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “The fuckers are staring.”
You tilted your head, amused. “Let them.”
His gaze flicked down to you, something sharper returning behind his eyes.
“You do not mind?”
“Nope.” You held his eyes, pure warmth behind yours. “I knew what I was doing the moment I flirted with you at the bar.”
Something in his expression shifted at that. It did not ease entirely, but his shoulders were less tense. He was about to say something, when a voice cut cleanly through the space between you.
“Maekar!”
You turned, and your eyes widened. You knew immediately who it was.
It is him, you thought. This was the man whose approval you actually cared about, ever since Maekar spoke to you about him. The one who knew Maekar better than anyone else in this room.
Baelor moved towards you two with the kind of presence that did not need to demand attention. It simply took it. He too was wearing a suit, dark grey and tailored to perfection. You could not deny it, he was handsome.
Although his posture was relaxed, his mismatched eyes flicked between you and Maekar in a single, efficient glance, taking everything in.
“Brother.” Maekar acknowledged him with a nod.
Baelor’s eyes moved between the two of you again, noting your hand on his arm, his rigid posture, taking in everything that mattered.
Then he smiled genuinely.
“Well.” He said, tone smooth and almost amused. “It is wonderful to finally meet you.”
Maekar did not respond immediately, but you were not phased by that.
You stepped slightly forward, untangling your hand from his arm and offering it to Baelor.
“It is great to meet you too!” You said warmly. “I have heard a lot about you.”
Baelor took your hand, his grip firm but not overpowering, his gaze steady on yours.
“Hopefully nothing too bad.” He replied lightly.
You smiled. “Oh, that depends on your definition of bad.”
That earned a quiet huff of amusement.
“I like her.” Baelor said, glancing briefly at Maekar, before his attention returned to you, more focused this time but not unkind.
Maekar’s jaw tightened just slightly.
“You have made quite an impression already.” He commented.
“Yeah, they are not subtle at all about it.” You replied, glancing briefly around the room.
Baelor followed the movement.
“No.” He said. “They rarely are.”
“Well, I do not mind them.” You said with confidence. “They can stare all they want, but it is not going to change things.”
Baelor studied you for a moment longer, then nodded in approval.
“Good.” He said, then looking at Maekar. A brief silence followed, as something unspoken passed between the brothers.
Then Maekar spoke, almost abruptly. “Where is she?”
Baelor’s brow lifted slightly. “Mm?”
“Your girlfriend.”
Baelor’s gaze softened, and his smile became more pleasant.
“She is here, of course.” He said, glancing briefly over his shoulder, scanning the room with ease. “Currently, she is speaking to a client with Lyonel Baratheon.”
A thoroughly unimpressed sound left Maekar, somewhere between a sigh and a scoff. “Of course they are.”
You glanced between them, catching the dynamic instantly. Baelor only looked faintly entertained.
“She is networking.” He said simply.
“She and Baratheon are charming someone.” Maekar corrected dryly.
“Both can be true.”
Maekar rolled his eyes and Baelor’s smile deepened just slightly, like he expected that exact reaction.
Then his gaze returned to you.
“I will not keep you.” He said, with a hint of dry humour. “You are being watched enough as it is.”
He clasped Maekar on the shoulder. “Do not ruin it.”
Maekar’s expression hardened just slightly. “I will not.”
Baelor’s mouth curved faintly, giving the smallest nod, like he was filing something away, before he turned to you.
“It was good to finally meet you.”
You smiled. “You too.”
Another glance passed between the brothers, something layered and familiar. With a final nod to both of you, he stepped away, disappearing back into the crowd as smoothly as he had arrived.
You turned your head slightly toward Maekar.
“Well.” You murmured. “That went well.”
He did not answer immediately, his gaze still on Baelor’s retreating figure. But then he looked at you, warmth behind his eyes.
“Yes.” He said quietly. “It did.”
⚬ ⚬ ○ ⚬ ⚬
You spent most of the evening at his side.
Not because he had made his preference of you doing that very clear beforehand, but because it felt the most natural place to be.
You leaned into him during conversations, your shoulder brushing his arm, offering quiet commentary only he could hear. They were small observations, half-teasing and half-curious, meant just for him.
At one point, the two of you found yourselves trapped in a painfully dull conversation, with a client who seemed very pleased with his own voice. Maekar was barely enduring it.
You lifted your glass, hiding your smile as you leaned closer. “Blink twice if you need rescuing.”
“I do not.” He muttered under his breath.
A moment later, when the client turned to speak to someone else, you saw it.
A quick, subtle blink. Then another.
Your eyes lit up. “You just blinked twice!”
“That was a coincidence.” He said flatly, his hand tightening at your waist in quiet warning.
“Sure.” You replied, entirely unconvinced. “Do you want me to spill my drink on him?”
“Do not fucking dare.”
“I can aim for the shoes.”
His mouth twitched a little, and he pulled you just a little closer, like that would contain you.
During another, equally tedious, conversation, you leaned in again, voice just brushing his ear. “Is this the part where I pretend to understand, or the part where I rescue you?”
His lips curved faintly.
“Neither.” He murmured. “This is the part where you stay quiet and suffer with me.”
“Unfair…” You smiled against your glass. “It does not sound very appealing.”
“It was not meant to.”
You laughed softly, earning a brief glance from the person speaking, which Maekar smoothly redirected before it could linger.
At some point, someone began praising his work. You nudged him lightly with your shoulder.
“I think they like you.” You whispered.
“They like the work that I do.” He corrected you.
You pulled back just enough to look at him, one brow arched. “Okay, babe, that is such a sad way to phrase that.”
“It is an accurate one.”
You tilt your head. “You are wrong.”
“I am never wrong.”
“For tonight’s sake, let’s agree to disagree.” You smiled.
After a while, you decide to go to the bar to get a second round of drinks.
“Do you want another one?” You asked him, already knowing the answer.
He just nodded once, but you did not move.
“Say please.” You said teasingly.
He just looked at you, unimpressed. “No.”
You raised your brows, a small pout forming.
He exhaled sharply, like this was somehow more exhausting than the entire event. “Fuck… Please.”
You smiled, satisfied, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “See? That was not so hard.”
You slipped away toward the bar, leaving him to be promptly pulled into another conversation the second you were out of reach.
“Two of the same!” You told the bartender, leaning lightly against the counter as the hum of the people softened, becoming more distant.
“Can I get you that instead?”
You turned towards the voice. The man talking to you was young, well-dressed, with an easy confidence and a smile that usually worked without much effort.
You smiled politely, already shaking your head. “You do know this is an open bar, right?”
“That is not what I meant.” He said, a grin lingering. “I meant, can I join you?”
“No.” You said firmly, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “I am not alone and I am not interested.”
He glanced around. “Well, I do not see anyone.”
“That does not mean they are not here.”
Instead of stepping back, he leaned in slightly, to test how far he could push. “Oh, I am sure they will not mind.”
“They would.” You said, still composed. “And so do I.”
“Come on!” He said, lowering his voice. “One drink. If your mystery date shows up, I will disappear.”
You almost laughed. “You do not want to be here when he does.”
“I will take my chances.”
⚬ ⚬ ○ ⚬ ⚬
Across the room, you did not know that Maekar was watching.
He did not mean to, but his attention kept slipping, his gaze kept drifting from the conversation he was in to you.
To the boy that stood too close. To the way he leaned in, too comfortable, too familiar.
And something in Maekar’s chest tightened. He did not like it. Not the attention you were getting, and not the way he was looking at you like you were single, available.
Not mine, Maekar thought.
His jaw set.
Someone said his name. He did not respond, he just excused himself mid-sentence.
⚬ ⚬ ○ ⚬ ⚬
You felt him at first, the space behind you shifting, and you knew he was close.
The man beside you noticed him immediately, his posture rigid straight and his expression faltering just enough.
Maekar stepped in beside you, his arm brushing yours before his hand settled at your waist, firm and unmistakable in meaning. His presence alone changed the temperature of the moment.
His gaze moved to the man, cold and unforgiving.
“Mr. Targaryen!” The man said quickly, the colour draining from his face. “Sir, I did not realize- I did not mean-”
“I am aware.” Maekar cut in.
“I was just-” The man tried again.
“I know what you were fucking doing.” Maekar growled.
“I did not mean any disrespect-” He tried again, glancing briefly at you, like you might soften this.
“Do not look at her.” He said. “If you want a fucking job tomorrow, you will leave.”
The man hesitated, looking at you again, searching for an out that was not there.
“Now!”
He nodded quickly, muttering apologies before stepping back and going away entirely.
The bartender set the drinks down without a word.
You picked one up, handing it to Maekar, your fingers brushing his. He downed the whiskey in one go, his hand finding yours and gripping it firmly.
Before you could say anything, he was already moving, pulling you with him through the crowd. Past conversations, past watchful glances, until the noise dulled and he found a more secluded spot.
The air felt heavy, and you decided, mistakenly, to tease him a little, to try lighten the mood.
“While I do appreciate the rescue, you really should have seen your face!” You murmured, putting the drink down on a table nearby. “I fucking loved it. So territorial, so… what’s the word? Posse-”
“Careful.”
You blinked, his tone catching you off guard. It did not have the usual sharpness to it, or what you would consider playful from him.
You looked at him properly then, and saw that it was something beyond irritation and jealousy. Something that made your smile falter.
“Maekar…” You said softly. “Is everything alright?”
He sighed slowly, one hand dragging back through his hair, the gesture uncharacteristically unguarded.
“The fucker was looking at you like-”
He stopped, jaw tightening. You stepped closer without thinking, your hand coming to rest against his chest, feeling the steady, restrained tension beneath your palm.
“Like what?”
He met your gaze again, steady and intense. He did not have to say it, but you saw it.
Not anger, or ego. Nor was it the usual possessiveness.
This was something sharper.
It was the awareness of the gap between you. The years, the difference in ease, in your lives, in perception. The way other people saw it, the way they judged it. The way they might assume you would outgrow it.
Outgrow him.
You reached for his hand, your fingers brushing over his knuckles before pulling it gently toward you, holding it close.
“Fuck them.” You said firmly. “Fuck all of them! I do not care about them.”
“That is not-”
“I care about you.” You interrupted him, voice quieter now but no less certain in your declaration.
That got his attention. You saw it, the way his eyes softened just slightly. The way the tension in his shoulders eased, not gone, but no longer so prevalent.
“I came here for you.” You stepped closer, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles.
“You think I would choose them over you?” You whispered.
His fingers flexed in yours.
“No.” He whispered. “But they are easier.”
That caught you off guard. You pulled back just enough to look at him properly.
“I do not want easy.” You said. “I do not want them.”
Your grip on his hand tightened.
“I want you Maekar. Only you.”
His gaze held yours.
“And you do not have to fight the entire room for my attention.”
He scowled. “I can if I need to.”
You laughed under your breath, stepping closer until the space between you disappeared entirely.
“You do not.” You murmured. “Can’t you see? You have already won.”
Just for a second, he stood still. Then your arms snaked around his neck, pulling him down towards you.
And you kissed him. Your lips pressed against his with quiet insistence, like you were answering something he did not fully ask out loud. Groaning in your mouth, he responded, giving in fully.
His hand came back to your waist, pulling you flush against him as he kissed you back without restraint. No careful distance, no measured control. It was just heat and certainty, his mouth moving against yours like he needed to feel it, needed to make sure you were real, still here, still choosing him.
Then you pulled back just enough to breathe, your lips still brushing his as you spoke. “Let’s get out of here.”
⚬ ⚬ ○ ⚬ ⚬
The ride back to your apartment was quiet. Not because there was nothing to say. But because neither of you trusted yourselves to say it without breaking whatever fragile restraint was left.
His hand rested on your thigh the entire time the entire time he drove, heavy and warm.
By the time the car stopped in the parking lot of your building, you barely waited, unbuckling the seatbelt and fully kissing him, hard.
Maekar answered immediately, like he had been waiting for it. His hand slid from your thigh to your waist, pulling you closer, and you shifted without thinking, one knee pressing onto the seat.
You would have been fully straddling him if it were not for your dress.
Your fingers tangled into his hair, pulling just enough to make him growl against your mouth, his other hand gripping your hip like he needed to anchor you there.
“Come on, babe… Let me show you how much I want you.” You caught his lower lip between your teeth, tugging it sharply. “All of you… only you.”
That did it, whatever restraint he had left snapped cleanly.
The walk to your apartment was a blur. The door barely had time to shut behind you before he was on you.
His hand found your waist, turning you, pressing you back against the door with a force that stole your breath.
He then kissed you again. Hungrily, like he was starved of it. Your hand found his hair again, pulling his closer, parting your lips to allow his tongue to enter, deepening the kiss.
Your hands came up instinctively, gripping his jacket, pulling him closer as his mouth moved against yours with relentless intensity. Every kiss deeper than the last, like he wasn’t satisfied, like he couldn’t be.
His hand slid up your side, then back down, mapping you like he needed to remember every line, every curve.
“You have no idea what you do to me…” He muttered against your lips, voice rough, barely restrained.
“You will show me… later…” You breathed back. “Right now, I want to focus on you babe…”
Without waiting for a response, you pushed him towards the nearest wall and dropped to your knees. Your hands fiddled with his belt buckle, the sound of metal clinking filling the space. Looking up at him through your lashes, your lips parted as you freed his cock from its confines.
It was already hard, pre-cum barely leaking from the tip, and you did not hesitate. You leaned in, tongue flicking out to trace the underside from base to the tip, savouring the salty taste of his skin. Maekar groaned loudly, his hand immediately going to the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair. But he held back for now, letting you set the pace.
You wrapped your lips around him, sucking gently at first before taking him deeper. One hand stroke him where your mouth could not reach him, the other gripping his thigh for leverage, nails digging deep enough to remind him of your need for him.
“Fuck…” He groaned your name, his voice rough, hips twitching forward. You hummed around him, the vibration sending a shiver through his body. You hollowed your cheeks as you sucked him harder, your saliva coating his length.
You pulled back briefly, lips swollen and eyes lidded, watching him as you continued stroking him with your hand.
“You are the only one who makes me feel like this…” You whispered, giving him a long lick. “The only one I want inside of me…”
Diving back in, you took as much of him as you could, wanting to show your devotion to him.
Maekar groaned, his control starting to slip as his fingers tightened in your hair. His hips bucked at your ministrations, and you let him guide you for a bit. You could not help but moan as he thrust into your mouth, pushing as far as he could.
After a few deep thrusts, he pulls back, his fingers gripping your hair tight, a string of saliva stretching from your lips to his cock. Maekar’s eyes were almost black, watching you as you stood and pressed a kiss to his lips.
“Take me to the bedroom!” You demanded breathlessly. “I need you…”
Maekar did not hesitate, scooping you in his arms, cradling you against his chest as he carried her down the hall to the room. You nestled into him, kissing and nipping at his jawline. He kicked the door open and lowered you back on your feet, his gaze raking over your body.
He quickly unzipped the back of your dress, peeling the fabric down your shoulders and arms until it pooled at your feet. Your breasts strained against the lacy bra, nipples already hard peaks begging for attention. He unclasped it with a flick of his fingers, tossing it aside to bare you completely, leaving you naked and exposed. He pushed you down to the bed, and you made sure to get comfortable as he loomed over you.
“My turn to taste you.” He growled, stripping off his shirt and pants quickly before kneeling between your legs. He yanked your lace panties down in one swift movement, tossing them aside to expose you, already glistening with arousal.
Your breath hitched as he spread your legs wide, strong hands pinning your thighs open. He leaned in, his breath hot against your folds, and dragged his tongue flat along your slit. You moaned, hips bucking instinctively into his face, but he held you steady.
“Fuck, she is always so sweet for me…” He grumbled against you, his mouth fully descending on you now.
He sucked your clit between his lips, flicking his tongue over the swollen nub in quick and firm strokes that made you gasp. One hand went to his head, tangling into his hair, pushing him more towards you as the other clutched the sheets.
“Oh God, Maekar!” You moaned loudly as he devoured you. His tongue plunged inside you, thrusting in and out as if a preview of what was to come. He lapped at your inner walls before returning to circle your clit, giving it a firm such as one hand slid up your thigh. He pressed two fingers into your soaked entrance without much resistance, curling them upward to stroke that sensitive spot deep inside.
“Please… do not stop…” Begging, your cries of ecstasy grew louder as his thick fingers thrust steadily, his mouth not stopping its relentless assault on your clit. He twisted his fingers, scissoring them to stretch you. Your juices coated his hand as he pumped faster, the wet sounds mixing with your please.
“You can take a third one, can’t you?” He said huskily, looking up at you, his eyes almost black. “My good girl can take another one, hmm?”
You nodded, not trusting your voice.
“Say it.” He gave your clit a quick lick. “I need words.”
“Yes…” You mewled.
Adding a third finger, he filled you more, thrusting deeper and harder as he returned to your clit, tongue pressing without mercy. Your walls clenched around his fingers, your orgasm cresting fast under his touch. Maekar hummed against you, his free hand holding you in place as you writhed. It hit you like a wave, your body shaking as you came on his tongue, your walls squeezing his fingers tight as he kept licking and pumping through it, drawing out every moan, every whimper. He finally withdrew with a satisfied smirk when your body went limp, lips and beard glistening from your release.
Rising up, Maekar was about to position himself between your legs, when you rose up and met him.
“Not yet.” You took his hand. “I want… need to do this first.”
He let you guide him, curious to see what you would do. You prompted him to sit back against the headboard before straddling him, wrapping an arm around his neck. His cock stood rigid and pressed against your inner thigh. Grasping him, you lowered yourself fully, gasping as he filled you slowly, your walls stretching around his girth with not much resistance.
His hands settled on your hips as your other arm curled around his neck, grinding down in slow circles that made both of you groan. He captured your lips in a deep kiss, his tongue invading your mouth, as you tasted yourself in his mouth. Your lips moved over his hungrily, breath mingling as you increased your rhythm, lifting and dropping on his cock, taking him deeper each time.
“Mine.” He murmured against your lips between your thrusts, fingers digging into your skin. You moaned into the kiss, our breasts brushing deliciously against his chest with every bounce, your clit grinding against his pubic bone.
“Only yours.” And you kissed him again, pouring everything into it.
You picked up your speed, your hips snapping down harder. Maekar’s mouth trailed from your lips, to your jaw and neck, pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses along the way, before biting at the sensitive spot between your shoulder and neck. One of his hands squeezed your ass, before giving it a loud spank. You moaned and clenched around him, and he delivered a few more, reddening your cheek.
He stared at you, pupils blown wide as you rode him, and you could see the hunger in him, the need for more.
“Take what you need, Maekar.” You whispered. “Show me how I am yours.”
With a low growl, Maekar tightened his grip and flipped you without pulling out. He pinned you beneath him, pushing you into the mattress, his body covering yours completely. He thrust wildly into you, setting a punishing rhythm, making you cry out in pleasure. Your nails raked down his back as he filled you completely again and again.
“Is this what you need?” He demanded, a hand wrapping around your throat. He gave it a light squeeze. “To feel me owning you?”
“Yes!” You moaned lewdly, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer.
Each thrust drove deeper, hitting that spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyelids. The bed creaked under you, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing through the bedroom. One of his hands pinched your nipple hard enough to make your whimper, then soothing it with his mouth, teeth grazing the sensitive peak.
Sweat slicked your bodies as he fucked you harder, his cock dragging against your walls with every withdrawal. Your moans almost turned into screams, as your walls clenched, your body trembling once more on the edge.
“Do not stop! Oh-” His name died on your lips as his thumb found your clit and rubbed circles that matched his pace.
“Come for me.” He ordered. “Be a good girl and come on my cock…”
The pressure built unbearably, and you shattered around him, walls pussy clenching tight, milking his cock as waves of pleasure crashed over you. But he kept going, fucking you through your orgasm and chasing his own release, your incoherent begging a symphony to his ears.
His hands gripped your hips then, fingers digging in so hard you knew bruises would bloom there by morning. But you did not care.
He rutted into you like a wild animal, his climax hovering just out of reach. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, muffling your cries against his skin. You wanted this, needed him to claim you fully.
Maekar thrust like that for a while before his pace faltered. His body tensed, and with a final thrust, he came deep inside of you, flooding your walls with his cum and moaning your name like a prayer. He collapsed on top of you, his weight like a comforting blanket.
“Mine…” He grumbled, but it was unguarded in a way you had never heard before.
Your lips found his skin again, pressing a gentle kiss just below his jaw.
Cregan wastes no time, walking the two of you to your shared bedchambers. Your feet dangle helplessly. Your nose is cold against his neck. Mixed with your warm breath, it makes him shiver.
He kicks open the door, the wood shaking and slamming against the wall. You shriek in surprise, hands tightening in his fur cloak. Your leg kicks up, making him chuckle lowly. "Easy, my girl," he purrs. "'S just the door."
He sets you down, not letting you escape the cage of his arms. His frame swallows you whole, descending on you like a predator finally getting its favorite prey. His lips meet yours. It's hungrier than before, a growl behind his teeth.
You pull away, only having his hands grip you tighter and pull you closer. His lips chase yours. He bends at the waist slightly to keep you there.
You giggle, even as it's swallowed by his mouth on yours once more. You try to pull away again, but he's ready for it this time. You can't move an inch, and he lets out a displeased noise that you even tried.
One of your hands runs up the plains of his chest, moving over the rough leather. Then, you push lightly.
He obeys, breaking away.
You slowly look up to his eyes. Your own face is joyful, relieved. But his is desperate, like he can't get close enough and it's torturous.
Your hand moves up to his cheek. His wiry beard scratches your fingertips. His hazy eyes stay on you, dissecting your every expression. He leaned into your touch like a dog. Like one word from you could break him.
The pads of your fingers brush over his lips now, your gaze following. Cregan's lips part, leaving your digits to rest against the plush of his bottom lip.
Your own lips part in reaction. The intensity of his eyes on yours makes your knees shake.
You test him, slowly pushing your index and middle finger past his lips. He makes no motion to stop you. Instead, his jaw opens a bit— just enough for them to scrape by his teeth.
His mouth is warm, a stark contrast from the chill of your shared chambers that had been untouched for two years now.
You feel the tip of his tongue. You watch his expression carefully, waiting for him to stop you. But he doesn't.
You go a little further, then press down on his tongue. It forces his jaw to open wider. He breathes out of his nose in satisfaction the same way a true wolf would.
There's a silence now, a hesitation where neither of you want to move or change. But he takes the lead, lips closing to gently suck.
You lean in with a heavy sigh, watching him so easily obey you without words.
You press further back, making his brows twitch. And that's where you stop.
He looks down at you like you're a wicked thing that he follows eagerly and you aren't even aware of it.
You pull your fingers away sharply, a trail of spit breaking away as you do so.
There's nothing said for a while, just the acknowledgement that things are different between the two of you than they used to be.
You wet your lips. "I—"
"I've waited two years to see you again," his heavy accent rings like a bell in your ears. "A kingdom has fallen at my feet. Even familiar Winter storms did nothing to ease me. Just let me look at you a little longer."
How could you resist that?
And stare he does. It's an admiring gaze, one that warms something in your gut.
"Cregan?"
"I love you," he breathes. "I thought of nothing else these last years. I couldn't sleep." His hand comes up to brush hair behind your ear. "Every time I was surrounded in darkness, my mind would think of you. It made me realize you own me."
You couldn't take it anymore. You press yourself against his chest, pushing up on your tiptoes to kiss him.
He gladly meets you, fingers getting lost in the hair at your scalp. His lips press against your own warmly, making all thoughts in your brain fuzz— replaced with nothing but blue eyes and broad shoulders.
He walks you backwards, careful not to bump you into anything. He noted how untouched the room is, how unlived-in it is, but he doesn't comment.
He tilts your head back, revealing the hollow of your throat. His lips descend just how he remembered you liked, reveling in the way you arch into him.
And he licks a stripe leading up to your jaw. It's possessive in nature, affectionate and protective the same. As if he was trying to taste the years he had missed.
He's holding you up at this point. Not that it was a problem for him.
He took one of his hands and paws at your skirts, tugging it up.
You're a bit grateful you're stuck looking up at the ceiling, for you're sure you look like a fool— your eyes hazy, your mouth agape.
His hand finds the bare skin of your outer thigh, making you gasp. The air is cold and unwelcoming, but he's warm. Your neck heats up with his breathy chuckle.
"I thought of this," he finally says. "Of having you again." A kiss is pressed to your jaw. "It got me through long days."
You're finally able to meet his eye again. "And what did you imagine, my lord?"
His pupils expand. "I thought of a lot."
"Tell me," you murmur. "Let me in, Cregan."
He hums, giving in to your wish naturally. "I imagined I'd undress you. Take my time. Won't touch you until you ask me, beg me to."
"Do it." A challenge.
Something in him switches. He drops your skirt back into place. "Don't say things you don't mean."
"I mean every word." You run a hand down his chest, just for emphasis.
He picks you up with ease, making your feet dangle again. He wouldn't throw you onto the bed like he might have in the past. He's a different man; his hands seem to destroy more than they help nowadays. And the thought of his wife being one of the ones hurt makes him sick.
No, instead, he carefully sets you onto the bed. Your legs dangle over the edge. He presses you down, making your back meet the furs. You squirm as you watch him above you.
"I thought of you like this," he smiles. He caresses you as he does so. "Your lips, that impatient look you get in your eyes. That one you're doing just now."
You huff, but he's right.
He speaks as he begins to untie the laces down your chest and torso. "I couldn't stand the sun most days. The South is full of weak men. They tried to start rumors; of you and I." His fingers pause. "Those rumors were crushed." He swallowed, continuing again.
You didn't ask what he meant.
He undressed you so carefully, first your outer skirt, then your dress. Soon, you were left in your shift. Though, you know it wouldn't be for long.
He stands between your thighs, still content to take his time. He bends at the waist and wraps his arms around you. It forces you to arch up to him, and he kisses the fabric over your stomach.
It tickles, having him kiss across your body. He sucks here and there, catching you by surprise every time.
He licks under your left breast, leaving a wet trail across the thin fabric. "Cregan," you warn, trying to pull him in.
He gives you a mischievous look before closing his lips around your nipple. A soft cry dies before it makes it out of your mouth. He sucks lightly, fabric and all. The very sight of it makes you try to bring your thighs together, but he's between them.
He groans and the vibrations make you shiver.
"This what you wanted?" He purrs. "Is it feel good to have your wolf back, my girl?"
"Yes," you whispers. "Yes, just—"
"I know."
He brings the last of the fabric separating you from his gaze and tugs it up to your hips. He doesn't touch you, merely watches goosebumps rise on your skin.
You squirm, trying to get him to lift it over your hips, but he doesn't. His head tilts, eyes moving between your legs.
Your face heats up, lips parting to break the tension. It's been two years since he'd seen you and insecurity finally set in. But he speaks before you can.
"And to think, I spent two years away from you." He shakes his head. "Never again."
With your help, he pulls your shift off completely, revealing you to him. Your body had changed, naturally so. You filled out in a few places, the childish fat fully gone and replaced with the body of a woman. You were sure Cregan had filled out in places as well. He was 25 now. Even his cheeks had sharp lines to them that he didn't before.
He looked over you with adoring eyes. Over each stretch mark, each curve and muscle. But he didn't touch you.
He said he wouldn't. Not until…
"Cregan?"
"Hm?"
You swallow your embarrassment. "Touch me."
The ends of his lips quirk up. "Would you like me to, my love? One word and I'm yours."
"Please."
His frame swallows yours, the cold leather of his clothing brushing over your skin. He kisses you deeply before letting his lips trail down your body. His hands move down your sides.
He drops to his knees, kissing your lower stomach. He brings your thighs onto his shoulders, cushioned by his fur coat he still has on. Laying bare beneath the fully covered Warden heats you in a way you'd never be able to describe.
"You'll have my mouth," he settles. "In the way I imagined you would. And I won't stop until you beg."
He waits for your response, your permission. But you put your hand in his hair, which he takes as the same thing. It is.
He breathes over your core, just admiring for a while. Then, he licks a long stripe and groans in satisfaction. He had forgotten the taste of you.
He wasn't going to let himself forget for a long time.
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