Feb 22
Modern au Baelor and maekar 🧎♀️🧎♀️
By: crazy_toma777
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seen from United States
seen from China
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seen from Germany
seen from Türkiye
seen from Malaysia
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seen from Germany
seen from Russia
Modern au Baelor and maekar 🧎♀️🧎♀️
By: crazy_toma777
ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀʙʏ ᴘʀᴏᴊᴇᴄᴛ | ᴍᴀᴇᴋᴀʀ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ
─ summary: When Maekar agreed to have a baby, he thought it a reasonable undertaking. He was not an old man. You were young and healthy and wanted a child of your own and he loved you, so he said yes. Simple enough. He was a fool. aka: you run your poor husband absolutely ragged in the name of family planning
─ pairing: Maekar Targaryen x Wife!Reader (Second Wife)
─ word count: ~2.8k
─ content: 18+ MDNI | Smut | Semi-public sex | Outdoor sex | Pregnancy | Implied Smut| Age Gap| An exhausted man who cannot have any peace in his house
─ a/n: Me if I ever found myself in Westeros. This man would not rest. Inspired by this gif 🖤 Thank you for comments, reblogs, likes, and messages. Part 2 here!!!!
(masterlist) (ao3)
The first sensation you registered was warmth: the solid heat of Maekar's muscular arm draped possessively around your waist. You shifted slightly in sleep; his arm tightened, pulling you flush against the firm plane of his chest. He was already awake, his gaze on you so palpably you felt it on your skin. Then his lips came to you — first a feather-light kiss at your temple, his beard tickling, then another on your cheekbone. He pressed closer; through the thin fabric of your nightgown you felt the hard length of him against your thigh. A low pulse of desire kindled in you. His lips trailed down your throat and you stirred, a soft hum in your chest as you turned toward him.
"Good morning, my love," you murmured, voice thick with sleep and something more.
A slow, satisfied smile spread across his face. He answered with a deeper press of his hips, his erection a hard promise against you. You responded instinctively, lifting your leg and wrapping it around his waist, opening yourself to him. The gesture was an invitation, a surrender, a demand all at once. He shifted, his hand moving from your waist to grip your thigh, lifting it higher over his hip. He ground against you, the thick ridge of his cock sliding through your folds. The friction was exquisite, a slow, deliberate torture that had you arching your back, a silent plea for more. He seemed to understand. With one hand, he impatiently pushed the hem of your gown up to your waist, his knuckles brushing against your sensitized skin. He paused for a moment, his gaze dropping to where your bodies were about to join. Then he guided the blunt head of his cock to your entrance. He didn't thrust in immediately. Instead, he teased you, circling your clit with the tip, spreading your wetness, making you whimper with need.
"Maekar," you breathed, your hands fisting in the sheets.
Then he entered you, inch by thick inch, letting you feel every stretch, until you both sighed together. His rhythm was languid and possessive. He watched your face as he moved, his violet eyes dark with lust and a deep, unwavering affection. One hand remained on your hip, holding you steady, while the other roamed, tracing the curve of your breast, thumbing a pebbled nipple, then moving down to press against your lower belly, as if he could feel himself inside you from there.
You met his gaze, your own eyes wide and pleading. "Harder," you whispered. He obliged, just a little. His thrusts became deeper, faster, the angle changing so that he brushed against that spot inside you with every pass. A gasp tore from your throat. He leaned down, his mouth capturing yours in a kiss that was just as deep as his fucking. You could feel the orgasm coiling in your core, tight and hot. He must have felt it too — the way your inner walls began to flutter around him.
"That's it, my love," he rasped, his voice a low gravel. "Come for me. Let me feel you."
His words were your undoing. With a sharp cry, you shattered. The pleasure washed over you in waves, intense and all-consuming. He groaned, a deep, guttural sound of satisfaction, and thrust into you one last, hard time, burying himself as deep as he could go. You felt the hot pulse of his release as he spilled inside you. He stayed there, his forehead pressed against yours, both of you breathing heavily in the quiet aftermath.
Maekar felt the quiet satisfaction of a man who considered himself more than adequate to the task. He pressed a soft kiss to your sweat-dampened forehead before carefully pulling out of you. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his powerful muscles flexing as he prepared to rise. But before he could stand, you shot out a hand and caught his wrist.
"Where are you going?" Your voice was soft, but there was an edge to it, a new hunger already stirring in the aftermath of your pleasure. He looked back at you, his eyebrow quirking in amusement.
"Again?" he asked, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest.
You just smiled, a slow, feline curve of your lips. That was all the invitation he needed. With a groan that was part exasperation and part pure, unadulterated lust, he got back into bed. He didn't bother with gentle this time.
Later that afternoon, you found him in the passage off the eastern corridor. He was speaking with a steward, his expression serious and focused — a stark contrast to the passionate man from your bed that morning. You waited patiently, leaning against the stone archway, until the steward bowed and took his leave.
As Maekar turned to continue down the hall, you appeared at his elbow as if by magic. You didn't say a word, just gave him a look — a look that promised sin and immediate gratification. He stopped, his eyes narrowing slightly. You took his hand, your fingers lacing with his, and steered him toward a section of the wall he had never paid any mind to, drawing him into a narrow passageway.
The space was tiny, dark, and smelled of dust and old stone. You pressed him back against the wall, your body molding to his, a cheerfulness in your eyes that he found both alarming and extremely compelling.
"Someone will hear," he said, his voice a low warning, even as his hands came to rest on your hips.
"Then we had best be quiet," you said pleasantly, before rising onto your toes and crushing your mouth to his.
You were not quiet.
That evening, you came to the solar as the afternoon light went gold, leaning against the doorway and just watching him. He was seated at his large oak desk, a stack of parchment before him, a book open in his hands.
"I am working," he said, without looking up.
"You were staring at the same page when I came in," you replied, your voice soft and teasing.
This was true. He had been. He closed the book with a soft thud, a sigh escaping him. A slow smile touched his lips. He knew why you were here. You walked toward him, your hips swaying slightly, a small, knowing smile on your face. When you reached him, he took your hand and pulled you down onto his lap. He kissed you, a slow, deep kiss that tasted of wine and shared secrets. His hands roamed your body, relearning every curve. This time, he was slow with you.
Later that night, he was already in bed, propped up against the headboard, a book in his lap. He looked tired, but his eyes lit up when he saw you. You were wearing a sheer, almost transparent shift that left little to the imagination. You slid into bed beside him, taking the book from his hands and setting it aside without a word. You straddled his hips, your knees on either side of his powerful thighs. In no time at all, the sound of your bodies meeting filled the quiet room. You collapsed against his chest, boneless and utterly spent.
He fell asleep with you draped over him, your head on his shoulder, your breathing soft and even against his skin. He felt extraordinarily pleased with himself. Five times. He felt not merely capable but frankly impressive. He had satisfied his young, insatiable wife, filled her with his seed again and again. He thought of the child you both wanted, and a deep, primal sense of accomplishment settled over him. He slept the sleep of a satisfied and confident man, his arms wrapped tightly around the woman he adored.
It was the last truly restful night he would have for some time.
ᴅᴀʏ ᴛᴡᴏ
The first thing he was aware of was a wet, insistent heat. A groan rumbled in his chest as consciousness slowly returned, his heavy limbs sinking into the mattress. He blinked his eyes open, the dim morning light filtering through the curtains, and looked down. There you were, your head bobbing over his lap, your mouth wrapped around his rapidly hardening cock. One of his hands instinctively flew to your hair, his fingers tangling in the wild mass of your curls — not to guide you, but simply to anchor himself in the exquisite, overwhelming pleasure. Later, as you lay tangled together, a sweaty, panting mess, he thought he was the most fortunate man in the world. He revised this opinion as the day progressed.
The late morning air was crisp and clean as you rode out together, the sun warming your faces. Maekar was beginning to feel the profound ache of the previous day in his very bones, a deep-seated weariness that clung to him — but the sight of you, laughing freely as your horse trotted alongside his, filled him with a simple, uncomplicated contentment. You pulled your horse up suddenly near a dense stand of trees, where the grass grew long and looked invitingly soft. You turned to him, and he saw that look in your eyes — that delicious, determined glint he was rapidly becoming an expert at reading. He scanned the path. It was empty, the road quiet for now.
"Here?" he asked, a hint of disbelief in his voice.
"Here," you confirmed, already swinging your leg over your horse and landing gracefully on the ground.
Maekar sat astride his mount for a moment longer, a prince of the realm contemplating his dignity — but the sight of you, already waiting for him with a patient, knowing smile, was a more powerful force. At one point, the distant sound of hoofbeats echoed on the path, and he froze instantly, his body tensing. You just laughed quietly against his throat, the vibrations sending a shiver through him. He decided he had faced down considerably more threatening situations on a battlefield and carried on, the thrilling risk of discovery only making the frantic coupling more intense.
Upon your return to the castle, Maekar all but fled to his chambers, requesting a bath. Hot water. Peace. A single moment to exist without being required to perform. He sank into the steaming water with a sigh of profound relief, letting the heat soothe his aching muscles. He was in it for perhaps four minutes before the door creaked open. You were already unwrapping your robe, your eyes fixed on him. He watched you climb into the large tub with the expression of a man watching an inevitable, beautiful natural disaster.
"You cannot possibly," he said, his voice a low groan of protest.
"I only want to bathe with my husband," you said, your tone entirely too innocent as you settled into his lap.
"You have never simply bathed in your life," he accused — but his hands found your waist regardless, pulling you closer.
In bed that evening, he lay propped against the pillows, watching you in the warm glow of the firelight. He felt the familiar, relentless pull of you — the wanting that had not dimmed one bit, regardless of the state of the rest of him, and he sighed from somewhere very deep in his soul.
"You are going to be the end of me," he said, a statement of fact rather than a complaint.
"Not yet," you said cheerfully, and climbed into bed, your naked body sliding against his.
ᴅᴀʏ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ
Dawn was a grey suggestion at the windows when you moved over him, a familiar warmth settling over his prone form. Maekar's eyes fluttered open, one eye squinting at the ceiling as a low groan rumbled in his chest. He was exhausted, every muscle in his powerful body aching with a sweet, profound soreness, but you were already awake, your eyes bright and determined in the gloom.
"Fuck me," he muttered, the words a breathless prayer.
You leaned down, your hair creating a wild curtain around his face. A slow, wicked smile curved your lips. "That's what I'm trying to do."
He stared at you. In the dim light, you were a goddess of the dawn, all soft skin and resolute purpose. He thought of the man he had been a mere three days ago. Smug in his strength, confident in his stamina, certain that meeting his young wife's desires was a task he could master with ease. What a fool. He saw it now, the utter, beautiful delusion of his pride. With a sigh that was equal parts defeat and surrender, he placed his hands on your hips, his thumbs stroking the soft skin there.
He was a fool, and he was yours.
Somehow, through sheer stubborn will, he made it to his study by afternoon. He slumped in the heavy leather chair behind his desk, the scent of old parchment and wax filling his nostrils. Documents lay strewn before him, the ink blurring into meaningless symbols. He had been staring at the same treaty for an hour when the door creaked open.
"No," he said, his voice rough, not even bothering to look up from the page. He knew the sound of those footsteps. Your soft tread crossed the room, stopping just before his desk. He finally lifted his head, and there it was — that fond, knowing expression, the one you wore when you found him particularly amusing.
"You look weary, husband," you said, your voice laced with a syrupy sympathy that was utterly false.
"I wonder why," he shot back, the edge in his voice blunted by exhaustion.
You gracefully sat in the chair opposite him, arranging your skirts with deliberate slowness. He watched you, a creature of vibrant energy in a room that felt as drained as he did.
"What has gotten into you?" he asked, the question genuine, though he feared he already knew the answer.
"A babe," you said, your eyes gleaming with playful fire, "I pray."
Silence. The only sound was the birds in the trees. He let his head fall back against the chair, staring at the carved wooden ceiling.
"My well has run dry," he confessed, the words tasting of ash. "I am one man. Three days you have had me at every hour the gods see fit to send, and I have nothing left."
You tilted your head, a picture of concern so transparently false it was almost insulting. "Well," you said, rising from your seat, your voice dripping with exaggerated pity, "if you truly cannot manage. I suppose that is fair. You are not as young as you once—"
That was it. The final straw. He was out of his chair before you could finish the taunt, the heavy wood scraping against the floorboards.
"Sit down," he commanded.
ᴡᴇᴇᴋꜱ ʟᴀᴛᴇʀ
The world had softened into a gentle rhythm. The frantic, relentless pace of those first days had somewhat subsided. He was asleep in the chair by the fire when you returned from the maester, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the room. You moved silently, sinking to your knees beside him and curling against his side, resting your head on the solid warmth of his chest. He stirred, his arm instinctively wrapping around you, pulling you closer even in his sleep.
"Maekar," you whispered, your heart thrumming against your ribs.
"Mm," he murmured, his voice thick with slumber.
"The maester confirmed it."
He went utterly still. The hand on your back froze. Then, slowly, he opened his eyes. He looked down at you, his gaze searching your face in the flickering firelight. He looked at this woman who had systematically dismantled his pride, worn his body to the very bone, and in doing so, had given him the entire world. A terrifying, exhilarating wave of love and awe moved through his chest. His hand found yours, his thumb moving slowly, reverently, across your knuckles.
"Satisfied?" his voice a husky whisper.
You looked up at him, your eyes bright with tears and entirely, beautifully unrepentant.
"For now,"
Maekar closed his eyes, and a slow, genuine smile spread across his face.
"Gods help me," he breathed.
How do they fuck?
⋆°｡⋆♡ TW/CW: SMUT, 18+ (MINORS/AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS DON’T INTERACT), Bad English, No use of Y/N, GN Reader (no body description or pronouns), Specifics TW/CW under for each character, Dom Characters (mostly), Semi-Public Sex, Reader is not specified to be a spouse, or lowborn etc, let me know if I need to add more TW/Tags ♡ My blog contains dark content, be careful when interacting/following! Please if you like my work don't forget to reblog/interact with me♡ °˖➴ Characters: Daeron, Lyonel, Valarr, Baelor, Maekar, Aerion
⤠ None ⤟ Masterlist ⤠ None ⤟
So... Can you tell I have favourites lmfao anyway I had these men inside my head (and only that sigh) for a while and i needed to get it out like immediately. Why is everyone either so pretty or so incredibly charismatic? Like give me a break! How do you expect me to keep up with the story when everyone looks so good??? My god
₍^. .^₎⟆ TW/CW: Sub Character, Overstimulation, Public Sex, Half-Clothed Sex
Everything around Daeron is a mess. His family, his room, himself even. So it's not surprising when his sex is also messy, dirty, prince unlike. He doesn't care about where you two are doing it, in the comfortable bed in his or your chambers, in a brothel with little to no privacy, a more hidden spot in the garden of red keep maybe while his father (or anyone really) is looking for him.
Sweaty, cum leaking out all of you and sticking on your and his body, half clothed still. Possibly outside, definitely not covered enough, so everyone could see what you two are doing... But he did promise it won't happen. His thrust are deep but slow, with no really a rhythm behind it. You are the one doing most of the work usually, riding him while his hands and face are all your body, everywhere he can touch pleading you to faster, slower, that he's about to cum, you are so pretty, he's so lucky... Daeron babbles a lot of nothing when he feels you around him, it's like you overstimulate him in the best way just by being close to him. Daeron is nothing but a needy, desperate, yearning man who needs all the help you can give him to cool off.
₍^. .^₎⟆ TW/CW: Brat Taming, Dom Character, Manhandling, Public Sex, Exhibitionist Kink
Lyonel is... well, a lot. Not in a bad way, of course, he is a man that likes what he likes and also a big, tall man who loooooooves fighting. So he does love when you put a bit of a fight with him, act bratty and even a little mean to him, it only makes his blood go south and needs to put you into your place.
He loves manhandling you and has no shame, most of the time people will know that you guys have sex or going to. Lyonel also will make you scream his name more than once or he will not stop, as if people needed a reminder to who you are married to/being fucked. He has something of an exhibitionist kink? Kind of. It's not like Lyonel cares if someone watches or tries to interrupt the two of you, so you two will have sex outside with little care from him. What are they gonna do if they found you? Complain? And Lyonel loves hearing you moan, scream, whimper, plead, whatever sound comes from your pretty mouth so he won't keep his thrust slow, but faster and deeper every time. It's not like it's hard for him, considering the beast he has between his legs...
₍^. .^₎⟆ TW/CW: Rough & Soft Sex, Spanking, Dacryphilia?, Mention of Oral sex
Prince Valarr is just... Perfect! At first. Having the pressure of being the heir, the prince of the realm, his father would also mean having a lot of stuff pent-up, but also the impossibility to try whatever it might be improper for someone of his status.
That is not to say he won't make love to you. Cause he will! He is a very soft and caring boy, but Valarr is also curious and needy. There is a lot of stuff to find out about him and you, in how your bodies react to each other and what you don't or do like. So while there is a time when he will thrust in you deep but slow, making you feel every inch of his cock, and kissing you so softly, so gently while his hand goes to your clit to make you cum faster... He will also fuck you rough and mean; spanking your butt until a pretty red mark of his hand appears, hair completely messy, clothes discarded somewhere else in the room, eyes full of lust and tears... It's a beautiful sight that makes Valarr salivate. I personally see Valarr and Daeron having a little club about eating/blowing you like it's hobby or passion.
₍^. .^₎⟆ TW/CW: Soft Sex, Teasing, Overstimulation, Not really dirty talk but he's talking...
Dear sweet Baelor... It's a man who I'm not sure of. He's perfect, too perfect... But I can't see him being like his son, he's a older man with two sons after all- so he knows what he likes and has no problem with teaching you or gently showing it to you. I feel like he is a major teaser and talker, mostly about complementing you.
Baelor is a traditional man: he likes being in a bed, maybe while having a bath, a bit of wine, and he lets the situation go along with little touches, small kisses, compliments, all stuff that makes you whimper and shiver. It's like he is courting you all over again and tempting you with sex, like he wants you to jump on him and not the other way around. And oh when you do Baelor is ready to give you anything: he's so sweet with his words, his touches, his thrusts... He also loves to overstimulate you until you are basically sobbing, but oh you can give him more right? One more orgasm, it's all he asks "my sweet" he would call you, and how can you say no when Baelor asks with his sweet, elegant voice? Ignore the fact that he said so for the last 5 orgasms...
₍^. .^₎⟆ TW/CW: Needy Maekar (im NOT sorry), Dirty Talk, Rough Sex, Dirty Talk, Bruises
My living stress Maekar. Single dad who cannot catch a break Maekar, please be his stress relief sometimes. Help him, please. It's not like he's needy, unlike his eldest son, but he does seek your affection, your body, more than he wants. It's kind of like an addiction, but the way your body reacts to his, the way your body looks... Maekar shivers at the mere thought, feeling himself hardened. What did you do to him?
Maekar really tries to be a gentleman to you, and he is!, it's just that he slips sometimes. He grabs you rougher than intended, pushes his cock inside of you deeper than he wanted, takes you in his office and not his bedroom... Part of him feels bad, but hearing you moan his name like that, it only makes him rougher. Meaner even. Not by calling you names (he can't bring himself to), but telling you how dirty you are being now, taking his cock so well it makes his head spin, that he will make you need him like you do for him, touching all over your body with his calloused hands and firm grip that for sure it's going to leave a mark tomorrow. That would make him feel bad and try to lavish you with so much love and softness, although you can tell that he's a bit proud...
₍^. .^₎⟆ TW/CW: Aerion, Rough Sex, His whole dragon obsession (he calls you mate), Bruises&Hickeys, Public Sex, Creampie
Sigh... So, Aerion... Aerion aerion aerion... Out of everyone he's probably the roughest and meanest. Like by a lot, it's not even a competition. Kind of like his father he is obsessed with your body, more so with the way you make him feel so he won't care where you two are, if he wants to have sex he will. Even during dinner you will feel his fingers between your inner thighs...
He's so rough. You will be left not only sore but with bruises, hickeys, all over your body, either made by his hands or mouth. Aerion loves marking you in any possible way, no matter how you remind him that his cum is leaking out of you into your thighs. A dragon should make sure everyone knows who is their mate, always. And no matter how his father and uncle look at him, Aerion will only make it worse, more obvious. He will also make you scream louder that day, maybe even fuck you in the garden or in his father office, his thrusts are so fast and will force you into different position. Aerion will always finish inside, maybe sometimes on your face if you blow him, but he much prefers to finish inside of you again and again. What? You thought one time would be enough? Think again.
This work belongs to @/sapphireis, do not repost, translate, copy, rewrite, use for AI, or share on tiktok without my permission. Reblogs/interaction are appreciated and encouraged♡
put me in there and call it 'The Whore of The Seven Kingdoms' the way I'd be dick hopping
Favorite Positions - preferences
[minors dni]
➥ Valarr Targaryen -
(Cowgirl)He loves this position because it allows him to admire you fully. He will lie back against the pillows, his hands gripping your hips or caressing your thighs, watching you with adoration. He enjoys watching you taking pleasure from him, and he loves that he can touch your breasts or play with your hair. It makes him feel like he is worshiping you, and he will often encourage you to set the pace, murmuring how beautiful you look on top of him.
➥ Duncan the tall -
(Lotus)He is terrified of accidentally hurting you with his size, so he prefers positions where he isn't crushing you. He loves to sit against the headboard or on the edge of the bed and have you wrap your legs around his waist. Holding you in his arms burying his face in your neck or shoulder.
➥ Aerion Targaryen -
(Mating press)He is obsessive , he needs to every emotion on your face as he fucks you. He loves this position because it feels exposing for you and powerful for him. He will pin your legs back against his chest or shoulders, opening you up completely. He delights in the deep penetration this allows, often leaning forward to choke you with kisses or bite your neck while making eye contact.
➥ Baelor Targaryen -
(Missionary)He prefers missionary because it allows for maximum skin contact and allows him to look into your eyes and kiss you deeply throughout. He rests his weight on his forearms to avoid crushing you,he wants to feel your heart beating against his chest and hear every hitch in your breath, every whimper you let out, he needs to be close enough to whisper praises against your lips, and see your expressions when he’s thrusting into you.
➥ Maekar Targaryen -
(Prone bone)In this position, he can cover your entire body with his own ,He likes to wrap his arms around you from behind, holding your hands or gripping your shoulders, pinning you to the mattress. It allows him to thrust deep and hard without needing to be gentle.
➥Lyonel Baratheon -
(Standing up) He rarely has the patience to make it all the way to the bed before the desire takes over. He loves to lift you up, pinning you against the nearest wall, your legs wrapped tight around his waist. He loves the feeling of you clinging to him for support grasping his shoulders and back.
➥ Gwayne Hightower -
(Doggy style) He is a man who appreciates beauty so he isn't shy about enjoying the view. He loves to lean over your back, pressing his chest against you, whispering filthy praises into your ear while he watches the way your body moves with his thrusts. It allows him to take charge and set a rhythm that leaves you breathless. He’s the type to keep a hand on the back of your neck or tangled in your hair,reminding you who you belong to.
➥ Raymun Fossoway -
(Spooning) he just wants to be close to you. He loves the intimacy of spooning, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling your back against his chest. It allows for slow, comfortable lovemaking where he can nuzzle your neck and whisper sweet nothings.
Maekar Targaryen's greatest hits: "OOUGH", "HA🦆HA🦆huh", "eugh🙄", "oh", "Hhhh-" and "idiOT!"
MY HOT HUSBAND ⤷ part one.
maekar targaryen x second wife!reader
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.”
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i hope i never stop liking my old man celebrity crush
