Since you write smutty stuff so well, I have a request (in case you don't take requests please, ignore this).
"How do they react to their first blow job" x reader as just married couple, with Maekar and/or Lyonel.
Feel free to add other akotsk characters if you want.
😘
Pairing: Maekar, Baelor, Lyonel x fem!reader
Summary: How do they react to their first blow job from you
Notes: I fear I went slightly overboard, but I still hope you’ll like it
Word count: 4.3k (approx. 1.4k per character)
Warnings: MDNI, NSFW, smut, explicit, no use of Y/N, no physical description of the reader, mentions of female genitalia, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns used, sex, p in v (mentions), oral (male receiving), face fucking, saliva mentioned, sperm mentioned, first draft, no beta, yolo
It has been weeks now, of Maekar being snappy and short-tempered, rising early and going to bed late, consistently isolating himself for meals.
You worried, but every time you brought it up, he’d tell you not to fuss and leave him to work. If by any chance you would still be awake when he came to your shared chambers, you could hear pained grunts escaping his throat as he lay down next to you.
Only once did he wake you, a touch more careful than you could ever imagine before your first night, and asked to take you; small droplets of sweat already gracing his furrowed brows, seeking relief and escape from his burdens and worries.
You whispered his name over and over again until he spilt, and you prayed the seed would take, despite being quite early in your marriage. Maekar relaxed for the night, his deep breaths lulling you to sleep as you placed your hand into his.
That was weeks ago, and you worried more than ever; you considered yourself blessed by all of the Gods above to be wed to a man like Maekar. Initially, you were afraid you would have to endure, a deep-seated fear based on how curt and closed off he was during your betrothal. Your sisters even called him cold, and you only prayed that he wouldn’t be cruel.
You were shaking like a leaf once you were alone with him for the first time, before he could even touch you.
“Stop that,” he muttered, taking a sip of his wine. You nodded, closing your eyes, trying to remove your cloak. You were still shaking.
You remembered little from that night, on account of drinking too much. Maekar’s hand on your cheek. Your first kiss, tender and gentle. The heat radiating off his naked body atop yours. The short grunt when he spilt deep inside your walls. His muscular arm stretched above your head during the night.
He still wasn’t as affectionate as you once dreamed your husband would be, but you noticed he liked it when you sought him out, even to press a silent kiss to his cheek. In private, he would always pull you closer, whether you were sitting in his lap or resting on his chest. And during feasts, he’d start placing his hand over yours; if you did it first, that is. It was enough for you, enough for your breath to hitch and enough for your heart to beat faster.
Reading another dull letter from your sister, you remembered what she confided to you once, how she handles her husband on days when she doesn’t want him on top of her. “Men always like it,” she rolled her eyes, huffing.
Perhaps Maekar would like it too? You bit your nails, trying to remember everything your sister tried teaching you.
With a quiet determination, you decided to find him in his solar.
“I’m not hungry,” he said, glancing at you, books and letters scattered in front of him, ink drying on parchment. He looked even more tired under the soft rays of sunlight, his brows characteristically furrowed, deep lines prominent on his forehead.
His doublet was loose, and his usually neatly brushed hair was a little messy; you thought it looked good on him. You sat in his lap and pressed your lips against his cheek, his arms reflexively curling around you.
“I have to work,” he whispered against your forehead, his voice sending shivers through your spine.
“You need to rest, my love, relax, even if for a moment.” He grunted in response, not quite disagreeing, but obviously under a tremendous amount of stress that you hoped to relieve.
You were nervous and excited at the same time, because you always left such initiatives to Maekar, but you were so desperate to make him feel good, to feel him against you, in you, and even thinking of such acts made you clench around nothing. No, you reminded yourself, this is about Maekar. Your release could wait.
You kissed him, the way you usually would, and Maekar hummed against your lips; you pressed harder, opening your mouth slightly, enticing him to push his tongue into your mouth, his grip around your waist growing firmer, his lips sucking on yours, biting lightly. It excited you so much when he would do so, but you were always afraid to ask, hoping that the reaction of your body was enough to send a message.
“Later, my heart,” he hummed, this time against your neck, his huge hands dipping lower, to your hips and your arse. “I’m too tired,” another hum, against your collarbone.
“You can spare a couple of moments, surely,” you whispered in response, your hands working on his breaches. Maekar groaned, but did nothing to stop you.
Emboldened, you sank to your knees; Maekar exhaled sharply, his pale eyes fixed on your puffed lips. There was surprise in his eyes, but also that primal, carnal need you saw so seldomly in his eyes. His cock finally sprang free, sending another wave of deep excitement through you. You were always surprised by how hard it was, how ready to absolutely ruin you, and you secretly wished for Maekar to stop holding himself back every time he fucked you. If only you could be brave enough to tell him that.
Your fingers reached for it, the tips of your fingers gently touching it up and down, feeling its weight in your hand, your thumb swirling over his red, leaking tip. Maekar let out a groan, a little louder than usual. You smiled, trying to wrap your hand around him, admiring his cock in all its glory; girthy, veiny, and twitching already under your fingers. You wrapped your other hand close to the base and started stroking him gently, listening to Maekar’s ragged breathing.
Finally, you licked the tip, tasting your husband. Pausing to look up to him, you were met with glassy eyes and an open mouth; he blinked in that familiarly permissible way, and you flashed him a big smile. Eagerly, you opened your mouth as wide as you could, and then closed your lips against his hot skin.
You swirled your tongue, tasting even more of Maekar’s seed mixing with your saliva, one of your hands still stroking him into your mouth; Maekar let out a rare moan, before decidedly grabbing your head, guiding you to swallow a little deeper.
You struggled, of course, slightly gagging, but ever so determined to satisfy your husband. Soon, his hips started to buckle into your mouth, his heavy cock sliding on your tongue, stretching out your mouth; it brought you a pleasure you never thought could exist, and you pressed your thighs together, trying to give yourself just a little friction.
Maekar’s eyes were focused on your mouth, watching how his cock was sliding in and out, saliva lubricating his thick cock and dripping down your chin; he looked mesmerised. Suddenly, he stood up, cock still resting in your mouth, his tip tickling the roof of your mouth. Slowly, he started to push into your mouth, as deep as he could, until your nose was firmly pressed against the soft hairs at his base, his heavy balls resting against your chin.
He pulled out completely, giving you a few precious moments to catch your breath, allowing you to be a whimpering mess in front of him. He pushed in again, this time in short, shallow thrusts, holding your head still. He kept pushing faster and faster, until he was fucking your mouth with the same speed and fervour as he would your cunt, grunting and groaning. Your eyes were teary, but you were happy, humming against his cock, your eyes locked on his.
His hips stuttered, a tell-tale sign that he was close, and he pushed as deep as he could again, his cock painting the back of your throat; Maekar moaned, calling your name. You dutifully swallowed every little drop he would give you and then greedily licked his half-hard cock down to the base. Maekar dropped down in his seat, not bothering to lace his breaches, pulling you up.
You knew you looked a mess, but he didn’t care, his hands on your face, pulling you into his embrace, kissing you with enough force that his teeth clashed against yours; you gasped, and he immediately seized the opportunity to push his tongue back in your mouth, humming at tasting his seed on your tongue.
“Perhaps you should come tomorrow as well,” he murmured, drawing a shy smile out of you, before playfully slapping your behind, hurrying you out of the room.
Baelor entered your chambers as quietly as he could, trying not to wake you. You have only been married a little longer than one moon, and he already had so much to do that he was regularly coming to bed after you were already asleep. He sat in the armchair in front of the hearth, goblet in hand, trying to take a moment before joining you, listening to your breathing. You looked so pretty asleep, hair splayed on the pillow, soft cheeks, your nightgown hanging low... Baelor wished more than once to wake you up with his cock buried deep inside you, but just couldn't make himself to rouse you from the sweet embrace of sleep. He frowned, feeling guilty for entertaining such thoughts again; you were, after all, his new, young, chaste bride, and he would never think of actually doing such a thing. He would still be feeling guilty for tainting you when he took you from behind a fortnight ago, were you not so receptive to it. Possibly, you would be as receptive and enthusiastic to this as well, but Baelor was never a man to push his luck.
"Baelor?" you mumbled, sitting up, furs and quilts slipping down your body.
"Sleep, my love," Baelor's voice was gentle and assuring. "I'll join you in a moment."
But you craved your husband, despite noticing how tired he was for the last couple of days, tired and stressed. For the whole day, you were thinking of something you overheard your ladies talking about, a trick to satisfy a husband when they were too tired to perform their wifely duties. Slowly, you got up, walking to your Prince. He was looking at you with such intensity and devotion, his mouth slightly agape, that you blushed instantly, still not used to it. Reaching for your hand, he gently pulled you into his lap, his huge hands embracing you, resting on your thigh.
"I'm sorry for waking you," he pressed a kiss to your lips, his breath stuttering a little. He looked somewhat confused as to why you weren't responding, but you were simply trying to gather some courage. What if he doesn't like the way you do it? Not like you were experienced. Worse, what if he loses his good opinion of you? The thought made you tremble a little, and Baelor pulled you closer, worried.
"Let's get you back to bed, my love," his eyes were seeking yours, but instead, your lips found his. Slow at first, and then you pressed your body against his, your hands shyly tangling in his hair, deepening the kiss. Baelor greedily responded, his cock stirring.
Now or never.
You freed yourself of his grasp and slid down to your knees, immediately reaching for the laces of his breaches. Baelor's hands grabbed your wrists, his hands enveloping them fully, the cold feeling of his rings sending shivers through you. Looking up to him, you were met with furrowed brows, a quizzical look, and those eyes, those gorgeous mismatched eyes; you smiled.
"Let me, husband," you whispered, and he let go, helping you pull his trousers down.
His eyes were already half-lidded, looking at you as through a haze. Your fingers curled around his long cock, barely, and you realised this was the very first time you could explore this part of him. You gently stroked him once, staring at his glistening tip. You felt that familiar heat pooling in you, and for a moment, you wanted to ask him to take you, but ultimately, curiosity prevailed.
Gently, you continued, trying to make note of Baelor's responses. He guided your hand a little upward, closer to the tip, before silently instructing you to continue. Your other hand was shaking a little on his thigh, from excitement and anticipation, but also lingering fear of disappointing your husband.
A small hum escaped his lips, and then your name, twice. Your heart started beating faster, focusing on the drops pooling on his tip. His hips involuntarily buckled once, and you looked up to him to find his eyes closed, head hanging back. Emboldened by this, you finally did what you set out to do.
You closed your lips around his tip, your tongue tentatively licking the drops of precum; salty. Baelor’s whole body tensed up, but you continued, trying to put more of him in your mouth. “Oh,” was the only thing that he whispered, before his fingers tangled in your hair, a little firmer than usual.
You honestly had no idea what you were doing, but relied on your eagerness to please and Baelor’s experience to guide you. You licked him up and down, listening to his breathy hums; his hands were on your face now, helping you keep your mouth open, and controlling your rhythm as you swallowed him.
Your lips were stretched to the point of burn, excitement coursing through you at the sight of your husband enjoying your mouth this much. Fighting your gag reflex, you realised you quite enjoyed the feeling of his cock hitting the back of your throat, trying to slide lower, deeper. You couldn’t really taste his seed anymore, but you wondered how it would taste once he spills.
Swallowing him, your nose pressed against the lower part of his stomach; Baelor groaned a little louder, holding your head still. You gagged, pulling back, a thick line of your spit hanging between your lips and the tip of his cock, your eyes watery, but your lips twisted in a faint smile.
“Good,” Baelor whispered, before gently pulling your head back towards himself, and you happily complied. He wanted a bit quicker tempo this time, and you sensed he was getting close. “Good, good, my love,” repeatedly spilt from his lips, as you were pressing hard against his thighs, more happy tears streaming down your face, your painful, battered, happy face.
He kept going, and your jaw was tired to the point of pain, and if he wasn’t holding it open for you, you would have asked him to stop a while ago, and you would have absolutely hated doing it. Still, you kept dutifully bobbing your head, his cock heavy on your tongue.
“Don’t swallow yet,” his voice was soft as always, but you knew him well enough now to recognise the order. He stilled, pulling out just enough for the first spray of his hot seed to hit the roof of your mouth, mixing with your saliva. He continued to spill with a soft groan, before pulling out completely. “Show me.”
You opened your mouth, looking up to him, salty white liquid resting on your tongue, feeling a little sticky on your lips. His thumb grazed your lower lip, some of his seed leaking at the corners of your mouth. His finger extended under your jaw, pushing upward, signalling for you to swallow; you moaned in response, and Baelor smiled.
Your fingers on your mouth, you wiped as much as you could, looking at your glistening fingers, before licking them. A low chuckle escaped Baelor’s throat, his hand on his forehead. You licked your lips, greedily looking at his half-hard cock, then up to him. He nodded, allowing you to clean him up.
“My dearest wife,” he pulled you to his feet with him, walking you back to the edge of the bed. His hands removed your shift, as yours worked on his doublet and shirt; he kissed you deeply, and more passionately than ever before. “How am I supposed to focus on anything from now on?”
Three moons since you married Lyonel, and you two still couldn’t keep hands off each other. He was extremely flirty all the way through the courting and betrothal, but still respectful enough not to push your boundaries. He admitted a week before your wedding that the only thing he had on his mind was your cunt, but that he would wait for the wedding night; you asked him to be patient, and gentle.
“When I get you into our chambers,” Lyonel whispered to your ear in response, “we will not leave for three days, at least.” You giggled as he kissed your knuckles, before sneaking a quick kiss to your collarbone.
“Lyonel!” You exclaimed, before flashing a mischievous grin, tugging at his doublet.
He showered you with gifts and attention, both of which you were sure would run out the moment he would put his cloak around you; he seemed like a man who persistently got bored with things and people both, chasing the next excitement, next thrill, next pleasure. You were wrong.
There was something about you that thrilled Lyonel deeply, and although you couldn’t quite put a finger on it (you suspected it was your newly freed impulsivity), you certainly enjoyed it. A new dress, necklace, book… Nothing was too much, even if you did spend most of your time reading in his solar.
It was a curious thing; most people would describe you as shy, timid, even passive, but Lyonel saw a different side of you, as if he saw through you, through the pious, disciplined persona you were forced into, and did his best to unleash the part of you that you kept neatly locked away for so many years.
Sure, you still preferred to spend your time reading, resting, and relaxing, but you also occasionally liked to party it up next to Lyonel; he dragged you to all feasts and tourneys anyway, even if your eyes were discreetly glued to the book in your lap, rather than dinner company.
To say he spoiled you would be an understatement; Lyonel knew only two love languages: gift-giving and physical touch, though you would argue he was also complimenting you left and right. You still weren’t quite used to either, growing up in artificial modesty and with a lesson that, as a woman, showing and reciprocating emotion was almost a sign of weakness.
It took a full moon before you sought out Lyonel first, a whole month of him initiating, asking, even begging at times, but only because you wanted him to. He was so gentle on your wedding night, talking you through it, holding back, you still couldn’t quite believe it. You got addicted to him fast and got scared of losing him even faster.
Similarly, Lyonel’s heart would stutter every time you would absentmindedly grab his hand, play with his rings, or press a quick kiss to his cheek, especially if unprompted. Sure, he loved being that quiet voice pushing a little, just a little (unless you got uncomfortable, of course), but what he loved more were those little moments when you would absent-mindedly press your lips against his face.
Or when you were getting sleepy in your chair during the feast.
“My doe, my love, my life,” he would pepper you with kisses, not caring who could see or hear. “Let me hold you a moment,” he would coo, coaxing you into his lap, grabbing another goblet of wine. When you would finally doze off on his shoulder, arms hanging around his strong neck, he would excuse you both, before gently carrying you back to your marital bed, holding your hand the whole night, blabbing about whatever, before staring lovingly into your face.
He knew you endured the feasts and tourney for his sake, and he loved you more for it. The other thing he loved was waking up to your lips pressed firmly against his chest, your hand tangled in his hair, your leg draped against him. It was honestly the most he could get out of you, your desires taking over in your sleep, craving his touch, his closeness.
So imagine his surprise when, during one of the celebratory feasts of who knows what in Storm’s Landing, you leaned in and asked him to accompany you back to your chambers. Surely, you must have been feeling quite ill, as you usually either stayed up or fell asleep safely in his arms.
It wasn’t that late either, the sun still casting some light as you passed through the familiar corridors, your hand resting easily on his forearm, before you pulled him into an alcove, pushing him against the wall. A devilish grin graced his face, and he leaned into a sloppy kiss, his hands sliding from your back down your waist, all the way to your arse, before sliding up again.
“Are you feeling naughty again, my love?" he asked, hoping to take you right there and then, as he did once in a similar fashion, pinning you against a tree. You giggled against his lips, his hot breath now on your neck, his tongue licking towards your breasts. You wore a dress that showed a little more skin, trying to entice Lyonel the whole afternoon.
He pressed his face between your tits as you palmed him through the breeches; he was already starting to babble, excited. You knew he liked this type of thing, almost caught and definitely heard; he loved making everyone know to whom you belonged and how satisfied you were. You would never admit to Lyonel that in situations like these, you were often louder than you usually would be, moans and even screams freely escaping your lips.
But this time, you were in charge. To keep up with him, you read every book on marriage and carnal activities you could find, and boy, did you learn a lot. You giggled to yourself every time Lyonel complained about you isolating yourself among the books, his dark eyes pleading with you, almost afraid his wife would shun him for some dried ink on old paper.
Instead, you were trying to absorb as much advice and techniques as you could find, and one in particular tickled your fancy. Your fingers worked on the laces of his breeches, sliding your hand inside; a loud groan escaped Lyonel’s lips.
Freeing his thick cock, you slid to your knees, your lips kissing his red, leaking tip. Both of your hands were softly stroking him; looking up, you were met with a rare sight: speechless Lyonel, fire in his eyes.
“Please, my love,” he breathed out heavily, “taste me.”
Your tongue swirled around his sensitive tip, Lyonel’s hands resting lightly, tangled in your hair. He was long and thick, but knowing your husband and how overstimulated he’s got, you knew he wouldn’t last long.
Your tongue slid down his shaft, licking along every vein throbbing on his cock, which was twitching ever so slightly against your face.
“How did I ever get so lucky?” Lyonel mumbled out, “to be blessed with the prettiest, cleverest, and most devoted wife in all of the kingdoms?”
You smiled against the base of his cock, before trailing your tongue back up. You closed your mouth around him and eagerly started sucking, Lyonel’s cock teasing the roof of your mouth.
“The naughtiest wife in all of the kingdoms,” more praise spilt from his mouth, just as his hips buckled into you, making you gag.
“I’m sorry, my love, we can stop here,” he cooed, but your hands never left his cock, as you continued to stroke him, taking him in again.
You purposely tried to take him deeper again, keeping at it until gagging became too much and you had to ease a little. Lyonel’s hips were shallowly thrusting into your mouth, loud moans the only praise you needed.
“I’m spilling, my love,” a familiar warning; you opened your mouth as much as you could, although you could still feel his cock on your lips.
Every spurt of seed was preceded by a short, but loud grunt; he spilt in small, but plentiful bursts, the sticky liquid spraying all over your mouth and sliding down your throat as you greedily swallowed.
“Where did you learn that?” he asked, a hint of jealousy in his voice. You were licking the last few drops from his cock, smiling mischievously, before sitting back on your knees. He tucked himself in quickly, his thumb grazing your lips.
When you didn’t answer, he pulled you to your feet, seething with impatience and anger, that dark, dangerous glint in his eyes. You weren’t fazed, draping your arms around his neck, still smirking. Lyonel kissed you, eager to taste himself on your tongue.
“Who taught you that?” his lips were still touching yours, his teeth grazing them. His voice was low and serious, a tone you heard before, but never pointed at you. It made you giggle in delight, seeing your husband so worked up and possessive.
His hold on your waist became firmer, and he pressed his forehead to yours.
“I assure you, my love,” you whispered, “this was the very first time a cock graced my mouth.”
Lyonel tilted his head, trying to gauge your response. You continued smiling, pressing small pecks over his face, pressing yourself against him; you knew he wouldn’t rest until he got his answer, but his body was betraying him already, his cock pressing hard again against his breeches, his hips grinding against you.
“I thought you enjoyed it,” you teased some more, feeling his brows furrow. “Does it matter then where I learned it?”
He swallowed hard, his fingers digging hard enough into your sides to leave bruises. Your husband has never been angry with you before, and you could see his composure slowly but surely slipping through his fingers.
“Lyonel,” you laughed, kissing him some more, “it’s the books, Lyonel.” His grip eased somewhat, before he suddenly tossed you over his shoulder.
“Show me,” he muttered, taking long strides towards the solar. “And perhaps you can show me what else you learned from your books.”
If you like my writing, all interactions are greatly appreciated-`♡´-
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