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I slow and turn to him, "doing what?"

"Not sink in the mud," he grunts as he lifts his left leg.

I think for a moment and reach a hand out to him, "I think I'm simply lighter than you."

He is about to retort with an irritated quip. He stays silent when he sees my outstretched hand.

We hold each other, and I slowly guide him up the hill.

In truth, this does nothing for him. He says nothing in like, merely cursing the mud through the upward trek.

By the time we reach the top, I feel Maekar pull at me, making me turn to him and stop, watching him sag slightly forward. I cannot my surprise, "the hike tired you, prince?"

"That fucking mu—" he voice falters when he sees my expression. His brows furrow, "I'm not fucking tired."

I sigh instead of laughing and place my hands on my hips, nodding as I did.

"What was that?"

I raise my brows, "hmm?"

"What was that sigh about? I'm not tired."

I don't quite mask my chuckle.

He does not appreciate it, judging by how the already apparent line between his brows deepen further.

I cannot hide my chuckle at all this time, "i- it's alright if you are, really."

"I just said I'm not," he snaps.

I smile at his irritated look and shrug, "s'no shame in needing to—"

"I said I'm not tired!"

I purse my lips, only to break into a giggle.

Maekar's upper lip twitches. He rolls his eyes and heads for the river.

I grin to myself and run up behind him, "we do not fault our elderly for their weakness!"

He clenches his teeth, refusing to turn back.

I grip the strap across my chest, "we coul— AH!"

Splat!

Maekar whips his head back, his concern dissipating immediately into silent vindication. His eyes glimmer as he bring his hands behind his back.

I grunt, pushing myself up, only to have my entire forearm sink into the mud, along with the entire front of my body.

His lips curl into the faintest smile.

I look up at him, reaching out a muddy hand.

He stares for a moment, almost trying to convince me he wouldn't help me. "Serves you right."

My lips part just as he takes my hand.

A quick and easy decision after. As soon as he has a hold on me, I snatch up his shin and yank him forward.

Let it not be said Maekar Targaryen is easily felled. He isn't, but the shock paired with the fact he did not wish to fall directly forward and injure two people in one go, he decides to avoid collision, which in turn, sends him toppling to his side.

SPLAT!

I squeal in delight, twisting to my bum as I watch Maekar thrash and roll one full rotation sideways, down the slope. He growls, struggling slightly to sit up just as I sink my right hand into the mud, scooping up a heap.

Once he's sat up, he immediately fumes, "WHAT THE FUCK IS—"

SPLAT!

I laugh at the sound of mud hitting his chest. I immediately arm myself with more.

He raises a finger at it, "no. NO— are you a fucking ch—"

SPLAT!

I gasp and slap a hand on my mouth when I hit Meakar on the side of his face, covering one eye. My belly tingles in both fear and amusement, "I didn't mean to—"

SPLAT!

My entire neck is soaked in mud... well, again.

Maekar's lips curl in an irritated smile, "not so amusing when it—"

My laughter cuts him off, as well as another projectile of mud aimed carelessly, which actually misses him this time.

He growls, brows furrowing both in fury and in focus as he begins to retaliate.

I laugh louder, squeals slipping through every few seconds. It doesn't take long for both of us to have our vision obscured by cool mud. Soon, where chucking mud to no one, aiming absolutely anywhere.

Maekar catches himself laughing with me at some point. He grumbles through his laughter, "absolutely fucking stupid."

"You mean absolutely joyful!" I squeal, ceasing my onslaught to wipe my eyes for a moment.

Funnily enough, he does the same. He only realizes he'd been smiling when his smile is wiped clean off at the sight of me scooping up mud with both hands. He speaks my name as a warning.

I grin ear to ear, "my prince?"

"Yes! Was it not mere minutes ago that you said that you we— no don't, STO—"

SPLAT!

There is a beat of silence.

Maekar's entire face is covered by mud after that perfect headshot.

I throw my head back and grip my stomach, loudly belly laughing at my spectacular hit.

He growls as he roughly wipes his face and roughly flicks his arms. The sound of my giggles make his nostrils flare, "listen here, you little shit."

I squeal when he lurches forward, his a warm hand quickly snatching my ankle. I squeal again when I am dragged down, the feel of mud clumping up my thighs, pushing my skirt up, is not very pleasant. I thrash and roll on my belly, clawing at the mud as I try to kick him off, never ceasing to laugh even with each of my squeals.

The sound of my unwavering amusement only spurs him further. He gets on all fours, managing to snatch my calf next.

I am a goner then, entirely at his mercy and trapped beneath him after the next tug.

I do not stop squirming though. Maekar cannot nearly believe I am still laughing. He snaps, "I'm done playing with you!"

I gasp at his particularly damning move, resting his weight atop me, wrapping his arms around me. I do not stop squirming until I accept it is completely futile. We are tangled in a compromising position, and yet I turn to him and manage to swipe a line of mud on his cheek, "I'm not."

Maekar scowls at me as he says my name.

It does not illicit the response he wants. Instead, when I feel my core tingle, I swipe him again, "what? Tired and afraid of some mud?"

"You are worse than Aegon," he tightens his arms around me.

I whimper, toes curling in the mud.

He notices, notices how my breathing grows heavy.

I stare at him as he stares me down. My lips part as I reach for his face.

He growls, "don't you fucki-..."

The next time I swipe removes rather than adds mud. It is gentle and slow. I can feel that his cheek his textured but his beard is surprisingly soft. It is my turn to notice his heavy breathing.

Whatever he was about to say is cut off by the sound of a woman calling out my name from a distance. Maekar immediately scrambles away, pushing me slightly off as he rolls to his back.

I see a woman climbing up from the side of the hill. It is Lisabet. I grin in recognition, waving at her slow approach, "aye! Good morning, Lisabet!"

I turn to Maekar, who is now stood beside me. The old woman calls out again, "you alright?!"

I cup the side of my mouth, "aye!"

"And your man?!"

Maekar tenses. I repeat, "aye!"

Lisabet doesn't respond right away, which is why Maekar begins to shift uncomfortably. Finally, she says, "I'm going to the market!"

I wave widely, "safe travel! The mud is thick!"

She laughs as she begins to walk off, "aye! I'm glad about your man!"

Maekar thinks Lilibet smiles at him before turning away. He then looks down when I pat his leg and reach a hand out. He scoffs, "no."

I smack the mud only to reach out again.

He pulls his head back, "are you a babe?"

"Pull me up!"

His grunts, letting a moment pass before blurting, "fine. But don't think you can yank me again."

Ever a stickler for doing the opposite of what I'm told, when our hands meet, I try to tug him down, only this time, I have no element of surprise. Maekar was, in fact, counting on it, which was how he stayed put on the initial pull, and immediately yanks me up to my feet with exact strength.

I am actually shocked by it that I nearly topple into the mud the moment I'm on my feet.

He grunts as he grips my shoulders, keeping my balance.

I smile at him, "thank you."

"You tried to pull me into the mud after having pulled me into the fucking mud," he snaps.

I inhale deeply, then sigh, "we're going to bathe anyway."

"That's not the fucking point!" he pulls a twig out of my hair.

I meant to say something smart, but his casual gesture leaves my thoughts blank.

Maekar's eyes fall on the leather satchel on my back, "I swear to the fucking gods if our change of clothes got muddy, I'm strangling you."

"..."

"..."

"..."

He realizes the empty threat might have sounded rather loaded, "I d—"

"You could be strangling me right now."

"W-What?"

"But you're not," I motion, "which means you wouldn't strangle me."

"..."

I smile and take his hand.

"W-what are you—"

"Wouldn't want you to get tired again."

He is at a loss for words as we make for the river.

The walk forward is rather awkward. At least to him it is. He can only alternate between clutching his hand in mine, and glancing back and forth between the river and my back.

I am relieved when we reach the river bank, nothing else.

Maekar is astounded when I part from my satchel, only to immediately undress. He looks away, gripping his shirt, "gods, you could warn me at least."

I freeze, turning around only to see muddy back, "forgive me, a habit. I have not bathed with anyone in years."

The sexual implication he finds makes him shudder.

I quickly get undressed and hurry into the water.

Maekar hears the splashing and dares to turn.

The sound of the gentle current is drowned out by how I quickly swim to the deepest part, just where a large rock rested as well as a washed up, mossy log. I quickly wash my face before turning back, finding the prince just standing there. I smirk, "too tired to swim?"

He catches a glimpse of my breasts, though still muddy, as I lean an elbow onto the rock. He turns away and begins to pry off his shirt.

I offer him privacy by happily swimming around, rubbing the dirt off my body and my hair as I did. I only look back when I hear him call out to me.

Maekar is now by the rock, his larger arm is rather awkward on the curve. He has made no effort into washing any of the mud off him, save for what the current already is.

I smile and swim towards him, spitting water out my mouth when I stop a few feet away.

He stares at me. He watches when I begin to wash my arms. "What now?"

I look, tilting my head, "what do you mean?"

He doesn't respond.

My belly rolls.

"You mean to play coy after throttling me into the mud?"

"Throttle?" I chuckle.

His jaw hardens.

"I threw mud at you," I speak softer now, "... do seek an apology?"

Maekar's toes curl in the water, in irritation or what, he doesn't know.

I turn to the foggy water around him then slowly wade closer.

The only thing that moves are his eyes, which track me intently.

Once I am in front of him, I lean into the rock for a moment, steeling myself away before I dare to look up at him.

He is still— eerily so, like a wolf hunting a rabbit.

I slowly reach for his shoulder, emboldened by his continued stillness and silence. I can't help my gasp when I feel his warmth.

He grits his teeth and gulps at the sound of it.

I slowly begin to wash the mud off his skin. I briskly scoop water in my palms and paw at his shoulder, repeating until there is nothing but water on his skin. I find myself stopping when I catch a large scar running across his bicep. I ghost my fingers across it.

Maekar cannot help how his breathing picks up.

"Poor thing," I look up at his dirty face. I gently begin to wash the mud off his cheek, "that must have hurt."

His brows furrow, genuinely confused, "the mud?"

My brows lift.

He gulps at the sound of the airy giggles filling the air.

"This scar," I grab his arm, rubbing his scar with my thumb.

He turns and lifts his arm, "oh," he looks back to me, "probably not, since I don't recall."

My jaw drops and my right eye twitches, "you don't recall where you got this massive scar?"

He shrugs in indifference, "some fight, some war... perhaps my brother."

"Y-your brother?"

"Yes," he finds himself reciprocating my gesture, washing my shoulder where there was already no mud, "Baelor and I oft spar."

"And he would gravely wound you?!" I gasp.

He chuckles, "gravely?"

Only when he clutches the side of my throat do I realize he had been touching me, too shocked by his admission to have the mind to react.

And react I do. Maekar feel the thrumming pulse on the curve of my jaw beneath his thumb. He soothes it with a circular motion, "tis but a scratch."

I can barely manage a scoff at how my heart is racing, "a scratch?"

He is pleased at how my body grows warm in his hand. He brushes his hand down my arm, leaving goosebumps in their stead. He chuckles under his breath, a small but smug smirk on his lips as he presses my fingers to the side of his torso.

My fingers are limp against his rib initially, that is, until I feel a thick slab of skin. My brows furrow in concern as I pull of out of his grip, only to touch the area for myself.

The chuckle he had in response to the gasp I let out is garbled by his own when he is forced back into the rock. He sighs heavily at the urgent gesture, feeling his body grow even warmer.

"Gods, man!" I whine at the sight of his evidently deep scar, the water at the surface splashing incessantly on it, "did this kill you?"

Maekar laughs, unadulterated and whole. He takes the hand on his rib, squeezing it as he straightens up, "unfortunately. I've been dead for years now."

I whine and squeeze his arm, "don't worry, prince. I will mourn you."

He aches with something terrible as the rest of the mud is washed off his skin. He does not tear his gaze from me, he cannot. His gaze is heavy and hot, unflinching even as I wash his face.

I gasp suddenly when I realize I forgot the soap in my bag, "the soap!"

Maekar does not respond.

Nor does he move when I swim away and back to retrieve the soap. I catch my breath when I return, propping the soap on the rock as I do.

Maekar listens intently to my breathing. He, himself, breathes heavily when you begin to scrub him with soap.

He finds himself smiling at how my brows furrow at the task.

"Enjoying yourself?"

I freeze, only to smile bashfully at him, "very much so."

"Oh," he chuckles in surprise, "truly?"

I feel my face burn as I nod, "it has been a while since I've loved on someone."

Maekar doesn't have a chance to be taken off-guard. I begin to wash his hair. He grunts, "washing my hair with soap?"

I raise a brow, faltering for a moment, "what else with?"

He pulls my hand away from his hair and submerges into the water.

I go rigid when he does, eyes nearly popping out of my head. Is he trying to—

He quickly scrubs his hair then emerges, brushing his silver tresses back as he inhales from his mouth.

There is still some mud in his hair, but that is not why I'm staring at him the way that I am.

"Shampoo," he says.

"... poo?"

His forehead curls. He wipes water from his face, "shampoo."

"..."

"It is for your hair," he points, "shampoo."

I nods slowly, "shampoo."

His lips curl as he takes the soap from me, "you mean to tell me you wash your hair with the same thing you wash your body with?"

"..."

He sniffs the bar, humming after, "at least it's pleasant. What is it?"

I shrug, "whatever's cheapest."

He stares at me for a moment before handing me back my soap bar.

I resume washing his hair.

He grunts, "stop it."

"You're filthy."

"You're filthy."

"Aye."

Maekar sighs, resigning to his fate, "my hair will dry."

"I sure hope it does."

"No, I-" he groans, deciding not to clarify.

I cannot help but smile at his annoyance.

He notices. His annoyance dissipates, "why not... love on yourself."

"Do you mean pleasure myself?"

His mouth falls open.

I chuckle even as I feel my ears burn, "nay." I prop the soap on the rock and force him to turn so I can rinse his hair, "why would I when I've got a whole prince in front of me?"

He grunts at the slight tug on his roots. He gulps at how his scalp is massaged.

Once I am done, I force him to turn back to me and smile at my handiwork.

He snatches my wrist before I can grab the soap again.

"Do you pleasure yourself oft?"

I tense.

Maekar clutches my cheeks, forcing my head back slightly, "answer."

My entire body erupts with gooseflesh.

His eyes darken. His nostrils flare at the deep sigh he gives.

My mouth is watering yet my throat is dry, which is why my voice cracks, "s-somet-imes."

He searches my face, drawing out another deep sigh as searches for refusal.

He garners none, not when I lean into his palm.

"When was the last time you've finished?"

"F-finished," I barely manage.

"You know," he tilts his head. He thinks, "what do peasants call it?"

My face burns as I lean it into my hands, "I know what you mean!"

He is satisfied by the expression I hold when I look back at him.

"What is wrong with you?!" I quip.

"I?" he chuckles in disbelief, "you were the one who brought up pleasuring yourse—"

I shut him up with a kiss.

Maekar is completely still as I pull away. He watches how my tongue traces my lips.

"Th-the last time... would be the first time yo-ou make me..."

"..."

"... my prince."

I gasp when he grabs my hips and brings my back against the rock. I whimper at its roughness, immediately gripping his shoulders. Maekar looks back in concern, pressing a hand on the rock before pressing on the small of my back, "is this alright?"

I nod rapidly, hands coming to his jaw.

"Good."

I gasp again when he lifts me up. My naked body bare to him as he sits my arse on the rock.

Immediately, he hooks my thighs over his shoulders, "I want you to finish on my face."

I let out a pathetic sound through my mouth that refuses to close; it makes my belly tremble. I look down at him from between my legs, tangling my fingers into his hair.

"Good?"

I feel drool drip down my throat. I wipe it off on my wrist and nod, "please."

Maekar immediately sinks down and digs in. The sound that leaves me is loud and visceral; I catch how it reverberates slightly in the woods.

Though my body should have chilled in the wind, I only grow goosebumps and burn. His tongue furiously works into me, flicking my clit as he snuggles beneath my bushy core. He sucks and sighs against me; his hands grip the curve of my bum for dear life.

I bite my lip as I stagger back, one hand leaning into the rock as the other refuses to untangle from his hair. I thrust unabashedly onto his face, allowing his nose to rub my clit. I pull him closer and wrap my legs tighter around his head; the feel of his beard between my inner thighs is absolutely heavenly.

Maekar moans in response.

A few moments later, he lifts his head for air, our eyes immediately locking. His gaze is dark— eyes blown wide, his beard is wet, not with water, but my slick. I bite my lip and scratch his scalp. He is looking at me as if he means to pick a fight, and with how his nostrils flare before plunging back towards my cunt, it doesn't seem far fetched.

"F-fuckkkkk," I groan, gritting my teeth as my back arches. I can hear nothing but my ragged breathing and his wholly lewd slurping and squelching.

Maekar braces my entire thigh, hooking his arms around my lower body to keep me from squirming.

I groan a little louder, pull his hair a little tighter, "m- m'gonna—"

"Finish," he barely manages, his tongue too busy licking me up.

Like a loyal dog, I screw my eyes shut as I reach my peak with a cry and an unrestrained tremble. I involuntarily rock into his mouth, pushing his head closer into me.

Maekar grunts, eyes watching every twitch, resolved not to stop until I can do nothing but squirm.

He has half the mind not to stop even then; he enjoys my sounds far too much.

"M-Maekar," my eyes are misty as he look at him, "I-I can't."

He ceases, immediately heaving once he pulls away from my thighs.

I heave with him, wiping his cheeks with my thumbs, drinking in how flushed his face is. I gulp, nibbling my lower lip before I lean in to kiss him.

He kisses me back, hands finding their spot back on my hips to bring me back into the water. I squeal, arms latching around him, mouth unwilling to leave his.

He sighs into our kiss when I am back in the water. He pushes me back against the rock as his tongue invites itself into my mouth.

I shiver when I feel him rub his undeniably hard cock on my thigh.

"M-Maekar—" I push him back, kissing his throat as I reach for him beneath the water.

The sound he makes is a cross between a sigh and a growl when my hand finds what's between his legs. I on the other hand merely squeal and lurch when he rediscovers the heat between mine, this time with his fingers. I bite his shoulder, "please, gentle."

Maekar's hiss turns into a chuckle. His fingers slow before halting altogether. He brings his fingers to my mouth, and I immediately suck them off. He slowly thrusts into my hand as I pump him, "too much?"

"Mmm," I pull his fingers out of my mouth, "my husband's only ever made me finish three times in a row. I only ever make myself finish once."

Maekar slowly leans in, the fingers I'd sucked press into my cheek as he kisses my mouth, "my poor sheep farmer."

My entire body burns as our lips collide again. I whimper as rub his shoulders, breaking our kiss to mutter, "you're so wound up."

"Mmm," he hums, nipping my lower lip before reaching for my thighs, "don't worry about me, worry about your cunt."

I helplessly whimper as he wraps my legs around his waist, his cock hard and pulsing against my slick cunt. "M-Maekar."

He kisses my ear, "I know," he rubs my thigh, "I'm not trying to prove myself to be a brute."

I mewl and lean on his shoulder. I kiss his neck and trace his collarbone, "how... how many times did you make your wife come?"

Maekar turns to the finger tracing his skin.

I freeze when he doesn't respond, "I-"

"As much she'd allow," he takes my finger and bites the tip, "as much as it takes to make her beg me to stop."

I lift my head.

He lowers his, "you can do better than finishing once."

I clutch his cheeks and nod.

He cannot help but rock his hips into mine.

"M'ready."

"Ready, now?"

I reach between us, where the water is warm, grabbing his cock and guiding him inside me.

Maekar's mouth falls open at the silken heat around his cock. He presses his forehead against mine, "I won't last long."

"W-What?"

"It's been me, my fist, a couple whores, and long hours of work since Dyanna died."

"Dyanna," I sigh, pouting as I clutch his cheeks, "a beautiful name... beautiful as she surely was."

He purses his lips for a moment before nodding, "she was."

I massage his shoulders again, this time, I feel him slump forward. I sigh as he embraces me. I kiss his temple, "that explains why you're such a grump."

I feel his cock twitch inside me.

He pulls away, his soft expression nowhere in sight.

I gasp when he clutches my neck. There is no pressure at all, save where his fingers force me to tilt my head up.

"I'm going to make you cry."

He feels the bob of my throat.

The next thing I know, his hands are squeezing my thighs and my sensitive cunny is being plowed by royal cock. When I whine at how the rock scrapes against my back, he brings his hand between my flesh only to fuck me harder.

To make matters worse, or better, the hand still on my thigh sneaks between us, allowing his thumb to rub vicious circles around my puckered clit.

And wouldn't you know it, as I helplessly press my forehead against his shoulder, absentmindedly gnawing on his skin, I feel a tear run down my nose.

Maekar growls when I repeatedly grunt through each of his thrusts.

I whine hotly against this neck, my spit pooling on his skin as feel my cunt spasm, the overstimulation bleeding into pleasure. My toes curl and my fingers bite into his hips at the sound of his gutteral panting.

Maekar's hand on my hip pulls away to find my cheek, his slick thumb rubbing the skin there.

I whine, instinctively taking his thumb in my mouth.

He groans, allowing me a moment to suck it before pressing down on my tongue. He watches my breasts jostle from his thrusts, "you're going to finish on my cock."

I whimper, shaking my head.

"No," he holds my head still, "it wasn't a suggestion."

I sob, mumbling against his thumb, "sai' you we'en' gon' las'!"

He licks a tear off my cheek, "changed my fucking mind."

I yelp when his fucking changes tempo into something deep and thorough, his hips snapping sharply, then stopping then snapping then stopping then sna— I squeal when his thumb leaves my mouth to rub my clit again, rapid and rough.

"Come on, little lamb," his voice is strangled against my ear, betraying just how close he is, "you said it yourself, you're mine now."

I am winded by the next thrust that comes after these words.

"Mine," he shudders, intent on making me fall apart.

When I begin to absentmindedly buck into him, he gradually begins to buck his own hips a little faster.

"Yeah," his voice is deeper than normal, "give it to me. Give me another mouthy finish. Lemme hear you as I paint your pretty walls white."

"Maekar, I'm gonn—"

His particularly rough thrust and gutteral moan cuts me off. His clit-rubbing ceases and this hips intensify only to stutter then to stagger. My cries grow higher and higher, my legs wind around him tighter and tighter, and soon we're both shaking and panting against each other's mouths.

"Yeahhh," I erratically buck into him, clenching tightly as I milk both our orgasms.

He speaks my name as he clutches my cheeks, pushing my hair back as his cock persistently throbs and slowly goes limp inside my heat. I cling onto him for dear life as my cunt spasms and my thighs twitch. Maekar grabs ahold of my waist, pulling me away from the rock to secure my legs around his waist instead.

We hold each other as we come down from our highs. By the time our breath evens out, our hearts beat in sync.

He rests his chin atop my head, hand rubbing up and down my back, "you did good for me, sheep farmer."

I tighten my arms around him, taking in the scent of my soap on his neck, "my prince."

He leans into me.

"You were good too."

He kisses my ear.

"... I suppose."

"..."

"..."

"So you want me to make you cry ag—"

I slow and turn to him, "doing what?"

"Not sink in the mud," he grunts as he lifts his left leg.

I think for a moment and reach a hand out to him, "I think I'm simply lighter than you."

He is about to retort with an irritated quip. He stays silent when he sees my outstretched hand.

We hold each other, and I slowly guide him up the hill.

In truth, this does nothing for him. He says nothing in like, merely cursing the mud through the upward trek.

By the time we reach the top, I feel Maekar pull at me, making me turn to him and stop, watching him sag slightly forward. I cannot my surprise, "the hike tired you, prince?"

"That fucking mu—" he voice falters when he sees my expression. His brows furrow, "I'm not fucking tired."

I sigh instead of laughing and place my hands on my hips, nodding as I did.

"What was that?"

I raise my brows, "hmm?"

"What was that sigh about? I'm not tired."

I don't quite mask my chuckle.

He does not appreciate it, judging by how the already apparent line between his brows deepen further.

I cannot hide my chuckle at all this time, "i- it's alright if you are, really."

"I just said I'm not," he snaps.

I smile at his irritated look and shrug, "s'no shame in needing to—"

"I said I'm not tired!"

I purse my lips, only to break into a giggle.

Maekar's upper lip twitches. He rolls his eyes and heads for the river.

I grin to myself and run up behind him, "we do not fault our elderly for their weakness!"

He clenches his teeth, refusing to turn back.

I grip the strap across my chest, "we coul— AH!"

Splat!

Maekar whips his head back, his concern dissipating immediately into silent vindication. His eyes glimmer as he bring his hands behind his back.

I grunt, pushing myself up, only to have my entire forearm sink into the mud, along with the entire front of my body.

His lips curl into the faintest smile.

I look up at him, reaching out a muddy hand.

He stares for a moment, almost trying to convince me he wouldn't help me. "Serves you right."

My lips part just as he takes my hand.

A quick and easy decision after. As soon as he has a hold on me, I snatch up his shin and yank him forward.

Let it not be said Maekar Targaryen is easily felled. He isn't, but the shock paired with the fact he did not wish to fall directly forward and injure two people in one go, he decides to avoid collision, which in turn, sends him toppling to his side.

SPLAT!

I squeal in delight, twisting to my bum as I watch Maekar thrash and roll one full rotation sideways, down the slope. He growls, struggling slightly to sit up just as I sink my right hand into the mud, scooping up a heap.

Once he's sat up, he immediately fumes, "WHAT THE FUCK IS—"

SPLAT!

I laugh at the sound of mud hitting his chest. I immediately arm myself with more.

He raises a finger at it, "no. NO— are you a fucking ch—"

SPLAT!

I gasp and slap a hand on my mouth when I hit Meakar on the side of his face, covering one eye. My belly tingles in both fear and amusement, "I didn't mean to—"

SPLAT!

My entire neck is soaked in mud... well, again.

Maekar's lips curl in an irritated smile, "not so amusing when it—"

My laughter cuts him off, as well as another projectile of mud aimed carelessly, which actually misses him this time.

He growls, brows furrowing both in fury and in focus as he begins to retaliate.

I laugh louder, squeals slipping through every few seconds. It doesn't take long for both of us to have our vision obscured by cool mud. Soon, where chucking mud to no one, aiming absolutely anywhere.

Maekar catches himself laughing with me at some point. He grumbles through his laughter, "absolutely fucking stupid."

"You mean absolutely joyful!" I squeal, ceasing my onslaught to wipe my eyes for a moment.

Funnily enough, he does the same. He only realizes he'd been smiling when his smile is wiped clean off at the sight of me scooping up mud with both hands. He speaks my name as a warning.

I grin ear to ear, "my prince?"

"Yes! Was it not mere minutes ago that you said that you we— no don't, STO—"

SPLAT!

There is a beat of silence.

Maekar's entire face is covered by mud after that perfect headshot.

I throw my head back and grip my stomach, loudly belly laughing at my spectacular hit.

He growls as he roughly wipes his face and roughly flicks his arms. The sound of my giggles make his nostrils flare, "listen here, you little shit."

I squeal when he lurches forward, his a warm hand quickly snatching my ankle. I squeal again when I am dragged down, the feel of mud clumping up my thighs, pushing my skirt up, is not very pleasant. I thrash and roll on my belly, clawing at the mud as I try to kick him off, never ceasing to laugh even with each of my squeals.

The sound of my unwavering amusement only spurs him further. He gets on all fours, managing to snatch my calf next.

I am a goner then, entirely at his mercy and trapped beneath him after the next tug.

I do not stop squirming though. Maekar cannot nearly believe I am still laughing. He snaps, "I'm done playing with you!"

I gasp at his particularly damning move, resting his weight atop me, wrapping his arms around me. I do not stop squirming until I accept it is completely futile. We are tangled in a compromising position, and yet I turn to him and manage to swipe a line of mud on his cheek, "I'm not."

Maekar scowls at me as he says my name.

It does not illicit the response he wants. Instead, when I feel my core tingle, I swipe him again, "what? Tired and afraid of some mud?"

"You are worse than Aegon," he tightens his arms around me.

I whimper, toes curling in the mud.

He notices, notices how my breathing grows heavy.

I stare at him as he stares me down. My lips part as I reach for his face.

He growls, "don't you fucki-..."

The next time I swipe removes rather than adds mud. It is gentle and slow. I can feel that his cheek his textured but his beard is surprisingly soft. It is my turn to notice his heavy breathing.

Whatever he was about to say is cut off by the sound of a woman calling out my name from a distance. Maekar immediately scrambles away, pushing me slightly off as he rolls to his back.

I see a woman climbing up from the side of the hill. It is Lisabet. I grin in recognition, waving at her slow approach, "aye! Good morning, Lisabet!"

I turn to Maekar, who is now stood beside me. The old woman calls out again, "you alright?!"

I cup the side of my mouth, "aye!"

"And your man?!"

Maekar tenses. I repeat, "aye!"

Lisabet doesn't respond right away, which is why Maekar begins to shift uncomfortably. Finally, she says, "I'm going to the market!"

I wave widely, "safe travel! The mud is thick!"

She laughs as she begins to walk off, "aye! I'm glad about your man!"

Maekar thinks Lilibet smiles at him before turning away. He then looks down when I pat his leg and reach a hand out. He scoffs, "no."

I smack the mud only to reach out again.

He pulls his head back, "are you a babe?"

"Pull me up!"

His grunts, letting a moment pass before blurting, "fine. But don't think you can yank me again."

Ever a stickler for doing the opposite of what I'm told, when our hands meet, I try to tug him down, only this time, I have no element of surprise. Maekar was, in fact, counting on it, which was how he stayed put on the initial pull, and immediately yanks me up to my feet with exact strength.

I am actually shocked by it that I nearly topple into the mud the moment I'm on my feet.

He grunts as he grips my shoulders, keeping my balance.

I smile at him, "thank you."

"You tried to pull me into the mud after having pulled me into the fucking mud," he snaps.

I inhale deeply, then sigh, "we're going to bathe anyway."

"That's not the fucking point!" he pulls a twig out of my hair.

I meant to say something smart, but his casual gesture leaves my thoughts blank.

Maekar's eyes fall on the leather satchel on my back, "I swear to the fucking gods if our change of clothes got muddy, I'm strangling you."

"..."

"..."

"..."

He realizes the empty threat might have sounded rather loaded, "I d—"

"You could be strangling me right now."

"W-What?"

"But you're not," I motion, "which means you wouldn't strangle me."

"..."

I smile and take his hand.

"W-what are you—"

"Wouldn't want you to get tired again."

He is at a loss for words as we make for the river.

The walk forward is rather awkward. At least to him it is. He can only alternate between clutching his hand in mine, and glancing back and forth between the river and my back.

I am relieved when we reach the river bank, nothing else.

Maekar is astounded when I part from my satchel, only to immediately undress. He looks away, gripping his shirt, "gods, you could warn me at least."

I freeze, turning around only to see muddy back, "forgive me, a habit. I have not bathed with anyone in years."

The sexual implication he finds makes him shudder.

I quickly get undressed and hurry into the water.

Maekar hears the splashing and dares to turn.

The sound of the gentle current is drowned out by how I quickly swim to the deepest part, just where a large rock rested as well as a washed up, mossy log. I quickly wash my face before turning back, finding the prince just standing there. I smirk, "too tired to swim?"

He catches a glimpse of my breasts, though still muddy, as I lean an elbow onto the rock. He turns away and begins to pry off his shirt.

I offer him privacy by happily swimming around, rubbing the dirt off my body and my hair as I did. I only look back when I hear him call out to me.

Maekar is now by the rock, his larger arm is rather awkward on the curve. He has made no effort into washing any of the mud off him, save for what the current already is.

I smile and swim towards him, spitting water out my mouth when I stop a few feet away.

He stares at me. He watches when I begin to wash my arms. "What now?"

I look, tilting my head, "what do you mean?"

He doesn't respond.

My belly rolls.

"You mean to play coy after throttling me into the mud?"

"Throttle?" I chuckle.

His jaw hardens.

"I threw mud at you," I speak softer now, "... do seek an apology?"

Maekar's toes curl in the water, in irritation or what, he doesn't know.

I turn to the foggy water around him then slowly wade closer.

The only thing that moves are his eyes, which track me intently.

Once I am in front of him, I lean into the rock for a moment, steeling myself away before I dare to look up at him.

He is still— eerily so, like a wolf hunting a rabbit.

I slowly reach for his shoulder, emboldened by his continued stillness and silence. I can't help my gasp when I feel his warmth.

He grits his teeth and gulps at the sound of it.

I slowly begin to wash the mud off his skin. I briskly scoop water in my palms and paw at his shoulder, repeating until there is nothing but water on his skin. I find myself stopping when I catch a large scar running across his bicep. I ghost my fingers across it.

Maekar cannot help how his breathing picks up.

"Poor thing," I look up at his dirty face. I gently begin to wash the mud off his cheek, "that must have hurt."

His brows furrow, genuinely confused, "the mud?"

My brows lift.

He gulps at the sound of the airy giggles filling the air.

"This scar," I grab his arm, rubbing his scar with my thumb.

He turns and lifts his arm, "oh," he looks back to me, "probably not, since I don't recall."

My jaw drops and my right eye twitches, "you don't recall where you got this massive scar?"

He shrugs in indifference, "some fight, some war... perhaps my brother."

"Y-your brother?"

"Yes," he finds himself reciprocating my gesture, washing my shoulder where there was already no mud, "Baelor and I oft spar."

"And he would gravely wound you?!" I gasp.

He chuckles, "gravely?"

Only when he clutches the side of my throat do I realize he had been touching me, too shocked by his admission to have the mind to react.

And react I do. Maekar feel the thrumming pulse on the curve of my jaw beneath his thumb. He soothes it with a circular motion, "tis but a scratch."

I can barely manage a scoff at how my heart is racing, "a scratch?"

He is pleased at how my body grows warm in his hand. He brushes his hand down my arm, leaving goosebumps in their stead. He chuckles under his breath, a small but smug smirk on his lips as he presses my fingers to the side of his torso.

My fingers are limp against his rib initially, that is, until I feel a thick slab of skin. My brows furrow in concern as I pull of out of his grip, only to touch the area for myself.

The chuckle he had in response to the gasp I let out is garbled by his own when he is forced back into the rock. He sighs heavily at the urgent gesture, feeling his body grow even warmer.

"Gods, man!" I whine at the sight of his evidently deep scar, the water at the surface splashing incessantly on it, "did this kill you?"

Maekar laughs, unadulterated and whole. He takes the hand on his rib, squeezing it as he straightens up, "unfortunately. I've been dead for years now."

I whine and squeeze his arm, "don't worry, prince. I will mourn you."

He aches with something terrible as the rest of the mud is washed off his skin. He does not tear his gaze from me, he cannot. His gaze is heavy and hot, unflinching even as I wash his face.

I gasp suddenly when I realize I forgot the soap in my bag, "the soap!"

Maekar does not respond.

Nor does he move when I swim away and back to retrieve the soap. I catch my breath when I return, propping the soap on the rock as I do.

Maekar listens intently to my breathing. He, himself, breathes heavily when you begin to scrub him with soap.

He finds himself smiling at how my brows furrow at the task.

"Enjoying yourself?"

I freeze, only to smile bashfully at him, "very much so."

"Oh," he chuckles in surprise, "truly?"

I feel my face burn as I nod, "it has been a while since I've loved on someone."

Maekar doesn't have a chance to be taken off-guard. I begin to wash his hair. He grunts, "washing my hair with soap?"

I raise a brow, faltering for a moment, "what else with?"

He pulls my hand away from his hair and submerges into the water.

I go rigid when he does, eyes nearly popping out of my head. Is he trying to—

He quickly scrubs his hair then emerges, brushing his silver tresses back as he inhales from his mouth.

There is still some mud in his hair, but that is not why I'm staring at him the way that I am.

"Shampoo," he says.

"... poo?"

His forehead curls. He wipes water from his face, "shampoo."

"..."

"It is for your hair," he points, "shampoo."

I nods slowly, "shampoo."

His lips curl as he takes the soap from me, "you mean to tell me you wash your hair with the same thing you wash your body with?"

"..."

He sniffs the bar, humming after, "at least it's pleasant. What is it?"

I shrug, "whatever's cheapest."

He stares at me for a moment before handing me back my soap bar.

I resume washing his hair.

He grunts, "stop it."

"You're filthy."

"You're filthy."

"Aye."

Maekar sighs, resigning to his fate, "my hair will dry."

"I sure hope it does."

"No, I-" he groans, deciding not to clarify.

I cannot help but smile at his annoyance.

He notices. His annoyance dissipates, "why not... love on yourself."

"Do you mean pleasure myself?"

His mouth falls open.

I chuckle even as I feel my ears burn, "nay." I prop the soap on the rock and force him to turn so I can rinse his hair, "why would I when I've got a whole prince in front of me?"

He grunts at the slight tug on his roots. He gulps at how his scalp is massaged.

Once I am done, I force him to turn back to me and smile at my handiwork.

He snatches my wrist before I can grab the soap again.

"Do you pleasure yourself oft?"

I tense.

Maekar clutches my cheeks, forcing my head back slightly, "answer."

My entire body erupts with gooseflesh.

His eyes darken. His nostrils flare at the deep sigh he gives.

My mouth is watering yet my throat is dry, which is why my voice cracks, "s-somet-imes."

He searches my face, drawing out another deep sigh as searches for refusal.

He garners none, not when I lean into his palm.

"When was the last time you've finished?"

"F-finished," I barely manage.

"You know," he tilts his head. He thinks, "what do peasants call it?"

My face burns as I lean it into my hands, "I know what you mean!"

He is satisfied by the expression I hold when I look back at him.

"What is wrong with you?!" I quip.

"I?" he chuckles in disbelief, "you were the one who brought up pleasuring yourse—"

I shut him up with a kiss.

Maekar is completely still as I pull away. He watches how my tongue traces my lips.

"Th-the last time... would be the first time yo-ou make me..."

"..."

"... my prince."

I gasp when he grabs my hips and brings my back against the rock. I whimper at its roughness, immediately gripping his shoulders. Maekar looks back in concern, pressing a hand on the rock before pressing on the small of my back, "is this alright?"

I nod rapidly, hands coming to his jaw.

"Good."

I gasp again when he lifts me up. My naked body bare to him as he sits my arse on the rock.

Immediately, he hooks my thighs over his shoulders, "I want you to finish on my face."

I let out a pathetic sound through my mouth that refuses to close; it makes my belly tremble. I look down at him from between my legs, tangling my fingers into his hair.

"Good?"

I feel drool drip down my throat. I wipe it off on my wrist and nod, "please."

Maekar immediately sinks down and digs in. The sound that leaves me is loud and visceral; I catch how it reverberates slightly in the woods.

Though my body should have chilled in the wind, I only grow goosebumps and burn. His tongue furiously works into me, flicking my clit as he snuggles beneath my bushy core. He sucks and sighs against me; his hands grip the curve of my bum for dear life.

I bite my lip as I stagger back, one hand leaning into the rock as the other refuses to untangle from his hair. I thrust unabashedly onto his face, allowing his nose to rub my clit. I pull him closer and wrap my legs tighter around his head; the feel of his beard between my inner thighs is absolutely heavenly.

Maekar moans in response.

A few moments later, he lifts his head for air, our eyes immediately locking. His gaze is dark— eyes blown wide, his beard is wet, not with water, but my slick. I bite my lip and scratch his scalp. He is looking at me as if he means to pick a fight, and with how his nostrils flare before plunging back towards my cunt, it doesn't seem far fetched.

"F-fuckkkkk," I groan, gritting my teeth as my back arches. I can hear nothing but my ragged breathing and his wholly lewd slurping and squelching.

Maekar braces my entire thigh, hooking his arms around my lower body to keep me from squirming.

I groan a little louder, pull his hair a little tighter, "m- m'gonna—"

"Finish," he barely manages, his tongue too busy licking me up.

Like a loyal dog, I screw my eyes shut as I reach my peak with a cry and an unrestrained tremble. I involuntarily rock into his mouth, pushing his head closer into me.

Maekar grunts, eyes watching every twitch, resolved not to stop until I can do nothing but squirm.

He has half the mind not to stop even then; he enjoys my sounds far too much.

"M-Maekar," my eyes are misty as he look at him, "I-I can't."

He ceases, immediately heaving once he pulls away from my thighs.

I heave with him, wiping his cheeks with my thumbs, drinking in how flushed his face is. I gulp, nibbling my lower lip before I lean in to kiss him.

He kisses me back, hands finding their spot back on my hips to bring me back into the water. I squeal, arms latching around him, mouth unwilling to leave his.

He sighs into our kiss when I am back in the water. He pushes me back against the rock as his tongue invites itself into my mouth.

I shiver when I feel him rub his undeniably hard cock on my thigh.

"M-Maekar—" I push him back, kissing his throat as I reach for him beneath the water.

The sound he makes is a cross between a sigh and a growl when my hand finds what's between his legs. I on the other hand merely squeal and lurch when he rediscovers the heat between mine, this time with his fingers. I bite his shoulder, "please, gentle."

Maekar's hiss turns into a chuckle. His fingers slow before halting altogether. He brings his fingers to my mouth, and I immediately suck them off. He slowly thrusts into my hand as I pump him, "too much?"

"Mmm," I pull his fingers out of my mouth, "my husband's only ever made me finish three times in a row. I only ever make myself finish once."

Maekar slowly leans in, the fingers I'd sucked press into my cheek as he kisses my mouth, "my poor sheep farmer."

My entire body burns as our lips collide again. I whimper as rub his shoulders, breaking our kiss to mutter, "you're so wound up."

"Mmm," he hums, nipping my lower lip before reaching for my thighs, "don't worry about me, worry about your cunt."

I helplessly whimper as he wraps my legs around his waist, his cock hard and pulsing against my slick cunt. "M-Maekar."

He kisses my ear, "I know," he rubs my thigh, "I'm not trying to prove myself to be a brute."

I mewl and lean on his shoulder. I kiss his neck and trace his collarbone, "how... how many times did you make your wife come?"

Maekar turns to the finger tracing his skin.

I freeze when he doesn't respond, "I-"

"As much she'd allow," he takes my finger and bites the tip, "as much as it takes to make her beg me to stop."

I lift my head.

He lowers his, "you can do better than finishing once."

I clutch his cheeks and nod.

He cannot help but rock his hips into mine.

"M'ready."

"Ready, now?"

I reach between us, where the water is warm, grabbing his cock and guiding him inside me.

Maekar's mouth falls open at the silken heat around his cock. He presses his forehead against mine, "I won't last long."

"W-What?"

"It's been me, my fist, a couple whores, and long hours of work since Dyanna died."

"Dyanna," I sigh, pouting as I clutch his cheeks, "a beautiful name... beautiful as she surely was."

He purses his lips for a moment before nodding, "she was."

I massage his shoulders again, this time, I feel him slump forward. I sigh as he embraces me. I kiss his temple, "that explains why you're such a grump."

I feel his cock twitch inside me.

He pulls away, his soft expression nowhere in sight.

I gasp when he clutches my neck. There is no pressure at all, save where his fingers force me to tilt my head up.

"I'm going to make you cry."

He feels the bob of my throat.

The next thing I know, his hands are squeezing my thighs and my sensitive cunny is being plowed by royal cock. When I whine at how the rock scrapes against my back, he brings his hand between my flesh only to fuck me harder.

To make matters worse, or better, the hand still on my thigh sneaks between us, allowing his thumb to rub vicious circles around my puckered clit.

And wouldn't you know it, as I helplessly press my forehead against his shoulder, absentmindedly gnawing on his skin, I feel a tear run down my nose.

Maekar growls when I repeatedly grunt through each of his thrusts.

I whine hotly against this neck, my spit pooling on his skin as feel my cunt spasm, the overstimulation bleeding into pleasure. My toes curl and my fingers bite into his hips at the sound of his gutteral panting.

Maekar's hand on my hip pulls away to find my cheek, his slick thumb rubbing the skin there.

I whine, instinctively taking his thumb in my mouth.

He groans, allowing me a moment to suck it before pressing down on my tongue. He watches my breasts jostle from his thrusts, "you're going to finish on my cock."

I whimper, shaking my head.

"No," he holds my head still, "it wasn't a suggestion."

I sob, mumbling against his thumb, "sai' you we'en' gon' las'!"

He licks a tear off my cheek, "changed my fucking mind."

I yelp when his fucking changes tempo into something deep and thorough, his hips snapping sharply, then stopping then snapping then stopping then sna— I squeal when his thumb leaves my mouth to rub my clit again, rapid and rough.

"Come on, little lamb," his voice is strangled against my ear, betraying just how close he is, "you said it yourself, you're mine now."

I am winded by the next thrust that comes after these words.

"Mine," he shudders, intent on making me fall apart.

When I begin to absentmindedly buck into him, he gradually begins to buck his own hips a little faster.

"Yeah," his voice is deeper than normal, "give it to me. Give me another mouthy finish. Lemme hear you as I paint your pretty walls white."

"Maekar, I'm gonn—"

His particularly rough thrust and gutteral moan cuts me off. His clit-rubbing ceases and this hips intensify only to stutter then to stagger. My cries grow higher and higher, my legs wind around him tighter and tighter, and soon we're both shaking and panting against each other's mouths.

"Yeahhh," I erratically buck into him, clenching tightly as I milk both our orgasms.

He speaks my name as he clutches my cheeks, pushing my hair back as his cock persistently throbs and slowly goes limp inside my heat. I cling onto him for dear life as my cunt spasms and my thighs twitch. Maekar grabs ahold of my waist, pulling me away from the rock to secure my legs around his waist instead.

We hold each other as we come down from our highs. By the time our breath evens out, our hearts beat in sync.

He rests his chin atop my head, hand rubbing up and down my back, "you did good for me, sheep farmer."

I tighten my arms around him, taking in the scent of my soap on his neck, "my prince."

He leans into me.

"You were good too."

He kisses my ear.

"... I suppose."

"..."

"..."

"So you want me to make you cry ag—"

The one universal truth that you were sure of when you came to King’s Landing to become the Prince of Summerhall’s second wife was that he had a brood of children, to whom he behaved like a perpetually exasperated, sharp-tongued mother hen.

Prince Maekar was not charming, nor a man inclined toward flowery affection, you learned quickly. He was blunt, often impatient, and carried himself with a rigid severity that you wanted to crack through just for the fun of it.

You were determined to make the most of the life you had been given, despite having had no say in it.

And despite his rough edges, he was kind enough to you in that gruff way of his. Your comfort was important to him, and he treated you with every bit of respect you deserved as his wife.

You pieced it together early: he loved his children fiercely. Like a treasure trove that he defended with flame and bared teeth, and the children surely did not make that task any easier on him.

Daeron was always in his own little world, haunted and immersed in drink; Aerion was a bully, constantly puffing himself up and challenging his siblings; Aegon was young and adventurous and over time, took to you easily amidst the evenings spent telling him stories and entertaining his imagination.

Daella and Rhae lacked a gentle, nurturing hand in their life, and you spent a great amount of time with the little girls, confiscating love potions and deterring pranks usually meant for Aerion.

No matter the chaos, you would do your best to support the children, a.fact that you made quite clear to your Prince.

It made him more understanding. Even, in time, endearing, as you built a life of shared purpose. Your marriage became easier, with a mutual affection and partnership. It was not quite a love match for the time being, but both you and Maekar could see the possibilities ahead of you quite clearly.

The first time it happened was entirely accidental.

Maekar had come to your chambers late, his shoulders tight with whatever frustrations the day had dealt him—council disputes, squabbling lords, one of his sons surely at the center of it all. He spoke little, and only sat heavily beside you as you read, the mattress dipping beneath his weight.

You glanced at him, and then—without much thought at all—reached out, your fingers finding his hair.

It was, as always, stiff with fragrant hair oil, carefully combed back with not a strand out of place.

You clicked your tongue softly at your husband. “You use too much.”

“I do not,” he muttered, though there was no harshness in it.

You hummed, unconvinced, and began absentmindedly tapping your nails against his scalp.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Maekar went still, but didn't stop you. You didn’t notice at first, and only put it together when he didn’t pull away.

The second time, he lingered.

You had expected him to come and go as he often did during the afternoons—it was alway a brief visit, a few clipped words, then back to his duties. But instead, he remained seated beside you and your embroidery, saying little, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the tall arched window of your sitting room.

It almost seemed like he was anticipating something.

You tilted your head. “Is something the matter, my Pricnce?”

He grunted and shook his head once. “No.”

Silence stretched.

Then—after a moment—he shifted, ever so slightly closer toward you on the chaise.

A slow smile tugged at your lips as realization dawned, the light in the room reflecting off the shininess of his silver-gold hair.

“Oh,” you said softly, unable to suppress the grin that spread across your lips.

His jaw tightened, violet eyes fixing on yours. “Do not—”

But you were already reaching for him, quickly dashing his attempt at defensiveness.

Your nails resumed their gentle tapping against his hair, soft and steady, mingled with gentle strokes of the pads of your fingers along his scalp.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Maekar exhaled, but not in exasperation or his usual frustration. It was one of relief.

It became a thing. An unspoken one, but still a thing.

He never asked for it, Seven forbid he ever would. But you learned the signs, in he way he would sit always in reach now, the subtle tilt of his head towards you.

Waiting, stewing in whatever thoughts plagued his mind, almost petulant sometimes—but never asking verbally.

And you, the merciful wife that you are, would indulge him every time.

“Egg, stop that—no, I said stop—”

You watched from your seat as Maekar pinched the bridge of his nose with a string of profanities muttered under his breath, the young prince darting just out of reach with all the energy of a boy who knew he was testing his father’s last nerve.

“Come back here,” Maekar snapped.

Egg grinned at his father cheekily, but made no move to aquiesce. Daella used the moment to flick a pea at Aerion with surprising velocity, cackling when it smacked and bounced off his forehead, whilst Daeron lost balance and slumped onto the tabletop with a thud of his forehead. A little pool of wine seeped into the tablecloth, and you peeked over at Maekar, who glared dejectedly back at you.

You hid your smile behind your cup, trying your hardest not to snort into it and moving to check on Daeron instead.

Later, much later, when the castle halls had quieted and the children had been sent off to bed with varying degrees of success and assistance from their Septas, he finally retired to your shared bedchamber.

“You look as though you survived a rebellion, husband,” you remarked lightly, peering at him from your comfortable position against the headboard.

He scoffed, undressing with haste and impatience. “I would rather face the Redgrass Field again, any fucking night.”

You laughed, soft and warm, and held out a hand towards him.

He hesitated, just for a second. Then he crossed the room, eased onto the bed beside you and laid his head into your waiting lap.

Only for you would he obey so.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Your nails traced their familiar rhythm against his scalp, gently. You could feel the tension leave him, melting away like a tightly wound coil finally loosening.

“You are ridiculous, you know,” you murmured, tilting your head towards him.

“I am a prince of the realm,” he replied dryly, "and I don't see you denying me."

“Mm. I am but your most doting wife, my Prince."

He huffed, but there was no bite to it, his hand running along your bare thigh then gently gripping it firmly.

Your fingers shifted, scratching lightly now, the softest drag of nail against delicate scalp. He went quiet, too quiet for too long. You glanced down to find his eyes were closed, a rare look of serene blankness on his features.

“You’ve fallen asleep,” you whispered, amused as you ran your fingers through his beard.

“I have not.”

“You have.”

“I am simply resting my eyes.”

You smiled fondly, tenderly stroking your fingers along his forehead, rarely ever smooth from emotion. "As you say, my husband."

From then on, it became a routine.

Sometimes, when the day had been particularly challenging, he would take your hand himself and guide it upward—as expected, he was gruff and stubbornly silent about what he wanted.

But you knew, you always knew. And you gave it to him without question.

Beneath the carefully plated armor that protected his facade, under the temper and the title, Maekar Targaryen was simply a man who carried too much and found, of all things, that head massages from his wife made the world melt away.

“You are good with them,” he said suddenly, voice low and rumbling against your skin.

You blinked, caught off guard.

“With the children?” you asked, meeting his softened eyes with yours.

“With our children,” he corrected, voice rough but firm.

Something warm filled your chest, radiating through your entire body, but you did not remark on it—did not poke at him for the slip, or the correction, or the meaning behind it.

You only smiled softly, hands idly rubbing along his shoulders and pressing into the tense knots, “I do try.”

He was quiet for a long moment. Then—

"It is not unnoticed.”

You reflected on the way his gaze lingered when you knelt beside Rhae, patiently coaxing a confession from her about whatever mischief she and Daella had concocted this time. The way his mouth twitched—nearly a smile—when Aegon launched himself into your lap uninvited, already halfway through a story he expected you to continue.

How he did not intervene when you corrected Aerion, despite the young prince's scowl and glare at his father, demanding that he call off his young second wife and her audacity to attempt to discipline him.

When you were little, a girl of no more than six, you had been convinced that one day you would marry your cousin Valarr. The boy was older than you by about six years as well, and luckily had the kind temperament (even at that age) to not be annoyed with a little girl constantly trailing him. 

You had seen his pretty mismatched eyes, his soft brown hair with the white streak running along the back, but most of all, you had seen the way he was kind to you. He always brought you sweets and remembered your favourites, ensuring that he had some in his pocket whenever he saw you next. He always smiled at your approach, never sneering at you or telling you to buzz off like your brother Aerion did, and it had all culminated in you announcing to everyone that one day you would marry your sweet Valarr. 

Everyone had laughed at you, pinching your cheeks and wishing you the best in your endeavour. Your mother had been sweet about it, kissing your cheeks and telling you that one day she hoped you would be married for love. Your father gruffly told you to stop thinking about Valarr, that he would kill off every man in your vicinity that even looked in your direction (to which you had responded with a glare and indignantly argued that you would marry Valarr even if it made your father angry, ever his daughter). Your brother Daeron was dismissive, smiling softly at you and humming a ‘yes, sure’ then turning away with haunted eyes, and Aerion pulled your hair and scowled at you and told you that you would never be married because you were a pathetic little girl who could not do anything for the house of the dragon. 

At that you had run off crying, going to look for Valarr so he could comfort you and tell you that Aerion was being horrible and simply lying. You had raced through the halls of the Red Keep only to bash into the legs of your Uncle Baelor. He reached down quickly to scoop you up, holding you to his chest as you cried and blubbered, looking up at him with your big teary eyes. He frowned down at you, caressing your cheeks and wiping your tears, running a hand over your little head and hushing you, asking you what had happened to make you cry so. You clung to his doublet with your little fists, sniffing loudly and pouting as you told him about what Aerion said. 

Your uncle smiled softly down at you, a glint of fondness in his eyes. He caressed your hair again and told you not to cry, to forget Aerion’s malicious words because he had no idea what he was talking about. He told you that you were a sweet girl with a big heart, that you had enough love to spare for many others and that was what made you strong. He had pressed a kiss to the top of your head and put you back down on the floor, telling you to run off and have fun now. You had beamed up at him then, wrapping your arms around his legs and hugging him for a moment as you mumbled ‘thank you Uncle Baelor’, then sprinted back off again. 

Everything had been good, your childhood had been fun, then your father had been given Summerhall and suddenly you were being ripped away from it all. On your final day in the Keep, you could only sob, your little body shaking as you screamed and yelled at your parents. You had been resistant to being loaded into the carriage, crying and clinging to Valarr, telling him to keep you there, to tell your parents to leave you be, but he could only laugh sadly, bending down to hug you and press kisses to your little head. 

He tried to convince you that it would be alright, that Summerhall was beautiful and that you would have an absolute whale of a time there, but you just shook your head and sobbed, clinging to him even tighter. You had only slightly loosened your grip when he promised you that he would come visit as often as you wanted, that you would never feel alone. You had pulled back and looked up at him, eyes red limned and full of tears, your lower lip pouting as you trembled out a ‘promise?’ and he hurriedly agreed. 

“Will you not say goodbye to your uncle?” Baelor had asked then, hoping to distract you from Valarr, but that had simply set you off again, this time over him. You had thrown yourself at his legs, clinging to him in the hopes that you would not be ripped away. Your tears wet the knees of his trousers and he bent down to clutch you close to his chest, his eyes closing against the top of your head. You were such a happy and fun little girl, he knew he would feel your absence keenly in the Keep. He rubbed your back and told you the same things that Valarr had told you, that it would not be long before they were due for a visit, that you would not miss them too much because you would be so busy in your new home, and that everything would be alright. 

It took your father physically gripping you under the arms and hauling you out of Baelor’s grip to finally get you in the carriage. He sat you on his own lap, pressing your face to his chest and shushing you against your ear, telling you not to waste your precious tears for you were far too pretty for that. You clung to him as the carriage pulled away, whimpering sadly the entire journey to Summerhall… 

As the years passed, so did your fancy. You had been upset for the first few weeks at Summerhall, constantly begging your mother and father to write to Uncle Baelor and Valarr to come visit you, but eventually you had become far too busy with your own life to worry about that. 

The promised visits never came, and it was mostly your father who went up to King’s Landing rather than the Crown Prince coming down for a visit. You grew into a lovely young woman, capable of beautiful embroidery and tapestry, swift on a horse and dainty on the dance floor. You spent so much time reading or traversing the woods around your beautiful home that you scarcely had time to think about the childish infatuation you had once harboured. Though your parents did remind you occasionally, forcing you to flush hot with embarrassment and beg them to hush about it once and for all. 

Sometimes you did think about Valarr though, with a fondness and thanks that one would have once they gained awareness. You were thankful he had always treated you nicely despite how surely annoying you must have been. It was funny now to think of how different you had become. And you thought about him in another way too, wondered how he had grown, if he was as handsome now as he had been before, if he would still be kind to you if you ever met. 

And you were often hit by pangs of longing for your Uncle Baelor, wishing for his calm and assertive presence, particularly in the moments when Aerion took it upon himself to lecture you about your life or torment you in some way or other. 

Then one day your father brought the news that you were all to leave for King’s Landing. He sat down at the dinner table and informed you all, saying that it was the King’s fiftieth year of rule and the whole family was to gather in the Red Keep for celebrations and joyousness. You nodded sagely at your father, but inside you were giddy. It had been too many years since you had been in King’s Landing, and you wished to see it now, with grown eyes and a mature mind. 

The next few days were spent packing everything up and readying for the long journey. You would be gone for a while, and you spent a little time saying goodbye to some of your belongings before hurrying down and getting yourself into the wheelhouse before your father had cause to be angry with you. 

When the lot of you reached King’s Landing, Prince Baelor and Valarr came out to greet you. You stepped out of the wheelhouse with eyes blown wide in wonder. You looked around you as if seeing everything for the first time. It felt like it, your memories from before slightly fuzzy and disjointed. You raked in all the sights, the yellow sandstone and towering pillars, the bustling courtyard and the windows set high up into the towers you could not quite see the tops of. You almost tripped stepping out of the carriage, the footman reaching quickly out to steady you. 

You thanked him in a breathless little voice then continued looking around. You could hear your father ahead of you greeting his brother and nephew, your own brothers following suit, but you were far too busy trying to spot the birds that flew high up into the sky and listening to the Sept bells tolling across the city. 

A throat cleared just ahead of you, and you looked back to find a handsome young man smiling warmly at you. He wore all black, little red accents here and there to denote his house. His hair was a nice warm shade of brown, oddly comforting, and he had lovely clear eyes, slightly squinted with his smile, one blue and one brown. And he was smiling at you, sweet and knowing and utterly, immensely charming. 

“Cousin,” he greeted, offering you his hand as you stared up at him with wide awed eyes. It was only instinct that made you place your hand in his grip, watching him bend a little and bring the back of it to his lips so he could leave a little kiss there atop your knuckles. 

“Cousin,” you answered, old enough now to know to mind your tongue and not blurt out the million thoughts that raced through your head and wished to escape through your lips. You stared at him, dazed and unable to fully close your mouth, and he was looking at you with bright eyes and a jovial smile. 

“It has been far too long since I have seen you,” he told you kindly, continuing to hold your hand in his grip. “I last remember you clinging to me and crying, begging not to leave King’s Landing,” and his smile became mischievous then, teasing. You felt your entire body burn red hot, the shame and embarrassment of your past antics flaming through you. 

You bowed your head, thinking your hair would fall forward and hide your face for a moment, but the braids were done just enough to keep it from your face and you felt far too exposed. Valarr squeezed your hand a little, warmth blooming in his chest at the sight. 

“It has been upwards of fourteen years, yes,” you sighed, touching your face lightly and glancing away from him. You could not breathe. He had grown into the handsome young prince he ought to be, and it was not good for your nerves. 

“Goodness,” he sighed in return, and before you could pull away, he threaded your arm through his and turned toward where your father stood with your Uncle Baelor. 

And then it was like Valarr was forgotten, because for however handsome you found him, your Uncle Baelor was something else entirely. The man turned away from your father, and once his eyes caught sight of you, he was beaming with pleasure. His eyes widened, his smile too, and he beckoned you closer. You felt awe struck. 

He was tall, broad shouldered, standing straight yet relaxed. The years had been good to him, white peppering his hair and beard but only serving to make him look dignified. His eyes were piercing, and when he held out his hand to you, you felt faint just at the size of it. Oh goodness, how were you to survive this trip if you could not even stay standing at the sight of your cousin and uncle? 

You let go of Valarr, forgetting him like day-old plums, and rushed to greet your uncle Baelor, throwing yourself at him as you had done when you were a child. You were well aware it was not proper, but you would accept any chastisement if it meant you got to do it. 

Baelor was happy to wrap you up in his arms, laughing loudly as he greeted you, rubbing his palm along your back as you pressed your face to his chest. He smelt of something spicy and clean and you took a deep inhale, letting your eyes flutter shut. 

“My sweet girl,” he greeted, bending his head down so his chin rested on the top of your head. “You have grown into a marvellous young woman. Thank the Seven for it,” he sighed, pulling back to grip your upper arms and get a good look at your face. 

You beamed up at him, blinking your eyes rapidly and not tearing your gaze from his face. He was smiling as well, bright and kind, the way you remembered, and it sent a warm pulse through you.  

“Let go of him, silly girl,” your father instructed, and though he sounded gruff, there was never malice in his tone. Your father had a soft spot for you, you knew it, and he could never get himself to be particularly harsh to you. You yielded that to your advantage far too often. 

You stepped back from Baelor’s grip, clasping your hands together in front of you and moving to stand just to the side of your father, but you kept your eyes on your uncle. He too continued looking at you, pride beaming through him. 

Valarr stood to the side, his smile a little tighter than before as he watched you, completely oblivious to the attentions of anyone but your uncle. He stared at you discretely, looking over your hair, the strands that would have fallen forward onto your face pulled back into small intricate braids that rested prettily on top of the rest of your luscious head of hair. 

He raked his eyes over your dress, immensely beautiful and denoting a princess. You wore red, as most of House Targaryen did, but this was beautiful and bright, like fresh blood, and the fabric was thin and airy, like that which came from Dorne and was best for the summer months. The bodice was tight and formfitting, accentuating your breasts rather too well, and he felt his cheeks flush as he averted his eyes. It was rather good that your thick black cloak clasped over your chest, hiding much else from view. 

He looked at your face, your pretty eyes and long lashes that brushed your cheeks as you blinked, your lips, so plush and pouty and perfect, even your cheeks, just the right shape. Valarr could only describe you as pretty, beautiful, far too much of both of those things to be anything but dangerous. He felt a little off-kilter, his smile dropping from his face. 

It was rather stupid to think now, but he had been expecting something of a repeat of the years past. He had believed you would be bashful and easy to tease, inadvertently falling into the patterns of your girlhood and trailing after him. How foolish he had been. 

You had grown into a beautiful young woman, with grace and tact and respectability. You were kind and a little bashful, easy to tease, yes, but still able to handle yourself. And the worst bit of it all, you did not seem to care as much for him as you had once done, because you were far too busy being fixated on Baelor… 

Baelor wrapped an arm over Maekar’s shoulders, shaking his younger brother a little in a way that annoyed him immensely, before telling him to come into the warm keep and rest and refresh a while. You sidled your way to your uncle’s other side, slipping your arm around his and clutching him close, continuing to look up at him with slightly wide, enamoured, eyes. Baelor smiled down at you, happily allowing you to hang onto him, and then led everyone into the Keep. 

Valarr watched after you for a moment, feeling a little flabbergasted and indignant at the way you had forgotten his presence in mere moments, and found himself falling into step beside Aerion. He too was scowling, annoyed that you were getting all the attention and he was forced to step back and simply be a part of the crowd. Valarr glanced at his cousin and grimaced before quickening his step to follow after you. He had met Aerion more recently than he had seen you, and he knew he would rather walk alone than be forced to converse with the spoiled prince. 

“How was the journey, not too rough I hope?” Baelor asked, looking between you and your father. You all sat around a table ladened with food and drink. You noticed lemon cakes and cherry tarts and all the things you had once (and still) loved, dotted about. Someone poured tea in your cup and you nodded in thanks before turning back to look at your uncle. 

Valarr sat to your right, but your head barely turned that way, your gaze mostly fixated on Baelor. You were transfixed, shocked at how much his mere presence had affected you. Was this truly the uncle of your childhood, this strong-shouldered man with such pretty eyes and a voice that could make you commit the most grievous sins without question? 

“Were these not your favourites once, little cousin?” Valarr asked, bringing the plate of little puffy rounds full of sweet cream closer to you. You finally turned to look at him again, smiling joyfully and nodding enthusiastically. 

“Awh, it is sweet of you to have remembered,” you told him, reaching over and picking two up delicately and placing them on your plate. 

“I remember when you were still a babe, just learning how to walk and grip your own food, and you used to squash those things in your little palms,” Baelor spoke across the table, looking at you with such fondness in his eyes that you flushed with warmth and preened under his gaze. 

“Yes, she was rather a rambunctious child,” Maekar grumbled, though his eyes twinkled with humour and you leaned over and bumped his shoulder with yours. 

“You say that, Father, but I must have learnt it from somewhere and mother was never anything less than elegant,” you responded, raising your eyebrows at him as he let slip a little smile. You truly were his most cherished child, the only one who (though still gave him grief) always made up for it with everything else. 

“She was not rambunctious, she was joyful,” Baelor defended, and you smiled triumphantly, nodding toward him in thanks. 

“And rather demanding,” Valarr added with a smirk. “My attention was not to be on anyone else when in your company,” and you could just hear the teasing in his tone. You felt red hot again though prepared. You knew it would come up at some point, your early infatuation with him, better to get it out of the way now. 

You hid your face behind your hands, letting little embarrassed giggles fall from your lips. You peeked at him from between your fingers and shook your head. 

“Of course you would remind me of that,” you sighed, dropping your hands back into your lap and looking down at them. “I knew I was not to get away without being teased about my childish obsession.” 

“It would not be right of me not to tease you!” He responded, laughing and leaning a little closer to you. “You were so little yet so adamant on marrying me that I could not help but be flattered.” 

You smiled at him then, softer and more appreciative, and you reached out and pulled the creampuff in half, the sweet middle spilling onto your fingers a little. 

“It was your own fault, really” you argued, shrugging your shoulders as you brought one of the pieces up and close to your face. “If you had not been so free with your sweets, I should not have been so enamored!” A laugh passed around the table, interrupted only by Aerion’s angry silence and aided by your father’s quiet chuckle. 

You brought the bit of pastry to your mouth and gently popped it between your lips, chewing a little and humming in pleasure. You did not think and licked the cream from your fingertips, sticking your tongue out a little. 

Valarr froze in his seat, staring at you with slightly widened eyes. Did you not realise what a sight that was? His blood rushed out of his head and straight to his core and he suddenly felt immensely hot and ill. His hands tightened on the arms of his chair and it took every ounce of his self-control to lean back as if he was casually changing his posture. 

Across the table, Baelor stared as well, though he was considerably better at hiding his own reaction. His eyes followed your fingers, the flick of your tongue, and he forced himself to look away. He was not meant to have seen that, to have felt that way, and he returned his eyes to his brother. 

Maekar was glaring at his nephew, mentally thrashing him for looking at you in that way, and he too used all available control not to jump across the table and smack Valarr across the face and tell him to keep his eyes away from you. 

“These are just as good as I remember!” You exclaimed, smiling happily and looking up between Valarr and Baelor. Both offered you similar grimacing, tortured, smiles. “I am rather excited for the festivities, I am sure they will be grand.” 

“Yes, there is much to do and enjoy,” Baelor responded, his voice a little rougher than before, and he took a sip from his cup, swallowing strongly. “There is to be feasting and dancing every evening for a week straight, and fairs and markets for the smallfolk in the city proper.” 

“If you step even a single foot outside these castle walls without my knowledge, I will have you locked up until your hair grows long enough for you to escape with it,” your father quickly warned, looking at you with his customary heavy glare. You scoffed indignantly at first, then you simply smiled brightly at him and leaned over to flick him on the arm. You had been given the good graces of your mother to always respond to your father with a smile and a tease. 

“You say that now but then you would complain because you would be forced to keep me company!” And another laugh travelled around the table, you simply sitting back satisfied with yourself, and putting more of the pastry in your mouth. 

You sat leisurely in the bath, humming softly to yourself as you moved your hands under the water, pulling them up and watching the water drip back down into the tub with little ‘plink’ noises. The hearth was well lit and you felt lovely and warm, the scent of fresh flower petals filling your nose as they floated around in the bath with you. This was perfect, exactly what you needed after a few busy and rather confusing days in King’s Landing. 

Each morning you breakfasted with the whole family, Valarr and Baelor always joining you without fail. Valarr somehow managed to find a seat next to you each time, but you did not care much because your attention was always on your uncle. Baelor was so… wonderful. 

You had never been so enamoured with someone, at least not in your recent memory. There had been a silly crush on a stable boy in Summerhall, but he had married a chambermaid and you had gotten over it with barely a tear shed. But Baelor… 

You stared at him unabashedly, smiling when he met your gaze and watching him as you chewed distractedly. You felt frazzled, a little insane with how much you felt. But you could not stop. And Baelor did not help. He was always glancing up at you, always looking at you like he was seeing you for the first time, always looking away as if he had been caught doing something he should not. You did not want him to look away. You wanted him to keep his eyes on you forever… 

You sighed quietly as you lay back a little further in the bath, closing your eyes and thinking of Baelor. It was funny, really, how you had become as obsessed with Baelor as the little version of you had been obsessed with Valarr. You liked to believe it meant growth. 

There was a quiet knock at the door, and you sunk a little further into the bath, hoping to enjoy a moment more before the maids came in to take it all away. 

“Come in,” you called quietly, opening your eyes just as the door opened and Baelor stepped in. Your eyes widened, hands instantly coming up to cover your chest under the water as you stared up at him. Baelor’s mouth dropped open a little as he looked down at you, before he swiftly turned around. 

“I am sorry,” you began quickly, pulling your knees up to your chest to hide behind them. “I believed you to be the maids returning.” 

“It is alright,” he responded, his words tight as he forced himself to look at the wall in the distance and keep his back turned to you. “I only wished to give you something but I can see I have intruded.” 

“No!” You jumped a little, suddenly desperate to keep him there despite how exposed and vulnerable you felt in your position. It felt as if this was your only chance to get him to look at you the way you wished him to. Though you kept your knees up, you leant forward a little, as if silently begging him to turn around and look at you again to see how earnest you were. “No, please do not.” 

He paused for a moment, his head bowing as he looked down at his shoes. Baelor clenched his eyes shut (though you could not see) but rather than helping him, it only flashed the image of you, relaxing in the bath, your breasts just dipped in the water and your nipples hardened to little points, over and over again. 

“It is improper of me to be here with you in such a state,” he told you quietly, and his voice was still tight, gruff, pained, and you gripped the edge of the bath as you stared up at his back. He had not moved yet, neither to stay nor to leave, and you prayed he would not choose the latter. 

“As long as there is no one to witness it, is it really impropriety?” You asked, half-joking, your tone a little lighter than before. Baelor huffed out a chuckle, one small sound that was not meant to come out so, and you saw his shoulders relax a little. He turned back, but stopped himself before he could face any farther than the door. 

“That is simply an excuse people use to justify their improper actions. As long as it is being committed, then it is improper,” he retorted, one eyebrow raising. 

“Hm, true,” you responded, furrowing your brows a little in thought. “But it’s alright,” you then broke out, as if you had come to a decision. “Sometimes one needs a little impropriety in their life to make it interesting,” and you giggled a little. 

The sound sent a spike of warmth through Baelor and his smile was instant, uncontrolled. He turned a little more again, still not looking at you, but now you could see a good half of his face. It was better than nothing, and you relaxed some in the bathtub, your legs moving forward a little so they were not clutched as tight to your upper body. 

“You speak as if from experience,” Baelor rejoinded, that same eyebrow rising again as he questioned you. Your smile was wide and cheeky, the water swishing as you adjusted yourself to sit up a little in the tub. 

“Not much, but perhaps some,” you responded cryptically, though you knew it was a complete and utter lie. You were far too sheltered by your mother and father to have been exposed to impropriety of this sort before. 

“You said you wished to give me something,” you spoke again before the room could fall into silence, resting your head on the edge of the tub and blinking up at him. “What is it?” 

One of his hands was held in a fist, and he raised it a little, opening his palm flat and looking at what lay there. 

“A present,” he answered simply at first, before he moved to hold the things with his thumb and index finger. It was a pair of earrings, beautifully crafted things more laden with rubies than many other pieces of jewellery you had seen. They looked like dragons, their spines inlaid with the rubies, and you were shocked at how a craftsman could even create something like that. 

“Oh my,” you sighed, rising a little in the tub and wincing when the cold metal pressed against your breasts. 

“A welcome present, something for you to wear during the festivities,” Baelor responded simply, but he hadn’t stepped closer to give them to you, hadn’t made any move other than to dangle them from his fingers like a tantalising temptation. 

“Please bring them to me, I wish to see them up close,” and you reach out your hand in his direction, pressing yourself right to the edge of the tub and gazing up at him with bright, wondrous eyes. He did not move yet, frozen with indecision. He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, seeing only your outstretched arm and a little bit of your face. Instead of turning to face you, he took a few steps back and when he was only just in front of the tub, he reached down and back a little to hand you the earrings. 

You took them from his grip, but before he could step away again, you gripped tightly onto his hand again to keep him there. You put the earrings in your free hand and examined them there, sighing with joy as you looked at how pretty they were. They would be perfect to wear with many of your dresses. And if Baelor gave them to you, then you would cherish them like nothing else. 

“Thank you, Uncle Baelor,” you told him softly, returning your gaze to him. He was awkwardly turned, still trying to face away from you, to do the right thing, but unable as you kept your grip on his hand. You stared up at him, at his strong arms which somehow had not pulled away yet, and his broad back. He could have ripped his hand away a long time ago, he chose not to. 

Slowly, carefully, you pulled his hand closer until it was caressing your neck. You pressed it there, spanning it along the soft skin there, and you shivered, sighing quietly. 

“What are you doing, my girl?” He asked, voice low and gravelly, still not turning to fully face you. He kept glancing down though, and you knew that soon you would break him. 

“I wanted to feel your hands,” you responded quietly, voice just above a whisper, slowly beginning to guide his hand a little further down your neck, splaying it onto your collarbone. “I wanted to know what they felt like against my skin.” 

“You should not be doing this,” he said, that same quiet voice, tight and pained now. “I should not be doing this.” 

“I know,” you whispered, still blinking up at him, lips parted. “But I want it so badly.” 

His eyes fluttered closed as you guided his hand lower, dipping it under the water and curling it around your breast. You breathed out a little sound, this quiet little thing of pleasure as you cupped his hand around the fat, grazed his palm against your nipple. He swallowed harshly, his hand tightening there of his own accord, feeling the soft skin under the water. His hand was calloused from years of experience with a sword, and the roughness of it made you shudder, made you moan softly as he held you there. 

“Please, Uncle Baelor,” you breathed out, running your hand up his arm a little. When his eyes finally fluttered open, he turned to fully look at you, awkwardly bent a little to keep his palm cupped around your breast. You stared up into his eyes, licking your lips as you gripped his hand and kneaded it there, moaning quietly. He stared at you, eyes hooded with pain and pleasure melded together. 

You gripped his hand a little tighter, making sure he would not let go, then began traversing it further down your body. Baelor’s entire body shuddered, mouth opening to release a shaking breath as he slowly dropped to his knees beside the tub. His free hand came up and gripped the rim, his fingers turning white. You licked your lips, continued staring into his eyes. His sleeve became wet as his hand fully submerged under the water, running over your stomach then to the dark space between your legs. 

He shivered again, his eyes closing as you dragged his fingertips over the lips of your core, as you gasped a little and then pressed firmer there, moaning and shaking. He clenched his jaw, his hand tensing, but he did not force you to let go. He could not understand how you were so warm there, so soft and hot, even under the water. His index finger separated the lips and pressed against the little nub of flesh that made you shiver and squirm, the little thing that made your entire body flush and caused sounds out of you that made Baelor begin praying to the seven. 

“Uncle,” you breathed out, your eyes fluttering half-shut, and he panted a little, his hand tensing even further but staying there in your grip. Your other hand clenched around the earrings, the jewels and the hook digging into your palm. 

You pressed his fingers there, rubbing yourself against the tips. Your stomach was full of warmth, the space between your legs sparking. Your limbs felt full of it too, those tendrils that reached out through you and softened near the tips of your fingers and toes. You dragged his hand down even further, right to your entrance and pushed in there with a gasp. His head dropped, chin touching his chest as he took control of his hand once more and pressed his middle finger up into you. 

“Hah,” you let out sharply, mouth dropping open at the feeling. He pushed up until he could go no further, gripping the edge of the bathtub tightly as he felt your warm flesh fluttering around his finger, clenching so tightly then releasing then clenching again. 

He moved it back a little then up into you again, the rub of it spiking warmth through you in a way you had only experienced very briefly in the dead of night. He looked up just so, his eyes opening to devour the sight of you there, wet from the bath, legs and hands trembling. Your knees were still bent, pressed up, and your thighs were trying to close around his hand, but it was there to stay. 

“Uncle Baelor,” you breathed out, undecided between leaning back to stretch out in the bath and curling yourself up tight in an attempt to intensify the feelings shooting through you. 

“Sweet girl,” he sighed, voice low and gravelly, and he continued the motions with his hands. 

In, out. In, rub that spot with his thumb, out. In and out and in and out, and suddenly you were curling a little more into yourself, the heat and pleasure tightening in your stomach. And in and out and in and the water was disturbed, splashing a little at the speed and intensity. And out and in and out and in and you were gripping his arm tightly, moaning and gasping like you had never learnt how to to breathe. And in and out and- 

“Unh! Uncle! Baelor!” And your eyes were pinched closed, mouth open, high keening sounds leaving you. Your chest heaved and you felt overcome, the pleasure like sunlight seeping through every limb and every nerve. Everything was tensed up, the water still sloshing from the intensity of each action, and his hand was still moving a little, easing you through it, waiting for you to relax a little against the wall of the tub before pulling his finger out of you. 

Baelor stared at you, his own upper body moving up and down with heavy breaths. He allowed his hand to stay resting in the bath water, draped over the edge. His other hand stayed clenched on the edge, and if he was any stronger he may have cracked the metal. 

You lay there, the water cooling your skin, and fluttered your eyes open, staring at Baelor with a new brightness, feeling a changed woman, your mouth still parted. He looked over you, running his eyes from your breasts up to your face, and then down along your arm that was draped over the other side of the tub. A little rivulet of blood raced down your palm and dripped into the water. 

“Sweet girl,” Baelor mumbled, instantly reaching over to bring your hand close to him with a frown. You moved with the motion, leaning a little closer to rest your hand on the rim of the tub closest to him. He unfurled your fingers from around the earrings he had only just gifted you, and found that you had clutched them so hard in your pleasure that the hooks for your ears had dug in and welled a drop of blood. 

He tutted quietly, a frown marring his features, and he softly took the earrings and placed them on the floor next to where he kneeled. He flattened your palm, using his wet hand to wash away the blood that had dripped down. Then, with slow and soft motions, he brought your palm to his face and kissed you over the tiny wound, his lips soft, his beard tickling. You felt as if you could reach your peak of pleasure from that alone. 

You sat beside Valarr in the gardens and watched Baelor and Maekar in the distance, sitting around their own table with a few other lords discussing something or other that you were not privy to. 

“You have not given me nearly enough attention this visit, cousin. Nothing close to what you had once done,” Valarr teased, smiling softly at you. Baelor turned his head and gazed in your direction, his eyes meeting yours as you smirked a little. “You are far more interested in your uncle than me. Have you lost interest in me then?” 

You tore your gaze from Baelor and smiled at Valarr, your eyes shining and a shiver running down your spine. 

“Yes, dear cousin, unfortunately so. It is called growth, I fear. It is your father who entices me now.” 

dunk sat by the camp fire, lost in thought. it was a quiet evening for the group — himself, egg, you, and a few knights and squires travelling the same direction. dunk could see egg a little further down the hill leading the horses to drink at the brook. his peace was disturbed by the sound of scuffling from the nearest tent. raymun fossoway stumbled out, hand to the side of his face. his eyes set on dunk.

"what the fuck did ya do that for?"

dunk looked around to be sure raymun was talking to him. raymun came closer to the fire and in it's light dunk could see he had a large red mark on his cheek.

"do what?" asked dunk.

"set me up like that," raymun said.

the tent flap rustled.

"if she's mad at me, she'll be furious with you. you'll be glad you're tall now. she slaps hard," raymun spoke but his words made no sense to dunk. "just tell 'er i meant no disrespect, right?"

raymun made a quick escape into the darkness just as you emerged from the tent. raymun was right: you looked angrier than dunk had ever seen you.

"what in the seven hells?" you demanded as you stormed over.

"what did i do?" he asked, hopelessly confused.

"just now. what did you say to raymund?"

"nothin'!"

he wanted to ask why you were angry, but even he knew asking a lady why she was mad was more like than not to make her more mad.

"dunk, what exactly did you say?"

***

dunk had just given egg the horses' reins and told him to take them to the stream. he sat down by raymun at the camp fire. raymun's eyes were on you, watching you busy about your chores a short distance away.

"it's strange, travelling with a woman," raymun spoke. "nice, but strange."

"don't i know it," dunk replied. "n'er paid much attention to my clothes. now she rubs something in it and makes it smell sweet. rosemary, i think."

"she's nice. and pretty."

"she is."

you finished what you were doing and entered the tent. raymund leaned in closer to dunk.

"so what exactly is the, uh, arrangement?" raymun asked.

"she's safer travelling with me and egg than on her own. and she keeps me from stinkin' too badly and cooks and does other things f'me."

"other things?"

dunk nodded without giving it much thought. "other things."

"like...what?" raymun asked.

dunk thought he sounded unusually interested but he didn't mind.

"you've been on the road. you can probably guess what needs tending to," he shrugged. "it helps her stay safe and it means i don't need to stop at inns along the way, not when i've got her to look after me."

if dunk was being honest, it was more than transactional. he liked having you travel with him and egg and he hoped you would continue to do so for a long time.

"tell you the truth, she does most everything for me," dunk said.

"anything you want?" asked raymun, looking surprised and a little in awe.

"well, you have to ask her, course. why? there something you want her to do for you?"

raymun looked embarassed.

"i...i wouldn't overstep, not when she's with you."

"she's free to do what she wants. if you want something, just ask her," dunk said.

"you...wouldn't mind?" raymun asked.

"course not."

"d'ya know what she might want in return?"

dunk shrugged. he didn't understand why raymun had so many questions.

"she'd probably do it as a favour. she's easy and happy enough to help. just ask her."

***

"...so see, all i said was if raymund wanted some cooking or clothes mended, or anything, he ought to just ask you and you'd like as not be happy to help," dunk finished explaining. "'m sorry if i shouldn't have said so, but 'course i told him he'd have to ask you—"

he looked up from the fire. he couldn't read your expression, but at least you didn't look furious any more.

"dunk. you realize now what raymun thought you meant, don't you?"

"...no?"

"dunk." you stared at him a long minute waiting for him to realize. he didn't. "dunk, you told raymun i was your whore."

"what?" he sputtered, nearly falling to one side. "no i didn'!"

"you told raymun that travelling with me is convenient because you don't have to stop at inns to find a whore since you've got one with you, that i do whatever you want, that you didn't mind if he lay with me, and that i'd probably lay with him for nothing because i'm easy to get into bed."

"i didn', i wouldn', i—" dunk sputtered. but the conversation replayed in his mind. how curious and nervous raymun was, how odd his questions and....oh. oh no. "seven hells."

dunk groaned and hid his face in his hands. his face burned hotter than it ever had in his life. he was the biggest fool in the seven kingdoms. absolutely thick-headed. he felt mortified he had embarrassed you like that. causing any question to your honour was enough to make him wish the ground would swallow him up, but even worse was the dirty thoughts it had put in his head. the ones that had already been there were bad enough: thinking about how nice you smelled (and made his clothes smell), how gentle and soft you were, how close you would sit to him at night, how much smaller you were than him, how like a wife you were when you looked after his things or scolded him when he was an idiot.

he couldn't help remembering all the times he'd dreamed about you naked. you bathing in a river and splashing him with water, calling him in. you lying naked beside him on warm furs.

the idea of him not needing to feel guilty for thinking of you that way, because you were his. his to do what he wanted with. learning what you liked and making sure to give it to you every time. not just keeping you safe but keeping you satisfied, too.

he dragged his hands down his face and closed his legs to hide that he was hard. utterly miserable, dunk forced himself to look at you.

"'m sorry. raymun...did he...bother you?" dunk asked.

"no, course not. it's raymun."

"he didn' mean any disrespect. he told me that."

"i know. i slapped him and he immediately started apologizing," you recalled.

"d'ya want to slap me?"

"yes, for being a fool, but i won't."

"'m sorry." he knelt down in front of you. he wanted to take your hand, but he didn't dare. "'m so sorry. i n'er meant to embarrass you."

the sight of ser duncan the tall kneeling for you and begging your forgiveness was enough to make any lady swoon. you'd have forgiven him anything in that moment and it was a struggle for you to pretend otherwise.

"i know. it's alright," you said softly.

"i'll do anything to make it up to you."

you paused, thinking. "dunk," you began. "have you...had any of the other men asking about our...arrangement."

the knight suddenly went red all over again.

—

when you need to bathe, who else would you ask to stand guard, but your loyal hedge knight? he’ll follow you to the river, an obedient, steadfast watchdog who turns to give you privacy as soon as your hand lifts to the laces on your dress.

he holds his breath when the sound of heavy fabric hitting the earth reaches his ears. they burn with the knowledge that all he needs to do to see you is to turn around.

but he couldn’t. it would be an utter betrayal of your trust, of his honour. so he keeps a lethal grip on the hilt of his sword, ears straining as if listening to the sounds of you bathing was the next best thing to looking upon your bare form.

until, of course, you ask him to hand you the cloth you’d prepared to dry off with. it’s just out of your reach on the river bank, so dunk supposes he has no choice now.

he keeps his gaze trained on the ground, and by some luck you don’t notice when it flickers lightning quick, back and forth as if to piece a mosaic image of you in his mind for later.

you’re still in waist-deep water, back turned from him, but he’s close enough to see the divots along your spine and the beads of water trickling down the line of your neck.

dunk swallows, tracing their path with wide, hungry eyes.

the river laps just above the bend of your lower back, and when the current calms for a moment he gets a glimpse of the smooth curve of your ass, but it’s gone just as quick.

dunk has to snap his head to the side when he realises you mean to turn around, and he does so, a tad too quick.

but just in time to hide the way his cheeks burn as red as his ears. it shouldn’t affect him this way, knowing how much trust you have placed in him to keep him around even at your most vulnerable. especially then.

he tries not to wonder if that means he makes you feel safe, protected, because the thought alone is enough to make dunk’s head spin.

—

dunk likes to keep you and egg close. always within arm’s reach, despite how much the latter grumbles and groans.

dunk notes, with pride and something warmer settling in his belly, that you don’t seem to mind nearly as much.

especially now, at this crowded tavern, where the air is thick and everything is just this side of too-loud. you sit squashed to dunk’s side, thighs pressed far too closely together than what would be deemed proper in any other circumstance. but with the steady incoming stream of patrons, you don’t have much of a say.

dunk’s preoccupied with scarfing down his second plate of dinner, grumbling his assent when egg asks for the third time, “please, may i join the other squires, ser?”

“stay where i can see you,” dunk sighs into his mug. the man rolls his eyes half-heartedly when egg flashes you a bright grin before running off in a direction dunk decidedly can’t keep an eye on.

dunk turns his attention to you — seemingly just now noticing how much you’ve been leaning into him, the grimace you make when the woman sitting beside you uncaringly juts her elbow into your ribs.

he frowns, and tugs you with a gentle hand, only meaning to pull you away from the discomfort. though, between his strength and how precariously you’d been perched on the bench, you practically fly into dunk’s lap.

you blink up at him owlishly, because you already knew it but, seven hells, he’s big. you can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back, and your thighs sat over the large expanse of his own, firm with muscle and yet, soft beneath you.

“‘re you alright, m’lady?” dunk’s voice is a deep rumble now that you can feel it, and it sends shivers down your spine when you turn your head to meet those crystal blue eyes. all you find is concern.

“i am,” you say, hoping your voice isn’t as airy as you feel.

with one last contemplative look, dunk shrugs, and goes back to his meal — one handed. the other comes up to curl around your waist, anchoring you more firmly atop him.

you watch him chew, entirely undeterred, as if having you sitting on his lap wouldn’t get you any points and whispers. it certainly would, elsewhere, but it’s late, and everyone in this tavern is drunk or halfway to it, with surely much worse going on in dark corners.

so you settle into him with a sigh, nudging your half-finished plate over just as dunk cleans off his own. he takes it with a hum, fingers rubbing just under your rib cage in thanks.

the tip of his pinkie brushes the curve of your breast, and it makes you twitch. the slightest jolt, your core warming further when you realise the rest of his fingers splay over your abdomen. one large paw right over your middle, almost possessive.

your wide eyes shoot to his, but he makes no indication of anything amiss, sipping his ale as he watches the crowd.

he wonders if you can feel it. feel him. he’s been half-hard in his trousers since the first press of your leg to his, but as soon as your rear planted snug above his length, he went lightheaded with just how fast his blood rushed south.

he’s grateful for the excuse of dinner, busying his mouth and hands. one of them, at least. he tries his luck, stroking his thumb over your stomach and smiling into the rim of his ale when you shiver.

he watches you out of the corner of his eye as he pretends to search for egg. you use his lapse of attention to adjust yourself, hand braced atop one thick thigh, and that’s when it happens.

dunk knows you know.

he hears it in the way your breath hitches, fingers digging in just a little harder into the muscle of his leg. your ass falters midway, only for a heartbeat, before you’re planting yourself back down again.

this time, he can feel you. the heat between your legs, somehow through the layers separating you. dunk’s eyes widen, a choke lodging in his chest because he’s always been a little imaginative, but dunk swears he can feel the seam of you hugging his cock.

he wills himself to breathe normal, not to act. he’ll allow himself this, as long as there’s nothing else. he’ll stay like this until you inevitably get up, and this will be like all the other times — stored in his memory for when he’s got his fist curled around his cock behind a tree somewhere, hot and aching, with nothing but the recollection of you to bring him to his peak.

your hand remains, fingers curled into the fabric of his trousers. you lean back, nuzzling into his sturdy chest. he can smell your hair, the herbs and flowers used in your wash, and it goes straight down to the pulsing mess between his legs.

dunk knows he’s not imagining your hips twitching. he sees the quickening pace of your breaths by the rise and fall of your shoulders, swallowing the urge to curl his own around you, wrap his arms around your waist and manhandle you the way he wants.

then there’s a slow, deliberate drag when you straighten, craning your neck as you pretend to spot something in the distance. he wonders what’s going through your mind. surely, you know what you’re doing? though a proper lady such as yourself might not—

dunk fights back a pathetic groan at the notion that you’ve no idea the effect you have on him, and it takes every ounce of restraint to keep his own hips still. as much as he wants to buck, the roaring chaos of the tavern keeps his mind in check.

he realises too late that he needs you off. he can’t think like this, can’t protect you the way he ought to — not when the idea of you taking his cock just like this is running through his head as clear as day. would you want that?

dunk thinks he gets his answer when your fingers curl between his own that have been clutching your front.

he thinks he hears the tail end of a mourning sigh, and realises it had come from his own lips when you slide off his lap, back onto the now freed-up bench.

he’s confused, because just as much as he’d wanted you off seconds ago, he needs you back where you were now.

he spares a shy glance when your hand creeps back onto his thigh, much higher than it had been.

he only gets a split-second glimpse of your expression, bottom lip pulled between your teeth as your eyes twinkle up at him with a newfound mischief within.

egg comes bounding into view, quickly stealing your attention with a rapid, inaccurate retelling of a pentoshi tale.

Honestly, you have not stopped thinking about how good your father made you feel that one chance encounter. You tried to emulate the feelings, the sensations, everything, with your boyfriend, but he just doesn’t— can’t do it. Even with the toys you have on hand do little to relieve you of your frustration. And the post-orgasm clarity only serves to remind you sadly of the stark difference between self-gratification and the real thing. 

So, you avoid your dad like a plague. After all, every time you see him, your mind only goes to filthy, disgusting thoughts. 

But of course, that saying has some truth in it, doesn't it? About the heart growing fonder with absence. 

Especially when you come home late to a note with your father’s messy scrawl on your pillow.

Princess. You’re mad at me. But I don’t know why. Help this old man understand. Daddy misses his little girl. Dinner tomorrow at your favourite restaurant?

Feeling a pang of guilt strike you in your chest, you think that maybe you had been too tough on him. You had always been his little girl before whatever transpired between the two of you. And he didn’t even know it was you. 

Even though it is late, you pad quietly down the hallway after getting washed up, heading towards your parents’ room. You know that your parents sleep separately sometimes, and you wonder briefly if tonight is one of those nights. But you pass by the guest rooms and see that one of them has its door closed, and you’re slightly relieved knowing that you’ll only be met with your father when you get to your parents’ room, yet also a little nervous being in the same enclosed space alone with him. Despite the conflicting emotions stirring inside of you, your feet don’t stop moving and before you know it, you’re standing before the master bedroom. 

It is already three in the morning, and you don’t bother to knock before twisting the handle, simply opening the door to complete pitch darkness.

You shut the door quietly and navigate your way to the bed with muscle memory. You don’t say anything when you climb into bed, more because your heart is stuck in your throat than anything else, namely nervousness and just a tad bit of excitement. 

Your father doesn’t even rouse awake when you get under the covers and take up the spot where your mother used to sleep. He’s always been a heavy sleeper.

Lying on your side, you face the sleeping form of the man before you, just a silhouette in the night. Shifting closer to try to see him better, you hold your breath when you feel the warmth his body exudes. You inhale the earthy scent that has been his signature since you were a child and immediately feel yourself relaxing. You shut your eyes and tuck yourself into a ball close to him, thinking of what you’ll say to him in the morning until sleep takes you in under. 

Your brow twitches at the low groan behind you. There is some movement before you feel warmth enveloping your body from behind, a strong arm around your waist. Sleep is making your brain foggy, every sensation on your body feeling almost like an out-of-body experience. 

“Decided to come back to bed, hmm?” comes a low, gravelly hum. 

You really should try to wake up and move away from the very man haunting your every waking moment. But when he curls into you and tucks your head under his chin, his presence so comforting and warm, you simply let yourself drift off to sleep once again. 

You wake up to a tight grip on your hip and something warm and hard between your thighs. As you stir awake, eyes trying to refocus in the dark, you realise belatedly that your thighs are wet and sticky. 

“Fuck, baby,” your father’s voice behind you is between a whisper and a groan. 

The bed creaks slightly with every movement of his hips as he rubs his length against your soaking lips, your inner thighs tightening slightly, making him hiss under his breath. 

The weight of this situation finally falls over you and you start to panic, your heart pounding in your chest, rapid heartbeat in your ears. This was not how you envisioned this night to go. In fact, you had expected sleeping through the night uneventfully until the next morning to speak with your father. 

You squirm, trying to get away from this hot and sticky mess, but that only riles the man up more as he tightens his hold on your hip and angles his hips so that his swollen cockhead hits your clit with every thrust. 

“Stop moving,” your dad hisses, hand slipping down to adjust the crotch of your panties to the side again. The noise of his cock being coated with your juices is so loud and disgusting that he smacks your ass cheek, squeezing and kneading the flesh as he wonders, “Are you on your period? You’re never this wet, babe.”

You whine at his assumption. Yet despite the nagging guilt that screams at you to stop this, you find yourself arching your back, pressing your ass to his hips even more. 

Toji lets out a shaky breath. He really hopes his wife doesn’t stop him when he moves to hold himself up on his elbow, hovering over your body to press his lips on yours. You haven’t shared a kiss with him in a while, and even when you do, it’s always his initiative. 

In the darkness, his lips first land on your eyebrow. Slowly, he finds his way down your face, kissing your eyelash, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, and finally your lips. You let out a mewl against his lips and instinctively move your hand down to find his. 

Toji spreads his fingers, letting you entwine yours with his before he tightens and curls them. All this time, he doesn’t stop kissing you, doesn’t stop slotting his cock between your thighs. 

“Wanna fuck you, baby,” he grunts against your lips, his breath hot and sinful. 

And with that, he takes his hand away from yours, slipping it under the inside of your thigh, lifting it to spread your legs. Your heart is pounding hard against your chest, anxious and ridden with guilt as you purse your lips to stay quiet. You let your father put his foot on the crotch of your panties and push your bottoms off your legs. He tilts his hips to drag his cockhead lightly along your slit, and when he hears a ragged breath tearing through your lips, he pats the inside of your thigh gently. 

“Hold your leg up for me,” he murmurs. 

You do, and he finally lets go. 

You should really say something but the need and desire to feel what you felt that first night your father mistook you for your mom is all it takes for you to bite down that guilt and shame. 

Especially when Toji grabs hold of his hard shaft, fitting his tip between your flaps, positioning himself at your tight hole. 

Toji shuts his eyes in bliss, hearing you moan so lewdly and breathily as he breaches your entrance, feeling your warmth enveloping his cockhead tightly. He is slow as he sheathes his entire length inside of you, wanting to savour your fluttering walls, enjoying the way you squirm and mewl at the stretch. 

When Toji finally bottoms himself inside of you, staying still for a moment to let your squelching pussy adjust to his size, he tilts his head toward you and groans, “Kiss me, baby.”

You don’t hesitate to turn your head and meet your father’s lips with yours. At once, Toji brings his hand up to cup your chin possessively, his grip gentle but firm as he swipes his tongue along the seam of your lips. Your mouth parts to let out a moan and he doesn’t waste time in slipping his tongue into your wet cavern. 

He swallows a long moan from you when he pulls out slowly, leaving just his swollen tip inside of you, before he slides back in. Still not breaking the heated kiss, Toji’s tongue laps at yours, sliding along the back of your teeth, his lips massaging yours passionately. His hips don’t break stride either as he continues sliding his cock between your tight walls, his thrusts slowly gaining momentum.

The room is filled with the wet slicking noises of your father’s cock entering in and out of you, the sticky slapping of his hips against your ass, and the light smacking of your lips on each other’s. 

And when your dad glides his hand down from your chin to wrap around your throat, his fingers squeezing lightly as if to gauge your reactions, you moan vulgarly into his lips, eyes rolling to the back of your head. 

Toji increases the pressure on his fingers. 

Your brain feels like it has turned to mush, the cottony darkness pressing in on all sides of your mind. He groans into the kiss that is slowly turning sloppy when he feels you clamping down on his cock, your gummy walls sucking him in. 

And the moment he releases the grip on your throat and oxygen rushes back into your system, at the same time making your thighs tighten and hips roll forward as you clench unyieldingly around his thick meat, Toji growls loudly into your parted lips, overridden by so much pleasure that your jaw is slack and incapable of kissing him back. 

Toji has never seen his wife react to sex like this before, and it’s refreshing and hot. 

Not wanting to ruin the moment, he quickly pushes aside the question of what made you change, particularly toward him and his sexual approaches. 

Toji’s thrusts gain more speed, greedily slamming his cock so hard into you that your moans are heady and breathless, wanting to feel more of your compressed walls. You’re both just exchanging breaths now, panting into each other’s mouths. 

“Fuck,” he curses, feeling his cock twitch inside of you. 

Quickly stopping his movements, Toji slides out of you abruptly and you let out a whine at the loss of his dominating size in your aching hole. 

But then panic rises up in your chest when your father throws the blanket off your bodies, his motions desperate and brisk like he is in a rush for time. 

Toji climbs over you as he pushes your legs apart, already kneeling between your thighs in a second. He slaps his cock on your soaked pussy, inhaling a sharp intake of breath at the whine you let out. He doesn’t waste any more time as he slides his tip down to your fluttering entrance and penetrates you again in one swift thrust. 

Your father grips your hips tightly when you lift them, arching your back against the bed, the both of you moaning loudly into the night. And before you’re even ready, he starts fucking you with an intensity and eagerness that makes you completely forget about your boyfriend’s poor excuse for making love. 

You unthinkingly reach your hand down to grab hold of his fingers squeezing your waist and Toji groans. He immediately leans down to hover over you, his other hand bracing against the mattress on the side of your head to support his weight, his lips already on yours, swallowing your moans. 

You don’t think when you slide your free hand around his nape, pulling him closer, hungrily kissing him back. Your legs move to circle around his waist, locking him in a missionary position. 

Toji kisses you back with the same intensity without losing momentum in his fucking. In fact, his thrusts are harder now, faster. The sound of his cock slipping in and out of you is music to his ears. And the way your pussy is pulsing around him is enough to send him to overdrive. 

He doesn’t break the kiss when he lets go of your hip, allowing your now vacant hand to claw at the side of his chest. You’re completely fucked out, lost in the pleasure of your father’s cock fucking you, the overbearing weight he has over your body, the messy kiss you’re engaged in, that you don’t realise that he has reached his hand out to the reading light. 

Toji is so fucking close and he just wants to see your pleasured face as he fucks you, sure that just the sight of you enjoying his pounding would hurl him straight into his orgasm. 

Your brow furrows when you sense a dim brightness from the corner of your closed lids. Before your languid brain can even keep up with what’s happening, your body completely overtaken by pleasure, your father’s lips are off yours and your hold around his neck breaks. 

Toji’s breaths are underlined with low grunts, his cock swelling and quivering in your tightening pussy, his hips still relentless as he keeps fucking you. 

And when his eyes have accustomed to the faint light illuminating the pitch darkness and he sees his daughter laying beneath him, brows furrowed as your eyes flutter open, your pink swollen lips parted to let out the prettiest of moans, Toji thought that he would have stopped. 

He should have. 

Especially when he watches you belatedly realise what is happening, your eyes rounding when you finally meet his, pupils trembling slightly, your entire body gone still. 

He feels something stir in his chest and in his lower stomach when your cunt clench around him tightly, like a warning, or maybe a reminder that he is still fucking his daughter. 

Your skin prickles with heat, your chest tight. All it took was just that one second of eye contact. 

And now your father can’t stop staring at you. 

And you realise that he hasn’t stopped fucking you. 

Your walls pulse around his meat at that realisation, a squeeze of guilt. Maybe even of hope. 

Toji doesn’t stop. 

He lets out a low groan, his hands flying to your waist to grip onto you like you were leaving, his hips slamming against yours, cock pistoning in and out of you like a desperate man looking for release.

“Fuck, I’m going to cum, Princess,” he growls, face contorted into a sort of snarl. 

His gaze is dark and intense as he eyes the way your face crumples into a look of pleasure and shame, exactly mirroring his own emotions. But his grasp on your waist tightens and he chases his climax as he moves your body in tandem to his fucking, pounding your body back into his hips. 

You can’t think anymore. 

You can’t feel the guilt or shame anymore. 

Your eyes roll to the back of your head in pleasure, your back bowing backwards as you make an arch in the air. 

“Shit, baby,” Toji curses. 

He slides a hand down to your red bundle of nerves and gives it a rub with the pad of his thumb. 

“Daddy,” you choke out a gasp as your body twitches and your thighs tighten. 

Finally hearing your sweet voice spurs Toji on to play with your clit, his focus entirely set on not cumming despite your quivering cunt wrapped around his cock. And the moment he sees you flailing and thrashing before him, feeling your walls tightening like they’re trying to push him out, hearing how breathless and whiny and cute your mewls are, he lets go of that restraint. 

His breaths come out in low grunts as he fucks you harder in pursuit of his climax, your twitching walls clenching and unclenching around his cock like you’re trying frantically to milk him.

“Fuck!”

With a loud groan, Toji pulls out of you, his hand already wrapped tightly around his sopping wet cock, almost violently pumping his shaft as he presses his thick mushroom head to your glistening pussy. 

Beyond the tunnel vision of your own orgasm, you try to focus on your father’s moans as he cums, painting your womanhood and stomach with white liquid, coating your skin with his seeds. 

Toji’s orgasm almost takes as long as his daughter’s as he empties his load on your pussy. Panting, he sits back on his heels, lazily stroking himself, letting the last of his seeds drip down his slit and down his cock. 

He watches the last spasm wrack your body as you lay before him, chest rising and falling below your shirt, trying to catch your breath. 

The air in the room gradually becomes heavy with unspoken words and conflicting emotions now that the post-coital clarity is setting in. Toji watches your body grow still, like the way you used to in your younger days when you knew a scolding was coming your way. He lets out a long sigh. 

You flinch slightly at the gentle but calloused caress on your inner thigh. 

“Look at me.”

Swallowing, you very reluctantly meet your father’s gaze. 

“Why are you here?” he murmurs, not unkindly. 

It is his warmth and gentleness that makes tears unceremoniously form on your lashline and slip down your cheeks, startling him into a frown. But he doesn’t say anything, simply lets you grapple with your own emotions and words. 

Finally, you say between sobs, “I’m s-sorry, Daddy. I sh-should have said something. Should h-have stopped you. B-but—”

“Baby,” he cuts you off sternly, a firm hand on your thigh.

This only makes you cry even harder. 

Toji lets out a long exhale through his nose before moving, crawling on the bed to settle down next to you. He sits up against the headboard, a hand stroking your hair, waiting for you to calm down. 

He thinks he understands what you’re feeling. And to be honest, it isn’t like he doesn’t share the same sentiments. If anything, he probably feels them more. 

“Did I hurt you?” Toji whispers. 

Your chest heaves as you draw in a stuttering breath. You shake your head. Toji brings his hand to wipe your tears with the back of his fingers. 

“Did you feel like you couldn’t stop me?” 

You swallow the thick lump of tears in your throat as you look up at him, finding him staring straight ahead in the dark room. You blink your tears away, really trying to focus on the look on his face. 

Though you can only see his profile, you realise that your father is haunted by his own internal thoughts and emotions. It is not just you feeling the way you do. 

“No, Daddy.”

Your trembling voice makes Toji turn to face you. His eyes trace your features, taking in your watery eyes, red nose, puffy lips. You look so pretty despite the tears. 

“I—” You gulp and whisper, “I liked it. And I wanted it.”

That makes Toji frown. “You wanted it?” he repeats, almost incredulously. 

Steeling yourself, you nod your head, just a minuscule action. You start, “Th-that time in the hotel room…”

It takes Toji a few seconds to put two and two together. And when he does, he pulls his hand away from your face like he’s been burnt. A tear slides down your cheek at his reaction. 

“That was you?” he breathes. You bite your bottom lip from trembling as you nod, your cheeks now wetter than before. “Why didn’t you say something?”

When you don’t reply, whether out of guilt or a loss for words, your father feels his stomach dropping. He looks away from you for a long moment, takes a moment to breathe, and finally moves. 

You watch him get up wordlessly to take some tissues and come back to wipe the mess on your womanhood, the whole time focused on the task at hand, not once looking at you. 

And when you’re clean, he doesn’t meet your gaze when he says, “It’s late. Go back to your room.”

“Daddy—”

His eyes flit to yours and your words get stuck in your throat at the look in them. 

“Please, Princess.”

This time, it is Toji avoiding you. 

You try to reach out to him. To apologise, to make things right, something. 

But he won’t let you. 

Because when he feels your presence coming down the stairs to join your parents for a meal, he cooks up an excuse that he has to leave to make a call. Or when you leave the house just as he has parked his car on the porch, he stays in the vehicle a little longer, pretending to be busy reading an important email until you’ve left and locked the gate behind you. 

Toji doesn’t know why he does these things he does. 

Maybe it’s the guilt of cheating on this loveless marriage he has with his wife. Maybe it’s the anger he feels at himself for realising he enjoyed the two times he fucked his own daughter. Or maybe it’s the disappointment from finding out that you lied to him. 

Well, it’s not lying if you didn’t say anything. 

But still, that doesn’t make it right. 

Whatever it is, Toji is frustrated. At himself, for not understanding his own thoughts. At you, for hiding the truth from him. 

But mostly at himself. 

Especially when he sees you shrinking back again, finally coming to terms that your relationship with him has probably been estranged, broken. 

You don’t try to join in on any family meals anymore, always coming up with excuses not to. You come home late into the night when you would never bump into your dad, if you ever come home at all. 

Despite living in the same house, Toji doesn’t see you anymore. 

He thinks that maybe this is for the better. 

He doesn’t feel bad when he’s around his wife. And he doesn’t feel that pang of emotions hitting him in his chest when he sees you. 

That is until he comes home early from a dinner one weekend and passes by your room, footsteps halting when he hears quiet noises from behind the door. His entire body freezes, his breathing paused, ears perked to pick up on the muffled sounds coming from your room. 

He can make out your sighs and moans which he has come to be familiar with, no matter how muted they are now through the door. And beyond that, he hears a low, droning voice. A man’s voice. 

While brooding over his own thoughts, he had completely forgotten that you have a boyfriend. 

He doesn’t realise his hands have balled into fists. 

And when he hears the faint sound of hips slapping against hips, his jaw clenches and his chest burns. 

He doesn’t say or do anything but when he walks away from your room, he makes sure his footsteps are heavy and loud. He even opens and shuts the door to his room noisily. 

The fire in his chest flares even more at the sight of his bed. 

The bed where he had you a few weeks ago, moaning and whimpering like a cute little thing for him. 

The bed where he last saw you, the last interaction you had, no matter how intimate. 

Toji stews in his anger for a long time. 

That is until he hears the hasty, faraway sound of a door opening and closing and a rush of feet down the stairs. 

His lips curl slightly and that fire in his chest is instantly put out, only to be replaced by pride. 

He should be the only man of the house.

The only man who gets to hear those cute sounds you make, see the pretty expressions you make on your face, feel the warmth of your body. 

Toji isn’t sure what time you came home. He tried to wait up. But his age caught up to him and he had fallen asleep before he could even help it. 

It is almost already five in the morning when he awakes, the sky outside still dark. 

Toji gets down from his bed. Leaving the room quietly, he passes the guest room that his wife prefers sleeping in, the guilt he used to feel no longer wrapping its strong grip around his chest. 

He pads down the hallway and stops outside his daughter’s room. He hesitates only for a moment before opening the door, adjusting his eyes to take in the sleeping form of you curled up in bed. 

He doesn’t stall this time when he enters and shuts the door quietly behind him. Toji goes over to you, gently lifting your blanket and immediately slipping into your bed behind you. 

You don’t stir. Not even when he scoots closer and wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you into his body. 

The tension in his body melts away, and he finds that the mix of emotions he used to grapple with has been defeated. Instead, he only feels a sense of contentment, of desire, of yearning. 

You moan at the feathery touch of lips on your neck and shoulder, slowly waking up from your slumber. You blink sleepily, noticing that it is still dark, only realising belatedly that there is a large presence behind you, holding you close. You’re suddenly acutely aware of who it is, if not for his familiar earthy scent. 

“Daddy?” you croak out.

The man behind you hums, moving to kiss the shell of your ear now. “Was that your boyfriend this afternoon?” Your entire body goes still and warm. Your father slides his hand down to caress the side of your hip. “That Soturo guy?”

“Satoru,” you correct breathlessly, still unmoving. 

“Hm.” You gasp when he curls his fingers to leave a scratch up the side of your thigh. “Was he any good?”

Your mind is a mess right now. But you manage to sputter, “Aren’t you still mad at me?”

Toji moves behind you to hold himself up on an elbow, hovering over the side of your face, pressing his lips to your cheeks. “Kind of. But for a different reason now.”

You turn your head slightly even though you know you can’t see him. “What?” you breathe. 

You hold your breath as your father shifts, moving behind you until the reading light next to your bed illuminates your room dully. You’re squinting at the ceiling, trying to refocus your eyes, when your father’s handsome face appears before you, towering over you, his scarred lips in a thin line. 

“Does Satoro make you happy?” he murmurs. Mind reeling at whether this is a trick question, you don’t answer. “Does he fuck you better than Daddy?”

You gulp. “Daddy, I—”

“Answer me.”

Under his hard gaze, you immediately shake your head. Toji hums, satisfied at your answer. 

“But you bring him to my home and let him fuck you in this bed?”

“Daddy—” 

You gasp when a palm strikes your cheek. Not too hard, but firm enough to shut you up and wake you up from the state of sleepiness you were in. 

“Do you prefer your boyfriend’s dick over Daddy’s?” Before you even open your mouth, Toji lands another slap on your cheek. “Huh, Princess? Answer me.”

“N-No,” you whisper, thighs pressing together unknowingly. 

Noticing that minor movement below him, Toji slides his knee up to press his thigh to your ass, making your breath hitch when he rubs your womanhood against his leg. 

“Hm. But you invited him over when you thought I wasn’t home. Made me hear what he was doing to you.”

It is by instinct when you push your ass out to grind on his thigh. Feeling slightly accused, you say, “You were mad at me. You were avoiding me.”

Your father clicks his tongue and you already have your eyes shut when he slaps you again. He lets out a laugh through his nose. 

“Baby girl learns fast,” he comments dryly. When he sees you opening your eyes again, he gives you one more slap to your cheek, causing you to whine and squeeze your lids close tightly. “Me being mad at you doesn’t mean you can bring home some stupid boy and let them fuck you under the roof I paid for. Does it?” 

You shake your head meekly, which makes the corners of Toji’s lips curl up slightly. You flinch when his hand reaches out to your face, but he only strokes your warm cheek tenderly. 

“Lie on your back, Princess,” he whispers. Eagerly, you do as you’re told, heart racing at what might unfold between the two of you. He pulls his leg back to give you space. “Spread your legs.”

Once you’ve done so, Toji brings his hand down, giving you a light slap between your legs. You yelp softly. 

As you stare up into your father’s dark eyes, his hand finds its way under the waistband of your shorts and into your panties, his middle finger easily finding your slit that is leaking slightly with arousal. He hums, sliding his finger along your folds, spreading your slick. 

“Daddy,” you whine, rocking your hips slightly to feel more friction. You give him a pitiful look. “I really am sorry for not telling you the first time. Or the second time.”

Toji takes in the small pout you wear as he licks his lips. He keeps playing with your folds, feeling your arousal build with just his finger touching you. “It’s alright, baby,” he finally says in a whisper, like he is resigned to the fact. “I only wish you told me sooner. Then we could play like this more.” 

You let out a long moan when your father prods his finger at your entrance and slips his thick digit between your gummy walls coated in slick. He is slow as he slides his middle finger in and out of you, his hand cupping your pussy. 

With every stroke against your wall, Toji presses an open-mouthed kiss to your face, dragging his lips across your skin until he reaches your lips, finally swallowing your moan as he kisses you. Your heart jumps in your chest as your hands snake around his neck, embracing him. 

He hums into your mouth, at the same time sinking another finger into your pussy, revelling in the way you tighten around them like you’re denying him entrance though your hips are bucking, trying to bury him inside of you. Toji curls his digits before pulling them out and entering again. 

He eats up your whines as he quickens the pace, allowing you to rock your hips, fucking back on his fingers, his tongue sensually dancing with yours.

Before long, he has you moaning and mewling — needier and realer than what he heard this afternoon, he notes. He continues licking and twirling his tongue around yours even as you unravel around him, thighs shaking, body quivering as your orgasm overwhelms your body. 

You’re still in a daze when your father leans back and removes his fingers from your crotch, already tugging on the waistband of your pants. 

“Take everything off, Princess.”

You have never been more eager to do so. As he sits up to watch you, Toji pulls down his shorts to free his cock, idly stroking his erection, letting it grow in his hand. 

You’re beautiful — your body, your curves, everything. 

The way the fat of your breasts jiggle when you pull off your top. The soft flesh of your stomach. The lines your thigh muscles make when you lift your hips to shrug your pants off. 

Toji can barely stop himself from crawling over you, but he manages to wait until you’re finally laying before him naked in all your glory. You rest your hands on his chest, letting them slide down his torso as he towers over you. 

“What about you, Daddy?” 

Toji stares down at your lashes fluttering at him curiously. He shakes his head, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “Mommy can’t see the both of us naked in bed, baby.”

You roll your eyes. “Mommy shouldn’t even see me naked in bed with you, then.”

A corner of his lips quirk. You’ve always been a smart girl. But he still rewards you with a slap to your face, making you gasp in surprise. 

“Punishment for talking back to me,” he mutters, though he is already lowering his hips, letting his hard rod bump against your inner thigh. 

You pout at your father, who only leans in to kiss your cheek. No words are exchanged as he positions himself between your lips, swiping his cockhead up and down to coat it with your arousal. He keeps his eyes on you when he eventually slots himself into your cunt, watching the way your brows fold closer, eyes glossy, bottom lip between your teeth. 

He lets out a groan as he bottoms out inside of you, feeling the way your pussy squeezes around him trying to adjust to his size. Toji stays still, giving you time to breathe as he drops kisses on the side of your face, down the column of your neck, making you tilt your head to give him more access. 

A trail of kisses lead down to your chest until he is face-to-face with your breasts. As he takes a nipple in his mouth, his hips start moving at a slow but steady pace and you let out a loud sigh, your hand moving to the back of his head, fingers buried in his soft hair. 

With his tongue flicking at your pert nipple, his teeth slightly grazing your sensitive skin, you moan, “Daddy.”

Toji releases your tit with a pop, glancing up at you through his lashes. “Hm?”

You flicker your eyes down to watch him staring at you, tongue out, twirling and playing with your bud. He grins when he feels your walls clench tightly around him. 

“Harder,” you whine. 

He clicks his tongue and uses his hand to slap at your other breast. “So impatient, my little girl,” he scolds. 

But your father listens anyway. 

Toji gives your nipple a kiss before sitting up on his heels, his hands skimming down the sides of your body. When he reaches your lower region, he lifts your legs, putting his palms on the back of your thighs, pushing them up and widening them, your feet in the air. Toji rolls his hips slowly, observing the way your face contorts with pleasure. The cute sounds you make, though, break his restraint. 

He picks up the pace and goes faster and harder, just as you asked. He curses under his breath. You always squeeze him so tight and get so wet every time he slams his cock back into you. 

He thought he could have lasted longer today, wanting to punish you for what you did with your boyfriend this afternoon. But the moment he hears you breathing out his name, something in his snaps. 

You gasp when he lets go of your legs and falls forward, almost on top of you if not for his hands planted on the headboard of your bed. That gasp turns into a whimpering moan when you feel how deep he is in this change of position, your legs spread wide open with his body, his cock entirely buried in your tight snatch, cockhead pushing against your cervix and igniting that knot in your stomach. 

“Say that again,” he pants. 

When you stay silent, pussy still fluttering around his cock, lips parted stupidly, lids hooded, Toji lands another heavy slap on your cheek, waking you up from your pleasure with a jolt. 

“Say my name again,” he repeats in a growl. 

You slide your hands under his shirt, touching his abs, fingernails clawing at his chest as you go higher. “Toji,” you purr. “Gonna fuck me like you mean it, hmm, Toji?”

“Fuck.” 

Toji doesn’t start off slow this time. He pounds into you like an animal, your bed creaking noisily with every thrust he makes. You let out such a pornographic moan that he grunts and moves to brace his hands next to your face, lowering his head to take your lips in his to shut you up. 

Your hips are moving in sync with his as you fuck yourself back on his cock, the squelching sound of your pussy taking him in and the slapping noise of your ass against his hips loud and dirty.

“Mm, I’m gonna cum, baby,” your father mutters against your lips. 

“Inside, Toji,” you breathe. 

“Dirty little girl.”

Your jaw goes slack when he brings his hand down to rub harshly on your clit, your hips stuttering and your pussy clamping down on his cock. The way Toji sticks his tongue into your mouth and twirls his tongue around its inside is so filthy, but so hot. And paired with his low moans, the pounding of his cock in your pussy, the massaging of your clit, your orgasm hits you with a blazing hot white flush. 

“Shit, baby. I’m gonna cum in you. Daddy’s gonna cum in you, baby,” Toji moans, his hips slapping against yours loud as he rams into your throbbing pussy in one deep thrust to the hilt. “Mm, fuck! Princess.”

You feel his warm seeds spraying deep inside of you with every pulse of his cock. Toji’s breathing is irregular, his eyes shut in bliss, his forehead resting on yours. You let him empty himself in your womb as his hips make lazy strokes, riding out the last of his orgasm. 

When the peak of his pleasure has waned, Toji flutters his eyes open and catches his daughter staring up at him. He lets out a breath through his nose and closes his lids again, letting the reality of the situation finally sink in. 

He had been expecting some sort of remorse for fucking his own daughter, or maybe even self-contempt for wanting and enjoying this. 

Instead, all he feels is weight lifting off his chest and shoulders. 

He inhales deeply and presses a kiss to your hairline before unplugging your pulsating hole, rolling onto the bed next to you.

Toji feels you turning to him as he catches his breath. He glances at you and you lick your lips nervously. 

“Gonna ask me to get out of my room this time?”

“Tch,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes. Ignoring your little jab, Toji tucks himself back into his shorts as he wonders, “You on the pill?”

You flip to your side to face him better. “Mmhmm.”

He hums. The silence between you stretches until he finally tilts his head in your direction. He eyes you carefully. 

“He nice to you?” 

“Who? Satoru?” He doesn’t answer, just stays staring at you. Your head bobs slowly. “Mm, yeah. He’s a nice guy. You met him before, Daddy.”

Toji turns to face the ceiling again as he mumbles, “Don’t remember.”

You grumble and hit his chest. You’ve brought Satoru home for dinner several times, not to mention his attendance at family gatherings. He has definitely met and seen him before. Your father continues feigning ignorance, so you let out an annoyed huff and rotate your body so you’re facing away from him. 

It is quiet for a while. Then the flicker of a switch cuts through the silence of the night and your room is plunged into darkness once more, though the sky outside is beginning to turn blue as dawn breaks. You hold your breath listening to the sheets ruffle behind you. Your skin prickles at the comforting warmth that embraces you from behind. 

Toji slides his calloused palm down your arm until he reaches the back of your hand, his fingers slipping between yours, curling around the crevices. Naturally, you do the same. He pulls your entwined hands closer to your body. 

“Does he make you happy?” your father whispers into your hair, like he is afraid to hear the answer. 

“Hmm…” You’re not sure how to respond. So you think it is better to be honest. “We’ve talked about marriage. We’re pretty compatible.”

Toji waits. When you don’t continue, he supplies, “But…?”

A smile plays on your lips. Because how did he know there was a ‘but’?

“He cannot satisfy me in bed.”

There is a beat of silence before your father’s chest rumbles behind you as he laughs. You whine and struggle to move away from his hold but he keeps you close, his arms tight around you. 

“Of course not,” Toji agrees. You let out an annoyed huff. Another pause. Then, “Your mother doesn’t— won’t satisfy me in bed either.” 

You keep quiet, unsure what to say. You had already guessed it since the first time. 

“Daddy’s little princess can, though,” he murmurs, dropping a kiss to your crown. 

You squeeze his fingers slightly. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I’ve been thinking a lot about you since the first time.”

“Did you?” Toji teases, laughing when you let out another whine. He gathers you impossibly closer toward him, tucking your head under his chin. “Good to hear that you’ll always be a Daddy’s girl.” He curls his legs behind yours, pressing against the back of your thighs as he folds his body around yours. “You should invite Sotaro for dinner tomorrow. Let me meet him.”

“It’s Satoru. And you have met him,” you groan. “Also, why do you even want to meet him again?” Especially after what we’ve done tonight, is what you want to add but don’t. 

You feel him shrug his broad shoulders behind you. “Maybe show you the difference between a dumb boy who can’t even please his girlfriend in bed, and a man who will always put his daughter’s needs before his.”

Your heart flutters at his words, though you don’t say anything in reply. So Toji caresses the heel of your palm with his thumb as murmurs, “We’ll go to your favourite restaurant. Even buy you a nice dress and heels. So you can look pretty for Daddy when I look at you across the table.”

Your heart feels like it has drummed its way up your throat as blood flows up your face. You continue staying quiet and unmoving, uncertain of what to say, or do.  

But when your father prompts you for a reply, you swallow down the heart flutters rising from your stomach.

“Hm? Okay?”  

You nod your head wordlessly and press your back closer to his strong chest.

<< Part 1 🔞 || part 3 🔞 (coming soon) >>

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Tags: @ghostlyshieldmimic @jilliannelovesdazai @sirencall16 @hxrryst @namikawa @smokeandsilhouettes

Honestly, you have not stopped thinking about how good your father made you feel that one chance encounter. You tried to emulate the feelings, the sensations, everything, with your boyfriend, but he just doesn’t— can’t do it. Even with the toys you have on hand do little to relieve you of your frustration. And the post-orgasm clarity only serves to remind you sadly of the stark difference between self-gratification and the real thing. 

So, you avoid your dad like a plague. After all, every time you see him, your mind only goes to filthy, disgusting thoughts. 

But of course, that saying has some truth in it, doesn't it? About the heart growing fonder with absence. 

Especially when you come home late to a note with your father’s messy scrawl on your pillow.

Princess. You’re mad at me. But I don’t know why. Help this old man understand. Daddy misses his little girl. Dinner tomorrow at your favourite restaurant?

Feeling a pang of guilt strike you in your chest, you think that maybe you had been too tough on him. You had always been his little girl before whatever transpired between the two of you. And he didn’t even know it was you. 

Even though it is late, you pad quietly down the hallway after getting washed up, heading towards your parents’ room. You know that your parents sleep separately sometimes, and you wonder briefly if tonight is one of those nights. But you pass by the guest rooms and see that one of them has its door closed, and you’re slightly relieved knowing that you’ll only be met with your father when you get to your parents’ room, yet also a little nervous being in the same enclosed space alone with him. Despite the conflicting emotions stirring inside of you, your feet don’t stop moving and before you know it, you’re standing before the master bedroom. 

It is already three in the morning, and you don’t bother to knock before twisting the handle, simply opening the door to complete pitch darkness.

You shut the door quietly and navigate your way to the bed with muscle memory. You don’t say anything when you climb into bed, more because your heart is stuck in your throat than anything else, namely nervousness and just a tad bit of excitement. 

Your father doesn’t even rouse awake when you get under the covers and take up the spot where your mother used to sleep. He’s always been a heavy sleeper.

Lying on your side, you face the sleeping form of the man before you, just a silhouette in the night. Shifting closer to try to see him better, you hold your breath when you feel the warmth his body exudes. You inhale the earthy scent that has been his signature since you were a child and immediately feel yourself relaxing. You shut your eyes and tuck yourself into a ball close to him, thinking of what you’ll say to him in the morning until sleep takes you in under. 

Your brow twitches at the low groan behind you. There is some movement before you feel warmth enveloping your body from behind, a strong arm around your waist. Sleep is making your brain foggy, every sensation on your body feeling almost like an out-of-body experience. 

“Decided to come back to bed, hmm?” comes a low, gravelly hum. 

You really should try to wake up and move away from the very man haunting your every waking moment. But when he curls into you and tucks your head under his chin, his presence so comforting and warm, you simply let yourself drift off to sleep once again. 

You wake up to a tight grip on your hip and something warm and hard between your thighs. As you stir awake, eyes trying to refocus in the dark, you realise belatedly that your thighs are wet and sticky. 

“Fuck, baby,” your father’s voice behind you is between a whisper and a groan. 

The bed creaks slightly with every movement of his hips as he rubs his length against your soaking lips, your inner thighs tightening slightly, making him hiss under his breath. 

The weight of this situation finally falls over you and you start to panic, your heart pounding in your chest, rapid heartbeat in your ears. This was not how you envisioned this night to go. In fact, you had expected sleeping through the night uneventfully until the next morning to speak with your father. 

You squirm, trying to get away from this hot and sticky mess, but that only riles the man up more as he tightens his hold on your hip and angles his hips so that his swollen cockhead hits your clit with every thrust. 

“Stop moving,” your dad hisses, hand slipping down to adjust the crotch of your panties to the side again. The noise of his cock being coated with your juices is so loud and disgusting that he smacks your ass cheek, squeezing and kneading the flesh as he wonders, “Are you on your period? You’re never this wet, babe.”

You whine at his assumption. Yet despite the nagging guilt that screams at you to stop this, you find yourself arching your back, pressing your ass to his hips even more. 

Toji lets out a shaky breath. He really hopes his wife doesn’t stop him when he moves to hold himself up on his elbow, hovering over your body to press his lips on yours. You haven’t shared a kiss with him in a while, and even when you do, it’s always his initiative. 

In the darkness, his lips first land on your eyebrow. Slowly, he finds his way down your face, kissing your eyelash, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, and finally your lips. You let out a mewl against his lips and instinctively move your hand down to find his. 

Toji spreads his fingers, letting you entwine yours with his before he tightens and curls them. All this time, he doesn’t stop kissing you, doesn’t stop slotting his cock between your thighs. 

“Wanna fuck you, baby,” he grunts against your lips, his breath hot and sinful. 

And with that, he takes his hand away from yours, slipping it under the inside of your thigh, lifting it to spread your legs. Your heart is pounding hard against your chest, anxious and ridden with guilt as you purse your lips to stay quiet. You let your father put his foot on the crotch of your panties and push your bottoms off your legs. He tilts his hips to drag his cockhead lightly along your slit, and when he hears a ragged breath tearing through your lips, he pats the inside of your thigh gently. 

“Hold your leg up for me,” he murmurs. 

You do, and he finally lets go. 

You should really say something but the need and desire to feel what you felt that first night your father mistook you for your mom is all it takes for you to bite down that guilt and shame. 

Especially when Toji grabs hold of his hard shaft, fitting his tip between your flaps, positioning himself at your tight hole. 

Toji shuts his eyes in bliss, hearing you moan so lewdly and breathily as he breaches your entrance, feeling your warmth enveloping his cockhead tightly. He is slow as he sheathes his entire length inside of you, wanting to savour your fluttering walls, enjoying the way you squirm and mewl at the stretch. 

When Toji finally bottoms himself inside of you, staying still for a moment to let your squelching pussy adjust to his size, he tilts his head toward you and groans, “Kiss me, baby.”

You don’t hesitate to turn your head and meet your father’s lips with yours. At once, Toji brings his hand up to cup your chin possessively, his grip gentle but firm as he swipes his tongue along the seam of your lips. Your mouth parts to let out a moan and he doesn’t waste time in slipping his tongue into your wet cavern. 

He swallows a long moan from you when he pulls out slowly, leaving just his swollen tip inside of you, before he slides back in. Still not breaking the heated kiss, Toji’s tongue laps at yours, sliding along the back of your teeth, his lips massaging yours passionately. His hips don’t break stride either as he continues sliding his cock between your tight walls, his thrusts slowly gaining momentum.

The room is filled with the wet slicking noises of your father’s cock entering in and out of you, the sticky slapping of his hips against your ass, and the light smacking of your lips on each other’s. 

And when your dad glides his hand down from your chin to wrap around your throat, his fingers squeezing lightly as if to gauge your reactions, you moan vulgarly into his lips, eyes rolling to the back of your head. 

Toji increases the pressure on his fingers. 

Your brain feels like it has turned to mush, the cottony darkness pressing in on all sides of your mind. He groans into the kiss that is slowly turning sloppy when he feels you clamping down on his cock, your gummy walls sucking him in. 

And the moment he releases the grip on your throat and oxygen rushes back into your system, at the same time making your thighs tighten and hips roll forward as you clench unyieldingly around his thick meat, Toji growls loudly into your parted lips, overridden by so much pleasure that your jaw is slack and incapable of kissing him back. 

Toji has never seen his wife react to sex like this before, and it’s refreshing and hot. 

Not wanting to ruin the moment, he quickly pushes aside the question of what made you change, particularly toward him and his sexual approaches. 

Toji’s thrusts gain more speed, greedily slamming his cock so hard into you that your moans are heady and breathless, wanting to feel more of your compressed walls. You’re both just exchanging breaths now, panting into each other’s mouths. 

“Fuck,” he curses, feeling his cock twitch inside of you. 

Quickly stopping his movements, Toji slides out of you abruptly and you let out a whine at the loss of his dominating size in your aching hole. 

But then panic rises up in your chest when your father throws the blanket off your bodies, his motions desperate and brisk like he is in a rush for time. 

Toji climbs over you as he pushes your legs apart, already kneeling between your thighs in a second. He slaps his cock on your soaked pussy, inhaling a sharp intake of breath at the whine you let out. He doesn’t waste any more time as he slides his tip down to your fluttering entrance and penetrates you again in one swift thrust. 

Your father grips your hips tightly when you lift them, arching your back against the bed, the both of you moaning loudly into the night. And before you’re even ready, he starts fucking you with an intensity and eagerness that makes you completely forget about your boyfriend’s poor excuse for making love. 

You unthinkingly reach your hand down to grab hold of his fingers squeezing your waist and Toji groans. He immediately leans down to hover over you, his other hand bracing against the mattress on the side of your head to support his weight, his lips already on yours, swallowing your moans. 

You don’t think when you slide your free hand around his nape, pulling him closer, hungrily kissing him back. Your legs move to circle around his waist, locking him in a missionary position. 

Toji kisses you back with the same intensity without losing momentum in his fucking. In fact, his thrusts are harder now, faster. The sound of his cock slipping in and out of you is music to his ears. And the way your pussy is pulsing around him is enough to send him to overdrive. 

He doesn’t break the kiss when he lets go of your hip, allowing your now vacant hand to claw at the side of his chest. You’re completely fucked out, lost in the pleasure of your father’s cock fucking you, the overbearing weight he has over your body, the messy kiss you’re engaged in, that you don’t realise that he has reached his hand out to the reading light. 

Toji is so fucking close and he just wants to see your pleasured face as he fucks you, sure that just the sight of you enjoying his pounding would hurl him straight into his orgasm. 

Your brow furrows when you sense a dim brightness from the corner of your closed lids. Before your languid brain can even keep up with what’s happening, your body completely overtaken by pleasure, your father’s lips are off yours and your hold around his neck breaks. 

Toji’s breaths are underlined with low grunts, his cock swelling and quivering in your tightening pussy, his hips still relentless as he keeps fucking you. 

And when his eyes have accustomed to the faint light illuminating the pitch darkness and he sees his daughter laying beneath him, brows furrowed as your eyes flutter open, your pink swollen lips parted to let out the prettiest of moans, Toji thought that he would have stopped. 

He should have. 

Especially when he watches you belatedly realise what is happening, your eyes rounding when you finally meet his, pupils trembling slightly, your entire body gone still. 

He feels something stir in his chest and in his lower stomach when your cunt clench around him tightly, like a warning, or maybe a reminder that he is still fucking his daughter. 

Your skin prickles with heat, your chest tight. All it took was just that one second of eye contact. 

And now your father can’t stop staring at you. 

And you realise that he hasn’t stopped fucking you. 

Your walls pulse around his meat at that realisation, a squeeze of guilt. Maybe even of hope. 

Toji doesn’t stop. 

He lets out a low groan, his hands flying to your waist to grip onto you like you were leaving, his hips slamming against yours, cock pistoning in and out of you like a desperate man looking for release.

“Fuck, I’m going to cum, Princess,” he growls, face contorted into a sort of snarl. 

His gaze is dark and intense as he eyes the way your face crumples into a look of pleasure and shame, exactly mirroring his own emotions. But his grasp on your waist tightens and he chases his climax as he moves your body in tandem to his fucking, pounding your body back into his hips. 

You can’t think anymore. 

You can’t feel the guilt or shame anymore. 

Your eyes roll to the back of your head in pleasure, your back bowing backwards as you make an arch in the air. 

“Shit, baby,” Toji curses. 

He slides a hand down to your red bundle of nerves and gives it a rub with the pad of his thumb. 

“Daddy,” you choke out a gasp as your body twitches and your thighs tighten. 

Finally hearing your sweet voice spurs Toji on to play with your clit, his focus entirely set on not cumming despite your quivering cunt wrapped around his cock. And the moment he sees you flailing and thrashing before him, feeling your walls tightening like they’re trying to push him out, hearing how breathless and whiny and cute your mewls are, he lets go of that restraint. 

His breaths come out in low grunts as he fucks you harder in pursuit of his climax, your twitching walls clenching and unclenching around his cock like you’re trying frantically to milk him.

“Fuck!”

With a loud groan, Toji pulls out of you, his hand already wrapped tightly around his sopping wet cock, almost violently pumping his shaft as he presses his thick mushroom head to your glistening pussy. 

Beyond the tunnel vision of your own orgasm, you try to focus on your father’s moans as he cums, painting your womanhood and stomach with white liquid, coating your skin with his seeds. 

Toji’s orgasm almost takes as long as his daughter’s as he empties his load on your pussy. Panting, he sits back on his heels, lazily stroking himself, letting the last of his seeds drip down his slit and down his cock. 

He watches the last spasm wrack your body as you lay before him, chest rising and falling below your shirt, trying to catch your breath. 

The air in the room gradually becomes heavy with unspoken words and conflicting emotions now that the post-coital clarity is setting in. Toji watches your body grow still, like the way you used to in your younger days when you knew a scolding was coming your way. He lets out a long sigh. 

You flinch slightly at the gentle but calloused caress on your inner thigh. 

“Look at me.”

Swallowing, you very reluctantly meet your father’s gaze. 

“Why are you here?” he murmurs, not unkindly. 

It is his warmth and gentleness that makes tears unceremoniously form on your lashline and slip down your cheeks, startling him into a frown. But he doesn’t say anything, simply lets you grapple with your own emotions and words. 

Finally, you say between sobs, “I’m s-sorry, Daddy. I sh-should have said something. Should h-have stopped you. B-but—”

“Baby,” he cuts you off sternly, a firm hand on your thigh.

This only makes you cry even harder. 

Toji lets out a long exhale through his nose before moving, crawling on the bed to settle down next to you. He sits up against the headboard, a hand stroking your hair, waiting for you to calm down. 

He thinks he understands what you’re feeling. And to be honest, it isn’t like he doesn’t share the same sentiments. If anything, he probably feels them more. 

“Did I hurt you?” Toji whispers. 

Your chest heaves as you draw in a stuttering breath. You shake your head. Toji brings his hand to wipe your tears with the back of his fingers. 

“Did you feel like you couldn’t stop me?” 

You swallow the thick lump of tears in your throat as you look up at him, finding him staring straight ahead in the dark room. You blink your tears away, really trying to focus on the look on his face. 

Though you can only see his profile, you realise that your father is haunted by his own internal thoughts and emotions. It is not just you feeling the way you do. 

“No, Daddy.”

Your trembling voice makes Toji turn to face you. His eyes trace your features, taking in your watery eyes, red nose, puffy lips. You look so pretty despite the tears. 

“I—” You gulp and whisper, “I liked it. And I wanted it.”

That makes Toji frown. “You wanted it?” he repeats, almost incredulously. 

Steeling yourself, you nod your head, just a minuscule action. You start, “Th-that time in the hotel room…”

It takes Toji a few seconds to put two and two together. And when he does, he pulls his hand away from your face like he’s been burnt. A tear slides down your cheek at his reaction. 

“That was you?” he breathes. You bite your bottom lip from trembling as you nod, your cheeks now wetter than before. “Why didn’t you say something?”

When you don’t reply, whether out of guilt or a loss for words, your father feels his stomach dropping. He looks away from you for a long moment, takes a moment to breathe, and finally moves. 

You watch him get up wordlessly to take some tissues and come back to wipe the mess on your womanhood, the whole time focused on the task at hand, not once looking at you. 

And when you’re clean, he doesn’t meet your gaze when he says, “It’s late. Go back to your room.”

“Daddy—”

His eyes flit to yours and your words get stuck in your throat at the look in them. 

“Please, Princess.”

This time, it is Toji avoiding you. 

You try to reach out to him. To apologise, to make things right, something. 

But he won’t let you. 

Because when he feels your presence coming down the stairs to join your parents for a meal, he cooks up an excuse that he has to leave to make a call. Or when you leave the house just as he has parked his car on the porch, he stays in the vehicle a little longer, pretending to be busy reading an important email until you’ve left and locked the gate behind you. 

Toji doesn’t know why he does these things he does. 

Maybe it’s the guilt of cheating on this loveless marriage he has with his wife. Maybe it’s the anger he feels at himself for realising he enjoyed the two times he fucked his own daughter. Or maybe it’s the disappointment from finding out that you lied to him. 

Well, it’s not lying if you didn’t say anything. 

But still, that doesn’t make it right. 

Whatever it is, Toji is frustrated. At himself, for not understanding his own thoughts. At you, for hiding the truth from him. 

But mostly at himself. 

Especially when he sees you shrinking back again, finally coming to terms that your relationship with him has probably been estranged, broken. 

You don’t try to join in on any family meals anymore, always coming up with excuses not to. You come home late into the night when you would never bump into your dad, if you ever come home at all. 

Despite living in the same house, Toji doesn’t see you anymore. 

He thinks that maybe this is for the better. 

He doesn’t feel bad when he’s around his wife. And he doesn’t feel that pang of emotions hitting him in his chest when he sees you. 

That is until he comes home early from a dinner one weekend and passes by your room, footsteps halting when he hears quiet noises from behind the door. His entire body freezes, his breathing paused, ears perked to pick up on the muffled sounds coming from your room. 

He can make out your sighs and moans which he has come to be familiar with, no matter how muted they are now through the door. And beyond that, he hears a low, droning voice. A man’s voice. 

While brooding over his own thoughts, he had completely forgotten that you have a boyfriend. 

He doesn’t realise his hands have balled into fists. 

And when he hears the faint sound of hips slapping against hips, his jaw clenches and his chest burns. 

He doesn’t say or do anything but when he walks away from your room, he makes sure his footsteps are heavy and loud. He even opens and shuts the door to his room noisily. 

The fire in his chest flares even more at the sight of his bed. 

The bed where he had you a few weeks ago, moaning and whimpering like a cute little thing for him. 

The bed where he last saw you, the last interaction you had, no matter how intimate. 

Toji stews in his anger for a long time. 

That is until he hears the hasty, faraway sound of a door opening and closing and a rush of feet down the stairs. 

His lips curl slightly and that fire in his chest is instantly put out, only to be replaced by pride. 

He should be the only man of the house.

The only man who gets to hear those cute sounds you make, see the pretty expressions you make on your face, feel the warmth of your body. 

Toji isn’t sure what time you came home. He tried to wait up. But his age caught up to him and he had fallen asleep before he could even help it. 

It is almost already five in the morning when he awakes, the sky outside still dark. 

Toji gets down from his bed. Leaving the room quietly, he passes the guest room that his wife prefers sleeping in, the guilt he used to feel no longer wrapping its strong grip around his chest. 

He pads down the hallway and stops outside his daughter’s room. He hesitates only for a moment before opening the door, adjusting his eyes to take in the sleeping form of you curled up in bed. 

He doesn’t stall this time when he enters and shuts the door quietly behind him. Toji goes over to you, gently lifting your blanket and immediately slipping into your bed behind you. 

You don’t stir. Not even when he scoots closer and wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you into his body. 

The tension in his body melts away, and he finds that the mix of emotions he used to grapple with has been defeated. Instead, he only feels a sense of contentment, of desire, of yearning. 

You moan at the feathery touch of lips on your neck and shoulder, slowly waking up from your slumber. You blink sleepily, noticing that it is still dark, only realising belatedly that there is a large presence behind you, holding you close. You’re suddenly acutely aware of who it is, if not for his familiar earthy scent. 

“Daddy?” you croak out.

The man behind you hums, moving to kiss the shell of your ear now. “Was that your boyfriend this afternoon?” Your entire body goes still and warm. Your father slides his hand down to caress the side of your hip. “That Soturo guy?”

“Satoru,” you correct breathlessly, still unmoving. 

“Hm.” You gasp when he curls his fingers to leave a scratch up the side of your thigh. “Was he any good?”

Your mind is a mess right now. But you manage to sputter, “Aren’t you still mad at me?”

Toji moves behind you to hold himself up on an elbow, hovering over the side of your face, pressing his lips to your cheeks. “Kind of. But for a different reason now.”

You turn your head slightly even though you know you can’t see him. “What?” you breathe. 

You hold your breath as your father shifts, moving behind you until the reading light next to your bed illuminates your room dully. You’re squinting at the ceiling, trying to refocus your eyes, when your father’s handsome face appears before you, towering over you, his scarred lips in a thin line. 

“Does Satoro make you happy?” he murmurs. Mind reeling at whether this is a trick question, you don’t answer. “Does he fuck you better than Daddy?”

You gulp. “Daddy, I—”

“Answer me.”

Under his hard gaze, you immediately shake your head. Toji hums, satisfied at your answer. 

“But you bring him to my home and let him fuck you in this bed?”

“Daddy—” 

You gasp when a palm strikes your cheek. Not too hard, but firm enough to shut you up and wake you up from the state of sleepiness you were in. 

“Do you prefer your boyfriend’s dick over Daddy’s?” Before you even open your mouth, Toji lands another slap on your cheek. “Huh, Princess? Answer me.”

“N-No,” you whisper, thighs pressing together unknowingly. 

Noticing that minor movement below him, Toji slides his knee up to press his thigh to your ass, making your breath hitch when he rubs your womanhood against his leg. 

“Hm. But you invited him over when you thought I wasn’t home. Made me hear what he was doing to you.”

It is by instinct when you push your ass out to grind on his thigh. Feeling slightly accused, you say, “You were mad at me. You were avoiding me.”

Your father clicks his tongue and you already have your eyes shut when he slaps you again. He lets out a laugh through his nose. 

“Baby girl learns fast,” he comments dryly. When he sees you opening your eyes again, he gives you one more slap to your cheek, causing you to whine and squeeze your lids close tightly. “Me being mad at you doesn’t mean you can bring home some stupid boy and let them fuck you under the roof I paid for. Does it?” 

You shake your head meekly, which makes the corners of Toji’s lips curl up slightly. You flinch when his hand reaches out to your face, but he only strokes your warm cheek tenderly. 

“Lie on your back, Princess,” he whispers. Eagerly, you do as you’re told, heart racing at what might unfold between the two of you. He pulls his leg back to give you space. “Spread your legs.”

Once you’ve done so, Toji brings his hand down, giving you a light slap between your legs. You yelp softly. 

As you stare up into your father’s dark eyes, his hand finds its way under the waistband of your shorts and into your panties, his middle finger easily finding your slit that is leaking slightly with arousal. He hums, sliding his finger along your folds, spreading your slick. 

“Daddy,” you whine, rocking your hips slightly to feel more friction. You give him a pitiful look. “I really am sorry for not telling you the first time. Or the second time.”

Toji takes in the small pout you wear as he licks his lips. He keeps playing with your folds, feeling your arousal build with just his finger touching you. “It’s alright, baby,” he finally says in a whisper, like he is resigned to the fact. “I only wish you told me sooner. Then we could play like this more.” 

You let out a long moan when your father prods his finger at your entrance and slips his thick digit between your gummy walls coated in slick. He is slow as he slides his middle finger in and out of you, his hand cupping your pussy. 

With every stroke against your wall, Toji presses an open-mouthed kiss to your face, dragging his lips across your skin until he reaches your lips, finally swallowing your moan as he kisses you. Your heart jumps in your chest as your hands snake around his neck, embracing him. 

He hums into your mouth, at the same time sinking another finger into your pussy, revelling in the way you tighten around them like you’re denying him entrance though your hips are bucking, trying to bury him inside of you. Toji curls his digits before pulling them out and entering again. 

He eats up your whines as he quickens the pace, allowing you to rock your hips, fucking back on his fingers, his tongue sensually dancing with yours.

Before long, he has you moaning and mewling — needier and realer than what he heard this afternoon, he notes. He continues licking and twirling his tongue around yours even as you unravel around him, thighs shaking, body quivering as your orgasm overwhelms your body. 

You’re still in a daze when your father leans back and removes his fingers from your crotch, already tugging on the waistband of your pants. 

“Take everything off, Princess.”

You have never been more eager to do so. As he sits up to watch you, Toji pulls down his shorts to free his cock, idly stroking his erection, letting it grow in his hand. 

You’re beautiful — your body, your curves, everything. 

The way the fat of your breasts jiggle when you pull off your top. The soft flesh of your stomach. The lines your thigh muscles make when you lift your hips to shrug your pants off. 

Toji can barely stop himself from crawling over you, but he manages to wait until you’re finally laying before him naked in all your glory. You rest your hands on his chest, letting them slide down his torso as he towers over you. 

“What about you, Daddy?” 

Toji stares down at your lashes fluttering at him curiously. He shakes his head, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “Mommy can’t see the both of us naked in bed, baby.”

You roll your eyes. “Mommy shouldn’t even see me naked in bed with you, then.”

A corner of his lips quirk. You’ve always been a smart girl. But he still rewards you with a slap to your face, making you gasp in surprise. 

“Punishment for talking back to me,” he mutters, though he is already lowering his hips, letting his hard rod bump against your inner thigh. 

You pout at your father, who only leans in to kiss your cheek. No words are exchanged as he positions himself between your lips, swiping his cockhead up and down to coat it with your arousal. He keeps his eyes on you when he eventually slots himself into your cunt, watching the way your brows fold closer, eyes glossy, bottom lip between your teeth. 

He lets out a groan as he bottoms out inside of you, feeling the way your pussy squeezes around him trying to adjust to his size. Toji stays still, giving you time to breathe as he drops kisses on the side of your face, down the column of your neck, making you tilt your head to give him more access. 

A trail of kisses lead down to your chest until he is face-to-face with your breasts. As he takes a nipple in his mouth, his hips start moving at a slow but steady pace and you let out a loud sigh, your hand moving to the back of his head, fingers buried in his soft hair. 

With his tongue flicking at your pert nipple, his teeth slightly grazing your sensitive skin, you moan, “Daddy.”

Toji releases your tit with a pop, glancing up at you through his lashes. “Hm?”

You flicker your eyes down to watch him staring at you, tongue out, twirling and playing with your bud. He grins when he feels your walls clench tightly around him. 

“Harder,” you whine. 

He clicks his tongue and uses his hand to slap at your other breast. “So impatient, my little girl,” he scolds. 

But your father listens anyway. 

Toji gives your nipple a kiss before sitting up on his heels, his hands skimming down the sides of your body. When he reaches your lower region, he lifts your legs, putting his palms on the back of your thighs, pushing them up and widening them, your feet in the air. Toji rolls his hips slowly, observing the way your face contorts with pleasure. The cute sounds you make, though, break his restraint. 

He picks up the pace and goes faster and harder, just as you asked. He curses under his breath. You always squeeze him so tight and get so wet every time he slams his cock back into you. 

He thought he could have lasted longer today, wanting to punish you for what you did with your boyfriend this afternoon. But the moment he hears you breathing out his name, something in his snaps. 

You gasp when he lets go of your legs and falls forward, almost on top of you if not for his hands planted on the headboard of your bed. That gasp turns into a whimpering moan when you feel how deep he is in this change of position, your legs spread wide open with his body, his cock entirely buried in your tight snatch, cockhead pushing against your cervix and igniting that knot in your stomach. 

“Say that again,” he pants. 

When you stay silent, pussy still fluttering around his cock, lips parted stupidly, lids hooded, Toji lands another heavy slap on your cheek, waking you up from your pleasure with a jolt. 

“Say my name again,” he repeats in a growl. 

You slide your hands under his shirt, touching his abs, fingernails clawing at his chest as you go higher. “Toji,” you purr. “Gonna fuck me like you mean it, hmm, Toji?”

“Fuck.” 

Toji doesn’t start off slow this time. He pounds into you like an animal, your bed creaking noisily with every thrust he makes. You let out such a pornographic moan that he grunts and moves to brace his hands next to your face, lowering his head to take your lips in his to shut you up. 

Your hips are moving in sync with his as you fuck yourself back on his cock, the squelching sound of your pussy taking him in and the slapping noise of your ass against his hips loud and dirty.

“Mm, I’m gonna cum, baby,” your father mutters against your lips. 

“Inside, Toji,” you breathe. 

“Dirty little girl.”

Your jaw goes slack when he brings his hand down to rub harshly on your clit, your hips stuttering and your pussy clamping down on his cock. The way Toji sticks his tongue into your mouth and twirls his tongue around its inside is so filthy, but so hot. And paired with his low moans, the pounding of his cock in your pussy, the massaging of your clit, your orgasm hits you with a blazing hot white flush. 

“Shit, baby. I’m gonna cum in you. Daddy’s gonna cum in you, baby,” Toji moans, his hips slapping against yours loud as he rams into your throbbing pussy in one deep thrust to the hilt. “Mm, fuck! Princess.”

You feel his warm seeds spraying deep inside of you with every pulse of his cock. Toji’s breathing is irregular, his eyes shut in bliss, his forehead resting on yours. You let him empty himself in your womb as his hips make lazy strokes, riding out the last of his orgasm. 

When the peak of his pleasure has waned, Toji flutters his eyes open and catches his daughter staring up at him. He lets out a breath through his nose and closes his lids again, letting the reality of the situation finally sink in. 

He had been expecting some sort of remorse for fucking his own daughter, or maybe even self-contempt for wanting and enjoying this. 

Instead, all he feels is weight lifting off his chest and shoulders. 

He inhales deeply and presses a kiss to your hairline before unplugging your pulsating hole, rolling onto the bed next to you.

Toji feels you turning to him as he catches his breath. He glances at you and you lick your lips nervously. 

“Gonna ask me to get out of my room this time?”

“Tch,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes. Ignoring your little jab, Toji tucks himself back into his shorts as he wonders, “You on the pill?”

You flip to your side to face him better. “Mmhmm.”

He hums. The silence between you stretches until he finally tilts his head in your direction. He eyes you carefully. 

“He nice to you?” 

“Who? Satoru?” He doesn’t answer, just stays staring at you. Your head bobs slowly. “Mm, yeah. He’s a nice guy. You met him before, Daddy.”

Toji turns to face the ceiling again as he mumbles, “Don’t remember.”

You grumble and hit his chest. You’ve brought Satoru home for dinner several times, not to mention his attendance at family gatherings. He has definitely met and seen him before. Your father continues feigning ignorance, so you let out an annoyed huff and rotate your body so you’re facing away from him. 

It is quiet for a while. Then the flicker of a switch cuts through the silence of the night and your room is plunged into darkness once more, though the sky outside is beginning to turn blue as dawn breaks. You hold your breath listening to the sheets ruffle behind you. Your skin prickles at the comforting warmth that embraces you from behind. 

Toji slides his calloused palm down your arm until he reaches the back of your hand, his fingers slipping between yours, curling around the crevices. Naturally, you do the same. He pulls your entwined hands closer to your body. 

“Does he make you happy?” your father whispers into your hair, like he is afraid to hear the answer. 

“Hmm…” You’re not sure how to respond. So you think it is better to be honest. “We’ve talked about marriage. We’re pretty compatible.”

Toji waits. When you don’t continue, he supplies, “But…?”

A smile plays on your lips. Because how did he know there was a ‘but’?

“He cannot satisfy me in bed.”

There is a beat of silence before your father’s chest rumbles behind you as he laughs. You whine and struggle to move away from his hold but he keeps you close, his arms tight around you. 

“Of course not,” Toji agrees. You let out an annoyed huff. Another pause. Then, “Your mother doesn’t— won’t satisfy me in bed either.” 

You keep quiet, unsure what to say. You had already guessed it since the first time. 

“Daddy’s little princess can, though,” he murmurs, dropping a kiss to your crown. 

You squeeze his fingers slightly. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I’ve been thinking a lot about you since the first time.”

“Did you?” Toji teases, laughing when you let out another whine. He gathers you impossibly closer toward him, tucking your head under his chin. “Good to hear that you’ll always be a Daddy’s girl.” He curls his legs behind yours, pressing against the back of your thighs as he folds his body around yours. “You should invite Sotaro for dinner tomorrow. Let me meet him.”

“It’s Satoru. And you have met him,” you groan. “Also, why do you even want to meet him again?” Especially after what we’ve done tonight, is what you want to add but don’t. 

You feel him shrug his broad shoulders behind you. “Maybe show you the difference between a dumb boy who can’t even please his girlfriend in bed, and a man who will always put his daughter’s needs before his.”

Your heart flutters at his words, though you don’t say anything in reply. So Toji caresses the heel of your palm with his thumb as murmurs, “We’ll go to your favourite restaurant. Even buy you a nice dress and heels. So you can look pretty for Daddy when I look at you across the table.”

Your heart feels like it has drummed its way up your throat as blood flows up your face. You continue staying quiet and unmoving, uncertain of what to say, or do.  

But when your father prompts you for a reply, you swallow down the heart flutters rising from your stomach.

“Hm? Okay?”  

You nod your head wordlessly and press your back closer to his strong chest.

<< Part 1 🔞 || part 3 🔞 (coming soon) >>

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