Summary: Foolish and afraid, you flee from your new husband. He does not let you get far.
Warnings: 18+, Maekar was plotting on reader from the moment he saw her, chasing, possessive Maekar, virginity mentions, female masturbation, vaginal fingering, dirty talk, brief breeding kink mostly unedited
Word Count: 4.8k+
targaryen masterlist
There was no higher privilege than marrying into the royal family. To bear royal children, Targaryen children. It was an honor.
At least, that was what you had been repeatedly told for the last few months.
Hard as you tried, you could not make the sentiment stick. No matter how many times your family told you of the honor you would bring them, no matter how much they praised you and talked smugly about you to others, you could not see it that way.
Not when the maids gushed about Targaryen beauty, and fantasized about how many white-haired children you might bear. Not when your father spent lavishly on you, paying attention to you for what felt like the first time in your life. Not when your mother cupped your face and told you about the secrets of the bedchamber, and how it wasn’t that bad, in fact, it could even be enjoyable.
No. Especially not then.
In the end, a mere three weeks from the wedding, you realized it did not matter how you saw it. As depressing as the thought was, it also bought a sense of freedom. The wedding was happening. There was no changing that. But you could change your feelings.
You resigned yourself to the reality of impending married life.
Aerion Targaryen did not have a good reputation. You had attempted to bring it up with your father several times, only to be hushed and scolded.
Aerion had a proclivity for cruelty and was rumored to be quite the brute. You got yourself used to the idea of him that way. Used to the idea of grabbing hands and blank eyes. You ran over it all again and again until you felt nothing more than a dull disdain.
You could handle the cruelty of a stupid boy, you decided. Even if he was a Targaryen prince. You would do your duty, no more, no less, and survive.
Two weeks before the wedding, your family journeyed to Summerhall. The journey was long and tiring and you hardly registered a moment of it.
The castle was grand, the grounds larger than comprehension and well kept. You had never seen so many staff, nor larger rooms and nicer furniture. You noticed it all with dim interest, your mind focused on the task at hand – marry the Targaryen prince. Bear him children. Live.
Aerion Targaryen was beautiful. They all were, of course. He had a rather delicate look about him, despite all the rumors that whirled around him. For a moment you thought you had been wrong in your assumptions – and then you saw his eyes. They looked like the eyes of a dead man, cold and distant and greedy.
Then and there, you made the choice that whatever children you would bear, would never grow up to be anything like him.
You were not sure what to expect of his siblings. The youngest, Aegon, stayed mostly out of the way. You wished you could have done the same.
His father, Maekar, had a habit of worming his way into your eyeline, into your mind and conscious. Tall, white-haired and stoic. You had met him for the first time on the day you had arrived, before you had even met Aerion.
He had looked at you intensely. It had made you want to scream. He knew what his son was like, more so than anyone else. How dare he drag you here as a sacrifice to placate the dragon?
Maekar had held your hand with surprising tenderness and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. His beard had scratched at your skin, breaking the panic building in your chest. You had inhaled then, loud and clumsy, and he had held you for a beat longer than appropriate. The air had been heavy as you awoke from what felt like a dream, blinking as sensation seemed to flood back into your body. He had let you go then, but you had felt him watching you as you disappeared with the rest of your family.
With your mind practically turned into mush, you did not deign to notice much else. Aerion’s brothers were nice enough, even the one who was with a cup of wine more often than not. His youngest brother looked at Aerion with something that you did not care to name. If he was cruel to his family members, what hope did you have?
Marry the Targaryen prince. Bear him children. Survive.
But when the ceremony came, and you were stood opposite your betrothed, it was not Brightflame who lifted your veil and slid a ring onto your finger.
In your mind, Summerhall had been drenched in heat and stickiness. Always green grass, fresh fruit and long hours of daylight. No matter how you felt about your husband-to-be, you’d never been able to shake the fanciful image of a place suspended year-long in the peak of Summer.
Nestled in the window nook of your room, you laughed quietly to yourself. The weather outside was grey and dreary, and it had been drizzling for days. Not a proper rain, just a pathetic spattering that made you cold to the bone and lazy.
You twisted the ring on your finger, as you had been wont to do ever since the wedding. It fit you perfectly, despite supposedly being a family heirloom. It was an elegant thing, gold and studded with tiny, blood red jewels than glittered even in sparse lighting. You ran your fingernail over them, wondering who had owned the ring before you.
It had been your husband’s own pick. You liked it more than you cared to admit and had felt a little ashamed of the plain gold band you had shakily slid on your husband’s wedding finger. If he noticed the difference, or cared, he did not say. He had only watched you with the same intense eyes as the day you had first met him.
Aerion Brightflame would have cared. You could imagine it even now; the curl of his lip as he scoffed at the plain gold. He probably would have made some ugly comment right then and there, determined to get in one last public jab against you and your family.
Luckily your husband, his father, was not like that.
Maekar had pulled his hand away from yours as though he thought you might snatch the ring back. Maybe you should have. At the time, you had been startled by the man standing before you and had fallen into a shock you weren’t entirely sure you had recovered from, even now, a month later.
You had glanced over at your father, only to meet his encouraging, greedy eyes. No explanation, no apology. You had shut down then, following along with the rest of the ceremony as though your body was not yours. It wasn’t, really.
You had been prepared for a spoiled, callous prince. Not a man who had looked at you in the way Maekar Targaryen did. Like he was intent on peeling back every defence you had until he could touch the real you.
There had been one small relief in the back of your mind. It was unlikely that the expectation to bear him children would be quite so crushing. Maekar had been married before and had several healthy sons and daughters. Was there really need for more?
It seemed not, for the marriage still remained unconsummated, one whole month later.
You watched idly as rain spattered onto the stone and glass. You thought about that night often. With Aerion you had expected brute force and pain.
When Maekar had closed the door behind him, leaving the pair of you alone in his chambers, your heart had been on the verge of working its way up your throat.
The look in his eyes had been so heated that you could have sworn you felt fire burst along your skin. You had stood there, wide eyed and shivering, vulnerable in a way you did not know how to be.
He had approached you then, hand rising to hover next to your cheek as though he would cup your face and make you hold eye contact. It had remained there for a beat before dropping to the laces on your dress.
You had assumed that would be it. The marriage would be consummated. You had been wrong. Maekar had undressed you with a tenderness that had you near tears, and then redressed you in a nightgown and ushered you to his bed.
Never in a million years did you think you would have been able to sleep. Not when your new husband undressed and joined you, warm skin brushing against yours beneath the sheets. Sheer exhaustion must have kicked in at a certain point though, because you slept deeply, and when you awoke, he had been gone.
You had slept in his chambers for several nights after that. It was only after the third that you began to realise, he had no intention of touching you. Sometimes his hand would hover above your skin, fingers clenching and unclenching, but the only time he touched you was when he would help you dress in your nightgown.
It had made you angry. Angry then and angry now. His restraint was admirable and you held nothing against him for that. It was miles better than what you had built yourself up to expect.
You hated the way your stomach would clench in anticipation. The first time you had realised you wanted his hands on you, the room had seemed to spin. When you lay awake next to him, thighs clenching, nipples hard, you were furious. And afraid. This was not what you had prepared for.
At some point you had realised that was what he was waiting for. Reciprocation. So you hid your desire behind blank faces and shaky legs and tried to pretend that you did not want your husband. It was foolish and torture but you just could not make yourself take that step.
After a full week in Maekar’s chambers, you had finally built up the will to ask the maid to sleep in your own. You had had one full night to yourself before Maekar reappeared, now familiar hands helping you into your nightgown before falling into bed next to you. You had not had the heart to ask him to leave. Still, he did not touch you. Not in the way you wanted.
“My lady?”
You jumped at the sudden intrusion, near falling from your window seat as you whirled to face your maid.
“My apologies, my lady,” she continued, “dinner is ready. Your husband is asking after you.”
You got to your feet, brushing off imaginary dirt from your dress. Another of Maekar’s strange demands; every meal had to be taken together.
“Thank you, Mary, I will come now,” you said.
Your voice shook a little. Mary pretended not to notice.
The table was set beautifully, as always. More food and wine than your entire family could consume. Maekar did not sit at the head of the table; at least not when it was just the pair of you. Instead, he sat opposite you.
You curtsied and he waved you away. A little routine of yours. Mary pulled out your seat and you sat, eyed glued to the table. The servants left then. The first time that had happened, you had been entirely bewildered. Who would serve you, then? You had grown even more concerned when Maekar had been the one to fill your plate and top your cup.
He did so now, not stopping until there was more food piled on your plate than you could eat. You would have to finish most of it or he would look at you in that disapproving way of his. At first you had been mortified. At some point that had changed to mild amusement.
“Thank you,” you said quietly.
“Eat,” he said.
The two of you had fallen into a routine of sorts. Nerves still buzzed in your stomach every time you saw him but you were not afraid. No, very much not afraid.
Some part of you warmed at the gentle command in his voice. There was some concern there. After the ceremony, you had eaten very little for two or so days. Still numbed by the shock of the sudden change in groom and the absence of your family. Maekar had sat with you for every meal, watching you carefully until you ate to his satisfaction.
Aerion probably would’ve shoved the food down your throat, if he cared at all.
“Do not think of another man when you are with me, wife,” Maekar said lowly.
You blinked. “I was –“
“Even when that man is my son.”
You inhaled sharply. It was uncanny how he sometimes seemed to read your mind. Embarrassed, you shot back, “I was his betrothed first. It is normal that I should think of him on occasion.”
“You were never his,” Maekar spat.
Was I yours, then? The words sat heavy on your tongue, almost spilling over. Scowling, you shovelled a forkful of potatoes into your mouth. If you asked that question, you were not sure you would be ready for the answer he would give.
Maekar always appeared in your chambers exactly when you began to get tired. You still hadn’t figured out exactly how he knew. You suspected he had maids reporting on you but you had never been quick enough to catch them in the act.
He always waited until you were sleepy and pliant. You did not mind.
It was easier, then, to allow him to maneuver you to your feet. To allow him to deftly unlace whatever lace held up your dress, to slowly peel layers from you until you were stood bare before him.
You liked it like this. When you were tired enough to be able to pretend your own fatigue was why you let him position you like a doll, raising your arms and nudging apart your legs as he admired you.
Your nipples stiffened under his gaze. Heavy lidded and near panting, you let him see you. His eyes focused on the tips of your breasts, hands fisting at his sides.
They dropped lower, then, to the tuft of curls between your legs. You were thankful for the slight coverage; that way he could not see how his gaze caused your cunt to leak, smears of arousal threatening to coat your upper thighs.
You kept still, core clenching. Any sign that you wanted it, wanted him, and it would be over. You knew he would not hold himself back.
You raised your arms as he lifted your nightgown over your head, sliding it down over your body. You hissed when the material caressed over your nipples, stepping back before Maekar could examine the sound.
You turned away from him and crawled into the bed, arranging yourself beneath the sheets as Maekar blew out the candles. You could still see a vague outline of him in the darkness. You hoped he could not see you, for you could not tear your eyes away as he undressed. He turned to the side and you nearly gasped out loud. You could see the hard shape of his cock bobbing before him. The image seared itself into your mind before he pulled on his own sleep clothes.
He joined you in bed and got comfortable. There was no telling how much time passed before soft snores echoed around your chamber. You relaxed at the sound.
Sleep refused to come. Instead, there was only a persistent throbbing between your legs. You squeezed your thighs together, breathing heavily at the sensation it provided. But it was not enough.
You glanced over at Maekar’s side of the bed. In the dark, you could only make out the vague shape of him beneath the covers. He was still snoring.
Emboldened, you let your legs part. You had touched yourself before but that had been leisurely, with the knowledge that you would not be discovered. Now, you let your fingers slide down to your swollen clit, teasing gently at it, all while your husband slept next to you.
There was no time for teasing, you realised. You spread your legs as far as you dared and began to rub in earnest, nearly crying out at the relief that enveloped you. You needed to get rid of the desperation, to take the edge of, else you were at risk of climbing atop your husband and taking what you wanted like some common whore.
The slick sound of your own fingers on your cunt was almost too loud. You bit down on your lip so hard that you felt blood well. You could taste the coppery slide of it on your tongue as you squirmed beneath your own ministrations.
Your orgasm shot through you, hard and fast. You clapped a hand over your mouth to stifle your cry, yanking your other hand from between your legs as it became too sensitive to bear. Your toes clenched as the sensation wracked through you. You could feel the sweat on your upper lip and forehead, though the room was on the cool side.
It took a moment for you to regain your senses. Pleasure curled lazily around your bones, wanting to drag you down into your sleep. You almost nodded off, but then you noticed something. Or rather, the absence of something.
At some point, without your realising, your husband’s snoring had stopped.
Before you could panic, you felt a rough hand close around your right wrist. You yelped at the sudden contact and tried to pull away, but Maekar held fast, bringing your hand up to his face.
You realised your hand was still sticky. “No, wait –“
All protests died as Maekar slid those fingers between his lips. You felt your cunt clench around nothing as he used his tongue to thoroughly clean your digits, licking over and between them until he had chased down every bit of your arousal.
When he was done, he pulled your fingers from his mouth and pressed a wet kiss to your knuckles. Shock and arousal kept you silent.
“Sleep, wife,” he murmured.
There was no anger in his voice. It was something worse. A promise that he would not forget what had happened tonight, and your games would no longer be tolerated.
Maekar did not let go of your hand for the rest of the night.
Unlike other mornings, Maekar was not gone when you awoke. He pressed a meaningful kiss to your hand, the same one from before, the same one he had been holding all night, and did not leave.
He stayed when your maid came, who squeaked with surprise to see him sitting at a table in your chambers eating breakfast. He stayed when she ushered you behind the room divide and helped you wash and then dress. He did not leave until your heart was pounding with enough force to make you dizzy, and he told you that he would be seeing you later.
Later.
Dull panic lit a fire in your chest. With every intake of breath, your cunt pulsed. You spent the morning attempting to read a book, only to end up launching it at the wall with enough force that you bent the spine.
Your maid watched the incident with raised brows. She scurried from the room before you could say anything. You swore. No doubt she intended to report to Maekar.
It was a blessing for married couples to find one another desirable. Noble pairings, specifically, for they were so often formed out of duty and decades-old promises. It was a miracle to find love under such conditions.
But that was not what you had planned for. And your fragile state relied upon everything going to plan. Already things had changed when Maekar had been the one to put the ring on your fingers – and now for you to actually want him? It felt like your world was crumbling beneath your feet.
Then you would have to confront the fear that still lingered in your chest every time you so much as thought of the name Brightflame. You would have to think about the betrayal of your family selling you off to someone who was known to be a senseless brute. You would have to think about your siblings, who you missed dearly, and the fact that you might one day have children of your own and not hate the man who made up half of them.
Maekar Targaryen was kind, handsome, and gentler than you had ever expected. You had not prepared for that! He had wormed his way into your heart and you had been too preoccupied with the possibility of Aerion to see it coming. You were angry, betrayed, and now you were afraid.
The weather still hadn’t let up. If anything, it had begun to rain heavier. You tilted your head back, letting the fat drops fall on your face. They were ice cold.
You had used the opportunity of Mary’s absence to leave the castle. At no point had your brain kicked in and steered you back to the warmth of your room. Panic had full control over you.
You glanced over your shoulder to see if anyone was around. The grounds were clear. Chest tight, you began walking. You did not have a destination in mind – only away. Away from the man who made you dizzy and wet and desperate.
Summerhall was surrounded by dense forest that held all manner of beasts. The trees were packed so tightly that little light was able to get in, thus is remained in nearly year-round darkness. You did not think. You headed for the treeline and entered as though you knew where you were going.
Instinct still did not kick in. You picked up the pace, walking one hundred, two hundred, three hundred feet in. You stopped then and looked back. You could see the light of the treeline. You could just about make out the path you had taken.
Then, in the distance, you heard dogs. It wasn’t unusual. Maekar employed hunters who used dogs regularly when stocking the castle with meat.
They sounded different this time, though.
You could hear people in the distance, too. Back toward the castle. You began slowly walking forward again, put off by the noise. And then, you heard him.
“Where the fuck is she?”
You did not think. You only ran. Your shoes were not suitable for the terrain. Roots sent you sprawling before you regained your footing, only to nearly slip every few steps as you charged deeper into the forest.
A wild laugh bubbled through your lips. Rain pasted your hair to your forehead and trickled icily down your back. You felt crazy. You had felt that way for a month, now, and now you were acting in a way that matched your inner turmoil. You’d come too far to turn back now.
Suddenly, a hand was fisting in the fabric of your cloak. You gasped at the pressure against your neck as you were yanked back against a hard chest.
You were not sure how far you had gone. Not far enough.
Your chest was heaving, breasts near spilling from your dress. You did not need to turn to know that it was him. You could feel his heart pounding against your back, even through all the fabric of your clothes. Finally, you thought, he feels a little of how I feel.
“Where,” he said slowly, “do you think you were going?”
“Anywhere,” you answered, turning to face him. “It doesn’t matter.”
You placed your hands on his chest, intending to push him away, only to find yourself simply resting them there.
Maekar’s cheeks were flushed in a way that made him look almost youthful. He grabbed your hands, keeping them in their position on his chest. He exhaled, warm air caressing over your cold cheeks. You shivered at the temperature difference.
“You make me feel crazy,” you finally admitted.
The words were heavy. You felt relief when they finally rolled off your tongue. Maekar stilled, eyes flitting around your face. The silence lasted only a beat longer before being broken by a laugh, of all things. His. It echoed through the surrounding area, raspy and loud.
“I have felt like that from the moment I first saw you,” he said lowly, bringing your hands to his face and pressing kisses to your frozen fingers.
“Since I first arrived here?” you asked. You had to know.
Maekar closed his eyes for a moment. “No,” he murmured, “before. It was perhaps a year ago.”
“What?” you choked.
“I saw you then,” he continued, “at the tourney. I knew my father had suggested you might be a good match for my son but I – I coveted you. I thought I might be able to bear it. Until you arrived here, and I realised I could not stand to see you by any other man’s side.”
It should have scared you a little. The idea of being on his mind for so long. The knowledge that, from the moment you had arrived at Summerhall, he had never intended for you to marry his son.
Your breathing was still heavy, but it had nothing to do with the running. Maekar still hadn’t let go of your hands. He continued pressing kisses to them before stopping on your right, gently squeezing.
His eyes met yours. “You touched yourself last night, wife.”
Your knees went weak. “I did.”
“You’ll never have to do that again.”
Maekar backed you against a tree. The damp from the bark immediately began seeping through your clothes, chilling your skin, but you hardly noticed. His words had turned your core into a molten ball of need, and the denial of the past month was quickly catching up to you.
“Pull up your skirts,” Maekar commanded. “I – I won’t have you here. Not like this. But I can’t leave my wife feeling needy. Not any longer.”
Each word made your temple pulse. Trembling, your fingers curled in your skirts and you began to pull until they were bunched around your waist. There was still the physical barrier of your undergarments. Maekar nudged your legs apart with a single foot, nestling his thigh against your core with a confidence that made you sway.
His fingers worked their way down the front of your undergarments until they found the thatch of curls above your core. He caressed you there.
“You’re so soft here,” he said, eyes narrowing. “It is a crime that you have kept this from me.”
It was still raining. You could not decide what sensation to focus on. You were torn between the water trickling between your breasts and the fingers stoking the fire at your core. You whined a little and tilted your hips, eager for his touch to delve deeper between your thighs.
“Please,” you paused for a beat, “husband.”
Maekar swore. His lips met yours at the same time his finger finally swept across your clit. You gasped against his mouth and he swallowed the sound, licking into your mouth with a practised move that had your knees weak.
He stayed there, tasting every sound you made as his middle finger began to circle your swollen flesh. Each swipe had you seeing stars behind your eyelids. It felt more intense than anything you had ever done to yourself.
He paused only to dip a finger into your hole, swiping up more arousal to lave over your clit. You let your head fall back against the tree, dimly blinking up at the canopy of trees above. Maekar pressed his lips to your neck, teeth grazing over your pulse point before settling onto the flesh between your neck and shoulder.
He bit down at the same time he pressed with his fingers, making you mewl as he rubbed your clit.
‘Fuck,” he rumbled, “I could hear you last night. Every godsdamned minute of it. You were wet then but I think you might be wetter now.”
You nearly sobbed as your orgasm began to build. You could feel your cunt convulsing, eager for your husband despite being out in the open. This was what he did to you, and there was no hiding from it. Not anymore.
Your orgasm hit so suddenly that your back arched off the tree, pressing your breasts into Maekar’s chest as caressed you through it. You were babbling through it, apologies and promises and pleading. Maekar kept his fingers on you until you were squirming, too sensitive and aching to withstand his touch.
Still, he did not remove his hand. He cupped your soaking flesh, gently rubbing his fingers over you until you were shuddering and speechless.
“I intended to see you round with my child,” he whispered into your cheek, “then you will understand that you are mine.”
“Yours,” you mumbled, delirious and soaked. You still could not feel the cold from the rain, only the heat the pulsed out from your cunt.
“Mine,” he agreed.
He pressed the hard line of his cock against your hip, reminding you of his earlier promise. Later.
a/n - so this is basically when you’re so horny for your husband it’s scary I hope you like it lol
reblogs/comments/likes mean the literal world to me, please don’t forget to leave them if you enjoyed♥️
