I just have to request Maekar Targaryen with possessive breeding, (because that man has a breeding kink and I will die on that hill), maybe mirror sex? And prompts 1 and 32
1. “You’re mine to cherish and devour. Let me breed you full while you moan my name.”
39. “Bite me back while I mark your breasts and thighs.”
Possessive Breeding Kink + Mirror Sex.
I might have gotten carried away with this, sorry if this isn't what you had in mind but I most definitely am on the breeding kink train as well, cause I used the word breeding excessively. I believe this man would undoubtedly remind you what he intends to do to you.
The feast in the Red Keep’s great hall roared with life, minstrels strumming lutes, lords laughing too loudly over their cups, and the air thick with the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine. You stood near the high table, cradling little Rhae in your arms. The youngest princess was half-asleep against your shoulder, her hair tickling your neck as you gently rocked her, murmuring soft nonsense to soothe her after the long evening.
Maekar’s gaze found you across the room like a brand.
He had been brooding at the head of the table as usual, armored in black and crimson, jaw set beneath that Targaryen scowl. But the moment his violet eyes landed on you holding his daughter, his blood, safe and cherished in your arms and something feral ignited in him.
His hand tightened around his goblet until the metal groaned. A low, guttural sound rumbled from his chest, raw and hungry, loud enough that a few nearby courtiers glanced over in confusion.
Desire. Pure, possessive want.
He rose so abruptly the bench scraped back. In three strides he was on you, massive frame towering, calloused hands already reaching. Rhae was gently but swiftly passed to a waiting nursemaid with a curt nod. Before you could even gasp his name, Maekar bent, seized you around the thighs, and threw you over his broad shoulder as if you weighed nothing.
The hall erupted in startled laughter and cheers, but Maekar ignored them all. His large palm clamped possessively over the curve of your ass, holding you in place as he strode from the hall like a conquering knight claiming his prize.
“You’re mine to cherish and devour,” he growled, voice low and rough against your hip. Each step jostled you deliciously against his armored shoulder. “Let me breed you full while you moan my name.”
He carried you through torchlit corridors until he kicked open the door to his private solar. The heavy oak slammed shut behind you. Only then did he set you down, right in front of the tall, polished silver mirror that dominated one wall. Candles flickered across the surface, casting warm light over your flushed reflection.
Maekar’s hands were already working at the laces of your gown, impatient. Fabric tore. He didn’t care.
“Look at yourself,” he commanded, voice dark velvet as he stripped you bare. One thick arm banded around your waist, pulling your back flush to his chest. His other hand cupped your breast, thumb brushing the sensitive peak. “See how perfect you are, carrying my daughter like you were made for it. Made for me.”
You met his eyes in the mirror, violet and violent, burning with that infamous Targaryen intensity. He was hard already, the thick ridge of his cock pressing insistently against your lower back through his breeches. He ground forward once, letting you feel exactly what you did to him.
“Maekar…” you breathed.
He groaned again, that same wanton sound from the hall, and shoved his breeches down. His cock sprang free, long, heavy, already leaking at the tip. Without preamble he bent you forward slightly, one hand guiding himself between your thighs.
“Watch,” he rasped, lips at your ear. “Watch me breed you.”
He thrust in deep in one powerful stroke, stretching you open around his girth. The mirror captured everything, your parted lips, the way your breasts bounced with the force of it, his large hand splayed possessively over your belly as if he could already imagine it swelling again.
“Fuck— so tight for me,” he growled, hips snapping forward. Each thrust was deliberate, claiming. “This womb is mine. Going to fill you until my seed takes root. Until you’re round with another of my children. Mine. Ours”
His pace quickened, one hand sliding down to rub tight circles over your clit while the other kept you pinned against him. The wet sounds of your coupling filled the room, obscene and perfect. In the mirror you watched his face, jaw clenched, silver hair falling across his forehead, eyes locked on where you two joined.
He fucked you harder, bending you further so you had to brace your hands on the mirror’s frame. The cool glass fogged with your panting breaths.
“Say it,” he demanded, teeth grazing your shoulder. “Tell me whose cunt this is. Whose womb I’m breeding.”
“Yours— Maekar, yours—” you moaned, voice breaking as pleasure coiled tight.
He snarled in satisfaction and drove deeper, angling to hit that spot that made stars burst behind your eyes. When you came, clenching around him, he followed with a deep, possessive groan, flooding you with hot pulses of his seed. He didn’t pull out. Instead he stayed buried, rocking lazily, making sure not a drop escaped.
“Not done yet,” he murmured, kissing the back of your neck as he met your dazed eyes in the mirror. His hand stroked over your stomach again. “I’m breeding you full tonight, wife. Again and again. Until everyone in that hall knows exactly who you belong to.”
He turned you in his arms then, lifting you onto the nearby table so he could take you face-to-face this time, still watching your reflections tangle together in the silver glass, his obsession and love and raw breeding hunger written in every thrust.
The mirror still fogged from your earlier frenzy when Maekar finally carried you to the massive bed, his cock still buried deep inside you, your legs wrapped around his waist. He sat on the edge first, keeping you impaled on his thick length, and guided your hips with those large, commanding hands.
“Ride me,” he ordered, voice gravel-rough with need. “Take what’s yours while I fill you.”
You braced your palms on his broad, scarred chest and began to move, slow at first, then faster, grinding down onto him. Maekar’s head fell back with a groan, silver strands sticking to his sweat-damp forehead.
His hands roamed your body possessively, squeezing your ass, cupping your breasts, thumbs teasing your nipples until they ached. Every roll of your hips pushed him deeper, the wet slap of skin echoing obscenely.
“Fuck— look at you,” he growled, eyes dark as he watched where you swallowed him whole. “Taking my cock so greedily. This womb was made to be bred by me.”
You leaned forward, chasing the angle that made stars explode behind your eyes. Maekar’s grip tightened, helping you bounce harder. His own hips snapped up to meet you, driving his seed from the first round even deeper.
Then the control snapped.
With a feral sound he surged up, arms locking around you as he threw you onto the bed. You landed on your back with a gasp, but he followed instantly, covering you with his massive frame.
Your scream of pleasure was muffled against his shoulder as he thrust back in, hard, relentless. You bit down on the thick muscle there, teeth sinking in as waves of ecstasy crashed over you. Maekar hissed in pleasure-pain, hips stuttering for a moment before he laughed low and dark.
“Bite me back while I mark your breasts and thighs,” he rasped, the words hot against your ear. “Let me feel how much you need this.”
He pulled out only long enough to flip you onto your back fully, spreading your legs wide. His mouth descended like a man starved. First he latched onto your breast, sucking hard, teeth grazing, then biting down just hard enough to leave a blooming mark.
You arched with a cry, fingers tangling in his hair.
He moved to the other breast, sucking and biting a matching claim, then lower, down the soft plane of your stomach to the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs.
Each bite was deliberate, possessive. Red marks bloomed under his mouth, his tongue soothing the sting right after. You writhed beneath him, thighs trembling.
“Maekar— please—”
He answered by hooking your legs over his shoulders and diving in. His tongue fucked into your cunt with the same demanding rhythm he’d used with his cock, deep, relentless strokes, curling to taste every drop of your combined release.
He groaned against your folds, the vibration shooting straight to your core. Two thick fingers joined his tongue, stretching you open while his mouth worked your clit.
You came again with a broken moan, biting his shoulder harder as your walls clenched around his tongue. He didn’t stop, lapping and sucking until you were shaking, oversensitive, dripping down his chin.
Only then did he crawl back up your body, cock sliding back into your soaked heat in one smooth thrust. He pinned your wrists above your head with one hand, the other stroking over the fresh bite marks on your breasts and thighs like sacred brands.
“Mine,” he whispered fiercely, rolling his hips deep and slow now, savoring the way you fluttered around him. “Every mark, every drop of my seed. I’m breeding you full again tonight, wife. Until you can’t walk without feeling me.”
He kissed you then, deep, claiming, swallowing your moans as he built you both back toward the edge, the mirror across the room still reflecting every possessive movement.
The firelight danced across Maekar’s sweat-slicked skin as he kept you pinned beneath him, cock buried to the hilt. Your thighs were still trembling from his tongue, marked with his teeth, and he rocked into you with slow, deliberate thrusts that dragged against every sensitive spot inside.
He lowered his mouth to your ear, voice a low, rumbling growl thick with lust and something deeper.
“You think I didn’t see it?” he murmured, nipping at the shell of your ear before soothing it with his tongue. “The way you look after my brats. All of them. Even when they’re little terrors running wild through the Red Keep. You hold Rhae like she’s the most precious thing in the world. You chase after the boys when they cause chaos. You mother them, truly.”
He thrust deeper on the word, grinding against your cervix as if to drive the point home. A broken moan slipped from your lips.
“And Aerion…” Maekar’s voice dropped even lower, almost a snarl of pride. “That cruel little shit. I heard how you scolded him today, sharp and fearless, putting him in his place when he was tormenting the servants again. No one else dares speak to my blood like that. But you do. For their own good. For our family.”
He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, violet gaze burning with possessive fire. One large hand slid down to press firmly over your lower belly, right where his cock bulged inside you.
“You were made for this,” he praised, voice rough with want. “Made to bear my children and raise them strong. Fuck— the sight of you with Rhae tonight nearly made me take you right there on the feast table.”
His hips snapped forward harder, the wet sounds of your coupling filling the room again. He kept his hand on your stomach, rubbing slow circles as he fucked you.
“I’m going to plant the next one right here,” he growled, pressing down with each thrust. “The first child I fill you with tonight… I’ll make sure it takes. I’ll breed you so full, so deep, that you’ll feel it quicken and know—without question—that you are mine. My wife. My woman. No one else will ever touch you. No one else will ever fill this womb.”
You clenched around him at his words, and Maekar groaned in pure male satisfaction. He hooked one of your legs higher, opening you wider so he could drive even deeper, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with every powerful stroke.
“Take it,” he commanded, biting down on the swell of your breast again, leaving another vivid mark. “Milk my cock like the perfect little breeding wife you are. Let me give you a child tonight. Let me watch your belly swell with proof that you belong to Maekar Targaryen.”
His pace grew punishing, relentless, every thrust accompanied by more filthy praise, how beautiful you’d look round with his babe, how he’d fuck you through the pregnancy, how he’d keep you dripping with his seed until the maesters confirmed you were carrying.
When he finally spilled inside you again, it was with a deep, guttural roar, flooding your womb with hot, thick ropes of cum. He stayed buried deep, grinding lazily to push it further, his hand never leaving your belly.
“Mine,” he whispered against your lips, kissing you slow and claiming. “All fucking mine.”
He didn’t give you long to catch your breath.
Maekar pulled out with a wet sound, his seed already leaking down your thighs, and flipped you onto your stomach in one smooth motion. You barely had time to push up onto your elbows before his powerful arm slid around your throat from behind, locking you into a firm headlock. Not tight enough to hurt, but tight enough that you felt utterly claimed, controlled, his.
“Up,” he growled, hauling your upper body back against his chest as he knelt behind you on the bed. His free hand gripped your hip hard enough to bruise, yanking you into position. “I want you to watch.”
He angled your bodies so the tall mirror across the room captured everything. You could see it all in the reflection, your flushed face, lips parted, eyes glassy with lust, Maekar’s massive frame behind you, silver hair wild, muscles flexing as he held you in the headlock. His thick cock, still glistening with your combined release, nudged against your soaked entrance.
“Look at us,” he ordered, voice dark and low right beside your ear. His arm flexed slightly around your throat, a possessive reminder. “Watch me breed my perfect wife.”
He thrust in hard, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal stroke. The new angle had him impossibly deep, the head of his cock pressing right against your cervix. You moaned loudly, the sound vibrating against his forearm. In the mirror you watched his hips snap forward, the powerful muscles of his ass and thighs flexing with every thrust. His free hand slid down to spread your thighs wider, giving the mirror an even better view of his thick cock disappearing into your cunt.
“Fuck— so good for me,” he praised between gritted teeth, pounding into you. “Taking my cock while I hold you like this. Such a good little mother to my brats… scolding Aerion when he needs it, cradling Rhae like she’s yours as much as mine. You were born to carry my seed.”
Each thrust jolted you forward, but his headlock kept you firmly in place, forcing you to keep watching. The reflection showed everything: the way your breasts bounced, the fresh bite marks he’d left on them and your thighs, the obscene stretch of your pussy around his girth. His hand moved from your hip to press over your lower belly again, rubbing possessively.
“I’m going to fill this womb until it swells,” he rasped, tightening the headlock just enough to make you feel lightheaded with pleasure. “The next child I plant in you tonight will be the one that binds you to me forever. You’ll feel it quicken and know, no other man will ever have you. No other cock will ever breed this cunt. Only mine.”
He fucked you harder, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing. In the mirror you watched his face, jaw clenched, eyes locked on your reflection with raw obsession. Every thrust pushed more of his previous load deeper, and you could see the way your belly slightly bulged with the force of him.
“Bite my arm if it’s too much,” he growled, but his pace never faltered. “I want to feel you come while I’m breeding you like this.”
You did exactly that, clamping down around him, teeth sinking into his forearm as your orgasm ripped through you. Maekar snarled in satisfaction and followed right after, flooding your womb with another heavy load of cum. He kept you locked in place, grinding deep, making sure every drop stayed inside.
Even as he softened, he didn’t release the headlock right away. He simply held you there, both of you watching in the mirror as his seed slowly leaked around his cock.
“Mine,” he whispered again, pressing a surprisingly tender kiss to your temple. “All fucking mine to breed and cherish.”
The intensity ebbed slowly, like a storm giving way to warm rain.
Maekar loosened the headlock with care, his thick arm sliding down to wrap around your waist instead. He pulled you back against his chest as he rolled onto his side, keeping you spooned securely in his embrace. His large body curled protectively around yours, broad chest to your back, one heavy thigh draped over your leg, caging you in the safest way possible. His cock was still nestled inside you, half-hard but refusing to slip out.
“Easy, kesrio paŋi,” he murmured, voice now low and rough with affection rather than command. His lips brushed the bite marks on your shoulder, then your neck, soothing each one with slow, open-mouthed kisses. “You did so well for me. So perfect.”
One big hand stroked gently over your marked breasts, thumb brushing softly across your nipples, while the other rested possessively yet tenderly over your lower belly.
He held you like that for long moments, simply breathing with you, the heat of his body chasing away any chill. In the mirror across the room you could still see the two of you, tangled together, his silver hair mixing with yours, his powerful frame enveloping you completely.
“You take such good care of my children,” he whispered against your hair, pressing a kiss there. “Rhae adores you. Even Aerion listens when you speak… I see it all. You’re already the mother of my house in every way that matters.” His hand rubbed slow circles on your stomach. “And soon you’ll carry our first child together and I’ll make sure of it.”
He began to move then, slow, lazy rolls of his hips. Not the punishing thrusts from before, but a deep, tender grind. His cock, now fully hard again, slid in and out of your cum-slick heat with unhurried strokes, pushing his seed even deeper on every gentle push. The wet, intimate sounds were softer now, almost soothing.
“Look at us,” he breathed, tilting your chin so you could watch in the mirror. “See how perfectly we fit. How full you are of me.”
You moaned quietly, pushing back against him as the slow drag of his cock stoked the embers of pleasure again.
Maekar’s arm tightened around you in a tender hug, his free hand continuing its gentle exploration, tracing the marks he’d left, then slipping down to circle your clit with feather-light touches.
“I love you like this,” he confessed softly between kisses to your neck and shoulder. “Warm, dripping with my cum, safe in my arms. I’m going to keep you full tonight… slow and deep, until your body has no choice but to take my child.” His thrusts remained languid and deliberate, savoring every inch. “You’re mine to cherish. Mine to breed. My beautiful wife.”
He kept that slow, intimate rhythm for a long time, holding you close, praising you in that deep, reverent voice, filling you again and again with gentle rolls of his hips until another soft, shuddering orgasm washed over you both. Even after he came, he stayed buried inside you, arms wrapped tenderly around your body, murmuring quiet words of devotion as sleep began to pull at you.
“Rest now,” he whispered, pressing one last kiss to your temple. “I’ve got you.”
Hello, my loves. I apologize to those that are waiting for their requests to be written, or if you're just (fingers crossed) hoping for another fic to come out.
I'm currently dealing with some health problems, some of my blood work and vitals are skyrocketing and the doctors don't know exactly why yet, but they can't rule out it's because of stress. So I'm taking a little break.
I hope you'll keep faith with me until I return! ❤️
Just an idea I got watching Sons of Anarchy the other day... forcing Modern!Maekar into a photobooth to take a picture of you giving him a hand job 😏
wanted a pic with dada <3
this was a delicious idea omg. i swear i love your brain cells <3
Pairing: modern!BFF's dad!Maekar x f!reader
Warning(s): modern AU, +18 MDNI, semi public sex, handjob (m receiving), oral sex (m receiving).
You'd spotted the photobooth on the way out of Boots — one of those freestanding units wedged between the pharmacy entrance and a card shop, the kind that printed strips of four in black and white and had been there since approximately 2003 and would remain there until the heat death of the universe.
You'd stopped walking, the thought already well processed in your mind. Maekar, who had been carrying two bags and had been tolerating the shopping centre with the focused stoicism of a man who had agreed to this and was seeing it through, stopped beside you.
"No," he said, already reading your face.
"I want a photo of us."
"We have photos."
"Not in a photobooth," you pouted. "Come on. It'll take two minutes."
He looked at the booth. Looked at you sulking in that specific way you knew he couldn't resist. Performed the rapid calculation of a man weighing the effort of arguing against the effort of simply doing the thing and being finished with it.
"Two minutes," he caved in.
"Two minutes," you chirped, and took his hand and pulled him toward it before he could reconsider.
The booth was, as you well knew, extremely small. Maekar folded himself into it with the grace of a large man in a space designed for someone significantly less large, his knees at an angle that suggested the booth's designer had not anticipated anyone over six foot, the curtain brushing his shoulder when it fell closed behind you. You checked its length and smiled to yourself when you saw that it covered practically all the way to the floor. Perfect for a little crime.
You fed the coins into the slot and settled onto the small bench beside Maekar, or rather on top of him, given the available square footage.
Ready? the screen asked, in the enthusiastic font of something that had no idea what was about to happen.
"Ready!" you said almost too joyful for a strip of photographs, and put your hand on his thigh in a not so subtle way anymore.
He glanced down at it. Glanced at you. "What are you doing?"
"Getting comfortable," you said. "Smile for the camera."
The first flash went off. Your hand moved upward.
He caught your wrist — not roughly, just firmly, the grip of a man who had put two and two together approximately four seconds too late. "What—"
"Second one's coming," you announced.
The second flash went off. His grip on your wrist loosened by precisely the amount that told you his body had already voted and the outcome was not in his favour.
You worked his zip down with the quiet efficiency of someone who had been planning this for a while and had not been deterred by anything.
"We are in a shopping centre," he said through gritted teeth, very low, very flat, the register of a man trying to sound like he was objecting when he clearly was not.
"I know," you said amused. You loved the inconsistencies of Maekar when you were involved.
"There are people outside that curtain."
"I know," you said again, and freed his cock — already half hard, which he was going to have feelings about later — and wrapped your hand around his shaft, and felt him exhale through his nose in the tight controlled way of a man choosing not to make a sound.
The third flash went off.
You stroked him slowly, your grip unhurried, your eyes on the screen as though you were monitoring the photo situation, and felt him go from half hard to fully hard in approximately the time it took the booth's cheerful countdown to cycle back to the top.
"You planned this," he said, tight. His hand gripping your waist.
"Little bit," you acknowledged.
A silence in which he appeared to be conducting an extremely focused internal negotiation.
"There is a family," he said, very quietly, "approximately three feet from this curtain. I heard a pushchair."
"Then you should probably be quiet," you muttered, and stroked him harder, and watched his jaw lock.
He was quiet. The effortful quiet of a man applying every available resource to not making a sound in a shopping centre photobooth while you worked him with your hand. His shoulders went rigid, his breath coming in slow controlled measures through his nose that were getting progressively less controlled.
The fourth flash went off.
"Fuck," barely voiced, not quite containing it, his hand coming to grip your ribcage hard to pull you close against him.
"That's the last one," you said cheerfully. "Photos are printing."
"I don't care about the—" he stopped. Started again. "Don't you dare stop."
"I thought we were in a shopping centre," you said.
"I will deal with that later," he said, rough and low and entirely past the point of the argument, "Don't stop."
So you didn't. You worked him with the focus of someone who knew exactly what they were doing and had timed this with, frankly, impressive precision — the booth quiet around you, the curtain a thin separation between you and the Friday afternoon foot traffic of a shopping centre, his breath coming faster now despite his best efforts, his hand on your knee gripping harder with every stroke.
"Close?" you said softly.
"Yes," through his teeth.
"Here?"
"Yes, here, I don't—" he stopped, a low sound escaping that he cut off immediately, his whole body tensing. "Please."
You went down on your knees in the narrow space that the booth allowed, consequences of being seen be damned, and brought his cock to your mouth, your hand still stroking at the base with a fast, certain grip. Warm, pulsating ribbons of come went down your throat as Maekar gripped the edge of the seat and the back of your head while biting hard on his lower lip, trying to silence his own noises.
The booth whirred cheerfully.
Your photos are ready! Collect from the slot below.
"I cannot fucking believe you did that," Maekar said after a few seconds.
"You didn't stop me," you shrugged, standing up and fixing the slight mess of his disheveled hair.
"I was ambushed," he tried to protest, humming lowly at the feeling of your fingers tracing his scalp. You sorted him out efficiently, zipped him back up, and parted the curtain to collect the photo strip from the slot.
Four frames, black and white: the first, both of you looking at the screen, you with the expression of a saint, him with the expression of a man who has just realized something. The second, him looking down at your hand, expression transitioning rapidly. The third, his jaw tight and his eyes closed and you looking at the camera. The fourth — the last flash, the fuck one — his head slightly back, both of you in sharp black and white.
You looked at the strip for a moment and handed it to him. Maekar looked at it for a long moment with the expression of a man conducting a comprehensive post-incident assessment.
"I'm keeping those," you said, a devious smile plastered on your face.
"You are not keeping them," he said.
"I'm framing the whole strip," you said. "Going straight to the hallway wall."
"Absolutely not," he said, but he hadn't given it back, and his thumb was running over the fourth frame with something that was not quite the almost-smile but was adjacent to it despite everything. "That is not going on the hallway."
"Kitchen then," you said. "Next to your tomato spreadsheet."
Maekar looked at you over the photo strip with the expression of a man who had been with you long enough to know that arguing about the mantelpiece was not going to resolve anything.
"You are," he said, tucking the strip into his coat pocket, "completely impossible."
"You love it," you said taking his hand and resuming your afternoon.
"I'm still dealing with you later," he lowered his head to the shell of your ear and whispered.
"Promise?" you turned your face and pecked his cheek and steered him back into the shopping centre.
↪︎want more modern!BFF's dad!Maekar? check out this masterlist!
recently saw ppl discuss whether they put their medicines in a kitchen cabinet or a bathroom cabinet and i was shocked by the fact that many ppl said kitchen cabinet. so now i need you to reblog this and say where you keep yours
Meds should never be kept in the bathroom because that tends to become damp from when people shower and that's not suitable for most kinds of pills. Therefore I always keep them in the kitchen.
How would the AKTSK guys react to a screamer in bed? 😏
Headcanons for a reader who is vocal in bed
(including: Baelor, Maekar, Valarr, Daeron, Dunk and Lyonel)
Tags/Warnings: 18+, Smut, Implied Age Gap for the DILFs
Words: about 150-200 for each
BAELOR would tell you to be quiet, lest you be overheard. He'd shush you with a ringed hand covering your mouth, cooing in your ear as he continues thrusting, burying himself inside of you again and again, pummelling the spot that made you scream in the first place.
He wants desperately to make you come, but he does not want the whole castle to hear you. Not because of embarrassment, but because he does not wish others to know what you sound like. Baelor has to give so much to the realm. Your sounds are one of the only things that are his.
If you were on Dragonstone, on the other hand... he would encourage you to make whichever sounds you please. He loves knowing that he pleasures you so much that you become unable to regulate yourself, that he unmakes you so thoroughly. The only time he would muffle your sounds in the privacy his seat on Dragonstone affords him is when he kisses you, swallows your sounds into his own throat, consuming you as you consume him.
MAEKAR would be undeniably proud. He takes immense pride in his prowess, and he does not mind everyone knowing how much his lady wife enjoys him and his thick cock. In fact, he wants them to know. All those young, simpering knights that follow you with their eyes - they'll hear your pleased screams and know that your husband is the one making you feel this way. Not them. Never them.
If anything, he encourages you to be even louder, egging you on as he fucks you harder, faster, whatever you need. If you like your hair pulled, he'll do that, too. Maekar can get a little mean with it. This man has no shame, and he can be almost as vocal as you with his groaning and grunting.
The only thing that would dampen his ardour is if his children were staying close. When he needs to be mindful of his brood, Maekar has been known to put something into your mouth to keep you quiet. A gag, his fingers, his cock... it doesn't matter. He'll make you peak regardless. He knows your body well enough.
VALARR would be startled at first. He was raised on gentle courtesies, the politeness of court. He is used to refined speech, people concealing their wants and desires behind mild manners. But that does not mean that he dislikes how vocal you are.
In fact, he learns to treasure it, his longing for your screams in the sanctity of your chambers becoming quite ardent. It's a respite, a break from his burdens. In bed with you, his head bracketed by your thighs, he feels at home. He is finally not afraid of failing, not when you sing so prettily for him and there is no doubt to be had that you enjoy his touch.
With you he knows that he does not need to be perfect for you to love him, though he still always puts you first, wringing at least one peak from you before he even enters you. Valarr himself is quiet, rarely even sighing in pleasure, but you more than make up for it and he would have it no other way.
DAERON would barely notice initially. Other than you, he was used to whores, and they were always vocal in their performances. At first he assumes you are the same, acting to please him, pretending.
Once some time has passed and he realises that you actually like what he is doing, that you are being honest, he becomes more nervous. There's a pressure on him now. What if he cannot make you scream the next time? What if he drinks too much and cannot be good enough for you?
It fucks with his head a little. Daeron is used to being perceived as a failure. That you like him, like the way he makes you feel, is foreign and strange. But with time he learns that it is not bad. To be wanted. That your "expectations" are not hard to meet, that it's different than what he's used to. There's no punishment, no disappointment. Only love.
DUNK would stop immediately. He would freeze above you, scared to death, his broad, towering frame supported by his huge arms, needing to make sure that your scream was a good sound. He's not used to making people feel good.
When you encourage him to continue, when you reassure him, he becomes more confident, bolder. He'd start experimenting with what makes you scream the loudest - a kiss here, a squeeze there, his cock pushing into you in a maddeningly slow drag.
Eventually, he grows to love your squeals, your screams, your sighs. Everything that shows him that he's doing a good job. He knows he can be slow to understand, but he finds that your sounds make your reactions easier to interpret. He almost doesn't even mind the grins and salacious winks people shoot at him when he emerges from his rooms after a rigorous night of activity. But his blush betrays him.
LYONEL would chuckle and tease. All in good fun, of course. He loves a confident woman, a woman that knows what she likes and expresses that. If you are usually shy, he'll like it even more. Seeing a side of you that no else sees, coaxing it out of you with his mouth, hand, or his cock - it drives him crazy.
He's utterly unashamed - Lyonel likes fucking you where people will hear your sounds. If anyone mentions it to him, he'll boast, take it as a compliment. If he's feeling particularly naughty, he might make a comment doubting the other's sexual prowess if they cannot make their wives scream as he does his.
His favourite is when he crooks his fingers inside of you, seeing your face twist in pleasure at the same time. He loves watching that scream form in your throat, loves watching your eyes flutter as you peak. His name on your lips makes him unbearably smug.
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